This time, it wasn’t a little fishing gear that had titillated her.
No, the line was much heavier than that.
Perfect for going after sharks.
26
They must have been driving for a good half hour. Since the car had started jostling about, Sharko couldn’t make out the sound of traffic. Just a sizzling noise beneath the tires. Then, more and more, it seemed that the end of the world was taking place, behind the metal of the trunk lid. A demonic wind howled, a spluttering rain crashed down from all sides with a sort of chiming sound.
A sandstorm.
Atef was bringing him into the desert.
He tried every way he could to free himself, to no avail. The layers of packing tape cut into his wrists. The filthy rag stuffed in the back of his throat had made him feel more than once like throwing up. Fuel shook around in a can, under his nose. Was he going to die like a dog? How? Were they going to pour gasoline over his head and incinerate him, just like Mahmoud? He was scared, with a stark fear of suffering before passing to the other side. He could stand a lot, and death came with the territory, but not suffering. Today, the great shadowy hand was going to close over him like a sarcophagus.
Join Suzanne and Eloise, but from the bad end of the road.
The 4×4 stopped. As a gray light filtered in, kilos of sand rushed into the recess and stung him in the face. The wind trembled. His nose covered with a cloth, Atef Abd el-Aal yanked him from the trunk and pulled him by the arms. It felt as if someone were whipping his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes. They walked for two minutes, straight ahead. In the haze of dust and sand, Sharko could make out a stone ruin with caved-in roof, buffeted by storms and wear. A long-abandoned shelter.
His tomb. The most miserable, anonymous place in the world.
Once inside, Atef released him. He collapsed, coughing into his gag.
A splash of water to the face. The sand dribbled down his collar. Atef swore in Arabic.
The Egyptian ripped open the inspector’s shirt and wrapped several layers of tape around his chest, attaching him to a metal chair. Sharko breathed with difficulty through his nostrils. Thirst gripped his insides. Atef ripped off his gag. The cop coughed up repeatedly, before spitting out in a thread of bile:
“Why are you doing this?”
Atef gave him a shot in the nose with his fist. His features were twisted with hatred.
“Because they asked me to. And they’re paying me like a sultan for it.”
He waved Sharko’s cell phone.
“You got a message.”
He listened and snapped the phone shut.
“A woman from your country, nice voice… You getting it off with her? Is she good, you son of a dog?”
He let out a great burst of laughter and began scrolling through the call log.
“You haven’t called anyone since yesterday—that’s good. You’re a man of your word, which is unusual for you Westerners. And for your information, my uncle’s been dead for the past ten years.”
The torturer disappeared into another room. Around the stone structure, the wind roared; the skin of the desert adhered to the exits and slid into the cracks. Windows were broken, loose tiles littered the floor, iron bars jutted from the walls like daggers. Sharko tried the tape around his wrists: it burned.
The Egyptian returned with a large battery, alligator clamps, knives with curved tips, and a jerry can of gasoline. At that moment, the cop knew he was done for. He struggled, receiving in exchange a punch in the stomach. He slowly lifted his chin. Blood was running from his nose.
“Your brother. It was you…”
“He could never accept my homosexuality. I owe him four days in the putrid jail at Qasr el-Nil. One thing they’re especially fond of over there is hanging you on the falaka, whipping the soles of your feet, and shoving their nightsticks up your ass.”
From a small bag he pulled a miniature tape recorder and a water gourd. He took a swallow.
“I took care of him myself. It was child’s play. He had to be stopped from looking into that affair.”
“Who’s giving the orders?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I said I have no idea. But so what? Those people gave me a life, they allowed me to be a person of respect. And now, you’re going to tell this tape recorder everything the French police know about the case. You will answer my questions. If you don’t, I will cut you up piece by piece.”
He rubbed his mouth, his eyes demented. The grains of sand whipped across the hovel, crackled on the walls. He barked something in Arabic, then turned on the battery. The clamps snickered in a bouquet of sparks; the air seemed to crackle. Suddenly, without warning, the Egyptian shoved them onto Sharko’s chest.
His screams mixed with the wail of the desert.
Atef pushed a button on the recorder. The asswipe was getting off on this.
“Tell me about the unearthed bodies. Do you have any way of identifying them?”
Tears welled in the policeman’s eyes.
“Go… fuck yourself. Snuff me if you want… I don’t give a shit anymore.”
Atef shook his jerry can.
“I’m going to burn you a little, play around with my knives, then leave you here in the desert—alive. The hyenas and vultures will make a meal of you within hours. Your body will never be found.”
He smacked Sharko across the face with the gas can.
A crack, a spurt of blood.
“They want the recordings, do you understand? I have to prove I did my job, that they can trust in me. If you weren’t so tenacious, this wouldn’t be happening. But you—you’re like my brother, you’d have taken this all the way to the end. By digging around, talking to the right people, you would have ended up coming across the trail of the hospitals on your own.”
The voltage needle on the battery spun across the dial in a tenth of a second. Sharko contorted, teeth clenched. A fat vein swelled on his forehead, and his organs felt like they wanted to leave his body. When the electrical storm passed, he felt his head droop to one side. A violent slap made him come to.
“How much do you know about Syndrome E?”
The inspector raised his chin, at the limit of unconsciousness. His entire body tormented him.
“More than… you could ever imagine.”
Another slap. His eyes shot toward the back of the room. Eugenie was sitting cross-legged in a corner, rubbing grains of sand between her fingers. She was giving him her harshest stare.
“Can you tell me what the hell we’re doing here, my dear Franck?”
Sharko couldn’t see clearly; he was blinded by tears. His lips opened in a sad smile. Blood began pouring from his nostrils and gums.
“You really think I had a choice?”
Atef knit his brow. He brandished his clamps again threateningly.
“What are you talking about?”
Eugenie stood up, eyes blazing.
“You always have a choice!”
“Not with my hands tied behind my back.”
Sharko’s eyes were rolling in their sockets, following the girl’s movements around the room. Atef took a step back and turned around. Then the inspector leaped up and charged forward, headfirst, while still bound to his chair. He butted Atef in midabdomen with all his strength. The blow sent the Arab flying backward. There was a sharp intake of breath as he hit the wall. A steel spike jutted out of his left breast. His limbs went limp, but he wasn’t dead. His face was contorted in pain and his mouth gave no sound. He raised his hands to the metal rod, but had no strength to do anything more. Blood began flowing from his lips. Surely a perforated lung.