Sahara

    'Are we buying or selling?'

    'Mostly buying. We need a means of transportation.'

    'A hearty meal should take priority. I'm hungry as a bear out of hibernation.'

    'You can try the food here, if you like,' said Pitt. 'Me, I'd rather starve.'

    They were on their third beer when a young man no more than eighteen entered the bar. He stood tall and slender with a slight hunch to his shoulders. He had a gentle oval face with wide sad-looking eyes. His complexion was almost black and his hair thick and wiry. He wore a yellow T-shirt and khaki pants under an open, white cotton sheet-like garment. He made a quick study of the customers and settled his gaze on Pitt and Giordino.

    'Patience, the beggar's virtue,' Pitt murmured. 'Salvation is on the way.'

    The young man stopped at the table and nodded his head. 'Bonsoir.'

    'Good evening,' Pitt replied.

    The melancholy eyes widened slightly. 'You are English?'

    'New Zealanders,' Pitt lied.

    'I am Mohammed Digna. Perhaps I can assist you gentlemen in changing your money.'

    'We have local currency,' Pitt shrugged.

    'Do you need a guide, someone to lead you through any problems with customs, police, or government officials?'

    'No, I don't think so.' Pitt held out his hand at an empty chair. 'Will you join us for a drink?'

    'Yes, thank you.' Digna said a few words in French to the proprietor-bartender and sat down.

    'You speak English real well,' said Giordino.

    'I went to primary school in Gao and college in the capital of Bamako where I finished first in my class,' he said proudly. 'I can speak four languages including my native Bambara tongue, French, English, and German.'

    'You're smarter than me,' said Giordino. 'I only know enough English to scrape by on.'

    'What is your occupation?' asked Pitt.

    'My father is chief of a nearby village. I manage his business properties and export business.'

    'And yet you frequent bars and offer your services to tourists,' Giordino murmured suspiciously.

    'I enjoy meeting foreigners so I can practice my languages,' Digna said without hesitation.

    The proprietor came and set a small cup of tea in front of Digna.

    'How does your father transport his goods?' asked Pitt.

    'He has a small fleet of Renault trucks.'

    'Any chance of renting one?' Pitt put to him.

    'You wish to haul merchandise?'

    'No, my friend and I would like to take a short drive north and see the great desert before we return home to New Zealand.'

    Digna gave a brief shake of his head. 'Not possible. My father's trucks have left for Mopti this afternoon loaded with textiles and produce. Besides, no foreigner from outside the country can travel in the desert without special passes.'

    Pitt turned to Giordino, an expression of sadness and disappointment on his face. 'What a shame. And to think we flew halfway around the world to see desert nomads astride their camels.'

    'I'll never be able to face my little old white-haired mother,' Giordino moaned. 'She gave up her life's savings so I could experience life in the Sahara '

    Pitt slapped the table with his hand and stood up. 'Well it's back to our hotel at Timbuktu.'

    'Do you gentlemen have a car?' asked Digna.

    'No.'

    'How did you get here from Timbuktu?'

    'By bus,' replied Giordino hesitantly, almost as if asking a question.

    'You mean a truck carrying passengers.'

    'That's it,' Giordino said happily.

    'You won't find any transportation traveling to Timbuktu before noon tomorrow,' said Digna.

    'There must be a good vehicle of some kind in Bourem that we can rent,' said Pitt.

    'Bourem is a poor town. Most of the townspeople walk or ride motorbikes. Few families can afford to own autos that are not in constant need of repair. The only vehicle of sound mechanical condition currently in Bourem is General Zateb Kazim's private auto.'

    Digna might as well have prodded a pair of harnessed bulls with a pitchfork. Pitt and Giordino's minds worked on the same wavelength. They both stiffened but immediately relaxed. Their eyes locked and their lips twisted into subtle grins.

    'What is his car doing here?' Giordino asked innocently. 'We saw him only yesterday at Gao.'

    'The General flies most everywhere by helicopter or military jet,' answered Digna. 'But he likes his own personal chauffeur and auto to transport him through the towns and cities. His chauffeur was transporting the auto on the new highway from Bamako to Gao when it broke down a few kilometers outside of Bourem. It was towed here for repairs.'

    'And was it repaired?' Pitt inquired, taking a sip of beer to appear indifferent.

    'The town mechanic finished late this evening. A rock had punctured the radiator.'

    'Has the chauffeur left for Gao?' Giordino wondered idly.

    Digna shook his head. 'The road from here to Gao is still under construction. Driving on it at night can be hazardous. He didn't want to risk damaging General Kazim's car again. He plans to leave with the morning light.'

    Pitt looked at him. 'How do you know all this?'

    Digna beamed. 'My father owns the auto repair garage, and I oversee its operation. The chauffeur and I had dinner together.'

    'Where is the chauffeur now?'

    'A guest at my father's house.'

    Pitt changed the drift of the conversation to local industry. 'Any chemical companies around here?' he asked.

    Digna laughed. 'Bourem is too poor to manufacture anything but handicrafts and woven goods.'

    'How about a hazardous waste site?'

    'Fort Foureau, but that's hundreds of kilometers to the north.'

    There was a short lull in the conversation, then Digna asked suddenly, 'How much money do you carry?'

    'I don't know,' Pitt answered honestly. 'I never counted it.

    Pitt saw Giordino look strangely at him and then flick his eyes at four men seated at a table in the corner. He glanced at them and caught them abruptly turning away. This had to be a setup, he concluded. He stared at the proprietor who was leaning over the bar reading a newspaper and rejected him as one of the muggers. A quick look at the other customers was enough to satisfy him that they were only interested in conversing between themselves. The odds were five against two. Not half bad at all, Pitt thought.

    Pitt finished his beer and came to his feet. 'Time to go.'

    'Give my regards to the Chief,' said Giordino, pumping Digna's hand.

    The young Malian's smile never left his face, but his eyes became hard. 'You cannot leave.'

    'Don't worry about us,' Giordino waved. 'We'll sleep by the road.'

    'Give me your money,' Digna said softly.

    'The son of a chief begging for money,' Pitt said dryly. 'You must be a great source of embarrassment for your old man.'

    'Do not offend me,' Digna said coldly. 'Give me all your money or your blood will soak the floor.'

    Giordino acted as if he was ignoring the confrontation and edged toward one corner of the bar. The four men had risen from the table and seemed to be waiting for a signal from Digna. The signal never came. The Malians seemed infused by the utter lack of fear shown by their potential victims.

    Pitt leaned across the table until his fate was level with Digna's. 'Do you know what my friend and I do to sewer slime like you?'

    'You cannot insult Mohammed Digna and live,' he snarled contemptuously.