Hammond Innes - The Doomed Oasis

The Saraifa concession was abandoned four years ago,’ Gorde said sharply. ‘You’ve no right here. None whatever.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Sir Philip.’

Then why are you here?’

Entwhistle hesitated, rubbing gently at a desert sore that showed red and ugly beneath the sweat stain of his right armpit. ‘You never met David Whitaker, did you, sir?’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘Oh, well-’ He hesitated, and then, unable apparently to put it into words, he sought refuge in facts: ‘I couldn’t exactly say it in my report of the search. It would have put the Company on the spot, if you see what I mean. But there was something fishy about that truck there on a sand dune across the border into Saudi. There was nought wrong with it mechanically, you know. It was just out of fuel as though he’d driven it straight into the Empty Quarter until he’d no more petrol. And if you’d known David-’ Again the hesitation, and then a quick shrug. ‘He knew the desert — knew it a damn’ sight better than I’ll ever know it. What was he doing there, that’s what I’d like to know? If he’d been scared out of here by the Emir’s men, why didn’t he head for Saraifa?’

‘Come to the point,’ Gorde said impatiently. ‘I want to know why you’re here.’

‘Aye. Well, I went over every inch of that truck. I thought if there’d been foul play or anything like that, he’d have left some clue, something that a chap like myself, a fellow geophysicist, would understand. The only thing I found was an old attache case full of correspondence and copies of survey reports. One of those reports concerned this area.’

‘I don’t seem to remember reading that in the account you sent to Erkhard.’

‘No.’

‘You thought you’d keep it to yourself, eh? Thought you’d check on his findings on the quiet?’

Entwhistle scratched uncomfortably at the sore. ‘He was on loan to his father, you see. It didn’t concern the Company exactly. And he seemed so sure he’d-’

‘It never occurred to you, I suppose, that there’s a political factor?’

Entwhistle’s grey eyes stared at Gorde without flinching. ‘David Whitaker was a good bloke. I don’t know whether he sent a copy of that survey report to the Bahrain office or not; and I don’t care. Nobody had done anything about it. Not even his father. He was out on his own and he thought he was on to something. I spent the better part of a week searching the desert for his body, and it seemed to me if I couldn’t give him a headstone, I might at least see if he was right and we could name an oilfield after him. Maybe it sounds a little crazy to you, Sir Philip,’ he added almost belligerently, ‘but I just felt it was up to me to do something. I don’t like to see a good chap’s life thrown away for nothing. And if Erkhard kicks me off the Company’s payroll as a result, I shan’t cry my eyes out.’

Gorde didn’t say anything for a moment. He seemed lost in thought. ‘How far have you got with the check?’ he asked at length.

‘There are four locations given as probable anticlines in the report. I’ve done a check on the most south-easterly — Location D, he called it. Now I’ve just begun drilling the first shot-hole on Location C. If you care to come to the truck I can show you David Whitaker’s report. Or has Mr Erkhard already shown it to you?’

‘No, he hasn’t. Nevertheless,’ Gorde added, ‘I’ve seen a copy. Grant here was kind enough to show it to me.’ This on a note of irony, and he introduced me then. ‘A lawyer. Like you, he wants to know what young Whitaker was doing across the border into Saudi.’ He turned to me. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen a seismological truck, have you?’ And when I shook my head, he said, ‘Well, if you want to see the sort of work David Whitaker was engaged on, I’m sure Entwhistle would show you over his vehicle.’ He turned back to Entwhistle. ‘No point in stopping you in the middle of drilling a shot-hole. You can finish the check on your Location C. Then you’re to pull out. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Relief and something akin to affection showed for an instant in Entwhistle’s face.

‘Results to be sent direct to me. And now take Grant to your truck and show him how it works. Meanwhile, I’ll write a letter for you to Sheikh Makhmud, just in case. I don’t doubt he knows you’re here.’ He stood back from the door. ‘Ten minutes,’ he said to me. ‘All right? And then I want to find Charles Whitaker’s rig; find out why he isn’t drilling here if his son was so damn’ sure.’

I nodded. I didn’t even hesitate. I was being given the opportunity of ten minutes alone with Entwhistle. I jumped out of the plane and it was like jumping into the full glare of an open-hearth furnace. Entwhistle remained a moment talking to Gorde, and when he joined me in the Land-Rover he glanced at me curiously so that I wondered what Gorde had told him about me. Stones rattled against the rusted mudguards as we batted over the gravel towards the truck which seemed to be standing in a pool of water. The mirage only lifted when we were within a hundred yards of it.

I was more interested in Entwhistle than in the mechanics of his seismological equipment, and as soon as we were in the shade of the truck’s interior, I asked him what he thought had happened to David. ‘I suppose there’s no chance that he’s still alive?’

It didn’t seem to surprise him that I’d made the suggestion. ‘Did you see my personal report to Erkhard, or was it some sort of a composite thing re-hashed by the Bahrain Office?’ he asked.

‘It was a general report,’ I told him.

‘Aye, I thought so. They’ll be letting the dust collect on mine in some pigeon-hole. Can’t blame them. I made it pretty plain what I thought.’ He hesitated, rubbing his hand across the ginger stubble on his chin. ‘A rum do, and no mistake. There was that truck half-buried in sand and about forty miles from the nearest waterhole. And nothing wrong with the damned thing but lack of petrol. Even the spare jerry-cans were empty.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ I asked.

He hesitated. ‘I don’t rightly know,’ he muttered, eyeing me cautiously. ‘But I know this,’ he added with sudden violence; ‘a chap like David doesn’t drive into waterless desert with empty fuel cans. And to run out of juice just there … except for the centre of the Empty Quarter he couldn’t have picked a spot that was much farther from water.’ He stared at me and I think we were both thinking the same thing, for he said, ‘I’d like to know what his father thinks about it. In fact, when I’ve finished here I intend to drive over to Saraifa and see if the old Bedou knows-’ He stopped and cocked his head on one side, listening. Faint through the noise of the drill came the distant sound of an engine. I didn’t understand at first, but then it grew louder, over-topping the noise of the drill, and in a sudden panic of realization, I dived for the door, just in time to see the plane become airborne.

It passed so low over the top of the truck that I instinctively ducked, and as I straightened up I was cursing myself for a fool. I should have known. I should have realized Gorde might want to get me out of the way. I turned furiously on Entwhistle, who was standing in the doorway of the truck looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘You knew about this?’

‘Aye, he told me.’ He smiled a little doubtfully. ‘He asked me to give you his apologies for any inconvenience.’

‘God rot the old man!’ I muttered savagely. To be caught like that, to be fooled into thinking he was just trying to be helpful, and all the time-

I stared at the plane, which was rapidly dwindling to a speck, feeling suddenly helpless, isolated out here in an oven-hot world that I didn’t understand. ‘A day or two, he said,’ Entwhistle murmured apologetically. That’s all. I’ll try and make it as pleasant as possible.’