The Outlaw (17 page)

"Did you hear that?" said Faruk, outraged. "She says they threw the rope in after them!"

Salif sat down on the edge of the well and rubbed his stubbly jaw. It made perfect sense, of course. If the herders had not cut the rope, the
tuubaakus
would have simply waited until the coast was clear, climbed up the rope, and escaped into the bush.

"We need another rope," said Salif. "Does anyone here own a fifty-meter length?"

"No."

"Not me."

"What about shorter lengths?" asked Salif. "My father uses two five-meter ropes to tie up his horses."

"I have a two-meter length of rope at home," said Faruk. "I use it to tether my goat."

"Me too!" cried several voices.

"Good," said Salif. "Let everyone who has rope go and fetch it. The rest of us will stay here and guard the well."

Half an hour later the men returned with their ropes, and they began the painstaking process of tying them together.

"Make sure your knots are good!" cried Salif. "If a single knot slips, the rope will break and the
tuubaakus
will plummet to their deaths."

"The rope is down here!" yelled the girl in the well. "They threw the rope in after us!"

"We heard you!" shouted Salif. "Be patient—we will have you out of there in no time!"

In twenty minutes the new rope was ready. It was not a handsome rope, but it was strong, and the knots would make good footholds for the
tuubaakus
to climb up. Bogodolo the blacksmith tied one end of the rope to the crossbar of the well and threw the other end down the shaft. Down and down it slithered until it reached the bottom.

"There's rope for you!" Salif shouted down the shaft. "Climb up nice and slow."

"Help!" came the frightened reply. "Somebody please help us!"

"Grab the rope!" yelled Salif. "We can pull you up ourselves if need be. Just grab it and hold on tight!"

"Somebody get us out of here!"

"I can't stand this," said Salif. He shrugged off his quiver and shoved a flashlight into his belt. He stepped up onto the side of the well, grabbed the makeshift rope in both hands, and let it take his weight. "I'm going in."

Hand over hand, foot over foot, down into the darkness Salif Yako climbed, praying that the knots would hold. "I'm coming down to get you,
tuubaakus!
" he called. "Don't be afraid!"

"The rope is down here!" the girl yelled back. "They threw the rope in after us!"

Five minutes later Salif's feet touched down on the sand at the bottom of the well. The white-knuckle climb was over, God be praised. He switched on his flashlight and shone it around. The old well rope lay in coils at his feet, still attached to its rusty water bucket. The two
tuubaakus
were nowhere to be seen!

"Help!" came a voice from the bucket. "Somebody help us!"

With trembling fingers Salif moved the rope aside, reached into the bucket, and felt around. His fingers closed on a small plastic box, about the size of a cigarette packet, only thinner. It was a mobile phone, and it was sobbing loudly. Emblazoned across the screen were five words in a language Salif did not understand.

 

Now playing: help.mp3 (loop)

 

Seething with anger, Salif Yako pocketed the phone, tied the two ends of rope together, and climbed back up the well shaft. By now the cattle drive was at least an hour ahead of them, probably much more. "We've been tricked!" he cried as he climbed up into the open air. "Saddle the horses! Prepare the motorcycles! We must pursue those vagabonds!"

The first person he saw when he emerged from the well was his father, Al Hajji Yako Tijani, chief of Sogolzi. The chief was leaning on his walking stick, his craggy wrinkled face lit from below by a flickering kerosene lamp. "Pursuit will be impossible," said the old man. "Both my horses have been stolen, and the saddles too. With the village empty of young men, there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"What about the motorcycles?"

"Sabotaged before my very eyes," said the chief. "Those
tuubaaku
fiends put sugar in the fuel tanks."

Tow
horses trotted side by side through dense savannah, heading toward a glow on the southern horizon. It was four o'clock in the morning, but Burkina Faso's capital city never sleeps. Its bonfires and neon strip lights would burn right through till sunrise.

"Ouagadougou awaits," said Yakuuba. "Princess Kadija and her brother Ali are coming home at last!"

Since leaving Sogolzi they had been riding for three hours, and before long they would be in the big city. Yakuuba rode the chief's palomino mare, while Jake and Kas rode his gray stallion.

