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  Standing there in the moonlight she looked utterly and completely desirable. He sighed and said, “Look, I’m sorry for what happened.”

  She reached up quite suddenly and kissed him on the mouth. “But I’m not,” she said, and pushed him through the door.

  For a little while he stood there in the darkness, his hand raised to the bell chain, and then he turned away and walked down through the darkness toward the town.

  When he reached the hotel, he went up to Ruth Cunningham’s room and knocked on the door. There was no reply. After trying again, he opened the door and went inside, but the room was empty.

  He went back downstairs and into the bar. Skiros was sitting by the window, a drink in front of him, gazing pensively out into the night. Kane crossed the room and stood over him.

  The Greek looked up and smiled. “Did you have any luck?”

  Kane nodded. “I’ve managed to trace him as far as Bir el Madani. He went up with one of Marie Perret’s convoys.”

  Skiros raised his eyebrows in surprise. “So, he actually did land in Dahrein. I must say I’m surprised. What do you intend to do next?”

  “We’re flying up with Marie in the morning,” Kane said. “I’ve been up to Mrs. Cunningham’s room to tell her, but she isn’t there.”

  Skiros nodded into the darkness. “She passed this way only a few minutes ago. I think you’ll find her on the beach.”

  Kane thanked him and went on to the terrace. It was cool and the slight breeze carried the faintest trace of salt spray with it. He went down the steps to the sand and walked toward the white line of surf, his eyes searching the moonlit beach.

  He paused, slightly at a loss, and her voice came clearly from his left. “Over here.”

  She was leaning against a fishing boat. As he approached, she said, “Have you any news for me?”

  He lit a cigarette, the match cupped between his hands against the wind, and nodded. “Yes, I think everything’s going to be all right now. I’ve traced your husband as far as a small Arab village about ten miles from Shabwa. We’re flying up there with Marie Perret in the morning. I should be able to learn something more definite from the headman.”

  She gave a sigh of relief and leaned against him, a hand on his arm. “My God, that’s marvelous.”

  She sank down into the soft sand and Kane sat beside her and gave her a cigarette. The match flared in his hands, illuminating the strong line of her jaw, and tears glistened in her eyes.

  He took her hand and said gently, “Look, everything’s going to be fine.”

  She took a deep breath as if trying to get control of herself and nodded. “I don’t know how I’m ever going to be able to repay you for what you’ve already accomplished.”

  “You’ll have no difficulty, I assure you.” He grinned wryly and got to his feet. “And now I think you’d better get some sleep, Mrs. Cunningham. We’ve got an early start.”

  She didn’t argue, and he saw her to the terrace of the hotel. He made arrangements to pick her up at six-thirty and then walked along the water’s edge to the jetty.

  Piroo was squatting on a stone, head nodding. He came awake quickly and smiled a welcome, teeth gleaming in the darkness.

  As they rowed across to the launch, Kane told him about his trip to Bir el Madani on the following day. “You’ll be in complete charge,” he said as he clambered over the rail and stood on the deck of the launch. “Keep a sharp lookout for trouble. Particularly from Selim.”

  He left Piroo on deck securing the dinghy and went down to his cabin. It was dark and quiet and the moonlight crept in through the porthole and touched him with ghostly fingers.

  He lay down on the bunk and stared up at the cabin roof and thought about Marie. For a moment the darkness was touched by her presence and she seemed to smile at him as he drifted into sleep.

  8

  THE FISHING BOATS WERE SLIPPING OUT THROUGH the harbor entrance toward the Gulf as Kane turned off the jetty and moved along the waterfront. He lit a cigarette, the first of the day, and coughed as the smoke caught at the back of his throat. He felt tired and there was a slight ache behind his right eye. For a moment he paused, watching the fishing boats dip into the Gulf current, white sails shining in the early morning sun, and then he continued toward the hotel.

  He was wearing khaki pants and shirt and a battered felt bush hat. On impulse, he had slipped the Colt into his hip pocket before leaving the launch. He had many friends amongst the tribesmen of the Shabwa area, but one could never be too sure.

