Gavin Lyall - Judas Country

Then he walked away across the tarmac and I'd lost my chance.

Jehangir half-turned to me with a revolver peeking out from his folded arms. 'Now, of course, you are quite innocent. So we must take precautions to ensure that no anonymous phone call reaches Beirut before our plane does.'

I stared at him, trying to look puzzled. Janni nudged my shoulder and started us walking round the far side of the Queen Air, away from the terminus. The field was very quiet and Sunday afternoon.

I said: 'You forgot about the money angle.'

'Ah, that was when we were talking about a more voluntary exchange.'

'I wasn't thinking of personal profit. Just how I explain to Castle Hotels that I gave away their champagne for free.'

'It is a problem, I agree.' But not for him, apparently.

The Piper's right engine grunted and spun into a crackling roar. Janni kept me walking towards it. Jehangir slowed and fell back a bit.

I raised my voice above the engine noise. 'I've asked for a three o'clock takeoff.'

'Just a slight technical delay,' Jehangir called over my shoulder. There was a faint click-snap and I looked back. His revolver now had a long fat tube on the barrel. A silencer. Janni grabbed my left arm but instinctively I was already looking front again, shocked as if I'd seen Jehangir unzipping his trousers.

They were going to kill me. And my mind didn't want to know.

But they were going tokill me.

Well, of course, they were. Even if I couldn't get Beirut to intercept the guns, I still knew who'd got them. It was too much of a risk to let me stay alive.

So they were going to kill me. Me.

Like hell they were. My mind was catching up. The briefcase was still in my right hand.

I must have tensed, because Janni's grip on my arm tightened. I tried to relax. 'Never flown one of those Navajos.' What would they do with my body? 'Flew an Aztec for a while.' You don't actually need a body to start a murder hunt, but you certainly start one if you've got one. 'I suppose left- and right-handed engines make sense for private pilots, but not for professionals.' Of course: they'd take me with them. I'd just vanish.

When would it come? It could be any time now, with that engine running; that's why the pilot had started it. A silencer doesn't really work, but on a small-calibre gun close to the racket of a 300-horse engine – it works.

We came up to the left side of the Piper, away from the live engine and out of sight of the terminus. I gently swung my briefcase across and dropped it at Janni's feet.

He checked, loosened his grip on my arm. I stepped in front of him and stabbed my fingers at his eyes.

I never got near nor expected to. His boxer's instinct got his hands up, but it was still a boxer's instinct. He was wide open for the old stamp-kick that rips down your shin and crunches your instep. He screamed and swiped at me, but his foot was just about welded to the concrete.

I snatched the briefcase open. Jehangir took a clumsy sidestep to get a clear shot past Janni; I jumped the other way. My hand touched the butt of the hidden Mauser. lehangir took another step, hesitated – perhaps because the Piper was right behind me – then fired. I didn't hear a thing, but didn't feel anything, either. The Mauser was coming clear, my thumb crunching down the safety-catch…

Janni swayed into the line of fire, then flopped on his knees. I fired over him, cranking the trigger as fast as I could, wanting Jehangir to flinch from the flash…

His mouth opened wide and he sat down backwards with a silent thud. The gun tumbled loose.

I'd fired – three times, was it? I counted the echoes in my head. They weren't loud, in that noise. Three it had been. I walked around Janni, picked up the other gun, looked down at Jehangir.

Two had hit him. One high on his left arm, the other somewhere below his heart. His mouth said things I couldn't hear.

Janni got painfully to his feet, hating me. I waved the guns and gestured him to get Jehangir. He hated me a moment longer, then hobbled over to help.

The pilot suddenly stepped down beside me and nearly got the two-gun treatment. His hands jerked high.

'Get them on board!' I shouted. 'And get took off!'

The pilot stared at Jehangir, now on his feet but bent over clutching the bloody patch on his shirt. 'But he may be dying! '

'In his trade he's always been dying. If he does, dump him in the sea. Dump the boxes anyway: Beirut's getting a phone call.'

He went wide-eyed. 'This could lose my licence.'

'Don'tcome that brother-birdman act with me! You knew what was happening.'

Janni had Jehangir in his arms, carrying him like a baby and still with breath enough to yell at the pilot. Who turned back to me: 'He wants to get a doctor now.'

I shrugged. Tell him his boss goes now or we all stick around for fifteen years minus good behaviour.'

He must have said something like that; they all got on board. I stuffed both pistols in my briefcase and walked away. I heard the second engine start behind me. By the time I reached the Queen Air, the Piper was moving.

Suddenly I didn't feel like climbing the steps, so I sat on them and began to shiver. But not with regret. And it didn't last.

We got airborne just about on time, estimating Ben Gurion airport at four-ten, given a helping wind. Ken's flight would land about half an hour ahead. I'd just reported joining Blue 17 at 9,000 as we reached the coast, set up the engines for cruise power and was fiddling with the mixture levers when Mitzi leaned tentatively in over my shoulder.

I waved her into the right-hand seat. 'Just don't hang your handbag on any knobs.' She smiled, eased cautiously into the seat, and sat looking puzzled at the instrument panel.

'How do you not get muddled with all the clocks like this?'

'You don't look at all of 'em all the time. Like a reference library. You don't need to keep staring at your outside air temperature or fuel state; only when you want to know.'

The loudspeaker crackled: 'Whiskey Zulu, change to Nicosia Control, 126.3.'

'Whiskey Zulu, over to 126.3. Thank you.' I changed both comm sets.

Mitzi asked: 'What is that about?'

'Just changing to a different controller. This one listens in case I report both wings have fallen off over the sea.'

Then can he do anything?' She looked serious.

'Sure: he lights as many candles as I've got passengers.'

She stared for a moment longer, then smiled.

I checked in with 126.3, then switched in the autopilot. Given luck, now I didn't need to touch anything except the radio and navigation knobs until we reached Israel.

After a while, I asked: 'Did you have much to do with your father's work?'

'Ah yes. I also have a degree in archaeology. Before I married I worked much with my father. And when my marriage ended, I was going back with him – but then he was put in prison.'

I made sympathetic clicking noises.

'It was a very bad time, that year. It was so difficult for me to get money from my father, and there is no work for archaeologists who are not teachers. I washed floors, watching outwith children, work like that. Then my father is out of prison and it is going to be all right and…' she shook her head slowly.

'His first time, was it? In prison?' Tactful question.

'Pardon?' She frowned and blinked her sharp eyes.

Well… he did have a reputation for not always reporting his finds.'

'Perhaps…' She nodded reluctantly. 'But who should own what is lost a thousand years and nobody knows it existed even? King Richard did not give in his will the sword to Israel. Israel was not clever enough to find it. My father was.'

'He was good.' Trying to make amends.

'Oh yes. They do not let him dig if he is just a… a bulldozer. He was like Schliemann: he walked on a site and could say: "Here they put the wagons, that was the wine Keller, on the corner is the most profit-making shop in the town." I think it is like a man who plans towns except backwards.'