The Spoilers

I

They drove again among the ochre-red mountains of Kurdistan along the winding and precipitous roads. Warren was thankful to be in the lead; somewhere behind and hidden in the cloud of dust were Tozier and Follet in the second Land-Rover and he did not envy them. Bryan was driving and Warren navigating, trying to find his way to a spot pinpointed on the map. This was more difficult than had at first appeared; at times Warren felt as though he were in Alice’s Looking Glass Land because the roads, unmarked on the map, twisted and turned sinuously and often it seemed that the best way to approach a given point was to drive in the opposite direction.

And again, it was only by a considerable stretch of the imagination that these scratch marks in the mountains could be called roads. Ungraded, stony, washed-out and often on the living rock, these tracks had been worn by the pads of thousands of generations of camels over hundreds, possibly thousands of years. Alexander had marched through these mountains, riding among his hetaeroi to the conquest of Persia and the penetration of India, and Warren judged that the roads had not been repaired since.

Several times they passed groups of the nomadic Kurds who were presumably in search of greener pastures, although where those pastures could possibly be Warren did not know. The whole land was a wilderness of rock and eroded bare earth with minimal hardy vegetation which sprouted in crevices in the bare hillsides, sparse and spindly but with the clinging tenacity of life. And it was all brown and burnt and there was no green at all.

He checked the map again, then lifted it to reveal the three sheets of paper which Javid Raqi had abstracted from his office at so much expense of the spirit. The information had been a constant worry to Warren ever since he had seen it. He had been prepared for a reasonable amount of chemicals — enough to extract, at most, a hundred pounds of morphine from the raw opium. But this was most unreasonable.

The quantities involved were fantastic — enough methylene chloride, benzene, amyl alcohol, hydrochloric acid and pharmaceutical lime to extract no less than two tons of morphine. Two tons! He felt chilled at the implications. It would provide enough heroin to saturate the United States illicit market for a year with plenty left over. If this amount got loose then the pushers would be very busy and there would be an explosion of new addicts.

He said, ‘I’ve checked the figures again, Ben — and they still don’t make sense.’

Bryan slowed as he approached a difficult comer. ‘They are startling,’ he admitted.

‘Startling!’ echoed Warren. ‘They’re damned nearly impossible. Look, Ben; it calls for twenty tons of raw opium — twenty tons, for God’s sake! That amount of opium would cost nearly a million pounds on the illegal market. Do you think the Delorme woman has that much capital to play with?’

Bryan laughed. ‘If I had that much money I’d retire.’ He twisted the wheel. ‘I’ve just had a thought, though. Perhaps Raqi fudged the figures in his excitement. He was translating from an oriental script into western notation, remember. Perhaps he made the identical mistake throughout, and uprated by a constant factor.’

Warren chewed his lip. ‘But what factor? Let’s say he made an error of a factor of ten — that brings us to about four hundred pounds of morphine. That’s stall a hell of a lot, but it’s much more reasonable.’

‘How much would that be worth to Delorme?’ asked Bryan.

‘About twenty million dollars, landed in the States.’

‘Yes,’ said Bryan judiciously. ‘I think I’d call that reasonable.’ He slammed into low gear as they breasted a rise. ‘How much longer before we get to whosit’s place — what’s his name?’

‘Sheikh Fahrwaz.’ Warren checked the map. ‘If everything goes well — which it won’t on past form — we should be there in an hour.’

The Land-Rover roared up to the top of the mountain pass, and Bryan slowed as they reached the crest. Warren, looking through the dusty windscreen, suddenly tensed. ‘Reverse, Ben,’ he said sharply. ‘Quickly, now — get off the skyline.’

Bryan crashed the gears, infected by the excitement transmitted by Warren, and the Land-Rover lurched backwards in a series of jerks and came to a halt. ‘Run back down the road,’ said Warren. ‘Run as far as you can and flag Andy to stop. Ask him to join me on foot. And don’t slam that door when you get out.’

He opened the door and jumped to the ground, and as he ran up to the rest of the pass he veered to one side and headed for a clump of rocks which would give cover. When he arrived at the top he was panting, but more with excitement than exertion. He crouched behind the rocks and then slowly raised his head to get a view of the valley below.

Against a background of the usual arid hills on the other side of the valley there was a smear of green, cultivated land, chequer-boarded into fields, and in the middle was a cluster of buildings, low and flat-topped — either a small village or a biggish farm. This was the settlement of Sheikh Fahrwaz, the man who had ordered vast quantities of non-agricultural chemicals, and it was where Warren hoped to find Speering.

He heard a stone clatter behind him and turned his head to see Tozier approaching with Follet close behind. He waved them down and they came up more cautiously and joined him in looking down upon the valley. ‘So this is it,’ said Tozier after a while. ‘What now?’

Follet said suddenly, ‘Those people have been in big trouble.’

Warren looked down. ‘How do you make that out?’

‘Haven’t you got eyes?’ asked Follet. ‘Look at those bomb craters. There’s a line of them right across the valley — one bomb just missed that big building. Someone’s had a crack at these boys from the air.’

It appeared that Follet was right. The line of craters stretched across the valley, starting from just below them and arrowing straight towards the settlement and beyond. Tozier reached behind for his binoculars. ‘Who would want to bomb them unless it was the Iranian Air Force?’ He juggled with the focusing. ‘It was a poor attempt, though. That building hasn’t been touched; there’s no sign of repair work on the wall near the crater.’

‘Are you sure they’re bomb craters?’ asked Warren. Something niggled at the back of his mind.

‘I’ve seen plenty of them in Korea,’ said Follet.