  Ruth Cunningham was standing on the steps of the hotel when he arrived. She was wearing a white blouse open at the neck and cream whipcord slacks. Her hair was bound with the same blue scarf she had worn on that first occasion, and when she smiled she looked extremely attractive.

  “Will I do?” she demanded, spreading her arms slightly.

  Kane nodded. “Decorative, but serviceable.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ll have to step on it. I don’t want to keep Marie waiting.”

  They didn’t speak much as they walked through a maze of narrow alleys and emerged on the edge of town. She had dark smudges under her eyes as if she had not slept well, and there was a strained, anxious look to her that he didn’t like.

  The airstrip was a quarter of a mile outside Dahrein in the opening of a narrow pass which cut deeply into the mountains. It was not an official stopping place for any of the major airlines and had been constructed as an emergency strip by the Spanish Air Force.

  There was one hangar, a crumbling, decrepit building in concrete with a roof of corrugated iron. They could see the plane squatting on the runway from a long way off, a de Havilland Rapide painted scarlet and silver. Its twin engines were already ticking over as they approached.

  Jamal was sitting in one of the rear seats and Marie jumped down to the ground and came to meet them. Kane made the introduction and the two women shook hands.

  “It’s very kind of you to help in this way,” Ruth Cunningham said.

  Marie shrugged. “It’s nothing, Mrs. Cunningham. Nothing at all. I’m going up to Bir el Madani on business, anyway.” She turned to Kane, a slight smile on her face, and her eyes sparkled. “I hope you slept well, Gavin. Sorry to rush you, but I promised Jordan I’d be there by seven-thirty.”

  Ruth Cunningham climbed into the seat next to Jamal, who stared stolidly ahead and ignored her. Marie slipped into the pilot’s seat and then turned enquiringly to Kane. “Would you like to fly her?”

  He nodded and she moved across to the other seat, making room for him. He taxied slowly along the ground and turned into the wind. A moment later and the end of the airstrip was rushing to meet them. He pulled the column back slowly and the Rapide lifted into the pass, rock walls flashing by on either side.

  The air was bumpy as they flew out of the pass, for a forty-knot wind was blowing across the mountains. They climbed through heat haze that already blurred the horizon and leveled off at six thousand feet to cross the coastal range.

  Beyond the mountains the sky was a brilliant sapphire and, within half an hour, the real desert appeared in the distance, its colors varying between burnished gold and deep red.

  Suddenly, they were passing over a tall oil derrick surrounded by a group of tents and several vehicles, and then Ruth Cunningham cried excitedly, “Look, there’s a truck down there!”

  Kane glanced out of the window and saw a truck moving at high speed in the direction in which they were flying. A little later, a dark splotch appeared in the distance. Within a few minutes it had increased into a clump of green palm trees and a scattered group of flat-roofed houses.

  The airstrip was a narrow slot between two dunes with a windsock on a tall pole at one end. Kane circled once and then turned into the wind for a perfect landing between two rows of empty oil drums. As he taxied to the far end of the airstrip, the truck appeared from among the houses and moved toward them in a cloud of dust.

  Kane switched off the engine, opened the door, and j
umped to the ground. He turned and handed the two women down in turn as the truck braked to a halt a few feet away, and a man slid from behind the wheel and came to meet them.

  He was young, with a bronzed, reckless face, and his fair hair was closely cropped. He was dressed in sun-bleached khaki and a revolver was slung low on his right hip in a black leather holster.

  His teeth flashed in a ready smile and he cried gaily, “The devil himself. What brings you up here?”

  Kane grinned and punched him on the shoulder. “I was hoping you might be able to help us, Jordan.” He half-turned and indicated Ruth Cunningham. “Mrs. Cunningham here, is looking for her husband. We know he arrived in Bir el Madani two months ago. He intended to visit Shabwa for a few days. She hasn’t heard from him since.”

  Jordan took her hand, his face serious. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Cunningham.” He frowned slightly for a moment or two and then shook his head. “No, I can’t say I’ve heard of your husband. The headman of the village might be able to help.”

  She turned to Kane and he nodded. “I know the headman here—Omar Bin Naser. If he knows anything, he’ll tell us.”

