Beyond the Sand Dune_Novel of Peace

by Asen Djinah

  ‘Now I can see my true path. This material world is not meant for me, for there is nothing for me here. Look at poor Kalil; despite his university degree, he could not find a proper job and has to work all hours of the day as a driver. What chance do I have to make a life for myself without any qualifications? Anyway, I am not interested in this world.’

  ‘My real life will be in the akhirah – afterlife. Offering one’s life in the path of God is a blessing, yet many do not have the faith and belief to embrace it. I am fortunate to have been guided in the right direction. The gates of Heaven will be open, waiting for me. Be happy for me, mama, for I will want for nothing. I will reap the rewards of martyrdom and live like a prince. I will be able to intervene for seventy of my close relatives to be granted access to Heaven too. Be proud of me, ma and forgive me for my past mistakes and the hurt I caused you. See you in the akhirah. I am and will always be your loving son.’

  After he had completed the recording, Karim watched it back from the beginning. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of his mother viewing his last message. The video was not perfect; there were a few long pauses and his voice sounded toneless and without emotion.

  ‘I don’t have time for another take; I need to get going,’ he thought with regret.

  He went into the cell phone gallery and uploaded the file to his google drive account, before renaming it as ‘karimlastmessage’. He did not want Kalil to delete the link he would send him later. The new file name would most certainly stop him mistaking the link for a phishing message. He also made sure that the folder was a private one, so that no one other than himself could access the video file.

  ‘I must remember to share the folder and send a link to Kalil’s email at the last moment,’ he reminded himself.

  Grabbing a pair of scissors from the kitchen, he went into the bathroom and cut his beard as short as possible before shaving it off. His look changed completely and he appeared much younger. After removing his prayer cap, he took out a magnetic, clip-on stud earring from his backpack and fixed it to his left earlobe. Finally he put on his Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses and looked at himself in the mirror. The metamorphosis was complete and even Karim himself was amazed at the change.

  ‘I would not have recognised myself in the street,’ he chuckled.

  With his sweatshirt, his worn-out leather jacket and faded jeans, he was unrecognisable. Most importantly, he would not fit the stereotype the police would be looking out for.

  Karim had already packed the new clothes into the cabin suitcase a few days earlier and was ready to leave. He left his backpack in the flat, after transferring the money, the forged passport and car keys to the inside breast pocket of his jacket. It was just past midday. As he peeked through the curtains, he saw that there were a lot of people in the street below. Karim did not want anyone to stop and speak to him, so he put on his earphones and plugged them into his cell phone.

  ‘This should stop anyone from trying to speak to me,’ he thought.

  Taking the suitcase he quickly let himself out and locked the door. As he walked out the main door, the warm sunlight hit his face and Karim was reminded of the day he was released from prison, two weeks earlier. It had been a cold but sunny day, just like today. He walked out into the street and turned right towards the tram station. No one paid any attention to the casually dressed young man who appeared to be going on holiday, pulling his trolley suitcase behind him.

  ‘I need to look out for a phone shop,’ Karim thought as he made his way to La Gare de l’Ouest.

  He found one a short distance from the station, where he replaced his faulty battery. When he reached the station he found a large group of German students blocking the pavement. Karim walked around the group to buy his ticket, glad of the distraction from the rowdy crowd. Just before boarding, he casually took out the keys to the flat from his pocket, now wrapped in a tissue. He made a gesture of wiping his nose, before dropping them in a bin. He didn’t bother to take a seat as he would be getting off in three stops. Like everyone else he looked out of the window at the noisy group of students as the tram pulled away.

  During the short journey, no one paid any attention to the young man leaning against the window with his sunglasses and faded jeans, seemingly listening to his music.

  ‘It is crazy how people judge others on the clothes they wear,’ he thought, recollecting his train journey into Molenbeek.

  Ten minutes later, the tram reached La Gare du Midi and Karim followed the directions to Brussel-Zuid railway station, which was a short walk away. As soon as he arrived, he checked the display board.

  ‘Damn, I’ve missed the 14.43 train by just a couple of minutes,’ he felt annoyed.

  Waiting at the station would increase the risk of being stopped by the armed policemen on patrol. Since the attacks in Paris last year, there had been a heightened security presence, especially at the main train stations linking Belgium to France. But with his forged passport and nothing in his suitcase to arouse suspicion, Karim was confident that it would not be a problem even if he were stopped. Sofiane had planned everything meticulously; Karim had been briefed about every possibility, from how to dress to what story to give if questioned. According to the display board, the journey to Paris would take one hour and twenty-two minutes.

  ‘Well I have no choice but to take the next one at 15.13,’ he thought with resignation.

  Swaying his head to the music, he went over to the Thalys counter rather than using the ticket vending machine as he was paying cash.

  ‘Bonjour, un aller simple deuxième classe pour Paris, s’il vous plait,’ Karim said in immaculate French, smiling at the booking clerk as he took out his wallet to pay for the second class fare.

