for several days, intending to surrender themselves to the army garrison at Kadugli; but moving at night, they’d gotten lost. Their path crossed with Bashir’s the next day. Now, said Kasli, he had information valuable to the government—information that, if put to proper use, would crush the resistance in the Nuba with a single blow, God willing. And what was this information? He had intimate knowledge of the rebel headquarter’s defenses, the numbers of the soldiers, their weapons and dispositions. He would say no more until he was presented to higher authorities.
Al-hamduillah! Ibrahim said to himself. Praise be to God! A great prize had landed in his lap, but not by chance. God had guided Kasli’s footsteps to Bashir, and through Bashir to him. Ever on the lookout for his own interests, he immediately thought how to turn this situation to his benefit. Of late he had been intriguing to get the nazir removed from office and then to declare himself the best candidate to replace him. Were he to take part in a campaign to end the rebellion in the Nuba, the honor and fame could do nothing but advance his ambitions. And there was Miriam, now closer to his grasp than she had been since her escape. God willing, he would recapture her and make her a proper Muslim. He would make her his wife.
“There is a woman who lives in New Tourom. She goes by the name of Yamila. Do you know her?”
Kasli looked perplexed. Bashir had put that same question to him, he said. Of what significance was this woman?
“Do you know where she lives in the town? Describe her house to me. Show me where it is.” He handed Kasli a stick. “Draw a picture of the town and show me.”
Kasli smoothed the dirt near the fire and made a crude map—big squares representing an infidel church, a school, a souk, smaller squares for houses.
“She lives somewhere in here, the western side, near a wadi,” Kasli said, pointing with the stick. “In a house with a family of Christians. They took her in when she came to New Tourom. This house has a cross painted above its door, in green paint, and some pictures also and the words ‘God Bless This House,’ which are written in English. May I ask why you wish to know this?”
“Because she belongs to me, and you are going to help me find her,” Ibrahim answered.
He and Kasli journeyed by lorry to Colonel Ahmar’s headquarters in Babanusa town. The colonel spoke to Kasli at great length, to make sure that his surrender wasn’t a trick. One could never tell, these abid switched their allegiances back and forth, and Kasli might have had another change of heart. Satisfied that the Nuban’s defection was genuine, he asked Ibrahim to remain and assist him and his lieutenants in planning the battle. “You did well to bring him here,” the colonel said. “We are going to chop off the head of the snake, inshallah, and you and your boys will have the honor of firing the first shots.”
YES, THE INTRUDER was here. The Enemy was whispering to him that he had done the unforgivable, lying to him that God’s love was not infinite. The intruder was here in their house, trying to steal him from her, a different sort of rival than Yamila but a rival nonetheless. “Darling, please not now,” she said, then realized she’d sounded sharp, selfish, and unfeeling and reached out to stroke his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He sat with folded hands, thumbs joined to press his brow. “I wish I could get it out of my head.”
“You will in time.” She moved to sit next to him, an arm around his waist. “You prayed for forgiveness, like I asked?”
“Oh, will you stop that.”
“But you must. You must. And you must believe that God will give it to you. You have to believe there are no limits to Christ’s love, no limits to his grace. You must believe that, darling.”
“The missionary speaks to the native. The missionary tells him what he must do.”
“Please, no sarcasm,” she said, seeking words to banish this trespasser who dwelt in his mind, this despair implanted by the Enemy. “I know one thing—there was no way we could have known it was Tara. It was supposed to have been Dare, and he betrayed us, just as much as Kasli and Suleiman did. He was probably paid to do it, he’s so greedy. And that woman, that bitch.