  Jordan led her toward the Ford pickup truck and handed her in. “That’s settled then. I’ll drop you and Mrs. Cunningham in the village, Kane. We’ll see you sometime this afternoon. Marie and I have a hell of a lot to discuss.”

  Marie squeezed into the front seat beside Ruth Cunningham, and Kane and Jamal sat in the back under the canvas awning. As they moved away, Kane glanced casually over his shoulder and saw an Arab in faded russet robes and red headcloth appear from behind a dune and urge his camel across the airstrip. He slid to the ground and stood by the plane.

  Kane tapped Jordan on the shoulder. “Pull up a minute, will you?”

  Jordan halted the truck and they all turned and looked back. The Arab was examining the plane closely, and then he looked up and gazed toward them.

  Kane scrambled out of the truck. “I’ll see what he wants. It may be just idle curiosity, but you never can tell with Bedouins.”

  As he approached the plane, the Arab advanced to meet him, hand resting lightly on the silver hilt of his curved jambiya. Kane halted a few feet away from him and said in Arabic, “What are you doing here? Are you looking for someone?”

  The Arab’s face was lined and drawn. The pupils of his eyes were like pinpricks and his lips were flecked with foam. “I have a letter for one named Kane,” he said in a dead voice.

  Kane’s hand slid round to the butt of the Colt as he spoke. “I am he. Where is the letter?”

  The Arab pulled the jambiya from its sheath and the blade flashed in the hot sunlight. Kane took a quick step back and tried to draw the Colt. The foresight snagged on the lining of his hip pocket and he cursed and ducked under the swinging blade, reaching for the Arab’s throat.

  For a moment they swayed, locked together, Kane trying to twist the weapon from the man’s grasp, and then the Arab lifted his knee viciously.

  Kane hung on grimly and they fell to the ground, rolling over and over. He could hardly breathe and yet everything assumed a sharper definition, and he was acutely aware of the stink of the man’s unwashed body, of the madness in the staring eyes.

  In the distance, a woman screamed and he was conscious of something digging painfully into his right buttock. It was the Colt and he wrenched it free from his pocket, rammed the barrel into the Arab’s stomach, and pulled the trigger twice as the jambiya was raised to strike.

  The force of the bullets fired at such short range lifted the man backwards. Kane tried to get up, but there was a roaring in his ears. Someone cried his name. He grabbed for the plane’s wing, hauling himself erect, and another Arab came into his range of vision, running toward him, jambiya raised above his head.

  Kane tried to lift the Colt, but his arm seemed to have lost its strength and then Jordan arrived on the scene. The geologist dropped to one knee beside him, rested the barrel of his heavy revolver across his left forearm, and fired so fast that four shots sounded like one continuous roll of thunder.

  The Arab kept coming right into the line of fire, the bullets thudding solidly into his body, and then, when he was almost upon them, he seemed to lurch sideways and fell on to his face.

  For several moments there was complete silence and then Kane heard a cry behind him. He turned, still holding on to the wing for support, and saw Marie running toward him.

  Her face was white and drawn and she clutched his arm. “Gavin, are you all right?”

  He patted her on the hand reassuringly. “Thanks to Jordan.”

  The geologist was bending over the man he had killed and he turned, a puzzled frown on his face. “How the hell did he keep on coming? I didn’t miss once.”

  Kane turned the body over with his right foot. The face was contorted in agony, the lips foam-flecked and curled back, exposing stained teeth. “Haven’t you ever come across anyone who looks like this before?”

  Jordan shook his head, but Marie moved forward and looked down. “This man has been drugged with quat. He must be a hired assassin.”

  Kane nodded. “That’s the way I see it. When I asked the first man what he wanted, he told me he had a letter for a man called Kane.”

  “But why the hell should anyone want to kill you?” Jordan said. “And what is this stuff quat anyway?”

  Kane lit a cigarette. “It’s a narcotic stimulant found in the leaves of a shrub from these parts. When the leaves are chewed, the user feels alert and confident. Used regularly, it gradually has an effect on the physical appearance.”

