Blue Warrior by Mike Maden Read Free Book Online Page A

disappear.”
    “We have a saying, too. When a little grass catches fire, the whole village is in danger.”
    The African belly-laughed again. “You Chinese and your proverbs! Enough. The Tuaregs are easily dealt with.”
    “The Tuaregs have traversed the Sahara for nearly three millennia. They are superlative desert fighters. No one has ever found them easily dealt with. I’ve read recent reports that they are rising up again in Niger.”
    “Yes, around the uranium mines you Chinese are operating there. And do you know why? Your operations are draining away all of the scarce water in the region, robbing the Tuaregs of grasses to feed their precious camels, sheep, and goats. You’re polluting the land, and worse,you import cheap labor, so you don’t even give those poor bastards jobs in those filthy mines while you’re starving and killing them.” Tolo set his snifter down.
    Zhao nodded. It was true. His countrymen were often worse colonialists than the British and French they had displaced. But then again, Zhao reflected, these were only Africans they were talking about. If Africans weren’t meant to be skinned by the Chinese people, then history would not have made them rabbits.
    “Mistakes have been made, and they are being corrected. I assure you no such abuses will occur among your people,” Zhao said.
    Tolo shook his massive head. “We both know you are making promises you can’t keep. But what do I care for such things? Eggs must be broken in order to be eaten. Still, if you were to bring jobs to the Kidal, this would be a good thing for you.”
    “But we can’t bring jobs until operations begin, and we can’t begin operations until the Tuareg problem is settled.” Zhao stabbed out the butt of his cigar in a crystal ashtray. “How do you plan on doing that?”
    Tolo glanced at his empty glass. Zhao unstoppered the bottle and refilled it.
    “The Tuareg problem now is simple. Always these ‘godforsaken’ have been restless and rebellious, but the desert grows hotter and they grow fewer. They are divided by clans and tribes, often fighting among themselves, at least until now.”
    Zhao emptied the last of the Martel into the snifter. Tolo nodded his thanks. “
Merci
.”
    “De rien,”
Zhao said. “What is different now?”
    “The whole of the Tuareg nation now looks to one man. He is called ‘The Blue Warrior’ by his people. His name is Mossa Ag Alla.”
    “‘The Blue Warrior’?” Zhao sat back and let the image of a blue-turbaned desert warrior roll around in his mind for a moment, admiring its mythical possibilities. “Yes, that makes perfect sense. The Kel Tamasheq men are famous for wearing the indigo blue headdress and veil.”
    Zhao had done his homework. Unlike other Middle Easterncultures, it was the Tuareg men who wore veils, not the women. Often living as fugitives, the Tuareg
tagelmust
was the way the Tuareg fighters hid their identities as well as protected them from the violent sun and heat of the desert. The long garment that was used to wrap their heads and hide everything but their eyes was also considered a protection against the
djinn
of the desert, and when they sweated, the indigo dye bled onto their unbathed skin. The ultimate symbol of the Tuareg warrior was his blue
tagelmust.
    Tolo shrugged his sloping shoulders. “He is but a man, and the Tuaregs a plague. We’ll kill him, and that will be the end of the affair.”
    “But how will you find him?” Zhao asked. The Tuareg were virtual ghosts when hiding in the desert.
    “We don’t have to,” Tolo said. “He will come to us, like a fish to the net.”
    “Why would he do that?”
    “We will smash the Tuareg villages, one by one. And he shall hear of it, and he will come out of his lair and strike, and then we will spear him!” Tolo laughed. His people had fished the Niger River for five hundred years.
    Zhao began to say something but held his tongue. The Malian’s confidence was evident. Perhaps it was best