Flyaway / Windfall (10 page)

‘You don’t have a monopoly on guesses,’ said Byrne. ‘And a lot of guys have been killed for less than that.’

As we walked away from the Land-Rover I said, ‘Funny that the chap who did this should close the cap on that empty jerrican; especially as he was going to leave it.’

‘Probably automatic,’ said Byrne. ‘I do it myself. Good habit to have.’

‘I’d still like to know what Billson was doing here,’ I said.

‘He was looking for a wrecked airplane, like you said. And he’d have found it, too—it’s about five miles further north of here. I was going to head there if we hadn’t found this. Billson must have heard about it back in Tam so he came for a look-see, the goddamned fool!’

‘It couldn’t be…’ I began.

‘Of course it couldn’t be his father’s plane,’ said Byrne tiredly. ‘It’s a French military airplane that force-landed back when they were getting ready to blow an atom bomb up at Arak. They got the crew out by chopper, then went back to take out the engines and some of the instruments. Then they left the carcass to rot.’

He went to talk to Mokhtar, and I sat on a rock feeling depressed. Billson must have been the biggest damned fool in the history of the Sahara. He had probably read the
Land-Rover’s Owner’s Manual and taken the manufacturer’s fuel consumption claim as gospel, but it’s one thing tooling along a motorway and another fighting your way through Koudia. I doubt if we’d been getting more than five miles to the imperial gallon since we left Assekrem and perhaps ten or twelve in Atakor. I don’t think it’s disrespectful to British Leyland to suggest that the Land-Rover was averaging about the same.

But Billson had probably measured straight lines on a map and set out on that basis. But that was water under the bridge or, more accurately, vapour through the carburettor. What we had now was an entirely different set of circumstances in which Billson’s idiocy didn’t figure because, if we found his body it would be because he had been murdered by a man, and the man was possibly called Kissack.

It was then that I made the discovery. Mokhtar or Byrne would probably have done it, but they didn’t—I did, and it brought back some of my self-respect as a working member of this crazy expedition and made me feel something less of a hanger-on while others did the work.

I was looking down idly at the rock on which I sat when I noticed a small brown stain over which an ant was scurrying. For a moment I wondered how even an ant could live in Koudia, and then I noticed another and then another. There was quite a trail of them going backwards and forwards between a crack in the rock and the stain.

I stood up, looked at the Land-Rover, took a line on it, and then explored further away. Sure enough ten yards further on there was another stained rock, and a little way along there was another. I turned. ‘Hey!’

‘What is it?’

‘I think I’ve found something.’ Byrne and Mokhtar came up and I said, ‘Is that dried blood?’

Mokhtar moistened the tip of his little finger and rubbed it on the stain, then he sniffed his fingertip delicately,
looked at Byrne, and said one word. ‘Yeah,’ said Byrne. ‘It’s blood.’

‘There’s a line of it coming from the Land-Rover.’ I turned and pointed towards a narrow ravine. ‘I think he went up there.’

‘Okay—Mokhtar goes first; he’s better at this than we are. He can see a sign you wouldn’t know was there.’

Billson, if it was Billson’s blood, had gone up the ravine but fairly soon it became obvious that he hadn’t travelled in a straight line. Not because of the difficulty of the terrain because he had dodged about quite a bit when he had no obvious need to, and on occasion he had reversed his course. And the blood splashes got bigger.

‘Hell!’ I said. ‘What was he doing? Playing hide-and-seek?’

‘Maybe he was at that,’ said Byrne grimly. ‘Maybe he was being chased.’

We found him at last, tumbled into a narrow crack between two rocks where there was shade. Mokhtar gave a cry of triumph and pointed downwards and I saw him sprawled on sand which was bloodstained. His face wasn’t visible so Byrne gently turned him over. ‘This Billson?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen him.’

Byrne grunted and felt about the body. The face of the man was puffy and swollen and his skin was blackened. Incongruously, he was wearing a normal business suit—normal for England, that is. At least I had had the sense to visit a tailor to buy what was recommended as suitable attire for the desert, even if the tailor had been wrong to the point of being out of his mind. The probability rose that this was indeed Billson.

Byrne said, ‘Whoever the guy is, he has a hole in him. He’s been shot.’ He held out his fingers, red with liquid blood.

‘He’s alive!’ I said.

‘Not for long if we don’t do something.’ Byrne spoke to Mokhtar, who went away fast. He then turned the man over so that he lay more easily and put his hand inside his jacket to withdraw a passport and a wallet from the inside breast pocket. He flipped open the passport one-handedly. ‘This is your boy; this is Paul Billson.’ He gave me the passport and wallet.

I opened the wallet. It contained a sheaf of Algerian currency, a smaller wad of British fivers, and a few miscellaneous papers. I didn’t bother to examine them then, but put the passport and the wallet into my pocket.