  Jordan frowned. “What’s this bit about hired assassins?”

  Kane shrugged. “I’d have thought you’d have known about that by now. If you want to kill a man in this country, you don’t do it yourself. You hire a professional.”

  Jamal had been busy searching the body of the first man Kane had killed. Now he turned and came toward them, a leather bag in one hand, which he handed to his mistress.

  Marie looked inside and then held it forward silently so that the others could see its contents. It was stuffed with silver coins.

  Jordan whistled and Marie said gravely, “There must be the equivalent of two or three thousand Maria Theresa dollars here, Gavin. Someone must want you dead very badly.”

  Kane nodded soberly. “Yes, and I think I know who it is. I had a run-in with Selim yesterday. One of his men had a try last night when I was sleeping.”

  Marie frowned. “But how would he know that you would be at Bir El Madani this morning?”

  Kane considered the fact and then nodded. “You’ve got a point there. Anyway, to hell with it. It didn’t come off and somebody’s paid a lot of money out for nothing.” He groaned and wiped a hand across his mouth. “I could use a drink.”

  “I’ve got a flask in the truck,” Jordan told him. “Come to think of it, I could do with a swallow myself.” He grinned and shook his head. “And I was worried in case being a geologist turned out to be boring.”

  As they walked back toward the truck, an excited crowd of people swarmed past them and moved toward the dead bodies.

  “Where the hell did they spring from?” Jordan said. “Anyone would think they knew something was going to happen.”

  “They very probably did,” Kane told him.

  Ruth Cunningham looked sick and her face was pale. “Are you all right?” she said to Kane.

  He nodded. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

  She seemed to find difficulty in speaking and clambered back into the front seat, where she sat, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands.

  Jordan had been examining the bag of coins Jamal had found on the body of the first assassin and he looked at Kane enquiringly. “What happens to this little lot?”

  “You hang on to it for now,” Kane told him. “I’m sure we’ll find a use for it later.”

  Jordan grinned. “Pretty good pay under the circumstances.” He produced a brandy flask from a compartment
under the dashboard, took a long swallow, and handed it to Kane. “Compliments of the house.”

  Kane raised the flask and toasted him silently. He choked as the brandy burned its way down into his stomach, and he climbed into the rear of the truck. “I haven’t thanked you yet. That was nice shooting back there.”

  Jordan slipped behind the wheel and drove toward the village. “I was raised on a ranch in Wyoming.”

  He turned the truck into the wide main street and braked to a halt outside the largest house, scattering a herd of goats.

  Kane got down and Ruth Cunningham followed him. “After we’ve had our talk with Omar, we’ll take a flight over the Shabwa area,” he said to Marie.

  She nodded. “Take care, Gavin, and don’t go too far out into the desert. It’s bad flying country.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s see—with any luck, we should be back here just after noon.”

  Kane smiled. “We’ll be back by then easily.”

  There was a grinding of gears and the truck shot away in a cloud of dust. Kane turned to speak to Ruth Cunningham and found the headman of the village standing outside his door, waiting to welcome them.

  “You honor my poor house, Captain Kane,” he said in Arabic.

  Kane smiled. “Always I come when I need something, my friend, but let us go inside. The sun is hot and the events of the past half hour have given me a great desire to sit down.”

  Omar led the way into his windowless, mud-brick home. The house was divided into two rooms. In one were kept the goats and chickens belonging to the family and the other was the general living room. At night Omar and his family simply lay down in their robes on rush mats and slept.

  Despite the obvious poverty of the place, Omar Bin Naser had the native courtesy and instinctive dignity of the Arab. He motioned Kane and Ruth Cunningham to two cushions and clapped his hands. Within a few moments, a woman entered the room, wearing a long black outer robe, which also closely veiled her face. She carried a brass pot in her left hand and three cups in the other.

  After the customary feigned refusals which courtesy demanded, Kane accepted a cup and nodded slightly to Ruth Cunningham, who followed suit. The woman poured a few drops into their cup and waited for approval. It was Yemeni mocha—the finest coffee in the world. Kane smiled and held out his cup which the woman promptly filled.