The Tower Read Free

fading finally into the pale light of dawn, into that endless expanse.

 

1
    P HILIP G ARRETT HURRIED TOWARDS the Café Junot on Rue Tronchet, weaving his way through the late afternoon rush, when all the clerks in the city seemed to be swarming out of their offices to head for the tram stops and metro stations. He’d had a phone call the evening before in his office at the Musée de l’Homme asking him to meet with a certain Colonel Jobert, whom he’d never seen before or even heard of.
    He took a look around the café, trying to work out which of the people here was the officer who wanted to talk to him. He was struck by a man of about forty-five sitting at a table all alone, with a well-trimmed moustache and an unmistakably military haircut. The man gave him a polite nod.
    He approached and placed his briefcase on a chair. ‘Colonel Jobert, I presume?’
    ‘Yes, and you must be Dr Garrett of the Musée de l’Homme. It’s a great pleasure,’ he said, shaking his hand.
    ‘Well, Colonel,’ said Philip, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting? I must confess that I’m rather curious. I’ve never had dealings with the Armée before.’
    The colonel opened a leather bag and extracted a book, which he placed on the table. ‘First of all, allow me to give you a little gift.’
    Philip reached out his hand to take the book. ‘Good heavens, it’s—’
    ‘Explorations in the South-eastern Quadrant of the Sahara by Desmond Garrett, published by Bernard Grasset, first edition, practically unobtainable. It is, I believe, the most important work your father ever wrote.’
    Philip nodded. ‘That’s true, but . . . I don’t know how to thank you. How can I repay such kindness?’
    Jobert smiled and ordered two coffees from the waiter, while Philip continued to leaf through the book that his father had written when Philip was little more than a boy. Jobert passed over one of the cups and took a sip of his own.
    ‘Dr Garrett,’ he began, ‘we have learned from our sources in the Foreign Legion that your father . . .’ Philip suddenly looked up, an intent, anxious expression on his face. ‘It may be nothing more than a rumour, you understand, but . . . well, it seems that your father is still alive and has been seen at the oasis of El Khuf, near the border with Chad.’
    Philip dropped his gaze and pretended to look at the book again, then he spoke. ‘Colonel, I am truly grateful to you for this gift, but, you see, it’s not the first time that someone has claimed to have seen my father alive. I’ve left my work at least three times to go off searching for him in the most unlikely places, but I’ve always returned home empty-handed. You will forgive me, then, if I do not jump for joy at your news.’
    ‘I can understand your disappointment,’ replied Jobert, ‘but, believe me, this time is different. It is highly probable that, this time, the rumour is true. The high command of the Legion is convinced of it, and it is precisely for this reason that I have asked to meet you and that I myself am about to depart for the Sahara.’
    ‘To look for my father?’
    Jobert ordered another coffee and lit up a cigar. ‘Not only that. You see, Garrett, there are details that you are certainly . . . unfamiliar with, events regarding your father that you are unaware of. I can tell you about what happened ten years ago, when your father suddenly disappeared in such a remote and solitary corner of the desert. But I’ve also come to tell you that I need your help.’
    ‘I don’t see what I can do. It seems that you know so much more than I do.’
    Jobert took a sip of coffee and inhaled a mouthful of smoke. ‘One month ago you published a very interesting study in which you demonstrated that a number of expeditions attempting to enter the south-eastern quadrant of the Sahara vanished abruptly, without leaving any trace. Entire armies of tens of thousands of men even—’
    ‘I’ve done nothing more than