‘Yes, they’re bomb craters,’ confirmed Tozier. ‘Not very big bombs.’

This was a new element in the situation and something else for Warren to worry about. He put it on one side, and said, ‘So what do we do?’

Bryan joined them. ‘We just go down there,’ he said, and jerked his head back at the vehicles. ‘Our cover’s good enough to carry it off. Even these people will have heard of motion pictures.’

Tozier nodded. ‘Half of us go down,’ he corrected. ‘One vehicle. The other stays up here out of sight and keeps a listening watch on the radio.’

‘What’s the general procedure?’ asked Warren. He had no illusions about himself, and he knew that Tozier, the professional, knew more than he about an operation of this sort. He was quite prepared to take orders.

Tozier squinted at the valley. ‘I’ve searched many an innocent-looking village in my time, looking for arms caches mostly. But then we went in as an open operation — bristling with guns. We can’t do that here. If the people down there are innocent, they’ll be hospitable; if they’re guilty, they’ll seem to be hospitable. We’ve got to get a look into every building, and every one we’re barred from is a black mark against them. After that we play it as it comes. Let’s go.’

‘So it’ll be you and me,’ said Warren. ‘While Ben and Johnny stay up here.’

The road wound down to the fertile oasis of the valley where the green vegetation looked incredibly refreshing. Some of the fields were bare and had the shallow lines of primitive ploughing, but most of them were under crops. Tozier, who was driving, said, ‘Would you recognize an opium poppy if you saw one? You might find them here.’

‘There’s none that I can see,’ said Warren. ‘Wait a minute — can you go across there?’ He pointed.

‘I don’t see why not.’ Tozier twisted the wheel and the Land-Rover left the road and bumped across open country. It did not make any appreciable difference to the bounce and jolt — the road was purely symbolic. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I want to have a look at those craters,’ said Warren. ‘The idea of bombing worries me — it doesn’t make sense.’

Tozier drove to the nearest crater and left the engine idling. They got out and looked across the valley floor towards the settlement. The line of craters stretched out towards the buildings, equally spaced at fifty-yard intervals. Tozier looked at the nearest and said, ‘If that’s not a bomb crater then I’m a duck-billed platypus. You can see how the earth has been thrown up around the edge.’

‘Let’s have a closer look,’ said Warren, and started walking. He climbed over the soft earth at the crater’s edge, looked inside and started laughing. ‘You’re a duck-billed platypus, Andy. Look here.’

‘Well, I’m damned!’ said Tozier. ‘It’s just a hole.’ He stepped inside the crater, took a pebble and dropped it into the hole. There was a long pause and then a very faint splash. He straightened up and looked along the line of craters — of holes — with a puzzled expression. ‘This is even crazier. Who’d want to dig a hell of a lot of deep wells at fifty-yard intervals and in a dead straight line?’

Warren snapped his fingers. ‘I’ve got it! I nearly had it when Follet pointed them out, but I couldn’t pin it down. This is a qanat.’

‘A who-what?’

‘A qanat — an underground canal.’ He turned and looked back at the hills. ‘It taps an aquifer in the slopes over there, and leads water to the village. I was studying Iran before we came out here and I read about them. Iran is pretty well honeycombed with the things — there’s a total of nearly two hundred thousand miles of qanats in the country.’

Tozier scratched his head. ‘Why can’t they build their canals on the surface like other people?’

‘It’s for water supply,’ said Warren. ‘They lose less by evaporation if the channel is underground. It’s a very old system — the Persians have been building these things for the last three thousand years.’ He grinned with relief. ‘These aren’t bomb craters — they’re ventilation shafts; they have to have them so the workmen aren’t asphyxiated when they’re doing repairs.’

‘Problem solved,’ said Tozier. ‘Let’s go.’

They set off again and drove back to the road and then towards the settlement. The buildings were of the common sort they had seen elsewhere — walls made of rammed earth, flat roofs, and all of them single storey which would conveniently make a search easier. As they got nearer they saw goats grazing under the watchful eye of a small boy who waved as they passed, and there were scrawny chickens which scattered as they approached the courtyard of the largest building.

Tozier drew up inside. ‘If you want to tell me anything let it wait until we’re alone. These people might have more English than they’ll admit to. But I must say everything looks peaceful.’

It did not seem so to Warren because a crowd of small boys rushed forward towards the unexpected visitors and were capering about in the dust, their shrill voices raised high. The women who had been about were vanishing like wraiths, drawing their shawls about their faces and hurrying out of sight through a dozen doors. He said, ‘There are a hell of a lot of rooms to look into; and if Fahrwaz has a harem that will make things difficult.’

They descended to the ground and the small boys engulfed them. Tozier raised his voice. ‘Better lock up or we’ll be missing a lot of gear.’

Another voice was raised in harsh command and the boys scattered, running across the courtyard as though the devil were at their heels. A tall man stepped forward, richly dressed and straight-backed, though elderly. The haft of the curved knife in his sash glinted with jewels, a stone shone in his turban and others from the rings on his fingers. His face was thin and austere, and his beard was grey.

He turned and spoke in a low voice to his companion, who said — astonishingly in English — ‘Sheikh Fahrwaz welcomes you. His house is yours.’ He paused, then added sardonically, ‘I wouldn’t take that too literally — it’s just a figure of speech.’

Warren recovered enough to say, Thank you. My name is Nicholas Warren and this is Andrew Tozier. We’re looking for locations to make a film.’ He indicated the inscription on the side of the Land-Rover. ‘We work for Regent Films of London.’

