MISRATAH, LIBYA
Paul Deladier sipped his tea and regarded Marcel Hurtubise across the outdoor table. Looking around the square, Deladier could not help comparing the elegant surroundings to his truck-bound existence over the past three days.
“I never knew there were such places in Libya,” he declared. “This is wonderful! Modern facilities, an oasis, a view of the ocean. It’s like a Hollywood movie set.”
Hurtubise hefted his own cup. “Enjoy it while you can, mon ami. We will not be here long.”
Deladier cocked his head. “Oh? I thought our work was finished when we delivered the shipment.”
“Well, that depends.” Marcel squinted against the glare—he seldom wore sunglasses—and laid down his cup. He would have enjoyed a good Mosel at the moment, but Libyan sensibilities had to be respected. For a Mediterranean seaport town, the local regulations seemed onerous. Female tourists had to wear long skirts, and bare arms were prohibited.
“What I mean, Paul, is that I may not be here long. The client wants extra security, so I have decided to go with the product, and the ship will leave in a few days. If you would like to come…”
Deladier sat back, pondering a response.
“What is it?” Marcel asked.
“Well, it’s just that I … had not expected to do more. After all, we barely got out of Chad in time.” He tugged at his new shirt. “I don’t even have a suitcase for travel!” He laughed aloud, hoping that it did not sound forced. But driving a semi truck and trailer twelve hundred kilometers across the Sahara had not been an experience he cared to repeat.
Hurtubise looked at his colleague and felt a queasy twinge. Something is not quite right. Be careful—take your time. He made a point of swiveling his head, as if enjoying the view. Certainly Misratah had something to offer: the seventh-century caravan stop had evolved into a modern, comfortable city. The steel and textile industries had brought wealth to the place the Romans called Thubactis. Tree-lined avenues met ancient, narrow streets where Turkish architecture mixed with European. Yes, a young man might enjoy himself in such a place—for a while. “You are right, Paul. I have seen worse places. And so have you!”
Before Hurtubise could continue, Deladier asked, “When did you decide to take the ship? We didn’t discuss that before.”
“Just yesterday. I meant to tell you, but you were out most of the day.” He forced a knowing grin. “Did you find some agreeable company in this Great Socialist People’s Libyan Arab Republic?”
Deladier saw a chance and took it. “Actually, I met two agreeable ladies. Italian sisters. We did not discuss politics, but maybe tonight. Their ship sails tomorrow.”
Hurtubise nodded his close-cropped head. “Well then, after you kiss them good-bye, maybe you’ll consider an ocean voyage yourself. I’m going to need some good men for security.”
“Mmmm. Does it pay a bonus?”
“Yes, half in advance, the rest on arrival.”
Deladier leaned close enough to whisper. “Arrive where?”
Marcel arched an eyebrow. “You know where.”