John Robb - I Shall Avenge!

She turned towards a Touareg who was holding the Piets. She indicated the weapons.

“And to give Monclaire something more to consider, I shall let him know immediately that you are in our hands. Your automatic rifles will be returned to him. A courtesy, which he as a Frenchman, ought to appreciate. Meanwhile, you will share a gaol next to that of your future executioners. And you will die at the same hour that he did. Eight in the morning. That… that gives you just a few minutes over twelve hours of life. Brood on it, legionnaires! Brood on the approaching end, even as my Kriso must have brooded…!”

Clong !

Four hours to midnight.

The Europeans had been given a little water. It had stimulated their capacity for indignation. The Man With Asthma was being especially loquacious.

And, a few hundred yards away, Captain Monclaire was regarding a couple of Piet guns, which had been deposited on his desk.

Then he said to Lieutenant Gina, who was standing expectantly in front of him: “Who brought them?”

“Tu el Adaa.”

“Oh, our fat friend. Is he still here?”

“ Ah oui . He’s waiting outside. He requests to speak with you.”

“Send him in.”

The repulsive vastness of Adaa made a slow advance into the office. His peculiar and staring eyes were projected at Monclaire. The featureless mass of his face was twisted into what might be taken for a smile. He started to lower himself into the other chair.

“ Stand up !”

Monclaire rasped out the command as though on the parade ground. Adaa’s body twitched under shock. He moved hastily away from the chair, some of his composure gone.

“ Capitaine , I am a heavy man. I only…”

“Be quiet! You’ll answer my questions, but you’ll say nothing more.”

Monclaire had swiftly gained a moral ascendancy. Without the support of Annice Tovak the Arab was reverting to type.

“As you say, capitaine .”

There was something approaching a whine in his voice.

Monclaire asked: “The two legionnaires—have they been hurt?”

“No… not yet.”

“I see. They are to be murdered, I suppose. When?”

Adaa told him. And, with some show of satisfaction, he described the proposed circumstances.

Monclaire had difficulty in controlling a desire to strangle Adaa. But he said smoothly: “It was clearly understood that if the garrison leaves Sadazi all the civilians would be unharmed. It seems that Madame Tovak is now making extra conditions.”

Adaa gestured with fat hands. He was regaining confidence.

“She is in a position to make conditions.”

“Perhaps… but since I cannot trust her word in one matter, how can I trust it in others? How can I be sure that the Europeans will not be butchered whatever happens?”

“You can be sure, capitaine . She is a gifted woman and she had taught us much very quickly. There would be no point in killing them without reason. Would it not be a far greater victory to have forced the French out of this base without bloodshed—save for the two legionnaires? And they are of little concern. A personal matter concerning only Madame Tovak.”

Monclaire rose and walked towards the window.

He saw the lights of the hotel. Dim lights that came from oil lamps, but they seemed tragically near.

His brain was pounding—as it had pounded for hours. Like a hammer trying to break down a mighty wall. The plan, the only plan, had failed miserably. Now there was nothing left. Nothing.

Except to make a signal to Algiers. To tell them everything. To reveal the ghastly mess which misfortune had created. Misfortune? The High Command would not call it that. They would call it criminal stupidity. And both he and Jeux would probably end in a military prison, stripped of their ranks.

And the Command would have to make the decision if he sent the signal. They would have to decide whether it was to be the Legion base at Sadazi, or the lives of twenty-two civilians—many of them important foreign nationals.

Which would they decide to sacrifice? Monclaire admitted that he could not guess. It occurred to him that perhaps even the Command would shy from the issue. In fact, they probably would. It would be referred as a matter of top priority to the Quay d’Orsay in Paris. If that happened, the statesmen would have to think fast—very fast. They would have to decide whether four hundred soldiers or twenty - two civilians …

There was a crash within his brain. He felt a band of sweat formed at the join between his hair and his forehead. Perhaps— oui , perhaps the wall was crumbling. Perhaps there was yet a chance. That signal? It would not go to Algiers. Non .

He remained at the window for a long time. And when at last he turned towards Adaa, his face was set firm.

He said: “If we leave Sadazi, I make it a condition that the two legionnaires be handed back here unharmed and immediately.”

“That is not possible, capitaine . I—I do not care. But Madame Tovak said you might say this. And she said the answer was to be no.”

“When would the Europeans be freed?”

“Three days after your departure, capitaine . When we are sure that you are not waiting nearby to return.”

“They will be given an escort? All the way to Oran?”

“Even so.”

Monclaire met the staring eyes of Adaa. And Adaa had to look away. Very slowly, very precisely he said: “We shall evacuate Sadazi at midnight under these terms. But understand this. If any of those civilians is harmed, the Legion will return. At whatever the cost, they will return, and the Touaregs of this town will know a terrible justice. The woman, too. I… I fear that I would not be among those to return. But other officers would come in my place and act in my name. Is it clear?”

Adaa had scarcely listened beyond the first few words. His round body pulsated with delight.

“You are wise, capitaine . 1 will go at once with your message.”

And as Adaa thudded towards the door, Monclaire said to Lieutenant Gina: “You heard—prepare for the evacuation. And start destroying the non-movable stores and equipment.”

Gina looked horrified. But he saluted and departed.

Five minutes later Monclaire entered Colonel Jeux’s bunk. Jeux was still asleep. And the place stank heavily of stale alcohol.

Monclaire snatched the empty bottle from Jeux’s hand. The action stirred him out of his stupor.

“Pull yourself together,” Monclaire said with a complete absence of military courtesy. “I’ve sent for coffee. You’ve got to be sober to understand what I’m about to say.”

Rex and Pete were, in a comparatively trifling respect, more fortunate than the civilians in the next cellar. They had more than enough space. They had not yet suffered thirst. And they had ventilation.

Their improvised gaol was on a slightly higher elevation than the other, and at eye level a small grill was set into the wall. It was no more than four inches long and three high. But through it, it was possible to see the dim outline of the barracks and the feet of the mob that still surrounded the hotel.

They took turns to stare through it—a pointless pursuit, but one common to all who are deprived of liberty.

This had followed a prolonged attempt to make contact with the hostages next door. They had shouted. They had kicked. But the dividing wall was of thick red sandstone. It muffled every sound.

Thus the air grill became the only possible diversion in the fetid blackness.

Pete was standing there when he called to Rex. He said: “Take a look. Things are happening at the barracks.”