  On his way back to the hall, the smell of fresh coffee hit his nostrils and he suddenly realised that he had not eaten anything since breakfast. In fact, he had not even finished his breakfast when he had been interrupted by the text message. With a cup of coffee and Belgian pastries in front of him, Karim looked like any other tourist, reading the newspaper that someone had left behind. However, despite his relaxed and casual look, the young man was tense and nervous. He had mastered the technique of concealing his true feelings during his detention.

  Chapter 3

  When the train finally reached its destination at La Gare du Nord, Karim gave an inward sigh of relief. Throughout the journey he had rested his head against the window and closed his eyes, as if dozing and listening to his music, whilst in fact he was very much alert. He was aware of the couple on the opposite side having a muted argument about something. As more passengers got on board along the way, he had tried to guess who they were by listening to the snatches of conversation that reached him. At one point a ticket conductor came into the compartment and Karim, with his eyes closed, tracked him down the aisle as he asked the passengers for their tickets.

  ‘Votre billet s’il vous plait monsieur?’ he called out to Karim, asking to see his ticket.

  Karim made as if he couldn’t hear with his earphones on and his eyes closed. The conductor had to touch him on the shoulder to draw his attention. Karim acted as if he was waking up with a start.

  ‘Excusez-moi, je ne vous ai pas entendu,’ Karim apologised for not having heard him.

  He took out his ticket and presented it to the conductor with an apologetic smile. The rest of the journey was uneventful, although Karim remained vigilant in case of an unlikely routine check by immigration guards. He had been told that there could be random checks on board.

  Exiting the platform, Karim looked for directions to Metro line 2, where he was to take the train from La Chapelle station to Place de Clichy. Following the signs, he walked down a rather long passageway to the station, only to find it closed for engineering work. For a moment he was unsure what to do and this must have shown on his face since an attendant on duty walked towards him.

  ‘La station est fermée, monsieur. Quelle est votre destination?’ he explained that the station
was closed and asked Karim where he was going.

  ‘I wanted to take the train towards Porte Dauphine and get off at Place de Clichy,’ Karim answered in his immaculate French.

  ‘There is bus No 30 that will take you there. The Magenta-Maubeuge bus stop is over there,’ he pointed out, ‘it will take you directly to Place de Clichy. It won’t take much longer than the train,’ the attendant said.

  ‘Merci et bonne journée à vous,’ Karim thanked him and wishing him a good day.

  ‘Bonne journée à vous aussi, Monsieur,’ the attendant replied.

  The bus journey was pleasant as Karim looked at the colourful shops and the tall buildings with their narrow balconies enclosed by wrought-iron railings. Karim noticed the large number of motorcycles and scooters parked along the pavement. As the bus passed through a square, Karim saw families sitting outside the brasseries in the warm sunshine, enjoying their coffee. There were bright flowers in the centre of the square and an atmosphere of joy in the air. Everyone looked cheerful and there were literally all sorts of people. Locals were mostly dressed in formal office clothes as they made their way home from work, while the tourists were easily identified in their holiday clothes. There were a number of immigrants, dressed in their traditional, colourful outfits, selling souvenirs on the pavements.

  ‘Paris is truly a very cosmopolitan city,’ Karim thought.

  Karim noticed that there were a lot of children with their parents. Some were running ahead of the grown-ups only to run back again.

  ‘Schools must be closed for the Easter holidays,’ he thought.

  The sense of nostalgia and sadness he’d been feeling since he had arrived at La Gare du Nord deepened. The one time he had been to this city was when he was eight years old. As a surprise for his birthday, which fell in July during the school holidays, his father had arranged a surprise trip to Disneyland. Everyone had kept it a secret from him. His mother had waited until he went to bed to do the packing. When he woke up on the morning of his birthday, young Karim had run down the stairs.

  ‘It’s finally my birthday. I am eight now,’ he said in a joyful voice.

  Mama and abba had simply wished him ‘Happy Birthday’ before carrying on eating their breakfast as normal. He remembered how disappointed he was that no one seemed to take much interest in his birthday, although he had been talking about it for days. Kalil could not bear to see the disappointment on his baby brother’s face and after breakfast, he pulled Karim to one side.

  ‘Don’t tell anyone that I told you, but we are leaving later today for Disneyland. Abba had organised a trip for your birthday,’ Kalil had told him.

  Despite having promised Kalil to keep it quiet, Karim had run excitedly to his father and hugged him. He had always wanted to go to Disneyland after hearing his schoolmates tell him about their own trips. Lost in his reverie, his attention was suddenly drawn by a familiar building. The bus was on Boulevard de Rochechouart in Montmartre and on his right he could see the dome of the Sacré Cœur Basilica, towering above the other buildings. He had seen enough photos online during his research to recognise the building immediately. The sight of the Basilica made his heart beat faster as he thought of the next twenty-four hours ahead.

  The bus finally reached Place de Clichy just before 6.00 pm and Karim made his way down Boulevard des Batignolles. To an observer, the young tourist appeared to be casually walking, pulling along his trolley case. But behind the sunglasses Karim was tense as he checked the cars parked alongside the pavement. His left hand in his jacket pocket kept pressing the button of the car keys at regular intervals. Suddenly he spotted what he was looking for and his heart beat even faster; the yellow flashing indicators about eight cars ahead had caught his attention. As he made his way towards the car, trying to maintain his casual pace, he pressed the remote once again and saw the responding flashing of the indicators.

