Children of War (17 page)

‘Deutz,’ said the man with a quick smile. He had a craggy face, hard blue eyes and a bone-crushing handshake in which he did not seem to put any effort. ‘Are you the cop from St Denis who knows this young man Sami Belloumi?’

‘That’s me,’ Bruno replied. ‘I know you’re a psychologist with the prison service and an expert on Muslims, but that’s about all.’

‘I think they called me in because they can,’ Deutz said, with an engaging grin. ‘I work for the state, so I couldn’t say no. But it sounds a fascinating case. I dropped everything to get here as soon as I could.’ He paused. ‘I shouldn’t have said that about him being a case. He’s a human being, like the rest of us. I’ll need to talk to you and other people who knew him growing up.’

Bruno felt reassured. ‘Do you have much experience with autism?’

‘Enough to know the word doesn’t tell us very much. It’s a whole spectrum of issues that affect people, can even enhance some things. How about you?’

‘Almost nothing. I just know Sami, at least I used to, even though I knew nothing of what he’d gone through before he came to France.’ Bruno explained briefly Sami’s ordeal when
his village had been attacked back in Algeria. Deutz’s eyes widened and he whistled softly, shaking his head.

‘I liked him,’ Bruno went on. ‘There didn’t seem to be anything unpleasant about the boy even though we couldn’t really communicate much. He never spoke a lot. I’ve no idea what happened to him since he left France.’

‘That childhood trauma is probably the key to it all, I think, intensified by what happened to him in Afghanistan and perhaps the overall context of the Islamic shock.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I don’t think we’ve understood yet what a series of shocks and traumas the Islamic world has been going through,’ Deutz began, and embarked on what Bruno quickly suspected was a well-honed lecture. Across Africa, the Middle East and Asia different communities and traditions of Islam were going through their version of the Renaissance, rethinking their traditional attitudes to the world around them, and at the same time through their equivalent of the Christian Reformation, rethinking and arguing about the nature of their religion. ‘Simultaneously they were going through the Enlightenment and the industrial revolution, and now they’re being hit with the information revolution and probably the feminist revolution as well,’ he went on.

‘Remember it took Western civilization six centuries to digest all that, and we went through civil wars, religious wars, class wars, genocides and revolutions in the process. Arabs and Muslims are reeling with culture shock, psychological trauma and wars, all at the same time. And we haven’t done much to help those who live in the West to feel settled here or comfortable with our own culture.’

Bruno nodded, interested and impressed by Deutz’s way of voicing some complex ideas. It made a kind of sense. But even while Bruno shared the instinctive French respect for intellectuals he didn’t see how it helped understand someone like Sami.

‘Let me see if I can get us past this dragon lady and in to see the Brigadier.’ Bruno pulled out his special mobile phone and texted him: ‘Waiting outside your office with Deutz, Bruno.’

Bruno turned back to Deutz. ‘The Brigadier gave me your report on jihadi recruitment in prisons,’ he said. ‘I had no idea it was so widespread, nor so well-organized.’

‘Nor did I when I started that survey. Did you know …’ Deutz was saying when a pair of double doors opened and the Brigadier beckoned them into the large room beyond. This ceiling had even more cupids circling a naked woman who was lounging on a bed of flowers. Heavy curtains of red brocade hung at the long windows that looked onto parkland. Other than the Brigadier’s laptop, the only element in the room older than the eighteenth century was a spindly modern table lamp atop the ornate desk.

‘Welcome and thanks for joining us,’ the Brigadier said briskly. ‘Bruno, I’d like you to take Doctor Deutz to meet Sami in the family rooms. They have to get acquainted and he’ll probably respond better if you’re there. The army caterers have promised to have some kind of meal for us all at eight, which gives you a couple of hours. The other two tribunal members should get here tomorrow. I’ve got a car meeting their train at Périgueux. Everything has been speeded up by the American pressure.’

‘I met Mademoiselle Sutton from the Embassy this morning
when she landed at Périgueux. She said she had appointments with the
Procureur
and with you.’

‘I saw her this afternoon. She’s a tough professional and it’s her job to get Sami into American hands. She went through West Point before taking a law degree and joining the FBI, so she’s military-trained. She’s also well-connected. One of her uncles is a Congressman. Her father retired as a general and now sits on the President’s intelligence advisory board. Bear all that in mind and try to stay out of her way.’

