Hammond Innes - The Strange Land

‘So! You do not listen to the radio, eh?’

‘No, we haven’t got one,’ I said. ‘But we saw the newspaper report. It was inaccurate.’

Kostos spun round on me. ‘You keep out of this, Lat’am. It is nothing to concern you. I make you an offer in Tangier. You remember? That is finish. You lie to me. But now I have a stronger hand, you see, an’ I deal direct.’ He turned back to Jan. ‘This is a new development, my friend. The body of Dr Jan Kavan, Czech refugee scientist, has been washed up on the coast of Portugal. This is what the radio said. It is two nights ago and they give your description — all very accurate, except for the beard which is gone now.’ He moved a little closer to Jan. ‘The police would be interested to know what motive you had.’

‘How do you mean?’ Jan’s body was rigid, his mouth slightly open.

‘If I tell them about the deeds you get from Kavan, then they know it is murder — they know you push him overboard.’

‘No.’ The denial burst from Jan’s mouth. ‘I didn’t push him. It was an accident. And it wasn’t — ‘ He checked himself as though a thought had suddenly occurred to him.

‘Now, perhaps you understand, eh?’ Kostos was smiling. ‘We make a deal. You and I. You give me the papers and I keep silent. Maybe I help you get out of Morocco safe. But if you do not give me the papers, then I — ‘ He stopped and turned at the sound of footsteps echoing along the cliffs of the gorge.

It was White. He wore an old fleece-lined flying jacket, open at the front to expose the dirty white of his T-shirt. ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded. And then he recognised Kostos.

‘Oh, so you two have got together, have you?’

Kostos smiled and looked across at Jan. ‘Yes. That is just about what we do, eh?’ He jerked the muffler tighter round his neck. ‘I give you to tonight, my friend. I will be ‘ere — ‘ he glanced at his heavy gold wrist-watch — ‘at five o’clock. If you do not meet me then, ready to come to an agreement, then I will know what to do, eh?’ He smiled and nodded and walked back to the jeep. The engine started with a roar that reverberated through the gorge and then he went bumping and slithering over the rocks at the base of the slide and was lost to sight.

‘Who was that frightful little man?’ Julie asked. ‘What did he mean about — ‘

‘I’ll tell you later,’ I said quickly. I was looking at White, wondering how much he had heard.

He seemed to hesitate a moment. And then he half shrugged his shoulders and turned and walked over to the nearest bulldozer, his tall, slim-hipped body moving easily, rhythmically as though he belonged in this wild place.

‘White!’ I called after him. ‘Do you know how we contact the Caid?’

But he climbed on to the seat of the bulldozer without replying, and a moment later the engine started with a shattering roar. The tracks moved and the dull, rock-burnished steel of the blade dropped to the ground, scooped a pile of rock out of the slide and thrust it to the edge of the dumping ground. The gorge echoed to the splash and rumble of a ton of rock spilling down the slope into the water.

I tapped Jan on the shoulder. ‘We’d better go down and see Capitaine Legard at the Post. He’ll take us to the Caid.’ I had to shout to make myself heard above the reverberating roar of the bulldozer.

He nodded and we went back down the track to the camp. ‘Do you think it is true, what Kostos said?’ he said.

‘He’d hardly have invented it,’ I said.

‘No, I suppose not.’ He looked worried. ‘It must be Wade’s body that was washed up. But why should they mistake Wade for me?’

‘Don’t forget they’re convinced Wade is alive,’ I pointed out. ‘And your papers showed that you aren’t unalike. The body wouldn’t have been in too good shape.’ I hesitated and then said, ‘Was Wade wearing any of your clothing?’

‘I don’t know.’ He hesitated. ‘He could be. You know what it’s like in a yacht — oilskins, windbreakers, sweaters, everything gets mixed up. One’s too tired … Maybe he was wearing something of mine.’ He said it slowly, considering the matter, and he walked with quick, nervous strides, his eyes fixed on the ground. ‘If it’s true what Kostos said,’ he murmured half to himself, ‘then officially I’m dead.’

‘You’ll have to explain that it’s Wade’s body that’s been found in Portugal,’ I told him. ‘And you’ll have to explain how he died.’

‘That means publicity.’ The words seemed to be jerked out of him. ‘There mustn’t be any publicity. It was publicity that started it last time. I told you that. I must keep my name out of the papers. At all costs there mustn’t be any publicity.’

‘That can’t be helped.’ I said. ‘The man’s body has been found and his death will have to be explained.’

He didn’t seem to hear me. ‘If I’m dead,’ he murmured to himself, ‘then it’s Wade who is alive. It’s as simple as that.’ He said it almost wonderingly. And then he strode on ahead until we came to the camp. He seemed to want to be alone.

And when we drove down the piste towards Foum-Skhira he was strangely silent. It was a queer day now. It seemed to have changed. The strength and clarity had gone out of the sun and the sky was no longer blue, but opaque and hazy. A little wind had sprung up from the mountains and it blew the dust from our wheels out in streamers in front of us. We stopped at the house where the Tricolour flew. There was a sign-board half-hidden by sand. One arrow pointed to the mountains — Agdz, 44kms.; the other south towards the desert — Tombouctou, 50js…. Fifty days! A dog raced out to meet us as we stopped. He stood barking at us furiously, a big, rangy animal, oddly reminiscent of the medieval hunting dogs depicted on old tapestries.

‘Look!’ Julie cried. ‘A baby gazelle.’ It was in a wire enclosure; a small deer, beautifully marked with long, straight horns.

A Berber servant came to the door of the house and stared at us. I called out to him, asking for Capitaine Legard, and he pointed to the fort, telling us to go to the Bureau.

The sun had disappeared completely now. Yet there was no cloud. It seemed to have been overlaid by an atmospheric miasma. It had become very cold and the wind had risen further, driving little sifting runnels of sand before it. The whole great open space between the two forts seemed to be on the move as the powder-dry top surface of sand drifted along the ground. We were shown into the captain’s office by an immensely large, black-bearded orderly wearing a turban and a blue cloak. He was a Tuareg, one of the Blue Men of the desert.

By comparison, Legard seemed small and insignificant. He was short and stocky with sallow, tired features. There was no heating in the stone-floored office and he sat huddled behind the desk in a torn and dusty greatcoat with no insignia of rank on the shoulders. A khaki scarf was muffled round his neck. He glanced at Julie and then pulled himself to his feet, staring at us in silence from behind thick-lensed, hornrimmed glasses. The glasses caught the light so that it was impossible to see the expression of his eyes. But I felt he resented our intrusion. Moreover, though he might look insignificant, he conveyed a sense of power, as though whatever he wore or however ill he looked, he was conscious of being the ruler in this place.

Faced with the authority of the man, Jan remained silent, leaving me to explain who we were and why we had come to Foum Skhira. ‘We hoped you would be willing to take us to see the Caid Hassan,’ I added.

‘Caid Hassan is an old man now,’ he said. ‘Old and sick.’ He got Julie a chair and went back to his seat behind the desk. ‘Also, you come at a bad time.’ He made little explosive noises with his lips and stared at Jan. ‘So! You are now the owner of Kasbah Foum, eh?’