‘You’re off the beaten track. I’m Ahmed — this is my father.’ He spoke to the old man and the Sheikh nodded his head gravely and muttered a reply. Ahmed said, ‘You’re still welcome, although my father cannot really approve. He is a good Moslem and the making of images is against the Law.’ He smiled slightly. ‘For myself, I couldn’t give a damn. You need not lock your truck — nothing will be stolen.’

Warren smiled. ‘It’s... er... unexpected to find English spoken in this remote place.’

Ahmed smiled a little mockingly. ‘Do you think I should have a big sign put up there on the Djebel Ramadi — “English Spoken Here”?’ He gestured. ‘My father wishes you to enter his house.’

Thank you,’ said Warren. ‘Thank you very much.’ He glanced at Tozier. ‘Come on, Andy.’

‘The room into which they were led was large. Sheepskin rugs were scattered on the floor and the walls were hidden behind tapestries. Several low settees surrounded a central open space which was covered by a fine Persian carpet, and coffee was already being brought in on brass trays.

‘Be seated,’ said Ahmed, and sank gracefully on to one of the settees. Warren tactfully waited until Sheikh Fahrwaz had settled himself and then sat down, doing his best to imitate the apparently awkward posture of Ahmed, which Ahmed did not seem to find awkward at all. Tozier followed suit and Warren could hear his joints crack.

‘We have had European visits before,’ said Ahmed. ‘My father is one of the old school, and I usually instruct visitors in our customs. It pleases my father when they do what is right in his eyes, and does no harm to anyone.’ He smiled engagingly. ‘Afterwards we will go to my quarters and drink a lot of whisky.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Warren. ‘Isn’t it, Andy?’

‘I could do with a stiff drink,’ admitted Tozier.

Ahmed spoke to his father, then said, ‘We will now have coffee. It is a little ceremonious, but it will not take long. My father wishes to know how long you have been in Kurdistan.’

‘Not very long,’ said Warren. ‘We came in from Gilan two days ago.’

Ahmed translated this to his father, then said, ‘You take the brass coffee cup in your right hand. The coffee is very hot and already sweetened — perhaps too sweet for your palate. Is this your first time in Kurdistan?’

Warren thought it better to tell the truth; unnecessary lies could be dangerous. He picked up the cup and cradled it in the palm of his hand. ‘We were here a few weeks ago,’ he said. ‘We didn’t find just what we wanted so we went back to Tehran to rest for a while.’

‘No,’ said Ahmed. ‘Kurdistan is not a restful place.’ He turned to Sheikh Fahrwaz and ripped off a couple of sentences very fast, then he said, ‘You drink the coffee all at once, then you put the cup on the tray — upturned. It will make a sticky mess, but that doesn’t matter. What is this film you are going to make, Mr Warren?’

‘I’m not going to make the film,’ said Warren. ‘I’m just an advance man scouting locations as called for by the script.’ He drank the coffee; it was hot and sickly sweet, and the cup was half full of grounds which he pushed back with his tongue. He brought the cup down and turned it over on the tray. Old Sheikh Fahrwaz smiled benevolently.

‘I see,’ said Ahmed. ‘Just the other two cups and then we are finished. You make my father very happy when you understand our Kurdish hospitality.’ He drank his coffee apparently with enjoyment. ‘Are you the... er... the man in charge, Mr Warren?’

‘Yes.’ Warren followed Ahmed’s example and picked up the second cup. ‘Andy — Mr Tozier, here — is more of a technician. He concerns himself with camera angles and things like that.’ Warren did not know how a unit like this was supposed to operate, and he hoped he was not dropping too many clangers.

‘And there are just the two of you?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Warren blandly. ‘Four of us in two vehicles. The others had a puncture and stopped to change the wheel.’

‘Ah, then we must extend our hospitality to your friends. Night is falling.’

Warren shook his head. ‘It is not necessary. They are fully equipped for camping.’

‘As you say,’ said Ahmed, and turned to his father.

They got through the third and last cup of the coffee ceremony and Sheikh Fahrwaz arose and uttered a sonorous and lengthy speech. Ahmed said briefly, ‘My father extends to you the use of his house for the night.’

Warren gave Tozier a sideways glance and Tozier nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘We’ll be delighted. I’d just like to get some things from the Land-Rover — shaving kit and so forth.’

‘I’ll get it,’ said Tozier promptly.

‘Why, Mr Tozier,’ said Ahmed chidingly, ‘I was beginning to think the cat had got your tongue.’ He brought out the English idiom triumphantly.

Tozier grinned. ‘I leave the talking to the boss.’

‘Of course you may leave,’ said Ahmed. ‘But after my father — that is the custom.’

Sheikh Fahrwaz bowed and disappeared through a doorway at the back of the room, and Tozier went out into the courtyard. He reached into the cab, unhooked the microphone and tossed it carelessly into the back. Luckily it had a long lead. He climbed into the back and, as he was unstrapping his case, he pressed the switch, and said in a low voice, ‘Calling Regent Two; calling Regent Two. Come in — come in. Over.’

Follet’s voice from the speaker in front was a bit too loud for comfort. ‘Johnny here. Are you okay? Over.’

‘We’ll be all right if you speak more softly. We’re staying the night. Keep listening in case anything happens. Over.’

‘I can’t keep the set alive all night without moving,’ said Follet more quietly. ‘It’ll run the batteries flat. Over.’

‘Then keep a listening watch every hour on the hour for ten minutes. Got that? Over.’

‘Got it. Good luck. Out.’

Tozier unpacked everything he and Warren would need and then stowed the microphone away out of sight. When he went back into the house he found Warren and Ahmed chatting. ‘Ahmed has just been telling me how he came by his English,’ said Warren. ‘He lived in England for seventeen years.’

‘Oh,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s interesting. How come?’