‘Has Sami been charged with anything yet?’ Bruno asked.

‘Not so far. There’s still no evidence linking him directly to any of the French deaths in Afghanistan. The
Procureur
has a couple of holding charges ready which we can file at will, but once he’s formally in custody we’ll have to get him a lawyer and we may have trouble persuading his family to stay here with him. And because Momu is still his guardian the legal situation is confused.’

‘I’ve met this American diplomat; she’s no fool,’ Deutz said, speaking with an easy self-confidence. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand the top priority is to pick Sami’s brains of every bit of intelligence he has.’

The Brigadier nodded. ‘She knows that and I think she might be open to a deal under which the Americans get to sit in on the debriefing sessions. That’s the outcome I want, and of course we’d then share the intelligence with our other NATO partners in the usual way.’

‘Meanwhile we let our political masters decide who eventually puts him on trial and locks him away,’ said Deutz.

Bruno noted the sarcasm in Deutz’s voice when he used the phrase ‘our political masters’. He was more troubled by
the assumption that Sami’s memories and knowledge could be peeled open as if he were a tin can. He doubted that the jumble of thoughts and fears inside Sami’s head would be so easily extracted. Nor was he sure how much Sami really knew of the personalities and politics, communications systems and finances of the Taliban and al-Qaeda, which were presumably what the intelligence experts wanted. Bruno suspected he’d been kept alive and used for his tricks with bombs and electronics, rather than invited into the governing circles of the jihadis.

‘You know Sami,’ the Brigadier said to Bruno. ‘The security boys at Le Pavillon reported that you have a good relationship with him and his family, so I want you to work alongside Deutz to keep Sami and his family happy while Deutz picks his brains.’

Deutz shook his head. ‘We might want somebody else involved. Two people and we tend to fall into the hard cop, soft cop pattern. Since he’s a Muslim, it might be easier if a third person were another man.’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Bruno. ‘He responds well to women, including our local doctor who examined him. And I don’t know if this is important but he loves animals. He’s formed an attachment to my dog and also to my horse.’

‘What about this American woman?’ the Brigadier asked. ‘Her first degree at Yale was in psychology, before she went on to study law. How might she fit in as a third person for your sessions?’

Bruno thought before replying, ‘She can be somewhat intimidating.’

‘I know, but that’s not a problem, I can work with that. It
might even help me,’ said Deutz, with an easy self-confidence. Bruno wondered how long that would last once he confronted the formidable Nancy Sutton.

‘Where did you meet her?’ he asked.

‘Usual diplomatic circuit before I went over to talk to their FBI people. She helped set it up.’

‘All friends together,’ said the Brigadier, drily. ‘Let’s keep it that way.’ He marched for the door to dismiss them.

‘Just one thing,’ said Deutz. ‘Whether or not this American woman sits in, this process is going to take time. Normally this kind of assessment would take weeks, but I imagine we’re on a tighter schedule. How long will I have with him?’

‘As much time as we can persuade our American colleague to give you,’ the Brigadier replied. ‘I don’t know how long we have before the news leaks and the media starts clustering round this place. So I think we are all going to be extremely courteous and helpful with Mademoiselle Sutton.’

*

Sami had been unconcerned at the change from Le Pavillon to the château, Momo told Bruno with relief. He’d been excited to explore the medieval tower and its battlements and he gazed in wonder at the eighteenth-century additions to the château which contained the bedrooms. Now in a large wood-panelled room with french windows that opened onto a terrace and walled garden, he sat on the floor at his aunt’s feet. He was calmly stroking Balzac, who was curled up sleepily on his lap. Balzac was the first to respond to Bruno’s arrival, leaping to the door as soon as his master appeared. Sami beamed as he rose, saying Bruno’s name in a sing-song voice as he stroked his arm. Bruno patted Sami’s shoulder,
noting that the dark hollows had gone from beneath his eyes. Sami looked behind Bruno as if searching for another familiar face and asked, ‘Fabiola?’

‘Not today, Sami,’ said Bruno, smiling at the young man before going to greet Momu and Dillah. He introduced Deutz as the medical specialist, feeling a twinge of deceit as he did so. Nonetheless, he put his arm around Deutz’s shoulders as he introduced him to Sami, to show that he regarded the psychologist as a friend.

