Gavin Lyall - Judas Country

I lay back again. 'Happy now? Glass of water? Bedtime story?'

'Stuff it.'

I turned off the light. 'If you dream anything good, ask if she's got a sister."

He dreamed, all right, but not that. I woke as his feet thumped on the floor, and snapped on the lamp. He was sitting on the bed, head down almost on his knees and his whole body covered in sweat as if it had rained on him. His right hand was locked, white-knuckled, around the gun.

He was swearing to himself, just a long rhythmic mumbling curse.

I said gently: 'You were back inside?'

He lifted his head slightly, wiped the hair back off his forehead. 'I was back. Shit. I'm not going back. I'm just not going to go.'

'Was it bad in there?'

'Ahhh… not like some you hear about. They didn't treat us like animals, just like things. We just had to be there, to be counted at the stock-taking. You knew you could neverdecide anything; you'd wake up in the night and think "Tomorrow I'll-" and then remember you couldn't. It was the nights -and the walls. I'm not going back to that.'

He waved the pistol in a gentle, meaningless gesture. But it was something he could control, could use to control events. Maybe sleeping with it made a sort of sense, after all.

Then he asked: 'We don't have a bottle, do we?'

'Sorry.' I wished I'd thought of it, even at Beirut prices for Scotch.

Til be all right.' He stood up shakily, found a rag of hotel towel and wiped the sweat off. Then lay down, looking at the ceiling.

When he spoke, his voice was normal again. 'It's funny -when you come out you want to shack up in some place like the Ledra or a Hilton. But you know something? – even this bed's too soft for me. Bloody silly.'

After a pause, he added: 'Mind, in every other way I've had enough of crummy joints like this.'

'We've stayed in worse as often as better.'

'We were younger. There was still time for the good times to come.'

'Stop feeling your age; you'll make it fall off. That's just three-in-the-morning talk.'

'Maybe.' He rolled over and shoved the gun back under the pillow. 'Sorry, Roy. I'm okay.'

Perhaps. Anyway, he didn't wake me again.

The morning was clear, blue and calm, though that meant a sea breeze later if it stayed sunny. It's the best time of day in the Middle East, before the dust and smells and tempers have begun to rise. You feel even a taxi would only run you down by accident.

We checked out and, with only hand baggage, walked around to the St George, losing my Colt in a dustbin on the way. The doorman gave us a friendly salute and we went straight on up to the third floor. The girls had rooms looking inland, back over the front door, and in shade at that hour, so they were breakfasting on Eleanor's balcony.

She'd thought to order four cups and an extra pot of coffee, which did a lot for Ken's mood. I'd matched him drink for drink the day before and it had been well spread out, but I think he'd woken witha. touch of the little green men. But at least the 3 ajn. mood had passed.

That's real New World hospitality,' he said cheerfully, pouring us both cups. 'Who but an American would have thought of it?'

'A Viennese,' Mitzi said coolly. She was slumped in a wicker chair wearing a frilly nylon house-coat that wasn't quite transparent but gave me the idea she was fairly well dressed underneath it.

Which was fine; I didn't want to hang around longer than we had to.

'Have you two ever visited the States?' Eleanor asked.

'Sure,' Ken said. 'We did the whole works, when we were in the RAF. We saw Offutt Air Force Base, and Scott Air Force Base, and Edwards Air Force Base, and Maxwell Air Force Base, and what was that place in Alaska? and the Lockheed plant in Georgia…'

'And the Body Shop on Sunset Boulevard,' I added.

That's right, they left the cage door open that night and we were off before they could rouse the National Guard. We've been around, kid, we've seen the whole deal.'

Eleanor grinned. 'You should write a book, like everybody else.'

'See volume four of my memoirs.'

Mitzi gave a little sideways smile and said: 'I did not see a man get drunk on coffee before.'

I held up my wrist and stared obviously at the watch. The countdown has started. Who's coming?'

Both girls stood up in chorus. Mitzi said: 'I will finish in a minute,' and zipped out.

I said: 'Any word from the old man of the mountain?'

Eleanor shook her head. 'Nothing. I'll just close up my case and call a porter.' She went back into the room.

Ken poured the last of the coffee. 'I don't like it.'

'You mean it's quiet out there?'

'Yes. Too quiet.'

In fact, the Rue Minet Hosn below was anything but: just now it was a whirlpool of whining, squawking traffic. But there was so much of it and it was all so ordinary and self-centred that Aziz's finanglings seemed pale and feeble, a ghost in daylight.

I said: 'Perhaps he just ran out of nasty ideas. '. But he hadn't.

'What exactly does that say?' Eleanor asked.

She can't really have meant that since the document was written in both Arabic and French and a lot of legal pomposities besides, so I gave her the quick-lunch version: 'It's a sort of court order -asaisie-conservatoire-attaching the aeroplane. Freezing it here.'

'So we don't fly?'

'Not in this aircraft.' I looked at the deputy airport manager – we were sitting in his office – and asked: 'Does this affect any of us personally?'

'Not that I know of.' He was a thin, good-looking man with a sharp widow's peak of black hair, and a half-apologetic, half-intrigued attitude to our troubles.

I looked back at the document. 'It's bloody silly. He claims Miss Braunhofowes him money so he gets an order seizing somebody else's aeroplane.'

The deputy manager spread his hands in mock surrender. 'Please, it does not help to tell me. You must tell the court.'

'On Saturday?' Ken said.

I said: 'Aziz obviously wasn't keeping court-room hours. He got hold of some judge at home-'

'There was one at the party,' Eleanor chipped in.

'Easier yet. And he convinces him he's got a claim and he gets anex parte order.'

'What is that?' Mitzi asked.

'Without the other side needing to be there,' Ken said. 'But hell, a court won't give an injunction or order unless there's a proper case being brought.' He looked at Mitzi. 'You haven't been served a summons or something like that?'

She shook her head.

I said: 'It seems that doesn't work in French law. Thissaisie-conservatoire lapses in five daysunless he's started an actionde recouvrement de dette by then. Is that right?'

The deputy manager nodded gently. 'Our civil code is still mostly the French pattern."

'But is it going to stick?' Eleanor demanded.

He smiled sadly at her chest. 'I am afraid I have to enforce it.'

Ken said: 'It's a plain bloody swindle.'

I stood up. 'Come on. Let the man get on deputy managing. We've got time for coffee now.'

So at takeoff time we were sitting in the airportcafé finishing a second breakfast, Eleanor frowning over a xeroxed copy of the order. 'As I see it, we just get hold of some lawyer to represent us-'

'On Saturday?' Ken said again.

'-and then get hold of this judge. I guess that's his signature at the bottom-'

'And he'll have gone fishing.'

'-and get the order lifted.' She gave Ken a stiff look, I nodded and began lighting a pipe. 'That's how it would go in London or New York, and Aziz would get his balls in solitary confinement for making a fool of the court – forgive the legal language. But this is Beirut. Aziz knows what he's doing: he wants us stuck here. We can run around until we turn blue and I bet we get no action for five days."