‘We’re in trouble,’ said Byrne. He indicated Billson. ‘Or he is. If he stays another night he’ll die for sure. If we try to take him out he’ll probably die. You know how rough it’ll be getting back to Assekrem; I don’t know if he can take it in his condition.’

‘It’s a question of the lesser of two evils.’

‘Yeah. So we try to take him out and hope he survives.’ He looked down at Billson. ‘Poor, obstinate bastard,’ he said softly. ‘I wonder how well Hesther knew his old man? She said in her note to you that she’d wired me. I didn’t tell you it was a ten-page cable, and she was pretty firm and detailed in her instructions.’

‘Has the flow of blood stopped?’ I asked.

‘Yeah; I have the tail of his shirt wadded into the hole. We can’t do much until Mokhtar gets back. He won’t be long.’

‘You must have known about Paul Billson before I arrived.’

‘Sure I did, but he’d taken off by then.’

I said, ‘If you hadn’t waited for me you could have got here earlier.’

‘Not much. I got Hesther’s cable the morning you came. I don’t know when she sent it, but the communications in this country aren’t noted for reliability.’

‘But you did lead me a little way up the garden path.’ It seemed odd to be making conversation over the body of a man who was probably dying.

Byrne said, ‘I wanted time to size you up. I don’t like to travel with people I can’t trust. Hereabouts it can be fatal.’

‘So I passed the examination,’ I said flatly.

He grinned. ‘Just by a hair.’

A shadow fell athwart us. Mokhtar had come back. He had brought cloth for bandages, water, and a couple of sand ladders. The sand ladders, as Byrne had earlier explained, were to put under the wheels of the Toyota if we got stuck in sand. They were about six feet long and of stout tubular steel. ‘Only stinkpots need them,’ Byrne had said. ‘Camels don’t.’

Byrne tore off a strip of cloth, soaked it in water and put it in Billson’s mouth; being careful not to choke him. Then he proceeded to dress the wound while Mokhtar and I lashed the sand ladders together to make an improvised stretcher.

It took us over an hour to get Billson the comparatively short distance back to the Toyota.

We had travelled two hours’ worth into Koudia but it took us four hours to get out from the time Byrne started the engine until we drove beneath the peak of Assekrem. He picked his way as delicately as he could through that rocky desolation but, even so, Billson took a beating. Fortunately, he knew nothing of it; he was unconscious. I tended him as best I could, cushioning his body with my own, bathing his face, and trying to get some water into him. He did not move voluntarily nor did he make a sound.

I had expected Byrne to stop at Assekrem where perhaps we could have got help from the Haratin at the Hermitage, but he drove past the beginning of the path up the cliff and we camped about three miles further on. Mokhtar took a roll of cloth from the back of the Toyota and very soon had a windbreak erected behind which we laid Billson. It was now dark so Byrne redressed the wound in the acid light of a glaring pressure lantern.

He sat back on his heels and watched Mokhtar administer a salve to Billson’s blackened face. ‘If we can get some water into him he might survive,’ he said. ‘That’s only a shoulder wound and the bullet went right through without hitting bone. Weakening but not killing. He’s suffered more from exposure than the wound.’

I said, ‘Why didn’t you stop at Assekrem? They might have had something to help him.’

‘Not a chance.’ He nodded towards the Toyota. ‘I have more stuff in my first aid kit than there is in the whole of the Ahaggar, if you except the hospital at Tam. Besides…’ His voice tailed away, which was odd in Byrne because he was usually pretty damned decisive.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Do you know anything about Algerian law?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘Well, Billson broke one of them. He came out here without a
permis.
’

‘So did you.’

‘But I didn’t apply for one—he did. You can be sure that when he disappeared from Tam they knew where he’d gone. There are police posts on all the main tracks out of Tam and when he didn’t show up at any of those they’d be sure. So when he shows up in Tam he’ll be arrested.’

‘At least he’ll get hospital treatment,’ I said. ‘And when he’s out of hospital I’ll stand bail.’

‘You’ll be lucky,’ said Byrne drily. ‘Because this guy is going to show up with a bullet hole in him and Algerian cops are no different than any other cops—they don’t like mysterious bullet wounds. It’s going to be a mess.’

He held up a finger. ‘One—Billson has broken the law, and it’s a serious offence. The Algerians are nuts on security and they don’t like foreign nationals floating around the desert tribes unobserved. That could mean prison and I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy in an Algerian prison.’ A second finger joined the first. ‘Two—he comes back with a bullet wound and that the cops won’t like either. It’s not an offence to be shot but it means someone else ought to be in jail, and that means trouble where there ought to be no trouble.’ A third finger went up. ‘Three—
the guy who was shot is a foreigner and that brings Algiers into the act complete with a gaggle of diplomats. As far as I know Britain broke off diplomatic relations with Algeria years ago. I don’t know who represents British nationals here—could be the Swiss—but that means a three-cornered international hassle, and no one is going to like that.’