Deutz could not have been more charming. He was deferential to Momu, courteous to Dillah, and friendly to Sami. He steered them all back to their places and sat cross-legged on the floor beside Sami, who had resumed his place at Dillah’s knee. Bruno sat beside Momu on the sofa and put Balzac down on the floor, giving him a gentle push to return to Sami.

Bruno had not known what to expect of Deutz’s technique. Deutz was accustomed to dealing with prisoners, presumably in confined and guarded locations. Deutz’s own personality seemed assertive and Bruno had wondered if this meant he’d present himself to Sami as an authority figure. But it was soon clear that Deutz’s priority was to establish a friendly, non-threatening relationship. He smiled constantly and took turns with Sami in stroking Balzac.

On a low table beside Sami, Bruno noticed the parts of a dismantled radio. Momu murmured that it hadn’t worked for years. He’d brought it from home in the hope that Sami could repair it. So far he seemed only to have taken it apart.

‘Sami,’ Bruno said, pointing to the radio. ‘What’s that?’

‘Broken,’ he replied and turned to look at it. ‘Sami fix.’ He simply put the pieces back together, pressed a button and the
tinny strains of a baroque minuet from
France Musique
blared out.

‘Mozart,’ Sami announced. He turned the volume down and his fingers began softly tapping a beat on Balzac’s back.

Deutz brought out a drawing pad and crayons and asked Sami to draw his family. Sami stared at him in silence, tears welling in his eyes. Then he took the crayons and began. Bruno had expected him to produce images of Momu and Dillah but instead he drew one large circle and two smaller ones beside it. He began adding dots that might have been eyes, lines for mouths and then took a red crayon and began slashing crude red lines beneath the faces. With a jolt, Bruno realised Sami had drawn the severed heads of his mother and sisters.

Deutz squeezed Sami’s arm in reassurance and began sketching figures, asking Sami what the shapes looked like to him. One that looked like a man Sami said was Momu. A second card he thought was a rugby ball and the third was a car. Another reminded him of Dillah and the next of Balzac. Another shape was a slim figure in trousers with long hair.

‘Fabiola,’ said Sami, delightedly.

‘Who is she?’ Deutz asked.

‘Lady doctor,’ said Sami proudly. ‘My friend.’

Deutz nodded in apparent agreement and then drew more images. Sami identified one as a croissant, another as a fish and a third as a cloud, until came a card that might have been a cabbage or a perhaps a pumpkin. Sami’s face fell. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away.

‘Bomb,’ he said. And then he quickly glanced back at Bruno, a flicker of something intelligent and watchful in his eyes, as if Sami were watching to see what reaction he’d got.

‘Bad card,’ said Deutz. ‘Bad card.’ When he had Sami’s attention, he tore the offending card in half and gave the two pieces to Sami, who tore them in half again, and then again until the remaining pieces were too small to tear again.

‘Bomb gone,’ he said. ‘No more bomb.’ This time Bruno saw Sami’s eyes dart at Deutz, who seemed not to notice as he put the cards away. Thinking this was a rather different Sami, Bruno wondered if he was watching the kind of survival mechanism that had kept Sami alive in Afghanistan, trying to learn what won approval.

Deutz put the pad and crayons away and brought out a pocket set of checkers and asked Sami if he knew this game. Sami nodded, looking pleased, and briskly set out the white pieces. Bruno recalled how Sami had been able to beat all comers in St Denis at chess, including Momu, who had until then been the town champion. Deutz set out the blacks and signalled Sami to go first. Sami trounced him in a dozen moves. They switched colours so that Deutz went first and this time it took him a few more moves, since Deutz had manoeuvred his last pieces into a guarded corner and kept moving them back and forth. Sami quickly devised a strategy to break up the corner and grinned cheerfully as he cleared the board.

They were on their fifth game when Bruno rose to answer a discreet knock on the door. The Brigadier signalled him to come into the corridor, where Bruno saw Nancy Sutton standing to the side of the door. She had changed into a baggy sweatshirt and cargo pants. Her hair was loose and her face washed clean of make-up. It made her look younger and rather more vulnerable than the fashionably packaged woman who
had stepped off the plane at Périgueux that morning. She gave Bruno a hesitant smile and they shook hands.