Before Yosef could reply, Bashir continued. “Then, after they eat, you can send your men out. Aiwa?”
“Oh, Colonel, let the men rest,” added President AIneuf. “We know we can’t stay here long before the Algerian Liberation Front comes looking.”
“Yes, sir, my President,” Yosef reluctantly agreed. The thought of a hot meal caused his stomach to rumble. It had been over thirty-six hours since they had eaten. The two men were right. They needed to rest and they needed food.
“Good!” said Bashir with a quick chuckle, recognizing that he had won the argument.
In the corner, Yefsah lit tobacco he had meticulously stuffed into the bowl of the Turkish pipe. Then he stuck the flexible tip into his mouth and, with his cheeks caved inward from the effort, drew the smoke through the water. Dark aromatic bubbles rose through the slightly discolored water. How long the water had been in the bowl was something Yosef did not want to consider. Yefsah was soon passing the pipe around to those seated nearby.
Yosef sniffed the aroma, recognizing the smell of marijuana.
Bashir, watching Yosef, realized what the colonel smelled. “Ah, Colonel, tobacco is awfully expensive, while cannabis grows wild above the village,” Bashir said. “Besides, alcohol is forbidden to those of the Moslem faith, and sex has been known to kill.”
Yosef walked away without replying. He crossed the room and opened the door. The patch of light from the opened door, falling across the cobbled street in front of the building, was the only light visible.
Another burst of laughter filled the crowded room. Yosef didn’t turn.
He knew Bashir had included another Guardsman in his conversation.
Five minutes later, Yosef ducked back into the room to find several of his men already asleep. These two days had sapped even his energy.
Some curled on the cushions. Others dozed sitting up, their heads drooping on their chests or against the walls or nodding sideways onto their shoulders. Yosef took a deep breath. Power naps during the rough trip from the west of Algiers, through the wadi south of the capital to avoid pursuing rebels, to this small seaside village east of Algiers had kept him going. The thought of a few hours of uninterrupted sleep drew him like a moth to a flame. It might be days before an opportunity like this arose again, he explained to his military skepticism.
Bashir waddled over to Yosef. President Alneuf squatted beside the village elder and the two were soon sharing the pipe. Yosef doubted that Alneuf even knew what he was smoking. The colonel didn’t say anything. There were more important issues to worry about than the deposed president of Algeria sharing a toke.
Bashir touched Yosef’s arm slightly. “Colonel, we know you can only stay for a short time. I am going to go check on the food, and then we need to discuss how we are going to get President Alneuf out of the country. Okay?” he asked. His thick eyebrows arched as he waited for Yosef to reply.
Several seconds passed before Yosef nodded. “Mr. Bashir.” he began.
“Please, Colonel, call me Bashir. The mister makes me think you are talking to my father, Allah rest his soul.” He looked up and threw his hands skyward for a second as if his father was watching from above.
“Bashir, I owe you an apology. I have not meant to be rude or anything. My job is to protect the president and with Algeria in chaos, it’s hard to know who to trust. You are doing a great service to everyone in this room and, eventually, to Algeria itself. For that I thank you.”
Bashir waved the compliment away. “No, Colonel. I am doing what any patriot would do. You too are very patriotic, and I have to admit I have wondered why.” Then, in a whisper, he asked, “You are Jewish, are you not?”
Yosef failed to mask his surprise. He gave the question several seconds of serious thought before he replied defensively, “Yes, but every Arab country has Jews living, working, worshipping alongside their Islamic brothers. Algeria is no different, except here we are allowed to join the military service.”
“Yes, they do live in Arab countries, but with the rebels at the helm of state, your fellow Jews will suffer.”
“I am Algerian first, Jewish second,” Yosef replied, hoping the lie was not transparent. If they knew the truth, he doubted he would leave here alive. He touched the transmitter in his pocket. All in good time, he thought.
Bashir squeezed Yosef’s arm. “And I thought I had problems being a member of a Libyan Bedouin tribe. Good luck, my friend. Some of my best friends are Jews … unfortunately, I can’t remember any of their names.” Bashir laughed at his joke.
Continuing to laugh, Bashir pushed the door further open before he turned. “Colonel, we will talk later. While I am gone, see if you can come up with some ideas how to get President Alneuf out of the country.” Bashir squeezed through the doorway and, with rusty hinges grinding, pushed the door shut behind him.
Only a few Guardsmen remained awake. One was near a boarded-up window, a second sat on the floor with his back resting against the wall, a third sat in a folding chair — his weapon on the floor — watching other soldiers share the pipe with the president and the village elder.
President Alneuf passed the pipe to a Guardsman, stood, and motioned Yosef to him. The colonel strolled over to where the president stood.
“Colonel Yosef,” said President Alneuf. “I need a telephone. See if you can find me one.” Alneuf hiccuped. “Excuse me.”
“Mr. President, if I may ask, why do you need a telephone? There is no one to call and the lines are probably being monitored even if you do call.” Yosef suspected the strong marijuana was affecting Alneuf’s faculties. The man’s eyes looked slightly glazed.
“Colonel Yosef, I would be surprised if this village has a landline telephone, but I would be equally surprised if Bashir does not have a crate or two of mobile phones with forged cards and PIN numbers.” He reached up and patted Yosef on the shoulder, then giggled. Alneuf put his hand over his mouth.
“Sorry, Colonel. I don’t know what caused me to do that.”
President Alneuf shook his head, cleared his throat, and ran his hands down his wrinkled, torn suit coat in a failed attempt to restore it to some semblance of neatness. “As to whom I am going to call, there are some things that even a colonel in the Palace Guards does not need to know, and this is one of them. The telephone is necessary to arrange our way out of Algeria.”
“Are you sure, Mr. President?”
“I am, Colonel. That is why I am the president and you are the colonel.” He laughed softly. “Sorry, don’t know why I said that. I am going to the bathroom. Said Yefsah says that through there”—he pointed to a curtain-covered doorway-“is a small one down the hallway and to the left.” President Alneuf stumbled, and put his hand on the back of a chair to steady himself. “I am more tired than I thought.”
Yosef watched Alneuf weave out of the room. And he watched him a few minutes later return white-faced, wringing his hands, water dripping on the carpet. Yosef ran his hand through his hair. He’d have a hell of a time getting Alneuf out of here if anything happened.
The front door opened and Bashir entered. Behind him, men poured into the room, scurrying and tripping over each other as they took shoulder-to-shoulder positions along the walls, stepping over a waking Guardsman, who looked up in shock at the armed group. Each man carried a weapon. Three had AK-47s, several carried shotguns, but the majority held ancient Kalashnikov rifles like the ones Bashir’s nephews carried.
The guns pointed inward at Yosef, President Alneuf, and the unprepared Guardsmen.