The Caliphate by André Gallo (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

telephone system, he communicated to the outside world through his handheld Iridium 9505A satellite phone.

     He first called Kella from his hotel room phone. The phone made clicking noises for so long that Steve assumed the call was being relayed through Paris. Eventually, after finding stairs that led to the flat roof of the small hotel, he called her on the satellite phone, which could not be used inside. He reached her quickly and they made plans for dinner that night at the Poulet d’Or, not far from the Petit Marché, an open market.

     When he found the restaurant and sat at a table for two, Steve learned the Poulet d’Or, or Golden Chicken, took its name seriously. Fried and boiled chicken dishes accompanied by couscous monopolized the menu. He was ordering Gazelle beer from Senegal when Kella entered.

     He took in her harmonious curves as she approached. She was conservatively dressed in jeans, sandals, and a military-style long sleeve shirt with épaulettes. He had looked forward to this moment and he was not disappointed. He hoped he’d read the same conclusion in Kella’s smile when she seated herself at the table.

     Suspecting Steve’s apparent change in career was a result of the events in Morocco, she asked, “Did you leave West Gate?”

     “No,” he replied. “I’m just taking unpaid leave. The Moroccan project is moving along nicely. My part is done. I ran into a magazine publisher and we just clicked. He said he was looking for a freelance photographer who could write and had overseas experience for a project that would last a month or so. When he said the focus of the article was going to be the Tuaregs, I told him that he had found his man.”

     “You’re full of surprises. I can’t stay here a month, though. I’ve got ten days.”

     “Well, let’s make the most of them. By the way, the name I’m using here whenever I don’t need documentation is Christopher—my middle name.”

     Reacting to Kella’s questioning glance he added, “Well, okay, I’m a little nervous that the same guys who tried to get me in Morocco might somehow learn I’m now here. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to call me Christopher in public—in fact all the time here.”

     “Sounds mysterious. I never thought of it before, but are there Salafists here too?”

    She glanced around the restaurant.

     “Are you ready for this? I learned that Tariq al Khalil is here, running a social welfare group.”

     “You’re kidding. What happens if he learns you’re here? What about the publicity surrounding you and the Quran documents?”

     “For now, I’m just going to get material for the magazine. It may turn out that going to see him with my cameras may be the best defense. What about the relatives you want to find?”

     Kella looked at him with one eyebrow raised like a question mark. Steve didn’t respond and she said, “Thiyya is my birth mother’s cousin. Her husband is Azrur. Other Tuaregs will know them. It’s a small tribal community. I’ve been thinking about spending time here with them ever since that day when Faridah died. They’re my closest birth relatives. Besides, I’m sure that they’ll be able to help with your article, and I hope to write a paper for school out of this time in Timbuktu.”

     “Okay, I’m good to go. How do we start looking for them? There’s a lot of desert out there. Your Imazighen relatives could be anywhere.”

     “I’m impressed. You’ve been doing some reading. Did you also know that Imazighen means ‘free and noble people?’ You must have read some of Timbuktu’s history. Do you know about Mansa Musa? He was a fourteenth-century Malian emperor who made a pilgrimage to Mecca with sixty-thousand men and twelve-thousand slave girls. His baggage train included eighty camels each carrying three-hundred pounds of gold. He spread so much gold in Egypt that the price fell and didn’t recover for years.”

     “Sounds like something out of a movie.”

     Steve drove her back to her hotel, the Hendrina Khan. On the way, Kella related a a bit of trivia.

     “Remember A.Q. Khan, the father of the ‘Islamic Bomb?’ This is his hotel. He named it after his Dutch wife.”

     He stopped in front of the hotel.

     “Fascinating!”

     Under the gaze of a guard and the doorman, he kissed her goodnight. As he drove away, it occurred to him he was now thinking of Vera after rather than before the kiss.

***

The next day, Kella went to the Catholic orphanage from which the Hastings had adopted her. The building was fairly large including a dormitory for fifty children, two classrooms and an office. A sandy courtyard surrounded by a seven-foot wall was full of running and laughing children. Next to the courtyard was a church. Mother Superior Catherine was still there, surprised and pleased to see her.

     “Oh my dear!” she exclaimed. “I still remember how the Hastings fell in love with you the moment they saw you, especially Madame Alexandra. Your stepfather held a very important position at the American Embassy in Bamako, you know. He came to Timbuktu to take care of any American citizens affected by the Tuareg rebellion. And when Madame came with him, I made sure that she saw you. Somehow I just knew that she would want to adopt you.”

     “My stepmother said that you had warned her that Tuaregs are very independent people.”

     Mother Catherine laughed and said, “That is true. I didn’t want her to be surprised. I also told her that your DNA was quite a mixture of European, Berber, Arab, and Negro, and she said that explained why you were such a beautiful child. She promised to bring you up in the church. Has she?”

     “Yes, Mother Catherine. I would like to get in