"That whole village must be hopping mad," said Kas.

"Don't feel too sorry for them," said Yakuuba. "Sooner or later they are going to realize how much your brother's phone is worth. And if they get a fair price for it at market, they can use the proceeds to buy three horses!"

"Five, more like," Jake muttered.

A few days ago Jake would have been deeply upset about sacrificing his most precious possession. But recent events, particularly Paaté's death, had changed his outlook.
The bangle is sweet,
he said to himself,
but the wrist is far, far sweeter.

 

The travelers arrived in Ouagadougou at sunrise. They dismounted on the northern edge of the city, gave the horses to an astonished beggar at the roadside, and continued their journey on foot.

All along the sidewalk young men and women were swinging open the awnings of their bookshops, hardware stores, and telephone booths. The roads were busy with bicycles, mopeds, donkey carts, and taxis—adults on their way to work and children on their way to school.

Jake, Kas, and Yakuuba passed through the capital's
grand marché,
a sprawling concrete labyrinth crammed with sandals, drums, carvings, motorcycle parts, and pickpockets. They headed past the president's palace, along Avenue Charles de Gaulle, and into the leafy groves of Embassy Row.

"
Zut,
" said Jake, stopping in his tracks.

"What's wrong?"

"I can see the gates of the British embassy, and there's a guard."

"There's always a guard," said Kas. "His name is Saalu, remember?"

"I don't mean Saalu," said Jake. "I mean a whole flipping platoon of
gendarmes.
"

"I expected something like this," whispered Yakuuba. "Beogo must have guessed that I would bring you here. His last hope is to militarize the embassy compound."

"Let's find a telephone and call Mum and Dad," suggested Kas.

Yakuuba shook his head. "Whatever you say to your parents over the phone, you can guarantee that Beogo will be listening in. One of you needs to get in there and talk to your parents in person. Make them understand what is really going on here. And make them get rid of the
gendarmes.
"

Brother and sister looked at each other. "I'll do it," said Jake. "By law that compound is a little slice of Britain. Once I'm inside the gate, they can't touch me."

"You can't do your wall stunt thingy here," said Kas. "The walls of the embassy are topped with broken glass, remember?"

Jake
approached the embassy from the back, and as he passed the Zone du Bois mosque, he saw a small prayer mat on the step outside.
That'll do.
He grabbed the mat and put it under his arm, bracing himself to run if challenged.

There in front of him loomed the back wall of the embassy, twelve feet high and topped with glass. He sprinted toward it with short quick strides, kicked off the wall at chest height, and launched himself upward. As he did so, he threw the mat onto the parapet, where it snagged on the broken glass. Another small kick from his right foot, and—
reach!
—he grabbed the top of the wall through the thick mat. Hard fragments of glass cut deep into the coarse fabric, and one vicious shard gashed his palm. The sudden pain made his head spin.

He hoisted himself over the parapet and scrambled down the inside of the wall, landing as softly as he could. He darted behind the shed, where he was able to watch the movements of the guards. In addition to those at the gate, there were two
gendarmes
patrolling inside the perimeter wall—one clockwise, the other counterclockwise. Jake waited behind the shed until the guards passed each other, then scurried quietly through the gap between them. He reached the house, swung himself up onto the veranda, and tried the front door. It was open.

Jake stood in the hallway. "Hello?" he called.

His mum appeared at the living-room door. She put her hand to her mouth and stared at her son is disbelief, then ran to him and gathered him into a tight hug. She was crying, and Jake may have been as well for all he knew.

His father was not far behind. He looked far from his usual dapper self; his shirt was crumpled, his face was unshaven, and dark bags of skin hung under his eyes. Jake would have been willing to bet that his father's first word would be "Capital!" but he would have been wrong. Instead, the ambassador pumped the air with his fist and shrieked "YES!" with a ferocity that made his son jump.

The questions were not far behind.
Jake, are you all right ? Where is Kirsty? Are you hurt? Why is your hand bleeding?

"I'm fine. She's nearby," answered Jake to the first two questions. "She couldn't get in the gate."

"Why not?"