  ‘This is definitely the car,’ he thought.

  It was a black Peugeot 408, as expected. He nonchalantly opened the boot and inside was a cabin suitcase identical to the one he had with him. He put his own suitcase next to it, closed the boot and locked the car.

  ‘So far everything has gone according to plan,’ he thought, feeling relieved.

  While he was looking for the car, Karim had felt hungry and decided to eat before checking into the hotel he had previously booked online. He stopped at several restaurants and perused the menus displayed outside and finally settled on one that served seafood. During a cooking show he had watched on television, while at the flat in Molenbeek, the chef had prepared lobster thermidor. His celebrity guests had savoured the dish with much delight and Karim had wanted to taste that particular dish ever since. The restaurant was surprisingly full, even though it was still early. Karim was taken to the only table available by the window. When the garçon came to take his order, Karim asked him to tell the chef not to put any brandy or cognac in the sauce. Fifteen minutes later, the chef himself came out with the plate as he usually did when customers ordered an expensive dish. The other diners turned around to look at Karim’s table as the chef extravagantly placed the large plate in front of Karim.

  ‘Bon Appétit, monsieur. J’espère que vous appréciez votre repas,’ the enthusiastic chef wished Karim before pirouetting and returning to his kitchen.

  ‘Merci,’ Karim replied, realising that he should be careful not to draw too much attention to himself.

  However, he was not disappointed by his choice, for the lobster was indeed delicious. He thought that the creamy sauce with a hint of garlic was sublime and enhanced the flavour of the lobster. He took his time enjoying what he thought must be the finest meal he ever had and left a hefty tip for the grateful garçon.

  Chapter 4

  When his alarm went off at 7.30 the next morning, Karim woke up feeling drained. He usually took pride in being able to blank out his thoughts and drift to sleep without difficulty; but for once he’d had a restless night and hadn’t slept till quite late.

  ‘A cold shower will reinvigorate me and clear my head,’ he decided, walking straight into the bathroom.

  Karim felt better as he stood under the powerful stream. He did a quick mental check to see if he had followed the instructions and not missed any step. His thoughts went back to the previous evening. After his gourmet dinner, he had gone back to the car where he transferred his phone charger and the small bag of toiletries from his suitcase to the one already in the boot. Taking the suitcase that Sofiane’s men had prepared for him, Karim had made his way to the hotel he’d booked. After checking in, he had gone straight up to his room, hoping to get a good night’s rest.

  With a towel wrapped around his waist, Karim walked back into the room and lifted the suitcase onto the bed. Apart from a small pair of scissors, the only other item in the suitcase was a denim vest, specially made to his measurements and with multiple pockets, each filled with a thin brick of explosive. After confirming that the detonator wire was on the right-hand side, he used the scissors to make a corresponding hole in his sweatshirt just under the armpit. Similarly, he punctured the lining of his leather jacket to reach into the right-hand pocket. He put on the tight vest and then pulled his sweatshirt on top. He passed the detonator wire through the hole and went back to the bathroom to check in the mirror. The vest was quite invisible under the sweatshirt.

  ‘If anyone bumps into me or pats me on the back, he would feel the bricks of explosive. I will have to wear the leather jacket as Sofiane has advised,’ Karim thought.

  He went back into the bedroom and after putting on his jacket he passed the wire through the lining into his right-hand pocket and attached the switch. He would be very hot, but knew that it could not be helped.

  ‘I should have taken a lighter T-shirt from my own suitcase,’ he wished, realising that it was too risky to go back to the car.

  He glanced at his watch. It was 9.00 exactly.

  ‘I will only have to endure the heat for a couple of hours,’ he thought.r />
  Satisfied with his look, he put on his trousers and shoes. With his magnetic earring and sunglasses on, he was finally ready.

  Although the hotel check out time was at 12.00, Karim was restless and eager to leave. He could not remain in the confined room any longer as he was too nervous.

  ‘I need to be in an open space, with the people in the street and the displays in the shop windows to distract me,’ he realised.

  He found it difficult to keep his mind blank within the four walls of the hotel room. His thoughts were going round and round in circles, just like the prisoners in the exercise yard, going nowhere yet always tense in case of a possible altercation. Downstairs in the side dining room there were still a few guests having their breakfast.

  ‘Bonjour,’ Karim said with a warm smile as he walked past to take a seat at a vacant table.

  The hotel waiter immediately came over with a pot of coffee and a small basket with croissants and cuts of baguette. There was already a carafe of orange squash and a small tray of assorted butter, jam and marmalade mini-pots on the table. Karim already felt better for being out of the room.

  When the waiter saw that Karim had finished eating, he approached his table and inquired about his plan for the day.

  ‘I will be visiting the Eiffel Tower of course and later Trocadéro across the Pont d’Iena, where I will most likely have lunch. I will visit the Louvre in the afternoon,’ Karim replied.