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Menna arrived in Tripoli in the cover of darkness. She was exhausted from the hard journey, yet a smile graced her face under her shesh. She halted her camel just outside the city then set up her tent. She’d wait until morning before entering, for she would need directions to find the Prussian embassy. She would also need time to prepare. There would be no exposed knives this time, no coercion for secrets. She would have to be more diplomatic, which meant she would use other skills to obtain what she wanted. She disrobed, shedding the clothing of a warrior for the traditional garb of an Ihaggaren woman. The last item she removed was her shesh, revealing her lovely countenance marred by a frown. Men thought her attractive which would serve her well when she decided to marry. Her appearance also served its purpose when seeking information, but it was a tactic she rarely used. Her skill with knives was more efficient and left fewer consequences. She slept, awaking at the first light. After a quick meal she took out her mirror then decorated her face as was the tradition, scowling as she did so. By mid morning her disguise was complete. She packed her belongings, mounted her camel then rode into Tripoli.
Though donning the clothes was easy, assuming the attitude was more difficult. Ihaggaren women were known to be strong willed and independent, but it would serve her purpose better to be less so among the Arabs. She ignored their leers and comments, working her way through the city until she spotted the building flying the Prussian flag. She guided the camel to the entrance then dismounted. The guards studied her emotionlessly as she approached.
“What is your business here?” one of the guards asked in flawless Arabic.
“I am here on behalf of El Tellak,” she said. “I wish to speak to the ambassador.”
The guard’s expression turned sour at the mention of her brother’s name.
“Wait here,” he said.
The guard went into the embassy, leaving Menna with his companion. She ignored his stares as smile as she waited. The other guard returned, waving her inside.
“Follow me,” he said.
She followed the guard into the building. The office was smaller than she expected; the ambassador sat at large ebony wood desk bent over a sheet of paper. His left hand held the paper in place as he scribbled across it with his right.
“Leave us,” he said without looking up.
The guard clicked his heels then bowed sharply before walking away.
The man waited until the guard closed the door behind her before setting his pen down then looking up. His lean, angular face was bordered by a thin beard. His expression was not pleasant.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I was sent by El Tellak to ask for you assistance in an important matter,” she said.
The ambassador leaned back in his seat then entwined his fingers, a hint of a smile coming to his face.
“And what does El Tellak want?”
“He wishes to know the whereabouts of a Soninke man named Famara Keita.”
“And why does El Tellak think we would share such information with him?”
Menna’s patience was slowly draining away. “He is the man who disrupted the exchange of the book. We wish to exact revenge.”
“Really?” The ambassador stood then took a cigarette from the silver case embossed with his initials resting on his desk.
“El Tellak failed us. We gave him an assignment and he botched it. We owe him nothing.”
“Then I will bother you no more,” Menna said. She turned to leave.
“Wait one minute,” the ambassador said. “That’s it? You’re leaving?”
Menna turned to face the man. “You have refused to share information with me. I will find other means.”
The ambassador took a long drag on his cigarette then slowly exhaled.
“I thought you would try to be more persuasive,” he said as he grinned.
Menna smiled then sauntered toward the ambassador, stopping when their noses almost touched.
“You mean like this?”
She slammed her left hand into his throat then pushed him back onto his desktop. In a flash she yanked the dagger from her dress then pressed it against his cheek.
“Now you will tell me what I want to know or...”
“Gott im Himmel!”
Menna let go of the ambassador then spun away before the guard was able to bring his rifle to his shoulder. She threw her dagger into his throat then sprinted to him as he fell, snatching the knife from his throat. She met the other guard as he tried to rush through the door, grabbing his rifle then pulling him inside. She cut his throat as she snatched the rifle from his hand. She spun about to see the ambassador rummaging through his desk drawer with his right hand while holding his bruised neck with his right; by the time he found his revolver Menna aimed the rifle at his head.
“Put it down,” she said.
The ambassador placed the handgun back into his desk drawer then raised his hands.
“Please! I don’t know...”
Menna shot him in the shoulder. He twirled like a crippled ballerina then fell to the floor. She threw the rifle to the floor then walked around the desk to the wounded ambassador.
“Where is Famara Keita?” she asked.
“I...our reports say he is in England.”
Menna grinned. “Thank you.”
“You won’t get away with this,” the ambassador croaked. “The authorities will be notified!”
“No they won’t.” Menna cut the ambassador’s throat.
She hurried from the embassy, mounted her camel then rode away. Her plans had gone awry, but she gained the information she needed. She would go to Egypt then catch an airship to England. Once she arrived she would find Famara Keita then kill him. It would be that simple.