Ahmed waved gracefully. ‘Let us talk about it over a drink. Come, my friends.’ He led them from the room, across the courtyard and into what were unmistakably his own quarters, which were furnished completely in European style. He opened a cabinet. ‘Whisky?’

‘Thank you,’ said Warren civilly. ‘It’s very kind of you.’

Ahmed poured the drinks and Warren noted he drank Chivas Regal. ‘My father does not approve, but I do as I wish in my own rooms,’ He handed a glass to Warren. The Prophet is against alcohol, but would God allow us to make it if we weren’t to use it?’ He held up the bottle and said jocularly, ‘And if I sin, at least my sins are of the finest quality. Mr Tozier, your drink.’

‘Thank you.’

Ahmed poured himself a healthy slug. ‘Besides, the very word alcohol is Arabic. I must say I acquired a taste for Scotch whisky in England. But sit down, gentlemen; I think you will find those seats more comfortable than those of my father.’

‘How did you get to England?’ asked Warren curiously.

‘Ah, what a long story,’ said Ahmed. ‘Do you know much of our Kurdish politics?’

‘Nothing at all. What about you, Andy?’

‘I’ve heard of the Kurdish problem, but I’ve never known what it is,’ said Tozier.

Ahmed laughed. ‘We Kurds prefer to call it the Iranian problem, or the Iraqi problem, or the Turkish problem; we don’t look upon ourselves as a problem, but that is quite natural.’ He sipped his whisky. ‘During the war Iran was occupied, as you know, by you British in the south and by the Russians in the north. When the occupying forces left the Russians played one of their favourite tricks by leaving a Fifth Column behind. For this purpose they tried to use the Kurds. The Mehabad Kurdish Republic was set up, backed by the Russians, but it was short-lived and collapsed as soon as the new Iranian government moved an army to the north.’

He waved his glass. ‘That was in 1946 when I was five years old. My father was involved, and with Mullah Mustapha Barzani, he took refuge in Russia.’ He tapped his chest. ‘But me he sent to England where I lived until 1963. My father is a wise man; he did not want all his family in Russia. You English have a saying about too many eggs in one basket — so I was sent to England, and my elder brother to France. That explains it, does it not?’

‘This Mullah what’s-his-name — who is he?’ asked Tozier.

‘Mullah Mustapha Barzani? He is one of our Kurdish leaders. He is still alive.’ Ahmed chuckled gleefully. ‘He is in Iraq with an army of twenty thousand men. He causes the Iraqis a lot of trouble. Me, I am also a Barzani; that is, a member of the Barzani tribe of which the Mullah is the leader. And so, of course, is my father.’

‘How did your father get back into Iran?’ asked Warren.

‘Oh, there was a sort of amnesty,’ said Ahmed, ‘and he was allowed to return. Of course he is watched; but all Kurds are watched, more or less. My father is now old and no longer inclined to politics. As for me — I never was. Life in England conditions one to be... gentle!’

Warren looked at the knife in Ahmed’s sash and wondered if it was entirely ceremonial. Tozier said, ‘Where do the Iraqis and Turks come into all this?’

‘Ah, the Kurdish problem. That is best explained with a map — I think I have one somewhere.’ Ahmed went to a bookcase and pulled out what was obviously an old school atlas. He flicked the pages, and said, ‘Here we are — the Middle East. In the north — Turkey; in the east — Iran; to the west — Iraq.’ His finger swept in a line from the mountains of eastern Turkey south along the Iraqi-Iranian border.

‘This is the homeland of the Kurds. We are a divided people spread over three countries, and in each country we are a minority — an oppressed minority, if you like. We are divided and ruled by the Persians, the Iraqis and the Turks. You must admit this could lead to trouble.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ said Tozier. ‘And it’s happening in Iraq, you say.’

‘Barzani is fighting for Kurdish autonomy in Iraq,’ said Ahmed. ‘He is a clever man and a good soldier; he has fought the Iraqis to a standstill. With all their war planes, tanks and heavy artillery the Iraqis have not been able to subdue him — so now President Bakr is reduced to negotiation.’ He smiled. ‘A triumph for Barzani.’

He closed the atlas. ‘But enough of politics. Have more whisky and tell me of England.’

II

Warren and Tozier left rather late the next morning. Ahmed was prodigal in his hospitality, but they did not see Sheikh Fahrwaz again. Ahmed kept them up late at night talking about his life in England and quizzing them about current English affairs. In the morning, after breakfast, he said, ‘Would you like to see the farm? It’s typically Kurdish, you know’ He smiled charmingly. ‘Perhaps I will yet see my father’s farm on the screen.’

The tour of the farm was exhaustive — and Ahmed was exhausting. He showed them everything and kept up a running commentary all the time. It was after eleven when they were ready to leave. ‘And where do you go now?’ he asked.

Tozier looked at his watch. ‘Johnny hasn’t turned up yet; maybe he’s in trouble. I think we ought to go back and find him. What do you say, Nick?’

‘It might be as well,’ said Warren. ‘But I bet he’s gone back to have another look at that encampment he was so enthusiastic about. I think we’d better chase him up.’ He smiled at Ahmed. ‘Thank you for your hospitality — it’s been most kind.’

‘Typically Kurdish,’ said Ahmed cheerfully.

They exchanged a few more polite formalities and then departed with a wave from Ahmed and his ‘God speed you,’ in their ears. As they bumped back along the road to the pass Warren said, ‘What did you think of that?’

Tozier snorted. ‘Too bloody good to be true, if you ask me. He was altogether too accommodating.’

‘He certainly took a lot of trouble over us,’ said Warren. ‘ “Typical Kurdish hospitality”,’ he quoted.

