The Warlord's Son by Dan Fesperman

Author:Dan Fesperman
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307429568
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2007-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THEY BROKE FREE of the haze while climbing a high plateau southwest of the city. The skies opened up to Najeeb like a black velvet blanket, sparkling with starlight. He and Skelly sat with four of Bashir’s men on the truck’s open flatbed, their backs against the slatted sides, faces bathed by the sudden coolness. The only sound apart from the grind of the engine was the sizzle of gravel in the wheel wells.

Skelly, shoulders jostling to Najeeb’s right, asked where they must be by now. Najeeb shrugged, but he knew all too well. Even the smells were familiar—a sharp bite of resin, the duskiness of dry stone. It was pitch-black, but he could have painted the colors of the landscape from memory, forming the shapes of the hills like a sculptor molding clay. He was glad he’d called his office just before leaving the apartment. No one had been in, but he’d left a recorded message, stating his probable destination. If he never returned, at least someone would know where to look for him. Assuming that anyone bothered. Daliya would, that he was sure of. But only if she could. And for a despairing moment Najeeb looked eastward, as if he might spot some sign of her on the blackness of the horizon where the new day would begin. With every mile they grew farther apart. But there was hope, too, mixed with his sense of loss. Somewhere she was still out there, and still on the move. He was certain of it despite all evidence to the contrary. And if at some point he needed her, not even her family would be able to hold her back.

“I think we’re stopping,” Skelly said.

The engine had shifted to low gear, brakes groaning.

“Probably a checkpoint,” Najeeb said. His stomach made a slow roll.

“Border patrol?”

“Private checkpoint. Tribal people.”

Skelly said nothing. Perhaps he’d figured it out by now, remembering the route of Bashir’s finger on the map at Katchagarhi and Najeeb’s audible intake of breath as the dotted track had crossed into his father’s lands, right about where they must be now.

A wave of nostalgia breasted his apprehension, taking him by surprise. He nearly shuddered, it was so strong. If he got off here and walked into the night he knew he could find his way home by morning, even in the darkness. Would they turn him away? Shoot him? Welcome him back without a further word? Probably none of those reactions. His father had always had a flair for the unexpected.

The engines stopped, ticking in the night, no one speaking. Pitch-dark, but a fine dust boiling up lazily from the road, tickling their noses. Then a voice called out from the truck just ahead, answered by another on the ground. Bashir spoke up, loudly enough for all to hear.

“Everyone out. This will only take a minute.”

If he was lucky, Najeeb thought.

It was too dark to see faces, and Skelly clutched after him like an invalid as they stepped down from the open tailgate, dropping onto rough ground.

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