Flyaway

That we'll have to risk. Now, we know what he's going to do, but he doesn't know we know, so that gives us an edge. He wants to help us along until we locate that airplane. Okay, that's fine with me and I propose to let him help, and to do that he'll have to show himself.'

'Maybe. Perhaps he'll be master-minding in the background.'

'I don't think so,' said Byrne. 'He won't use Kissack because he knows I've seen Kissack, and Kissack knows I tried to screw him so Lash knows it too. And from what you tell me, the other guys along with him are hired muscle from Algiers.'

'Or hired guns,' I said glumly. 'Could you recognize him by voice?'

'I think so, unless he's smart enough to change it.'

'Good enough.' I couldn't see Byrne in the darkness but there was a smile in his voice. 'You know, Max; if these guys follow us and help us on our way I wouldn't be surprised if they got in real trouble. The desert can be a dangerous place, especially when it has help.' I said, 'How much of this do we tell Paul?'

'Are you out of your mind?' he said. 'We don't tell him a goddamn thing. He's just along for the ride.'

We left early next morning with Konti still with us. 'We'll take him as far as Djado,' said Byrne. 'Then he'll head east, back home to the Tibesti.'

We drove openly around Bilma and past the fort. I didn't see Kissack or anyone who might be Lash. Then we took the track due north, skirting the ramparts of the Kaouar mountains, sheer cliffs for mile after mile. Just after leaving Bilma Byrne said, 'About forty kilometres ahead there's the military post at Dirkou; I'll have to stop there for gas. But not you -they'd want to see your papers and you got none. So I'll park you just outside with Konti. He don't like soldiers, either.'

When we came into sight of distant palm groves he stopped and pointed. 'Head that way as straight as you can. That'll bring you to the road the other side of the post but out of sight. Wait for me there.'

Konti and I got out. Byrne was about to start off again but he paused. 'You got a spare bottle of whisky?'

'In my bag in the back. Why?'

'There's a guy in Dirkou who likes his booze. A sweetener makes life run easier around Dirkou.' He drove off.

Konti and I set off across the desert which, thank God, was flat thereabouts. Presently I stooped and picked up something. Byrne had been right – there were sea-shells in the desert near Bilma.

After about half an hour's trudge we reached the track and waited, being careful to- stand behind a convenient rock and not in plain sight. Soon we heard the grind of gear-changing and I looked out to see the Toyota approaching, so we stepped out and Byrne stopped just long enough for us to climb in.

He jerked his thumb back to Dirkou. 'Would you say Lash is a big man?'

'His feet were middling size.'

'There's a Britisher back there. Came in twenty minutes behind me.'

'Don't tell me,' I said. 'In a Range-Rover.'

'No; in an old truck nearly as beat-up as mine. He's pretty tall, pretty broad, dark hair.'

'Anyone with him?'

'Two guys. From the way they spoke Arabic together I'd say they're from the Maghreb – Algiers, most likely. The Britisher don't speak Arabic, he talks to them in French which they don't understand too good.'

'It fits,' I said.

They'll be more than twenty minutes behind us when they leave Dirkou,' said Byrne with a grin. 'I had a talk with the guy who likes his booze. Right now he's turning them inside out and the English feller is swearing fit to bust a gut. Won't do him no good, though. Seems that whisky has its uses.'

That might be useful,' I said thoughtfully. 'If your whisky drinker is turning them over that thoroughly he might find guns. He wouldn't like that, would he?'

That passed through my mind,' agreed Byrne cheerfully. 'Let us not smooth the way of the transgressor.' He laughed at my expression. 'Lots of good things in the Bible.'

From the seat behind me Billson said, 'What are you talking about? Who was that man back there?'

'Just a guy,' said Byrne. 'Maybe nothing to do with Kissack but I like to play safe.'

I said, 'Don't worry about it, Paul.'

The track was bad and got steadily worse. Every so often we would pass a village with the inevitable grove of date palms. There was evidently water under the tall cliffs of the Kaouar mountains. But the villagers hadn't tried to make life easier for themselves by maintaining the track.

We travelled steadily all day and not only the track deteriorated but so did the weather. A wind arose, lifting the sand in a haze which dimmed the sun, and dust filtered everywhere in the truck. It was then that I found the true efficacy of the Tuareg veil and pulled it closer about my face.

Disaster struck in the late afternoon. There was a grinding noise from somewhere at the back of the Toyota and we came to a shuddering halt in soft sand. Byrne said, 'Goddamn it! That's something wrong with the transmission.'