Десмонд Бэгли - The Spoilers

Mixed farm for sale near Zahleh. 2,000 acres good land; large vineyard, good farmhouse, stock, implements. Box 192.

He heaved a sigh of relief. He had lost contact with Abbot and Parker many weeks previously and had been worried about it, but now he knew they were still around he felt better. He re-read the advertisement and a frown creased his forehead as he groped for the pen.

Five minutes later he found he was sweating. Surely he had made a mistake in his calculations. Got a few too many noughts mixed in somewhere or other. The 2,000 acres mentioned in the advertisement meant that the Delorme woman intended to smuggle 2,000 pounds of heroin — that was the jumping-off point. He began right again from the start and worked it out very carefully. The end result was incredible.

He looked at the final figure again and it still shattered him. $340,000,000.

That was what 2,000 pounds of heroin would be worth to the final consumers, the drug addicts who would pay their $7.00 and $8.00 a shot. He wrote down another figure. $100,000,000.

That was what Delorme would be paid if the dope could be safely delivered inside the States. He expected the whole thing would be worked out on a credit basis — not even the Syndicate could be expected to raise that much capital at one time. The stuff would be cached and doled out a few pounds at a time at $50,000 a pound, and Delorme would be creaming the lot. She had organized the whole business right from the Middle Eastern poppy fields, had taken all the risks and would take all the profits, which were enormous.

With shaking fingers he picked up the telephone. ‘Miss Walden: cancel all my appointments for an indefinite period. Get me a plane reservation for Beirut as soon as possible, and a hotel reservation accordingly — the Saint — Georges or the Phoenicia. All that as soon as possible, please.’

He sat and looked at the advertisement, hoping to God that whoever had set it in type had made a misprint and that he was embarking on a wild goose chase.

He also hoped he could hear from Warren because Warren and the three men with him had also gone missing.

Entry into Iraq was not too difficult. They had visas for all countries in the Middle East into which it had been thought the chase might lead them, and Hellier had provided them with documents and letters of introduction which apparently carried a lot of weight. But the Iraqi officer at the border post expressed surprise that they should enter via Kurdistan and so far north, and showed an undesirable curiosity.

Tozier made an impassioned speech in throat-rasping Arabic and this, together with their credentials, got them through, although at one time Warren had visions of a jail in Iraqi Kurdistan — not the sort of place from which it would be easy to ring one’s lawyer.

They filled up with petrol and water at the border post and left quickly before the officer could change his mind, Tozier in the lead and Follet riding with Warren. At noon Tozier pulled off the road and waited for the other vehicle to come up. He pulled out a pressure stove and said, ‘Time for a bite to eat.’

As Follet opened cans, he said, ‘This isn’t much different from Iran. I don’t reckon I’m very hungry — I’m full of dust.’

Tozier grinned and looked at the barren landscape. The roads were just as dusty here, and the mountains as bleak as on the other side of the border. ‘It’s not far to Sulaymaniyeh, but I don’t know what we’ll do when we get there. Take it as it comes, I suppose.’

Warren pumped up the pressure stove and put the water to boil. He looked across at Tozier, and said, ‘We haven’t had the chance of talking much. What happened back there?’

‘In the qanat? ’

‘Yes,’ said Warren quietly.

‘It collapsed, Nick. I couldn’t get through.’

‘No hope for Ben?’

Tozier shook his head. ‘It would have been quick.’

Warren’s face was drawn. He had been right when he told Hellier that blood would be shed, but he had not expected this. Tozier said, ‘Don’t blame yourself, Nick. It was his own choice that he went back. He knew the risk. It was a damn-fool thing to do anyway, it nearly did for us all.’

‘Yes,’ said Warren. ‘It was very foolish.’ He bent his head so that the others could not see his face. It was as though someone had stabbed a cold knife into his guts. He and Ben were both medical men, both lifesavers. But who had been the better — Ben Bryan, for all his foolishness and idealism, or Nicholas Warren who had brought him to the desert and his death? Warren did not relish that ugly question.

They were half-way through lunch when Tozier said casually, ‘We’ve got visitors. I’d advise against sudden moves.’

Despite himself Warren hastily looked around. Follet went on pouring coffee with a steady hand. ‘Where are they?’ he asked.

‘There are a couple on the hill above us,’ said Tozier. ‘And three or four more circling around the other side. We’re being surrounded.’

‘Any chance of making a break?’

‘I don’t think so, Johnny. The guns are too hard to get at right now. If these boys — whoever they are — are serious they’ll have blocked off the road ahead and behind. And we couldn’t get far on foot. We’ll just have to wait until we find out the score.’ He accepted the cup of coffee from Follet. ‘Pass the sugar, Nick.’

‘What!’

‘Pass the sugar,’ said Tozier patiently. ‘There’s no point in getting into an uproar about it. They might be just curious Kurds.’

They might just be too goddam curious,’ said Follet. ‘That guy Ahmed is a Kurd, remember.’ He stood up slowly and stretched. ‘There’s a deputation coming down the road now.’

‘Anyone we know?’

‘Can’t tell. They’re all wearing nightgowns.’

Warren heard a stone clatter behind him, and Tozier said, ‘Easy does it. Just get up and look pleasant.’ He stood up and turned, and the first man he saw come into view was Ahmed, the son of Sheikh Fahrwaz. ‘Bingo!’ said Tozier.

Ahmed stepped forward. ‘Well, Mr Warren — Mr Tozier; how nice to see you again. Won’t you introduce your companion?’ He was smiling but Warren could detect little humour in his face.

Playing along, he said, ‘Mr Follet — a member of my team.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Ahmed brightly. ‘But wasn’t there another man? Don’t tell me you’ve lost him?’ He surveyed them. ‘Nothing to say? I’m sure you’re aware that this is no fortuitous encounter. I’ve been looking for you.’

‘Now why should you do that?’ asked Tozier in wonder.

‘Need you ask? My father has doubts about your safety.’

He waved his hand. ‘You would not believe what dreadful people roam these hills. He has sent me to escort you to somewhere safe. Your escort, as I am sure you are aware, is all around to... er... protect you.’

‘To protect us from ourselves,’ said Warren ironically. ‘Aren’t you off your beat, Ahmed? Does the Iraqi government know you are in the country?’

‘What the Iraqi government does not know would take far too long to detail,’ said Ahmed. ‘But I suggest we go. My men will put your picnic kit back in your vehicles. My men will also drive your vehicles — to save you from needless fatigue. All part of the service.’

Warren was uncomfortably aware of the rifles held by Ahmed’s men and of the wide circle drawn about them. He glanced at Tozier who shrugged, and said, ‘Why not?’

‘Very good,’ said Ahmed approvingly. ‘Mr Tozier is a man of few words but much sense.’ He snapped his fingers and his men moved forward. ‘Let us not waste time. My father is positively aching to... interrogate you.’