‘Hospitality, my backside,’ said Tozier violently. ‘Did you notice he took us into every building — into every room? It was as though he was deliberately demonstrating he had nothing to hide. How did you sleep?’

‘Like the dead,’ said Warren. ‘He was very liberal with his Chivas Regal. I felt woozy when I turned in.’

‘So was I,’ said Tozier. ‘I usually have a better head for Scotch than that.’ He paused. ‘Maybe we were doped with some of that morphine we’re looking for. Is that possible?’

‘It’s possible,’ said Warren. ‘I must admit I felt a bit dreary when I woke up this morning.’

‘I have a vague idea there was quite a bit of movement during the night,’ said Tozier. ‘I seem to remember a lot of coming and going with camels. The trouble is I don’t know if it really happened or if it was a dream.’

They came to the top of the pass and Warren looked back. The settlement looked peaceful and innocent — a pleasant pastoral scene. Typically Kurdish, he thought sardonically. And yet Sheikh Fahrwaz was the consignee for those damned chemicals. He said, ‘We saw everything there was to be seen down there, therefore there was nothing to hide. Unless...’

‘Unless?’

‘Unless it’s so well hidden that Ahmed knew we wouldn’t spot it.’

‘How much room would Speering need for his laboratory, or whatever it is?’

Warren considered the ridiculous amount of chemicals that Javid Raqi had come up with. ‘Anything from two hundred square feet to two thousand.’

‘Then it’s not there,’ said Tozier flatly. ‘We’d have seen it.’

‘Would we?’ said Warren thoughtfully. ‘You said you’ve searched villages for arms caches. Where did you usually find them?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said Tozier, thumping the wheel violently. ‘Underground, of course. But just in bits and pieces — a few here and there. There was never any big-scale construction like you’d need here.’

‘It wouldn’t be too difficult. The ground in the valley bottom isn’t rocky — it’s soil over red clay; quite soft, really.’

‘So you think we ought to go back and have a look. That’s going to be difficult, as well as being dicey.’

‘We’ll talk about it with the others. There’s Ben now.’

Bryan waved them off the road into a little side valley which was hardly more than a ravine, and jumped on to the running-board as they passed. After two hundred yards the ravine bent at right-angles and they saw the other vehicle parked, with Follet sitting on the ground in front of it. He looked up as they stopped. ‘Any trouble?’

‘Not yet,’ said Tozier briefly. He joined Follet. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’

‘A photograph of the valley. I took a dozen with the Polaroid camera.’

‘Those could be useful. We have to go in there again — discreetly. Let’s have a look at them, Johnny — all of them.’

Follet spread the photographs on the bonnet of the Land — Rover. After a while Tozier said, ‘There’s not much joy here. Anyone coming down the pass can be spotted in daylight, and you can lay odds that a watch is kept. It’s four miles from the bottom of the pass to the settlement — eight miles there and back — that’s a long way at night on foot. And when we get there we have to stumble around in the dark looking for something that might not be there. I can’t see it.’

‘What are you looking for?’ asked Follet.

‘A secret underground room,’ said Warren.

Follet pulled a face. ‘How in hell do you expect to find that?’

‘I don’t know how we’re going to find it,’ said Warren a little wearily.

Bryan leaned over and picked up a photograph. ‘Andy seems more concerned about getting to the settlement unseen,’ he said. ‘There’s more than one way of skinning a cat.’ His finger traced the lane of ‘craters’. ‘Tell me more about this underground channel.’

‘The qanat? It’s just a means of tapping water from the mountains and leading it to the valley.’

‘How big is it? Big enough for a man to walk through?’

Warren nodded. ‘It must be.’ He tried to remember what he had read about them. ‘They send men down to keep them in repair.’

There you are,’ said Bryan. ‘You don’t have to go stumbling around. That’s an arterial highway pointing straight at the settlement. You can pop down a hole here and pop up another there just like a rabbit.’

Tozier stared at him for a moment. ‘You make it sound so easy,’ he said with heavy irony. ‘What’s the slope in these things, Nick?’

‘Not much. Just enough to keep the water moving.’

‘How deep is the water?’

‘I don’t think that’s very much, either. Maybe a foot.’ Warren felt a sense of desperation. ‘Look, Andy; I don’t know much about this. All I know is what I’ve read.’

Tozier ignored that. ‘What’s the footing like? Is it flat?’

Warren closed his eyes, trying to visualize the illustrations he had seen. At last he said, ‘Flat, I think.’

Tozier looked at the photographs. ‘We go down the pass on foot just after dark. We drop down a shaft into the qanat. If the footing is reasonable we ought to make two miles an hour — there’s two hours to the settlement. We come up as close as possible and we can search until just before daybreak. Then we pop back down our hole and come back underground and unseen. We take our chances coming up the pass in daylight — there’s a reasonable amount of cover. It’s becoming practicable.’

Follet snorted. ‘Practicable! I think it’s crazy. Burrowing underground, for Christ’s sake!’

‘Supposing the qanat route is practicable,’ said Warren. ‘I doubt it, but let’s suppose we can do it. How are we going to search the settlement without being nabbed?’

‘You never know your luck unless you try,’ said Tozier. ‘In any case, can you suggest anything else?’

‘No,’ said Warren. ‘I can’t, damn it!’

III

Tozier supervised the preparations. He hauled more rope out of the Land-Rovers than Warren had thought they carried — light nylon rope with a high breaking strain. From a toolbox he took crampons. ‘Dropping down a shaft will be easy,’ he said. ‘We can do that on the end of a rope. Getting up another might be difficult. We’ll need these.’

