Sixty-two

At dawn the next day Hicham Omary was fingerprinted. Then, handcuffed and shackled, he was led out from the holding cells to a waiting prison van. It was raining, light drizzle, the sound of a distant ambulance siren breaking the silence.

Thirty armed officers had formed a circle around the van. They braced themselves as Omary shuffled towards them, as if he posed a serious danger to honest society. Struggling to walk in the chains, he was heaved up into the back, his head striking the top of the steel door-frame.

The morning’s copy of Assabah, the most popular daily, was folded on the bench seat. Omary saw the Arabic headline as he clambered onto the bench. It read:

GLOBALCOM PUBLISHES SECRET DOSSIER!

The doors slammed, and the vehicle moved away, rumbling out from an entrance at the rear. Threading its way through the backstreets, it was soon on Route El Jadida, heading south on the open road to Marrakech.

‘Where am I being taken?’ he asked the police officer opposite.

‘To a secure place.’

‘I need to contact my daughter.’

The officer chuckled.

‘Good luck with that!’ he said.