One with a rifle went up to the sun deck. The big man spoke to him, waving his arms angrily. The cop seemed unconcerned, holding his rifle and shaking his head.
Then a big muscular cop came up on deck hefting a large sack made of heavy-duty polythene imprinted with the words: Caution – Dangerous Chemicals in several languages.
Abdul recalled a night-time scene on a dockside in Guinea-Bissau, and men unloading sacks like that by lamplight while a limousine waited, its engine turning over. ‘Bingo,’ he said softly to himself.
Kiah heard and looked at him with curiosity, but she did not ask for an explanation.
The crew were handcuffed, led off the yacht, and pushed into the back of a van. The big man and his girls got similar treatment, despite the man’s outrage. A few more people emerged from below decks and they, too, were handcuffed and put into vehicles.
The last person to be brought up from below looked familiar.
He was a podgy young North African man wearing a green sweatshirt and grubby white shorts. Around his neck was a string of beads and stones that Abdul had seen before.
Kiah said: ‘It can’t be Hakim, can it?’
‘Looks like him,’ said Abdul. In fact, he knew. The men running the enterprise had decided, for some reason, that Hakim should accompany the consignment all the way to France, and here he was.
Abdul got up and stepped outside to see better. Kiah stayed inside with Naji.
A cop took hold of Hakim’s grigri necklace and yanked it hard. The chain broke and the stones fell to the quay. Hakim let out a cry of grief: his magical protection was gone.
The cops laughed as the ornaments bounced on the concrete.
While they were distracted, Hakim dived off the quay into the water and began swimming strongly.
Abdul was surprised that Hakim could swim so well. Not many desert folk could swim at all. Hakim may have learned in Lake Chad.
All the same, his escape bid was hopeless. Where could he go? If he came out of the water onto the quay or the beach he would just be seized again. If he swam out of the harbour he would probably drown in the open sea.
In any case, he was not going to get that far. The two cops in the dinghy went after him. One steered the inflatable boat while the other took out a telescopic steel baton and extended it to its full length. They caught up with Hakim easily, and the cop with the baton lifted it high then hit Hakim’s head with full force.
Hakim’s head went underwater and he changed direction, still swimming fast, but the dinghy followed and the cop hit him again, missing his head but striking his elbow. Blood appeared in the sea water.
Hakim kept struggling, swimming with one arm and trying to keep his head under the surface, but the cop held the baton ready, and as soon as Hakim came up for air the cop hit him again. The officers on the quay cheered and clapped.
Abdul was reminded of a child’s game called Whack-a-Mole.
The cop hit Hakim’s head again, to further cheers.
At last Hakim went limp, and they pulled him out of the water, threw him into the well of the dinghy, and handcuffed him. His left arm looked broken and his head was bleeding.
Abdul went back inside. A brutal man had suffered a brutal beating. It was rough justice.
The prisoners were driven away and crime-scene tape was fixed all around the yacht. More polythene sacks were brought up from below decks – depriving ISGS of millions of dollars, Abdul thought with profound satisfaction. The heavily armed police drifted away and were replaced by detectives and what looked like forensic specialists.
‘We can go,’ Abdul said to Kiah.
They paid for their hot chocolate and returned to the car. As they were driving away Kiah said: ‘You knew that was going to happen, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were there drugs in those plastic bags?’
‘Yes. Cocaine.’
‘Is that why you were on the bus with us, all the way from Lake Chad? Because of that cocaine?’
‘It’s more complicated than that.’
‘Are you going to explain it to me?’
‘Yes. I can now, because it’s over. There’s a lot to tell. Some of it is still secret, but I can share most of it with you. Maybe tonight, after Naji’s gone to sleep. We’ll have plenty of time. And I can answer all your questions.’
‘Good.’
It was getting dark. They drove back to Nice and parked outside their building. Abdul loved the place. There was a bakery on the ground floor, and the smell of new bread and pastries reminded him of his childhood home in Beirut.
Abdul carried Naji up to the apartment. It was small but cosy, with two bedrooms and a living room as well as a kitchen and a bathroom. Kiah had never lived in a place with more than one room, and she thought she was in paradise.
Naji was sleepy, perhaps because of the fresh sea air. Abdul fed him scrambled eggs followed by a banana. Kiah bathed him, put on a clean nappy and his pyjamas. Abdul read him a story about a koala bear called Joey, but Naji was asleep before he got to the end.
Kiah began preparing their supper, sprinkling sesame seeds and sumac on cubes of lamb. They nearly always ate traditional Arab food. They could buy all the ingredients in Nice, usually from Lebanese or Algerian shopkeepers. Abdul sat admiring her grace as she moved about the kitchen.
‘Don’t you want to watch the news?’ she said.
‘No,’ said Abdul contentedly. ‘I don’t want to watch the news.’
*
Qincheng was for political prisoners, who got better treatment than common criminals. The losers in a political conflict were often jailed on trumped-up charges; it was an occupational hazard for members of the Chinese elite. Kai’s cell was only five yards by four but it had a desk and a TV set and a shower.
He was allowed to wear his own clothes, but they had taken away his phone. He felt naked without it. He could not remember the last time he had been without a phone for longer than it took to shower.
Today’s coup in Beijing had caught him by surprise, but he now saw that he should have at least thought of the possibility. He had been focussed on persuading President Chen not to start a war, and he had not imagined that the hawks might deprive Chen of the power to choose.
A conspiracy against the president should have been uncovered by the Homeland Security half of the Guoanbu but, of course, the head of that department, Vice-Minister Li Jiankang, had been in on the plot, and his superior, Security Minister Fu Chuyu, had been one of the ringleaders. With the military and the secret service behind the coup, it could not fail.
The greatest shock had been his father’s betrayal. Of course he had heard Jianjun say that the Communist revolution was more important than anything else, including family ties; but people said that sort of thing without really thinking about it. Or so Kai had always thought. But his father had meant it.
Sitting at the desk, watching the news on the small TV screen, Kai felt how strange it was to be helpless. The fate of China and the world was now out of his hands. With Kong Zhao also in jail there was no one left to restrain the military men. They would probably carry out Jianjun’s scheme of a limited nuclear attack. They might bring about the destruction of China. He just had to wait and see.
He only wished he could wait with Ting. He would never forgive his father for separating them for what might well be their last days of life. He was desperate to talk to her. He looked at his watch. It was an hour to midnight.
The watch gave him an idea.
He banged on the door to attract attention. A couple of minutes later a muscular young prison officer called Liang came in. He took no precautions: the guards had obviously decided Kai was no threat to them, which was true. ‘Something wrong?’ the man said.
‘I really want to phone my wife.’
‘Not possible, sorry.’
Kai took off his watch and held it in his hand for Liang to see. ‘This is a steel Rolex Datejust that cost eight thousand US dollars second-hand. I’ll swap it for your watch.’ Liang was wearing an army-issue officer’s watch worth ten bucks.