‘I begin to see the problems,’ I said thoughtfully.

‘Four,’ said Byrne remorselessly. ‘And this is the big one. Supposing we take Billson into Tam and he goes into hospital. It’s only a small place and within twelve hours everybody is going to know about the man in hospital who was shot—including the guy who shot him…’

‘…and who thinks he’s dead,’ I chipped in.

‘…and whom Billson can identify. What’s to stop him having another crack and finishing the job?’

‘If he’s still around.’

‘What makes you think he won’t be?’ Byrne stood up and looked down at Billson. ‘This guy is giving everybody a pain in the ass—including me.’ He shook his head irritably. ‘If it wasn’t for Hesther…’ His voice tailed away again.

‘Is there an alternative to Tam?’

‘Yeah.’ He kicked at the sand. ‘But I’ll have to think about it.’

He went over to the truck and came back with the rifle, then spoke to Mokhtar who took a full magazine from the pouch hung on his neck. Byrne slipped it into the rifle with a metallic click, worked the action to put a bullet up the spout, and carefully set the safety-catch. ‘I suppose you know how to use one of these, Colonel, sir?’

‘I have been known to.’

‘You might have to use it. It shoots a shade to the left and upwards; say, two inches at ten o’clock at a hundred yards. We’ll stand watches tonight.’

I frowned. ‘Expecting trouble? I’d have thought…’

He broke in. ‘Not really, but Billson will have to be watched throughout the night.’ He held up the rifle. ‘This is for unexpected trouble.’

I stood the middle watch in order to give both Byrne and Mokhtar an uninterrupted run of sleep; I didn’t know where we were going if it wasn’t Tammanrasset, but wherever it was they would have to take me there, so they were more important than me.

Billson was unmoving but still breathing, and I thought he looked a shade better than he had. For one exasperated moment that evening I had thought of quitting and going back to London. As Byrne had said—though less politely—Billson was nothing but trouble for everyone who came near him, and I did think of leaving him to stew in his own juice.

But the thought of going back and telling Alix Aarvik about all this made my blood run cold. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair on Byrne and Mokhtar who had gone to a great deal of trouble to help a man they didn’t know. Also, I would have to be on hand when Billson recovered because someone had to get him out of the country as he had very little money left. And London was far away and receding fast, and I found I quite enjoyed the desert in a masochistic way.

I took the rifle and looked at it in the dim light of the fire. it was an old British Lee-Enfield .303 and, judging by its low number, it had seen service in the First World War, as well as the Second. I took out the magazine and worked the action to eject the round in the breech, then looked down the barrel into the fire. It was as clean as a whistle and any hardened sergeant would have had to give Mokhtar full marks. He had looked after it well. I reloaded and laid the rifle aside, then checked Billson again.

Towards the end of my watch he began to stir and, just before I woke Byrne, he had begun to mutter, but his
ramblings were incoherent. I put my hand to his brow but he did not seem to be running a temperature.

I woke Byrne. ‘Billson’s coming to life.’

‘Okay; I’ll tend to him.’ Byrne looked at the sky to get the time. He wore no watch. ‘You get some sleep. We start early; our next camp is at Abalessa.’

I wrapped myself in my
djellaba
because it was very cold, and lay down. I wasted no time wondering about Abalessa but fell asleep immediately.

Billson was obviously better in the morning, but he was dazed and I doubt if he knew where he was or what was happening to him. We bedded him down in the back of the Toyota on the camel hair cloth that had served as a wind-break and on a couple of
djellabas.
‘We can get some camel milk once we’re out of Atakor,’ said Byrne. ‘And maybe scare up some hot soup. That’ll bring him around better than anything else.’

We travelled fast because Byrne said we had a long way to go. Coming out of Atakor we encountered the Tuareg camp we had passed on the way in. They were packing up to go somewhere but found some warm camel milk for Mokhtar. Byrne had thrown a
djellaba
casually into the back of the truck, covering Billson, and stood guard. ‘There’s no need for anyone to see him.’

We left the camp and stopped for a while a little later while we spooned milk into Billson. He seemed even better after that, even though the skin was peeling from his face and the backs of his hands in long strips. Mokhtar applied more salve and then we set off again, with Byrne really piling on the speed now that the country was much better.

These things are relative. Coming from the green land of England, I would have judged this place to be a howling wilderness. All sand, no soil, and the only vegetation an occasional clump of rank grass and a scattering of thorn
trees which, however desirable they may have been to a camel, did nothing for me. But I had not just come from England; I had come from Koudia and Atakor and what a hell of a difference that made. This country was beautiful.

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 re-appeared 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.