Gavin Lyall - Judas Country

'An archaeological dig is, you must understand, a slow affair and therefore expensive. At times, one digs with a spoon, not a spade. And all the time, one must live, one must have assistance – these things cost money.'

'My father was not poor! ' Mitzi snapped.

'You must know best, Ma'mzelle, but… he lived well., And a dig is also a speculation. Naturally no man wishes to sink all his capital into an affair that may have no return at all. So he treats it as a business matter and – one might say – issues shares.'

'You mean,' I said, 'the Israeli government let him dig there on money coming from the Lebanon?'

'Oh no.' He smiled. 'No, it was from a foundation in America. I have quite forgotten what name I invented… Birch… Birch-wood… Birchbark… it does not matter. Most digs are backed by foundations, universities, museums, even governments.'

Ken said: 'And they all want a return on their money, too?'

'Not so much in the same way – but Professor Spohr was finding it a little difficult to get governments and museums to back him, by then.'

I glanced at Mitzi but she didn't seem insulted. Not happy, just not insulted.

There was a time of silence while everybody else thought and I lit my pipe. The smoke drifted away on a gentle current of air from a hidden air-conditioner. The only windows in the room seemed to be just above head level on the wall behind the desk, behind a length of heavy curtain.

Then Aziz got off the desk and waddled over and opened a wall cupboard full of bottles. 'Please help yourself, messieurs. Ma'mzelle?' And Mitzi held out her glass to be refilled.

Ken said thoughtfully: 'Bruno didn't contact you after he got out of Beit Oren?'

'No. I was a little sad, but I thought I would give him time.'

I'd expected Ken to follow that up, but he just said: 'Well, that seems to be that. You don't have the sword – that's it.'

Aziz said quickly but quietly: 'But no, not quite. You will understand – as a return on my investment, I want the original of the document.' And he held up the piece of St George's paper.

'You see?' Mitzi said bitterly. 'He must have the sword already.'

'No, no, no. That document itself is worthless until you have found the sword. Butthen – it ensures that I share in the profit. That must be fair, no?'

It sounded like it – assuming you believed the man, of course. I looked at Ken to see how he was taking it, and he was frowning uncertainly. – Then he said: 'But that cuts out Mitzi completely if you find the sword yourself.'

'I am hardly likely to, am I?' Aziz spread his neat pudgy hands. 'But I will also promise that she shares in the profit in any case. Half and half.'

We all looked at Mitzi, still sitting rigidly upright. She said:'Scheisse.'

Azizstiffened where it hit him, then sighed and picked up the desk phone and said a few words.

Ken looked at me and I stayed slumped in the low chair. I had a good idea of what was coming and no idea at all of what to do about it.

It came in about twenty seconds. The heavy door jerked open and a man the shape and size of a concrete gatepost walked slowly in. He had dark emotionless eyes in a square jowly face, sleeked-back dark hair and a greasy grey suit that bulged where it touched him, which was most places.

'This is Pietro,' Aziz said, almost apologetically. Then he told Pietro something in Arabic and Pietro took out a fat stubby revolver and just held it, not pointing anywhere special.

Still with a hint of apology, Aziz said:'Pietro is going to search you.'

Pietrodid. First Ken, then I stood up for it. He did it efficiently, knowing what he was looking for. He passed all my papers to Aziz, now behind his desk, who just glanced through the documents about the Queen Air and its cargo and then stacked them neatly.

Our shoes, too. I was careful not to catch Ken's eye, partly because I didn't want to see what he was feeling, but mostly because I hadn't any bright ideas to pass on and I didn't want him to think I had.

Then Pietro turned to Mitzi.

She stood up with the slow, quivering stiffness of any angry kitten. 'If you make that… that creature touch me, I will scream until-'

I said: 'Look, love, women have screamed before in this house and it hasn't done any good. Just relax;'

'Please, Mr… er, Case,' this time Aziz looked really hurt. 'This is just a matter of business.'

So Pietro searched her, just as efficiently, running his fingers down here, squeezing there, feeling for the crackle of paper. It was about as sexless as being kissed by an alligator, but I don't suppose she enjoyed it any more.

When Pietro stood back, Aziz – who'd been searching her handbag – sighed again and said: 'I expected nothing, but… one has to be sure. Now please, everybody sit down.'

So we sat while he dialled an outside number on the phone, then started giving what sounded like orders. I thought I heard the name 'St. George'.

Mitzi sat and steamed like a leaky pressure cooker, Ken was slumped almost horizontal, chin on chest but staring out from under his dark eyebrows at Pietro's gun. It had a thick short barrel, a long ramp foresight and the generally oversized look of a magnum calibre.

Ken muttered. '.357 Combat Smith.'

I nodded; he was probably right. The end of the butt sticking out of Pietro's fist had the typical Smith amp; Wesson shape, otherwise it could just as well have been a Colt to me. A pretty daft gun, mind you. In a two-and-something-inch barrel a bullet just doesn't have the time to work up the m.p Ji. that a magnum cartridge can give, and you can hire somebody to whack your hand with a crowbar much cheaper than.357 ammunition costs.

For all that, Pietro looked as if you could mount a siege gun on him and he'd absorb the recoil.

Aziz finished his phoning, stood up and smiled tentatively at us. 'Now I really must join my other guests. I hope it will not be long before I have good news and you can go, but meanwhile…' he shrugged delicately and gave Pietro more orders. 'I have told him that you may help yourself to more drinks -but only one person to stand up at a time. You understand the problem, I am sure.'

He smiled once more, went out – and locked the door behind him. The click of the big key made me wince – and then I realised what it must do to Ken.

His face was pale, the muscles at his mouth and jawline bunched in white knots and his hands squeezing the sharp chair-arms.

I had to say something. 'Nice comfortable place we've got here,' I gabbled. 'All we want to drink, for free, feminine company, plenty to read, we'll be out of here in half an hour and I've spent longer waiting to be served in some bars.'

He took a deep breath and relaxed a fraction.

Mitzi said: 'But how can he do these things? We should go to the police straight away.'

I shook my head. 'This is the Middle East, love, and he's an important man. We're small-scale; we've got no family behind us.'

"They cannot have gangsters likehim' and she flicked her hand at Pietro.

'A bodyguard. Everybody who's anybody has them. Aziz must have three or four; they're as much status symbols as chandeliers. This is a gun-toting area. Your father knew that.'

'But they searched me – and locked us up! '

Ken stiffened again. I said quickly: "They'd say they searched us for guns, of course. It may not be an offence anyway. As for shutting us up – so prove it. Like another drink yet?'

She shook her head and relapsed into broodiness. When we were all quiet, Pietro walked across and sat down behind the big desk and laid the pistol in front of himself, within easy grab.

I said: 'Is your name Aziz or do you just work here?'

It took him a moment to realise I was speaking to him. Then he just grunted. I'd been pretty certain he didn't speak English, but wanted to be sure as I could.