In another situation he might have been fearful they were taking him somewhere remote to shoot him, but since they probably had a file on him from his last visit, they wouldn’t dare. There would be more than hell to pay if an ex-MI5 officer went missing.
They drove north-west for just over an hour. They were on a single-track dusty road when the driver eased off the accelerator, letting the car cruise to a halt. He put on the handbrake and although he switched off the engine, he left the lights on. A herd of goats drifted past, a small boy trailing them with a stick. The boy glanced at them curiously but didn’t stop. After a minute or so, two pairs of headlights approached from the opposite direction. Both vehicles pulled over. Not too close, not too far. Maybe fifteen yards between the two. Dan’s nerves were quivering, his senses alert.
‘What are we doing here?’
‘We are meeting someone.’ Khatabi brought out a pistol from his holster. Checked it was loaded. Then he opened his door and climbed outside. ‘Come.’
Dan climbed into the cool evening air. He could taste the dust kicked up by the goats and something sharply antiseptic, like rosemary. He studied the area covertly, where he might run if needs be, the knolls he’d head for, for cover. His pulse was up, his breathing shallow.
The first vehicle disgorged two soldiers who took up position next to the car. The second vehicle disgorged two more. All were armed with AK-47s. All stood on alert.
A stocky man in a suit climbed out of the first car. Walked to the space between Khatabi’s vehicle and his own. He beckoned to Dan to join him.
Dan walked across, Khatabi at his side.
‘Dan Forrester,’ the man said.
Dan recognised him from his searches on the internet. Jibran Bouzid, Morocco’s Defence Minister. But he didn’t say so.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said politely. ‘But who are you?’
The man’s eyes gleamed flat in the headlight flares. ‘If you don’t know, then you’re more stupid than I thought.’
Dan kept his gaze carefully neutral. He didn’t say any more.
‘My name is of no matter.’ The man shrugged. ‘My message is a simple one that even you will be able to understand. You see, I want you to go home, and stop meddling.’
Dan held the man’s gaze. ‘Why?’
Without taking his eyes from Dan, Bouzid called out something in Arabic. One of the soldiers next to the second vehicle spoke to someone inside. Two men appeared. They were dragging something with them. It was a boy, maybe ten or eleven. Faded jeans, white T-shirt. Normally his expression was bright and curious, but tonight his skin was chalky, his eyes wide with terror.
‘What is this?’ Dan asked. His veins felt as though they’d been filled with ice.
Bouzid didn’t reply. He called out to the men, who stopped in the middle of the road. Naziha was pinned in the men’s arms but it didn’t stop the boy from flailing, lashing out with his legs.
‘He’s just a boy,’ Dan said. ‘What do you want with him?’
Bouzid turned his head and surveyed him. Dan kept his expression absolutely level, absolutely bland but his mind was darting from side to side, trying to work out if he could somehow pelt for Naziha and snatch him, make a run for it… but with four AK-47s against them he wouldn’t stand a chance.
Still holding Dan’s eyes, Bouzid clicked his fingers.
‘Hafid.’ He made the word a command.
The Commissaire hesitated.
‘Naima, Hafid.’
The Commissaire swept up his pistol and pressed it against Dan’s temple. His face was drawn and pale. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
‘Hafid will shoot Dan Forrester if he causes any trouble. Won’t you, Hafid?’
‘Yes, sir.’ His voice was loud and firm. Not what Dan wanted to hear. From the man’s troubled demeanour he’d been hoping for a thread of doubt, some humanity, but there was none. He sounded like a robot for all the emotion in his voice.
Bouzid called out again. Another man appeared. For a second the two men holding Naziha were distracted and immediately the boy swung round, lashing at the nearest man’s groin. He missed but still caught the man’s inner thigh, making him curse.
‘Let the boy go.’ Dan’s tone was tight.
Bouzid didn’t respond. He was watching the third man as he came over, carrying what looked to be a can of kerosene, and a funnel. Immediately Naziha started bucking and kicking wildly, like a calf arriving at the slaughterhouse and sensing its doom.
‘No,’ said Dan.
The men worked quickly now, pinning Naziha to the ground. He watched in horror as one of the men bent over and pinched the boy’s nostrils shut until he was forced to open his mouth to take a gulp of air. Immediately the man forced the funnel between Naziha’s teeth. The third man stood ready to pour the kerosene down the funnel and into Naziha’s throat.
Dan’s head went light when behind them, one of the soldiers stepped forward. He lit a match.
‘Whatever you want,’ Dan said. ‘I will do it. But leave the boy alone.’
Bouzid called out.
The men stilled.
‘You will leave the country?’
‘Yes.’
‘Today?’
‘Yes. Just let the boy go.’
‘Not until I have confirmation that you have upheld your end of the bargain.’
‘I will leave on the first flight.’
‘And you will stop your meddling.’
‘Yes.’
‘When you get home, you must remember that I can find this boy any time. I also want you to remember that it won’t just be little Naziha’s safety you will be responsible for. You have your friend Mohammed, and his family, to think about. And Sergeant Mehdi. I don’t know where he is at present, but unless he leaves the country, he will resurface. He has three grandchildren, did you know?’
Dan looked into the flat black eyes of a man driven by greed and now fear. Fear of being found
