The Jungle - John Milton #9 (John Milton Series) by Dawson Mark

Author:Dawson, Mark [Dawson, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unputdownable
Published: 2016-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

29

M ustafa had dropped Milton outside an abandoned movie theatre on the edge of Abu Salim. He took a bus into the centre of Tripoli and had walked back to his hotel. He turned up the air conditioning and slept. He had an early breakfast, left the hotel at eight and then took a taxi back to the movie theatre.

Mustafa was waiting for him.

Milton got into the car, and Mustafa drove them both away.

“Well?” Milton said.

“There is a problem.”

“The boat?”

“It is as I thought. A boat is leaving tomorrow morning. I know what time it is leaving, and where it is leaving from.”

“But?”

“I don’t know where it is going.”

“I need to know, Mustafa.”

“I understand that, but I cannot find out. It used to be common knowledge, but Ali has changed things. He is worried, I think, about the boats being intercepted. The Italian navy found the last boat and sent it back. Ali thinks they were warned. Now he only tells a few of the men. And I am not one of them.”

Milton gritted his teeth. “So tell me what you do know. Where is it going from?”

“Sabratah. It is a fishing town to the northwest of here. It is fought over by the militia and ISIS. Very dangerous. The government is not there any longer. There are no officials. No police, no army. A lot of chaos. It is very easy to sail a boat out of the harbour. No one cares.”

“And from there?”

“There are several possibilities. Many boats go to Malta. Others to Lampedusa. There are others that will travel to Sicily, and others that will go all the way to the mainland.”

“And there’s no way of knowing?”

“Ali would know. The captain of the boat, obviously, he knows. Ali’s lieutenants, perhaps. I am not a senior man. I do as I am told. I am not given his secrets. I am sorry, Mr. Smith. I tried to find out for you, really, I did. But I do not know what else I can do to help you.”

Milton stared out of the dusty windshield as they drove to the south.

There was another way.

“Can you get me to Sabratah?”

Mustafa stared at him with an open mouth.

“Tomorrow morning,” Milton said. “Can you get me on the boat?”

He looked over at him. “What?”

“I need to know where it is going to end up.”

“You’re crazy—”

Milton spoke over him. “I need to know where the women will be handed over. If you can’t help me, I’ll just have to start following them here, rather than when they land.”

“You are not listening to me. You cannot go on the boat. Are you crazy? They are dangerous. They sink. You have seen the pictures?”

“If that’s the only way I can find the men I need to find, then I don’t have any other choice.”

Mustafa looked troubled.

Milton pressed, “Can you get me on the boat?”

Mustafa flicked the indicator and pulled over to the side of the road.

“Mustafa?”

“Maybe. It is not an easy thing. Many of the migrants are black.

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