He produced high-powered electric torches and knives to go in their belts, but Warren was surprised when he began to take apart one of the photographic tripods. ‘What are you doing?’

Tozier paused. ‘Supposing you find this laboratory — what do you intend to do?’

‘Destroy it,’ said Warren tightly.

‘How?’

‘I thought of burning it, or something like that.’

‘That might not work underground,’ said Tozier, and continued to strip the tripod. He took off the tubular aluminium legs and from them shook several brown cylinders. ‘This will do it, though. You don’t need much gelignite to make a thorough mess of a relatively small installation.’

Warren gaped as he watched Tozier wrap the gelignite into a neat bundle with strips of insulating tape. Tozier grinned. ‘You left the fighting preparations to me — remember?’

‘I remember,’ said Warren.

Then Tozier did something even more surprising. Using a screwdriver he removed the clock from the dashboard. ‘This is already gimmicked,’ he said. ‘See that spike on the back? That’s a detonator. All we do is to ram that into one of those sticks of gelignite and we can set the clock to explode it at any time up to twelve hours in advance.’ He laughed. ‘The art of preparation is the art of war.’

‘Got any more surprises?’ asked Warren drily.

Tozier looked at him seriously and jerked his thumb in the direction of the settlement. ‘Those boys are gangsters and they’ll use gangster’s weapons — knives and pistols. In these parts maybe rifles, too. But I’m a soldier and I like soldier’s tools.’ He patted the side of the Land-Rover. ‘These aren’t the same vehicles that left the factory. The Rover company wouldn’t recognize some of the parts I put in, but then, neither would a customs officer.’

‘So?’

‘So what does a gun look like?’

Warren shook his head in a baffled way. ‘It has a barrel, a trigger, a stock.’

‘Yes,’ said Tozier. He went to the back of the Land-Rover and began to take out one of the struts which held up the canopy. He hauled it out and the canopy sagged slightly but not much. ‘There’s your barrel,’ he said, thrusting it into Warren’s hands. ‘Now we want the breech mechanism.’

He began to strip the vehicle of odd bits of metal — the cigarette lighter from the dash-board was resolved into its component parts, an ashtray which was apparently a metal pressing turned out to be a finely machined slide, springs were picked out of the toolbox and within ten minutes Tozier had assembled the gun.

‘Now for the stock,’ he said, and unstrapped the spade from the side of the Land-Rover. With a twist of his wrist it came neatly in half and the handle part was slotted into the gun to form a shoulder rest. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘An automatic machine-pistol. There’s so much metal in a truck that no one recognizes small components for what they are — and the big bits you disguise as something else.’ He held out the gun. ‘We couldn’t just walk into the country with a thing like this in our hands, could we?’

‘No,’ said Warren, fascinated. ‘How many of those have you got?’

‘Two of these little chaps and a rather decent air-cooled machine-gun which fits on one of the tripods. Ammunition is the difficulty — it’s hard to disguise that as anything else, so we haven’t got much.’ He jerked his thumb. ‘Every one of those sealed cans of unexposed film carries its share.’

‘Very ingenious.’

‘And then there’s the mortar,’ said Tozier casually. ‘You never know when a bit of light artillery will come in useful.’

‘No!’ said Warren abruptly. ‘Now, that’s impossible.’

‘Be my guest,’ said Tozier, waving at the Land-Rover. ‘If you find it you can have my bonus — or as much of it as Johnny Follet leaves me with.’

He went away, leaving Warren to look at the Land-Rover with renewed interest. A mortar was a big piece of equipment, and search as he would he could not find anything remotely resembling one, nor could he find any mortar bombs — sizeable objects in themselves. He rather thought Tozier was pulling his leg.

They made the final preparations and drove up to the top of the pass and parked the Land-Rovers off the road behind some boulders. At sunset they began to descend the pass. Going down into the valley was not too difficult; it was not yet so dark that they could not see a few yards in front of them, but dark enough to make it improbable that they should be seen from a distance. From the top of the pass to the first ventilation shaft of the qanat was just over a mile, and when they got there it would have been quite dark but for the light of the newly risen moon.

Tozier looked up at the sky. ‘I’d forgotten that,’ he said. ‘It could make it dicey at the other end. We’re damned lucky to have this underground passage — if it works.’ He began to uncoil a rope.

‘Hold on,’ said Warren. ‘Not this shaft.’ He had just remembered something. ‘This will be the head well — the water’s likely to be deep at the bottom. Try the next shaft.’

They walked about fifty yards along the line of the qanat until they came to the next shaft, and Tozier unslung the rope. ‘How deep are these things, Nick?’

‘I haven’t a clue.’

Tozier picked up a pebble and dropped it down the hole, timing its fall by the ticking of his watch. ‘Less than a hundred feet. That’s not too bad. We might have to come up this one in a hurry.’ He gave one end of the rope to Bryan.

‘Here, Ben; belay that around something — and make sure it’s something that won’t shift.’

Bryan scouted around and found a rock deeply embedded in the earth around which he looped the rope, tying it off securely. Tozier hauled on it to test it, then fed the other end into the shaft. He handed his machine-pistol to Warren. ‘I’ll go first. I’ll flash a light three times if it’s okay to come down.’ He sat on the edge of the shaft, his legs dangling, then turned over on to his belly and began to lower himself. ‘See you at the bottom,’ he whispered, the sound of his voice coming eerily from the black hole.

He went down hand over hand using his knees to brace against the wall of the shaft which was about three feet in diameter. One by one he came to the bits of cloth he had tied to the rope at ten-foot intervals and by which he could judge his distance and, at just past the ninety-foot mark, his boots struck something solid and he felt the swirl of water over his ankles.

