Phineas nodded, surveying the land behind him as Eliza spoke. 

"Married, most like," he said, "And tourists. I imagine we're hardly the first married couple to get robbed whilst touring the Libyan highroads. Hell, we're probably not even the first of the day." The alibi didn't hold much water, but in a desert like this he figured it probably didn't have to. The common layman would not inquire too deeply into the past of a couple whose miseries were so fresh. He kept walking as they summited the dune and started down the other side.

"I don't feel like faking an accent, so henceforth you and I shall be Mr. and Mrs. Thatcher, Henry and Catherine. We live in Dover, no kids. Wanted to travel North Africa to indulge your anthropology hobby, robbed right off the boat. Sound good?"

The sun wasn't even up yet, but already it was growing uncomfortably warm. Phineas cursed his luck. He always seemed to get the shitty jobs.