Jack Higgins - The Judas gate

Chuck Alan said, 'Jesus, boss, are you going to war or something?'

It was extraordinary how Justin seemed to fit into that landscape, everything shimmering in the intense heat.

'I think I hear an engine,' he said, and was right.

There was a movement in the reeds, and the boat emerged, Hamza in the prow clutching a long pole. Stingray came to a halt, the front easing up on the sand. Justin looked up at the woman at the wheel high above. She said something in Arabic.

'Sorry, no can do,' Justin said. 'English only, I'm afraid. Comes with all those years of Empire, you see.'

He was the English public school man to the life, and Hamza roared with laughter. 'You sound just like a man I met in the French Foreign Legion many years ago. He'd been cashiered from an English Guards regiment.'

'What rotten luck.' Justin turned to Chuck. 'Off you go, old son.'

'I'll be waiting, boss.'

Alan went back to the plane and climbed into the cabin, pulling the airstair door up behind him. Justin turned and said, 'Omar Hamza?'

'That's me, and this is my daughter, Fatima.'

'Charming,' Justin said, 'nice to meet you.'

She looked uncertain, as if not knowing what to make of him, and he climbed on board and moved to the stern, where he put down his rucksack and the rifle. He looked up at her at the top of the short ladder as she switched on the engine.

'Can I join you?'

'If you want.'

As the engine started into life, Hamza climbed over the prow rail and shoved off. They reversed, pushing into the curtain of reeds, and then turned and ploughed forward, emerging into a waterway which was only as broad as the boat itself.

'An amazing place. How long have you lived here?' Justin asked.

'I was a child when we came, twenty years ago. My father had problems in the desert so we moved here. He has the trading post, so we have a good living, but it's hard. My mother died last year. There are many people here for whom it is the final stopping place.'

'It's certainly striking, and some of the flowers are incredible,' he said.

'It also has snakes of many types in the water, and the bite of some bring instant death. Not to mention the malaria and other diseases.'

'But you still stay. Why?'

She shrugged. 'Because there is nowhere else to go.' The boat emerged into the lagoon, revealing Diva Island and the trading post and the shacks on pilings; they coasted in, and a small boy caught the rope Hamza tossed and tied it up. Fatima said, 'I'll take you in and show you where you will sleep.'

He followed her up the ladder and into the trading post, and Hamza, still on the boat, was speaking to Hakim. 'Well, I've got him. He was waiting by the plane dressed as a Tuareg, turban, face veil, the lot. Took me back to my days in the legion in the deep Sahara. Just looking at them frightened people to death. What news of the others?'

'I had a call from Holley saying they should be landing in an hour.'

'So they'll spend the night with you at Dafur and the police incursion in the launches will start at dawn. Wouldn't it be simpler to cut their throats while they're sleeping?'

'No. In the world's eyes, they must have died at the hands of the bandits who infest the Khufra, especially Holley who, on paper at least, is an Algerian of some importance.'

'Malik will be desolate to lose him. I understand he looks on him as a son.'

'Well, he'll have to get over it.'

'I liked Daniel. A born killer, and one of my finest pupils.'

'Everyone's time comes sooner or later, so stop moaning. Tell Fatima not to get close to this Shamrock. They take liberties, these Westerners. No morals.'

'As you say.'

Hamza went into the trading post. There was no sign of his daughter or Justin and then she emerged from the rear sitting room, went behind the bar and found a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

'So he wants a drink?' Hamza said. 'He'll have to remove the veil. Tuaregs aren't supposed to drink. It's an offence against Allah.'

'Then you've been offending him all your life. He's unpinned his veil at one side. He is quite handsome, actually,' Fatima told him, and grinned. 'As you can see, I've got you a glass, too. Come.'

She led the way into a back room that was quite spacious and carpeted, with large stuffed cushions scattered around and a low Arab-style dining table. There was a bed in one corner and another archway showed a further bedroom.

Justin sprawled on a huge cushion, smoking a cigarette, the veil hanging down one side. He looked astonishingly dramatic and was excited beyond belief, the brief trip through the marshes had seen to that. Omar Hamza and the whole atmosphere of the place was everything he had hoped for. Fatima was just a bonus.

She half filled a glass for him and for her father, and, when Justin smiled, there was an edge of wickedness that excited her. 'To your bright eyes, my dear.' He toasted her, then half turned and said in excellent French to Hamza: 'And to you, mon brave, and good hunting.'

As the Falcon descended on its approach, Holley, at the controls, said, 'Since the runway is parallel to the shore, I'm going to go straight in and have a look at the place first.' He went down to four hundred feet and roared in.

At Dafur the river emerged from the marsh; there was a surprisingly large stone jetty, another legacy of the Afrika Korps and Rommel, with two large launches alongside. Men in uniform gazed up, shading their eyes, but nobody waved.

'A cheerful bunch, aren't they?' Dillon said.

Miller, leaning over between Dillon and Holley, said, 'So it would appear. Did you notice the machine gun mounted on each launch?'

'I certainly did,' Dillon said.

It was a typical Arab fishing village, boats pulled up on the beach, nets, a range of flat-roofed houses painted a grimy white, most of them in various stages of decay. Poverty was very definitely evident and, from the look of the twenty or so villagers in shabby clothes who had turned out to watch the plane come in, it looked as if it was a daily companion.

The Falcon swept round, and landed, turned, taxied back to the village and stopped. Holley turned off the engines and Hakim came forward, followed by half a dozen policemen in khaki uniforms.

'That's our man,' Holley said.

'I know,' Dillon said, 'I saw his photo. I don't think much of his friends. An ugly bunch. They look as if the only thing they have on their minds is rape and pillage.'

Miller dropped the airstair door and Holley went out first. Hakim embraced him, and his men came to a halt, watching.

'The greetings of Allah, Daniel, my friend,' he said in Arabic. 'It has been too long.'

'To see you again, Colonel, is always a pleasure.' Holley kissed him lightly on each cheek. 'And how is Malik?'

'Missing you as always. Naturally, I've not informed him how far this business has gone. He's a worrier where you are concerned. Much better to achieve a successful conclusion and then tell him.'

'I agree completely.'

Hakim's men seemed to be surprised at Holley's fluent exchange with Hakim and were muttering amongst themselves. Holley now said, 'But my friends, Major Miller and Mr Dillon, don't speak Arabic. You must excuse them.'

Hakim moved into English. 'Gentlemen, a sincere welcome to Algeria. If my men can help you with your equipment in any way, you only have to ask.'

'Actually I could do with something to eat and maybe a drink,' Dillon said. 'But I suppose alcohol would be a difficulty.'

'Not at all,' Hakim said. 'We can handle that. Allow me to escort you to my boat.'

'That's fine,' Dillon said. 'You carry on, Daniel, I need Harry to help me with the controls. We'll catch up.'

He turned back to the Falcon, and went through the airstair door into the cabin, where Miller found him in the cockpit.