He looked up and saw the paler blackness of the sky. It flickered a little and he guessed someone was looking down the shaft. He groped for his torch, flashed it three times upwards, then he shone it around and down the qanat. It stretched away, three feet wide and six feet high, into the distance, far beyond the range of his light. The bare earthen walls were damp and the water flowed about nine inches deep.

He felt the rope quiver as someone else started down the shaft and a scattering of earth fell on his head. He stepped out of the way downstream and presently Warren joined him, gasping for breath. Tozier took the gun and said, ‘This is it, Nick.’ He played the light on the earthen roof. ‘God help us if that caves in.’

‘I don’t think it will,’ said Warren. ‘If there’s a danger of that they put in big pottery hoops to retain it. Don’t forget that people are working down here pretty regularly to keep the waterway unrestricted. They don’t want to get killed, either.’ He forebore to tell Tozier that the men who worked in the qanats had an aptly descriptive name for them — they called them ‘the murderers’.

‘How old do you think this is?’ asked Tozier.

‘I don’t know. Could be ten years — could be a thousand, or even more. Does it matter?’

‘I don’t suppose so.’

Bryan joined them and was soon followed by Follet. Tozier said, ‘The shaft we want to go up is the thirty-fifth from here...’

‘The thirty-fourth,’ said Warren quietly.

‘Oh, yes; I forgot we skipped the first one. We’ll all keep a count just in case. If there’s an argument the majority vote wins. And we go quietly because I don’t know how sounds carry up the shafts. I go first with a gun, Nick next, then Ben and lastly Johnny with the other gun as rearguard. Let’s go.’

It was ridiculously easy and they made far better time than Warren had expected — at least three miles an hour. As Bryan had said, it was a main highway pointing at the farm. The footing was firm and not even muddy or slippery so that it was even easier than walking in the middle of an English stream. The water was not so deep as to impede them unduly and Tozier’s powerful torch gave plenty of light.

Only once did they run into a minor difficulty. The water deepened suddenly to two feet and then to three. Tozier halted them and went ahead to kick down a dam of soft earth where there had been a small roof fall. The pent-up water was released and gurgled away rapidly until it fell to the normal nine inches or so.

But still, it was a hard slog and Warren was relieved when Tozier held up his hand for them to stop. He turned and said softly, ‘This shaft is thirty-three — are we agreed on that?’ They were. He said, ‘Now we go canny. Remember that the settlement is just above us. Gently does it.’

They carried on into the darkness with Tozier meticulously checking his paces. Suddenly he stopped so that Warren almost collided with him. ‘Do you hear anything?’ he asked in a low voice.

Warren listened and heard nothing but the gentle chuckle of the water. ‘No,’ he said, and even as he said it he heard a throb which rapidly died away. They kept quiet, but heard nothing more.

At last Tozier said, ‘Come on — it’s only another twenty yards.’ He pushed on and stopped under the shaft. Abruptly he turned and whispered, ‘There’s a light up there. Have a look and tell me what you think it is.’

Warren squeezed past him and looked up the shaft. Far above he saw the pale circle of the sky but there was another and brighter light shining on the wall of the shaft not so far up, which seemed to be emanating from the side of the shaft itself. He estimated that it was about fifty feet up.

He drew back and said quietly, ‘We were looking for something underground, weren’t we? I think this is it. The place would have to be ventilated somehow so they’re using the qanat shaft. And this shaft is the nearest to the farm.’

Tozier’s voice was filled with incredulity. ‘You think we’ve stumbled across it first crack out of the box?’

Follet said out of the darkness. ‘Everybody’s lucky some time. Why not us?’

There was a sound. The distant but distinct noise of someone coughing. ‘Someone’s awake,’ breathed Tozier. ‘We can’t do anything yet.’ He peered up the shaft. ‘If they ever sleep they’ll put the light out. I’ll keep watch — the rest of you go back, say, a hundred yards. And keep quiet.’

Thus began one of the most uncomfortable periods of Warren’s life. It was nearly three hours before Tozier flashed for them and he knew what his feet would look like when he took off his boots; they would be as white as a fish’s belly and as wrinkled as a washerwoman’s hands. He made a mental note to issue surgical spirits when — and if — they got back, otherwise everyone could become crippled with blisters.

So he was very glad when Tozier gave the signal and he was able to move up and to stretch his cramped limbs. ‘Everything all right?’

‘The light has been off for nearly an hour. I thought I heard someone snoring a while back, so let’s hope he’s still asleep. I think I’ll nip up and have a look. You’ll have to give me a boost up to the shaft.’

‘Take it easy.’

‘I will,’ said Tozier with grim humour. ‘I was studying the light before it went out. I reckon that’s the main entrance to their cubby-hole. Well, here goes — I’ll drop a rope for you.’

Warren, Bryan and Follet braced themselves, forming a human stepladder up which Tozier could climb. He hoisted himself up, felt the sides of the shaft with his hands, and then brought up one leg so that the crampons on his boot bit into the clay. He pushed, straightening his leg, and dug in with the other boot. It was not too difficult — he had made worse climbs, but never in such darkness. Slowly he went up, his back braced against the wall and his feet climbing the opposite wall in the chimney technique he had once learned at mountain school.

Half way he stopped, and rested for a couple of minutes and then started again, feeling it easier as he got the rhythm so that the second half of the climb was done much more quickly than the first. And so he came to the ledge, broad enough to stand on, that had been cut into the side of the shaft. He risked a flash of his light and saw a support post, so he uncoiled his rope, tied one end securely to the post, and dropped the rest down the shaft.

