Who was this man, people wondered. It was something Taher himself often worried about too. Who exactly was he? A freedom fighter? A religious zealot? A soldier of fortune? A thrill seeker? A psychopath? When he looked into his soul he knew there was a little of each in there, his identity a jumble of motivations. He was human like everyone else, and surprisingly, considering the number of people he’d killed, he had human feelings. Guilt, self-doubt, anger. Even, sometimes, love.
They’d followed a cattle truck for the past few miles, unable to overtake, but finally Kadri pulled off to the right and took a tiny track down to a motley collection of buildings.
‘My brother’s farm,’ Kadri said. He laughed. ‘Goods for, how you say, export, yes?’
There didn’t seem to be any animals or crops, just a main dwelling with sheet tin on the roof. An array of solar panels in a dusty field to one side. Some hefty steel doors on a brick outbuilding. Whatever Kadri’s brother farmed, it wasn’t going to end up on any supermarket shelf. Taher knew better than to ask. They were overnighting here and then Latif and Saabiq were journeying to a training camp close to the border with Algeria. Taher was heading for the tourist resort of Al Hammamet, from where a boat would take him across to Italy. He’d travel through mainland Europe and enter the UK secretly. In a few weeks, when they’d completed their training, Latif and Saabiq would do the same.
In front of him, Saabiq turned round, unease written across his face.
‘Are we good?’ Saabiq said. He nodded at the ramshackle homestead. ‘Safe?’
Taher nodded. Much as he despised Kadri, at least he knew how to stay calm. Saabiq was a worrier and worriers made Taher nervous. Latif, the other man he’d brought with him from the UK, was far more reliable.
The vehicle lurched to a stop and Kadri wrenched open the door and climbed out. He pulled the side door across.
‘I told you, nothing to it.’ He spread his arms and then pointed to the dwelling where an older version of Kadri was pushing aside a tattered curtain and waving. ‘Now we can have a beer and some food and afterwards you can sample some of my brother’s stock.’ His eyes flicked to the building with the stout doors. ‘Fresh, young, and – how do you say – tight?’
The older version of Kadri – his brother, Taher assumed – came across to help with the bags. He spat on the ground and grinned.
‘You boys up for that?’ Kadri said, laughing. ‘Some booze and some pussy? Or would you prefer a fucking prayer mat and your right hand, hey?’
With that, Kadri bellowed another laugh and turned to embrace his brother.
Taher leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
‘Taher?’ Saabiq. Right in his face like an annoying little insect that needed to be swatted.
‘What?’ Taher blinked, pushed Saabiq away and climbed out of the minibus. He wanted to find somewhere to pray, have something to eat and get his head down.
‘I was wondering…’ Saabiq gestured across to the low brick building. He looked more nervous now than he had before the job. ‘Do you think Kadri would be offended if we skip the pussy?’
Taher didn’t care one way or another. Offending Kadri was the least of his worries, but now the man was turning from his brother.
‘My brother’s farm,’ he said, boasting. He indicated the building with the heavy doors. ‘You like it? You want? Don’t worry, English boys, these girls are clean. And you no pay. Gratuit. Free.’
‘No.’ Taher waved Kadri off. ‘We’ll pray and eat and sleep.’
Taher shepherded Latif and Saabiq away to their quarters, thankful they were in a small byre separate from the main dwelling.
Hours later Taher woke in the darkness. A desert chill had descended and he was about to pull another blanket over himself when he heard the cries of a child. Saabiq and Latif lay alongside him, both fast asleep. Taher pushed himself up from the hard floor and made his way outside. A clear sky blazed with a million stars, and a dim light filtered through the ragged curtain that served as a door to the main building. He walked across and pulled aside the curtain. An oil lamp hanging from a roof truss illuminated the living space. Kadri sat slumped on a chair, his trousers by his ankles, a young girl with her face in his lap, Kadri’s paw of a hand on the back of her head.
‘So you do want, yes?’ Kadri said, looking up as Taher entered. The Tunisian laughed. ‘You can have this one when she’s finished or my brother will sort you out. Mansour?’
Kadri shouted into the night as Taher strode across the room. He looked down at the girl. She was twelve or thirteen. No more. In one swift movement he reached for the Glock he’d stuffed in the back of his belt. He brought the gun round and jammed it in Kadri’s mouth. Kadri grabbed for the gun with both hands, the skin on his knuckles whitening as he gripped the barrel. Taher shook his head.
‘Don’t move,’ he said. The girl looked up and Taher said to her gently: ‘No one is going to hurt you.’
The girl wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and
