Desmond Bagley - Flyaway / Windfall

Paul nodded. ‘I was bored – I had no one to talk to – so I went down among the Tuareg. There’s a man who can speak a little French, about as much as me, but we can get on. I was outside his hut when I saw the Range-Rover coming so I ducked inside. The walls are only of reeds, there are plenty of cracks to look through. Yes, I saw him – and I knew him.’

‘Was he alone?’

‘No; he had the other man with him.’

‘Then what happened?’ I looked up. Byrne had come over and was listening.

‘He started to talk to the people, asking questions.’

‘In Tamachek?’ asked Byrne abruptly.

‘No, in French. He didn’t get very far until he spoke to the man I’d been with.’

‘That would be old Bukrum,’ said Byrne. ‘He was in the Camel Corps when the French were here. Go on.’

‘They just talked to the old man for a bit, then they went away. Bukrum said they asked him if there were any Europeans about. They described me – my clothes.’ His fingers plucked at his jacket. ‘Bukrum told them nothing.’

Byrne smiled grimly. ‘He was told to say nothing – they all were. Can you describe these men?’

‘The man who asked the questions – the one who shot me – he was nearly six feet but not big, if you see what I mean. He was thin. Fair hair, very sunburned. The other was shorter but broader. Dark hair, sallow complexion.’

‘Both in European clothes?’

‘Yes.’ Paul eased his legs painfully. ‘Bukrum and I had a talk. He said he’d better send me to you because the men might come back. He said you’d be where wheels wouldn’t go.’

I looked at the jumble of rocks about the slopes of Bagzans. Bukrum had been right. I said, ‘I’ve asked this question before but I’ll ask it again. Can you think of any reason – any conceivable reason – why two men should be looking for you in the Sahara in order to kill you?’

‘I don’t know!’ said Paul in a shout. ‘For Christ’s sake, I don’t know!’

I looked at Byrne and shrugged. Byrne said, ‘Hamiada and I will go to Timia and nose around. We’ll make better time on our own.’ He pointed to the Targui who was talking to Hamiada. ‘His name is Azelouane; he’s Bukrum’s son. He’ll take you to a place in the hills behind Timia and you stay there until I send for you. There’s water there, so you’ll be all right.’ He looked at the three camels which Azelouane had brought. ‘You stay here today; those beasts need resting. Move off at first light tomorrow.’

Within ten minutes he and Hamiada were mounted and on their way.

It took us two days to get to the place in the hills behind Timia so, with the day’s enforced rest, that was three days. There was a pool of water which Azelouane called a guelta . He, too, had a small smattering of French so we could talk in a minimal way with the help of a lot of hand language. We were there for three more days before Byrne came.

During this time Billson was morose. He was a very frightened man and showed it. Having a hole put in you with intent to kill tends to take the pith out of a man, but Paul had not really been scared until now. Probably he had reasoned that it was a case of mistaken identity and it was over, his attacker having given him up for dead after burning the Land-Rover. The knowledge that he was still being pursued really shook him and ate at his guts. He kept muttering, ‘Why me? Why me ?’ He found no answer and neither did I. He also got rid of the rest of my whisky in short order.

Byrne arrived late at night, riding tall on Yendjelan and coming out of the darkness like a ghost. Yendjelan sank to her knees, protesting noisily as all camels do, and he slid from the saddle. Azelouane unsaddled her while I brewed up some hot tea for Byrne. It was a cold night.

He sat by the fire, still huddled in his djellaba with the hood over his head, and said, ‘You making out all right?’

‘Not bad.’ I pointed to where Billson was asleep. ‘He’s not doing too well, though.’

‘He’s scared,’ said Byrne matter-of-factly.

‘Find anything?’

‘Yeah. Two guys – one called Kissack, a Britisher; the other called Bailly. He’s French, I think. They’re scouring the Aīr looking for Billson.’ He paused. ‘Looking for me, too. They don’t know about you.’

‘How do they know about you?’

‘My name had to go on that leaflet,’ he said. ‘That’s how I figured it. No point in issuing a reward unless you give the name and place of the guy offering it.’

‘Where are they now?’

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