Desmond Bagley - Flyaway / Windfall

We travelled hard and fast, making few stops, usually to top up the tank with petrol from the jerricans. Billson finished the milk and was able to drink water which put a bit more life into him, although he still wandered in his wits – assuming he had any to begin with. Once Byrne stopped and sent Mokhtar on ahead. He disappeared over a rise, then reappeared and waved. Byrne let out the clutch and we went ahead at a rush, topping the rise and down the other side to cross what, for the Sahara, was an arterial highway.

‘The main road north from Tam,’ said Byrne. ‘I’d just as soon not be seen crossing it.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘We’re going round Tam to the other side – to Abalessa.’ He fell silent and concentrated on his driving.

Abalessa, when we got there, was a low hill on the horizon. We didn’t drive up to it but made camp about a mile away. There was still some gazelle meat left so Mokhtar seethed it in a pot to make soup for Billson before putting on the kettle for the mint tea. Byrne grunted. ‘You can have your coffee when we go into Tam tomorrow. Me, I’m looking forward to a cold beer.’

‘But I thought …’

‘Not Billson,’ said Byrne. ‘He stays here with Mokhtar. Just you and me. We’ve got to make you legal.’

I scratched my chin. I hadn’t shaved during the past few days and it felt bristly. Maybe I’d grow a beard. I said, ‘You’ll have to explain that.’

‘Strictly speaking, you should have reported at the poste de police at Fort Lapperine as soon as you got into Tam. Your name will have been on the airplane manifest, so by now the cops will be wondering where you are.’

‘Nobody told me that. Specifically, you didn’t tell me.’

‘You’d have been told if you’d registered at the hotel. Anyway, I just told you.’ He pointed to the hill in the distance. ‘That’s your alibi – the Tomb of Tin Hinan.’ He paused. ‘Mine, too.’

‘The previous owner of the hotel, I suppose.’

He grinned. ‘The legendary ancestress of the Tuareg. I did see a camera in your bag, didn’t I?’

‘Yes; I have a camera.’

‘Then tomorrow we climb up there and you take a whole raft of photographs and we take them into Tam to be developed. That proves we have been here if anyone gets nosey. I don’t want anyone getting the idea we went the other way – up into Atakor. Not immediately, anyway.’

‘How long do we stay in Tam?’

‘As long as it takes to satisfy that fat little guy behind the desk that we’re on the level – no longer. The story is this; you came into Tam, got talking to me, and asked about the Tomb of Tin Hinan – you’d heard about it – it’s famous. I said I’d take you there and we left immediately, and we’ve been here ever since while you’ve been rootling around like an archaeologist. But you don’t bear down on that too heavily because to do real archaeology you need a licence. Only, tonight I discovered you hadn’t registered with the cops so I’ve brought you back to get things right. Got the story?’

I repeated the gist of it, and Byrne said, ‘There’s more. The fat little guy will ask about your future plans, and you tell him you’re going south to Agadez – that’s in Niger.’

I looked at him blankly. ‘Am I?’

‘Yeah.’ He pointed at Billson. ‘We’ve got to get this guy out of Algeria fast. Clear out of the country.’

I scratched my bristles again. ‘I have no Niger visa. First, I didn’t have time to get one, and secondly I had no intention of going. Looking at this place from England, I decided that there’s a limit to what I could do.’

‘You’ll get by without a visa if you stick with me.’

‘Have you got a visa for Niger?’

‘Don’t need one – I live there. Got a pretty nice place in the Aïr ou Azbine, to the north of Agadez. I come up to Tam once a year to look after a couple of things for Hesther. She’s got interests here.’

Mokhtar served up mint tea. I sat down, feeling comfortably tired after a long day’s drive. ‘How did you come to know Hesther?’ I sipped the tea and found I was coming to like the stuff.

‘When she was younger she used to come down to the Ahaggar quite a lot; that was when the French were here. One time she got into trouble in the Tademaït – that’s about 700 kilometres north of here. Damn place fries your brains out on a hot day. Wasn’t bad trouble but could have gotten worse. Anyway, I helped her out of it and she was grateful. Offered me a job in Algiers but I said I wasn’t going to the damned Maghreb, so she asked me to help her out in Tam. That went on for a couple of years, then once, when she came down to Tam, we got to talking, and the upshot was that she staked me to my place in the Aïr, down in Niger.’

‘What do you do down there?’ I asked curiously. Byrne had to earn a living somehow; he just couldn’t go around helping strangers in distress.

‘I’m a camel breeder,’ he said. ‘And I run a few salt caravans across to Bilma.’

I didn’t know where Bilma was and a salt caravan sounded improbable, but the camel breeding I could understand. ‘How many camels have you got?’

He paused, obviously calculating. ‘Pack animals and breeding stock together, I’d say about three hundred. I had more but the goddamn drought hit me hard. Seven lean years, just like in the Bible. But I’m building up the herd again.’

‘Who is looking after them now?’

He smiled. ‘If this was Arizona you’d call Mokhtar’s brother the ranch foreman. His name is Hamiada.’ He stretched. ‘Got film for your camera?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s okay then. I reckon I’ll go to sleep.’

‘Aren’t you going to eat?’

‘We’ll eat well in Tam tomorrow. There’s just enough chow left to feed Mokhtar and Billson until we come back. Wake me at midnight.’ With that he rolled over and was instantly asleep.

So I went hungry that night but I didn’t mind. I looked around and saw that Mokhtar was asleep, as was Billson. It seemed as though I had been elected to stand first watch.

At about eleven Billson awoke and was coherent for the first time. He muttered a little, then said clearly, ‘It’s dark. Why is it dark?’

‘It’s night time,’ I said softly.

‘Who are you?’ His voice was weak but quite clear.

‘My name is Stafford. Don’t worry about it now, Paul; you’re quite safe.’

He didn’t say anything for some time, then he said, ‘He shot me.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But you’re all right now. Go to sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow.’

He fell silent and when I looked at him closely five minutes later I saw that his eyes were closed and that he was breathing deeply and evenly.

At midnight I woke Byrne and told him about it, then went to sleep myself.

We didn’t have much time for Billson in the morning because Byrne wanted to get back to Tam and we still had to go to the mound of Abalessa to take photographs, and so we had time to exchange only a few words. Mine were consoling – Byrne’s were more in the nature of threats.

Billson was very weak, but rational. He had some more of the soup that Mokhtar prepared and managed to eat a few bits of the meat. As I knelt next to him he said, ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Max Stafford. Your sister sent me to find you.’

‘Alix? How did she know where I’d gone?’

‘It wasn’t too hard to figure,’ I said drily. ‘I suppose you know you did a damn silly thing – bolting like that.’

He swallowed. ‘I suppose so,’ he said reluctantly. He looked past me. ‘Who are those Arabs?’

‘They’re not Arabs. Now listen, Paul. You made a bigger mistake when you went into Atakor without a permit. Did you know that you didn’t have enough petrol to get back to Tam?’ His eyes widened a little and he shook his head. ‘And then you were shot. Who shot you – and why?’