Десмонд Бэгли - The Spoilers

Warren did not like the sound of that at all.

The three of them were crammed into the back of one of the Land-Rovers. In the front seats were a driver and a man who sat half-turned to them, holding a pistol steadily. Sometimes, as the vehicle bounced, Warren wondered if the safety-catch was on because the man kept his finger loosely curved around the trigger, and it would not have taken much movement to complete the final pressure. Any shot fired into the back would have been certain to hit one of the bodies uncomfortably huddled among the photographic equipment.

As near as he could tell their route curved back to the east, almost as far as the Iranian border, and then straightened out in a northerly direction, heading deeper into the mountains. That meant they had circled Sulaymaniyeh, which was now left behind them. They followed a truck, a big tough brute which looked as though it had been designed for army service, and when he was able to look back he saw the other Land-Rover from time to time through the inevitable dust-cloud.

The man with the gun did not seem to object to their talking but Warren was cautious. The fluent Oxbridge accent that had come so strangely from Ahmed had warned him that no matter how villainous and foreign the man appeared it did not automatically follow that he had no English. He said, ‘Is everyone all right?’

‘I’ll be fine as soon as whoever it is takes his elbow out of my gut,’ said Follet. ‘So that was Ahmed! A right pleasantspoken guy.’

‘I don’t think we should talk too much business,’ said Warren carefully. ‘Those little pitchers might have long ears.’

Follet looked at the pistoleer. ‘Long and goddam hairy,’ he said distastefully. ‘Needing a wash, too. Ever heard of water, bud?’

The man looked back at him expressionlessly, and Tozier said, ‘Cut it out, Johnny, Nick’s right.’

‘I was just trying to find out something,’ said Follet.

‘You might just find out the hard way. Never make fun of a man with a gun — his sense of humour might be lethal.’

It was a long ride.

When night fell the headlights were switched on and the speed dropped but still they jolted deeper into the mountains where, according to Warren’s hazy memory of the map, there were no roads at all. From the way the vehicle rolled and swayed this was very likely true.

At midnight the sound of the engine reverberated from the sides of a rocky gorge, and Warren eased himself up on one elbow to look ahead. The lights showed a rocky wall straight ahead and the driver hauled the Land-Rover into a ninety-degree turn and then did it again and again as the gorge twisted and narrowed. Suddenly they debouched into an open place where there were lights dotted about on a hillside and they stopped.

The rear doors opened and, under the urged commands of the man with the gun, they crawled out. Dark figures crowded about them and there was a murmur of voices. Warren stretched thankfully, easing his cramped limbs, and looked about at the sheer encroaching hills. The sky above was bright with the full moon which showed how circumscribed by cliffs this little valley was.

Tozier rubbed his thigh, looked up at the lights in the cliff side, and said sardonically, ‘Welcome to Shangri-la.’

‘Very well put,’ said Ahmed’s voice from the darkness. ‘And just as inaccessible, I assure you. This way, if you please.’

And if I don’t please? thought Warren sourly, but made no attempt to put it to the test. They were hustled across the valley floor right to the bottom of a cliff where their feet found a narrow and precipitous path which wound its way up the cliff face. It was not very wide — just wide enough to be dangerous in the darkness, but probably able to take two men abreast in full daylight. It emerged on to a wider ledge halfway up the cliff, and he was able to see that the lights came from caves dotted along the cliff face.

As they were marched along the ledge he peered into the caves, which were pretty well populated. At a rough estimate he thought that there could not be very much less than two hundred men in this community. He saw no women.

They were brought to a halt in front of one of the larger caves. It was well illuminated and, as Ahmed went inside, Warren saw the tall figure of Sheikh Fahrwaz arise from a couch. Tozier gave a muffled exclamation and nudged him, ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

Tozier was staring into the cave, and then Warren saw what had attracted his attention. Standing near Fahrwaz was a short, wiry, muscular man in European clothing. He lifted his hand in greeting at Ahmed’s approach and then stood by quietly as Ahmed talked to Fahrwaz. ‘I know that man,’ whispered Tozier.

‘Who is he?’

‘I’ll tell you later — if I can. Ahmed’s coming back.’

As Ahmed came out of the cave he made a sign and they were pushed further along the ledge and out of sight of Fahrwaz. They went about twenty yards and were stopped in front of a door let into the rock face. Someone opened it with much key-jangling, and Ahmed said, ‘I trust you won’t find the accommodation too uncomfortable. Food will be sent; we try not to starve our guests... unnecessarily.’

Hands forced Warren through the doorway and he stumbled and fell, and then someone else fell on top of him. When they had sorted themselves out in the darkness the door had slammed and the key turned in the lock.

Follet said breathily, ‘Pushy bastards, aren’t they?’

Warren drew up his trouser-leg and felt his shin, encountering the stickiness of blood. A cigarette-fighter clicked and sparked a couple of times and then flared into light, casting grotesque shadows as Tozier held it up. The cave stretched back into the darkness and all was gloom in its furthest recesses. Warren saw some boxes and sacks stacked against one side but not much more because the light danced about and so did the shadows as Tozier moved about exploratively.

‘Ah!’ said Tozier with satisfaction. ‘This is what we want.’ The flame grew and brightened as he applied it to a stump of candle.

Follet looked around. ‘This must be the lock-up,’ he said. ‘Store room too, by the look of it, but first a lock-up. Every military unit needs a lock-up — it’s a law of nature.’

‘Military!’ said Warren.

‘Yes,’ said Tozier. ‘It’s a military set-up. A bit rough and ready — guerrilla, I’d say — but definitely an army of sorts. Didn’t you see the guns?’ He set down the candle on a box.

‘This is something I didn’t expect,’ said Warren. ‘It doesn’t fit in with drugs.’

‘Neither does Metcalfe,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s the man who was with Fahrwaz. Now I really am puzzled. Metcalfe and guns I can understand — they go together like bacon and eggs. But Metcalfe and dope is bloody impossible.’

‘Why? Who is this man?’

‘Metcalfe is... well, he’s just Metcalfe. He’s as bent as they come, but there’s one thing he’s known for — he won’t have anything to do with drugs. He’s had plenty of opportunity, mark you, because he’s a smart boy, but he’s always turned down the chance — sometimes violently. It’s a sort of phobia with him.’

Warren sat down on a box. ‘Tell me more.’

Tozier prodded a paper sack and looked at the inscription on the side. It contained fertilizer. He pulled it up and sat on it. ‘He’s been in my game — that’s how I met him...’

‘As a mercenary?’

Tozier nodded. ‘In the Congo. But he doesn’t stick to one trade; he’s game for anything — the crazier the better. I believe he was kicked out of South Africa because of a crooked deal in diamonds, and I know he was smuggling out of Tangier when it was an open port before the Moroccans took over.’