John Robb - I Shall Avenge!

The remaining customers were composed mostly of Arabs, with a sprinkling of blacks. They, too, stood up. They watched the legionnaires with a smouldering malevolence. The situation had the makings of a particularly ugly brawl. A brawl in which the legionnaires would be outnumbered by at least three to one.

Rex realised this as he took a swift look round. It was forbidden for legionnaires to carry arms when off duty in Sadazi. It was also forbidden for the civil population. But whereas the legionnaires had to observe the order, it was certain that all the others were armed. All would have knives. Quite a few would have pistols, too

Somehow the clash had to be averted. The key lay with the Ashanti. The Ashanti had to be overpowered and humiliated before the others had time to react. If that happened, there was just a chance that the storm would pass, for the Arabs, particularly, set great store by personal dignity. They would not willingly commit themselves to the support of a man who had already been made to look a fool.

But speed was the vital factor. Something had to be done within a few seconds.

Rex stepped aside, then took a long, lightning-fast pace. It brought him behind the Ashanti. He had a confused glimpse of the woman’s blonde head hanging over a black shoulder. Then he did two things simultaneously. He linked his hands round the Ashanti’s forehead and pulled. And he pressed a knee in the Ashantï’s spine and pushed,

It was a quick way to kill a man. A way he had learned when a G.I. It was a technique that had been perfected by British Commandos, then passed on to the American Army during the war…

But Rex had no intention of killing the Ashanti. He had to gauge the conflicting pressures so that the man became helpless with pain—but no more. If his back broke he would be dead m a moment.

The Ashanti moaned. Every muscle of his powerful body became bunched, as though paralysed by cramp. He lost his grip on the woman.

She slipped sideways off his shoulder and hit the floor softly. When that happened Rex removed his hands from the Ashanti’s forehead. Then he drew back his right hand and hit him a downward chopping blow with the edge of his palm at the spot where the spinal column joined the back of the head. For two silent seconds the Ashantí remained standing. Then he gave a faint and uncontrolled cough, like that of a child. He took a reeling step, knocking over a table before he collapsed forwards over a chair.

Pete took a quick look at him, pulling up his eyelids and feeling his pulse.

Then he said: “I don’t think we need concern ourselves any longer with this amorous gentleman. He’ll be all right. But I don’t think he’ll be feeling quite himself for some time.”

There was a laugh from a few of the legionnaires. That broke the tension. The Arabs—and even some of the blacks—looked with contempt at the prostrate Ashanti. There was a move back to the tables.

The woman had got to her feet. For the first time, Rex was able to get a close look at her It confirmed his first impression. There was more than mere physical beauty in that face of hers.

There was cool strength there, too. It showed in the level set of her blue eyes. In the rich emphasis of her mouth. And it was attested by her demeanour at this moment. Her hair was disarrayed. Dust from the floor was smeared on her cheeks. Her dress was torn at the top. She had just been subjected to almost primeval violence. But there was no suggestion of hysteria about her.

Rex said: “Are you okay?”

She hesitated, then said in accented English: “Yes—due to you and your friend.”

“Think nothing of it. I guess you’re a stranger to Sadazi?”

“I’ve just arrived.”

“I guessed so. Well, let me tell you something. Keep out of joints like this unless you’ve got a big party with you. Arab wineshops ain’t any place for you tourist dames.”

She smiled faintly. It was the sort of quick, deep smile that shows a real sense of humour.

“I know that now—I think I’d better get out of here.”

“No, not yet.”

She looked surprised.

“I don’t understand. Why not? You’ve just said it’s no place for a woman.”

“And I wasn’t kidding any, lady. But you can’t leave here alone. After what’s happened, you’ll know why. We’ll take you back to the European quarter—but we’d like time to finish our wine first. So maybe you’ll help us drink it?”

She smiled again.

“Of course… if you don’t think there’ll be any more…”

“No one else will try to touch you here. You can relax.”

Pete picked her wide-brimmed sun hat from the floor and gave it to her. Curious eyes watched them as they went to the table. But there was no animosity. The passions that had simmered up in a moment had subsided as quickly.

Rex got another glass from an unsavoury-looking Bormone waiter. She hesitated when he filled it. Then she said in her heavy but fascinating foreign accent: “Will you let me pay…?” And she gestured towards the small leather bag, which hung from her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Rex said. “There’s plenty left in the bottle.”

“Yes But legionnaires are not very rich, uh?”

“That’s pitching it soft.” She looked puzzled, so he added: “We’re the world’s cheapest army, except maybe for the Russians and the Chinese. But me—I’m okay. I’m a gambler and I’ve won. So drink and forget it.”

She sipped the red wine. She did not speak. Both Rex and Pete noticed that even when silent she could be completely relaxed—which was rare for a woman, particularly a young woman.

Pete groped in the breast pocket of his capote . He pulled out a paper packet. There were three cigarettes in it and one half-consumed stub. She was about to accept the offer when she saw the stub. She flipped open the catch to her shoulder bag and produced a small silver case. It was filled tight with European cigarettes. Cigarettes that they had rarely seen in years.

“Will you try these instead?”

They did. And when they were all smoking Rex decided to put the question that was on his mind. He hitched his chair a little closer to the table. Then he said: “What gave you the crazy idea to come here on your own?”

She inhaled deeply before answering.

“It was a mistake.”

“It sure was. I guess you’re a tourist. Most of you folks have guides. Weren’t you told to keep clear of the native quarter?”

“I’m not a tourist, although I came up from Oran with a party of them. I took the train as far as Baruta, then we had to take camels. I didn’t like that.”

That was the usual tourist route to Sadazi. The railhead was at Beruta, and many of them faded out of the trip when told that the last lap was over ninety miles of desert on sullen camels

With his usual Brooklyn bluntness, Rex asked: “If you’re not a tourist, what brought you out here?”

She did not hesitate.

“I came to see my husband, and I’m afraid I was so anxious to find him that I got lost. He’s a legionniaire. Perhaps you know him. His name is Tovak. I am Annice Tovak.”

At the far end of the wineshop an Arab girl started to sing a tuneless dirge and waggle her thin, semi-nude body. A drunken legionnaire shouted an obscenity at her. There was a multi-lingual roar of protest.

But Rex, and Pete heard none of it. Their minds, all of their senses, were numb.

It was as though a potent anaesthetic had been injected into the parts of the brain that controlled the power to see, to hear, to smell, to taste, to feel.

But the effect wore off. Gradually, they realised that she was still speaking. And, because she was staring at the tabletop, she had not noticed anything unusual about them.