"Too many
gendarmes.
"

"Special forces," said Mr. Knight. "They're here for our protection."

"No, they aren't. They're here to stop Kas and me from getting in and talking to you."

Someone else slid into view behind the ambassador. Jake recognized the square jaw, the wavy hair, and the piercing blue eyes. His stomach lurched, and he fought off competing impulses to run and to throw up.

"Hello, Jake," said Dexter. "I'm so glad you managed to escape."

"What is he doing here?" shouted Jake.

"Roy has been briefing us over coffee," said Mrs. Knight. "He has been working very hard to find you two."

"He's a monster," cried Jake. "He shot three innocent people."

"Roy told us about the incident at the hospital," said Mr. Knight. "He has submitted a full report to the Foreign Office, and they are satisfied that any deaths were unavoidable."

"Unavoidable!" Jake clenched his fists. "He killed a doctor, a sick man, and a harmless teenager, all in cold blood."

"It's called collateral damage," said Mr. Knight. "Dexter has a license to kill, and occasionally he must use it. All the intelligence regarding Yakuuba Sor shows that he is a ruthless criminal running a terrorist training camp. When the Foreign Office saw that ransom video of yours, they ordered Dexter to—"

"Dad, you don't understand. Yakuuba had nothing to do with that ransom video. Our kidnappers were
gendarmes.
"

"But the tattoo..."

"The tattoo was fake."

Mr. Knight frowned. "Jake," he said gently, "have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?"

"No."

"It's where a hostage falls in love with his or her kidnapper. It's not uncommon. There are psychological reasons for—"

"I'm not in love with Sor," said Jake angrily, "and he's not my kidnapper. He's the good guy in all of this, and Beogo's trying to set him up."

"Beogo! You can't be serious."

"Yakuuba wants to speak with you, Dad. We told him he could trust you."

Jake's mother put a hand to her throat. "Are you saying that Yakuuba Sor is here in Ouagadougou?"

"Yes."

"And he still has Kirsty?"

"We traveled together, if that's what you mean. When the muezzin starts his call to Friday prayers, they will come past the gate with the crowds. Yakuuba wants to know if you can guarantee him refuge."

"I suppose we'll have to," said the ambassador.

Roy Dexter's jaw dropped. "With respect, sir, we're talking about the most wanted man in the country, and you are a high-ranking diplomat. You can't be seen to harbor criminals."

The ambassador held up a thin, white hand. "Mr. Dexter," he said, "I'd harbor a spitting cobra if it brought my daughter back to me."

When the call to prayer began to sound from the minaret behind the embassy, Jake and his parents went out into the front yard, followed by Dexter. The police lieutenant guarding the gate was amazed to see Jake.

"How did he—?"

"He walks up walls," said the ambassador. "Open that gate."

The policeman opened the gate. Friday prayers were about to begin, and people started filing past the open gate, hurrying toward the mosque. Eagerly Jake scanned the faces in the crowd.

"Lieutenant Ouedraogo," said Mr. Knight, "are you aware of the Treaty of Vienna?"

"Of course."

"It's a set of international laws that govern diplomatic relations."

"I know what it is."

"Article Twenty-three states that embassy premises are inviolable and may not be entered or searched except with the consent of the ambassador. The receiving state—that's you and your men, Lieutenant—has a special duty to protect the embassy from any disturbance of its peace or impairment of its dignity."

"I know that."

"Of course you do. I only mention it because I intend to grant temporary refuge to a man called Yakuuba Sor, and I expect your full cooperation."

The lieutenant stared. "
Monsieur I'Ambassadeur,
you cannot expect us to—"

"Kirsty!" Mrs. Knight started forward, opening her arms wide. Kas ducked out of the passing crowd and flew into her mother's waiting embrace.

A young man strolled in after her. He wore a prayer hat and a long white robe. "
Salaam aleykum,
" he said, and every policeman in the compound went for his gun.

"
Aleykum asalaam,
Yakuuba Sor," said the ambassador. "You are welcome here."

"Am I?" said Sor. There were four gun barrels pointing at his head.

"Lieutenant,
control your men!
" The ambassador's voice was cold as ice.