Warren came up next with his gun which Tozier took and cocked with a metallic click. Then Bryan came, and Follet soon after, and all four of them were crammed on the narrow ledge. Tozier flashed his light and they saw a door. He pushed it gently and it swung open without a sound, so he passed inside — gun first.

Follet went next because he too had a gun, and Warren and Bryan were close behind. Tozier switched on his light and the beam roved about, striking bright reflections from the glassware set up on benches. The light moved on and settled on a bed where a man lay sleeping. He moved restlessly under the glare, and Tozier whispered, ‘Take him, Johnny.’

Follet moved forward into the light. He crossed the room in three strides, his hand came up holding something black, and when it came down there was a dull thump and a muffled gasp.

Tozier searched the room with his light, looking for other sleepers, but he found none. ‘Close the door, Ben,’ he said. ‘Johnny, light that Coleman lamp.’

The bright light from the lamp was enough to show Warren that they had found the right place. There was only the one room, carved out of the alluvial clay, the roof supported by rough timber. It reminded him very much of the dug-outs of the trenches of the First World War which he had seen depicted on the screen. The room was cramped because nearly half of it was filled with boxes, and the rest with benches full of equipment.

Tozier said, ‘Take a look, Nick. Is this what you’re looking for?’

Warren cast a professional eye on the bench set-up. ‘By God, it is!’ He sniffed at some of the open bottles, then found some white powder and cautiously put the tip of his tongue to a couple of granules held on his fingertip. He grimaced. ‘This is it, all right.’

Bryan straightened up from the bed. ‘He’s out cold. What did you hit him with, Johnny?’

Follet grinned and held up a stubby, leather-covered cosh.

‘It’s Speering, all right,’ said Bryan. ‘He’s been growing a beard, but I recognize him.’

‘He can’t have been working on his own,’ said Tozier.

Warren was probing among the benches. ‘He’d need a few assistants, but once he’d made this set-up he could get by with unskilled labour as long as he did the supervision. Some of our hospitable Kurds upstairs, I suppose.’ He looked about the room, at the coffee-pot and the dirty plates and the empty whisky bottles. ‘Ahmed doesn’t give him Chivas Regal, I see. He’s been living down here all the time, I think. They couldn’t let him give the game away by allowing him to walk around the settlement.’

His gaze settled on the boxes and he investigated one that had been opened. ‘Christ Almighty!’

Tozier looked over his shoulder at the cylindrical objects. ‘What are they — cheeses?’

‘That’s opium,’ said Warren. ‘And it’s Turkish opium, by God! Not Iranian at all.’

‘How do you know it’s Turkish?’

‘The shape — only the Turks pack it that way.’ He stepped back and looked at the stack of boxes. ‘If these are all full there must be ten tons of the stuff here.’

Tozier tested the weight of a couple of boxes at random. ‘They’re full, all right.’

Warren began to think that the figures supplied by Raqi were correct, after all. He found a corner of the room used for chemical storage and started to check the remaining chemicals against Raqi’s list. After a while he said, ‘As near as I can get to it he’s used about half — but where’s the morphine?’

Follet made a muffled exclamation which was covered by Tozier’s voice as he held up a rectangular block. ‘What’s this?’

Warren took it and scratched the surface with his fingernail. ‘More opium — wrapped in poppy leaves. From Afghanistan, I’d say. It looks as though they’ve been getting the stuff from all over the Middle East.’ He tossed it on to the bench. ‘But I’m not interested in that — I want the morphine.’

‘What would it look like?’

‘A fine white powder — like table salt or castor sugar. And there ought to be a hell of a lot of it.’

They searched the room carefully and eventually Follet said excitedly, ‘What’s this?’ He hefted a large glass carboy half full of white powder.

Warren sampled it gingerly. ‘This is it. This is morphine.’

‘Cut or uncut?’ asked Follet.

‘It’s pure — or as pure as you can make the stuff in a slum like this.’

Follet whistled. ‘So this is what you were after. You played it close to your chest, didn’t you, Warren?’ He tested the weight of the carboy. ‘Jesus! There must be twenty pounds here. This lot should be worth half a million bucks.’

‘Don’t get any ideas, Johnny,’ said Tozier.

Warren whirled around. ‘Twenty pounds! I’m looking for a hundred times that amount.’

Follet stared at him. ‘You serious? You must be joking, Doc.’

‘This isn’t a thing to joke about,’ said Warren savagely. He flung out his arm and pointed to the boxes of opium stacked against the wall. ‘There’s enough opium there to extract a ton of morphine. Speering had used half his chemicals so we can say his job was half done — he’s been here long enough to have extracted a ton of morphine with help — and the scale of this laboratory set-up is just about right, too. So where the hell is it?’ His voice rose.

‘Not so loud,’ said Tozier warningly. He nodded to where Speering lay breathing stertorously on the bed. ‘We could ask him?’

‘Yeah,’ said Follet. ‘But he might make a noise while we’re doing it.’

‘Then we’ll take him with us,’ said Tozier. ‘Some of the way.’ He turned back to Warren. ‘What do you want done with this place?’

‘I want it wrecked,’ said Warren coldly. ‘I want it totally destroyed.’

‘Half a million bucks,’ said Follet, and tapped the carboy with his foot. ‘An expensive bang.’

‘Would you have any other ideas?’ asked Tozier softly.

‘Hell, no,’ said Follet. ‘It’s not my line. I stay on the legal side — although I must say I’ve been stretching it a bit on this trip.’

‘All right; then stick Speering down the shaft. Nick, you can give me a hand with the explosives.’

Follet ripped a sheet into strips and began to truss up Speering, ending by making a gag and stuffing it into his mouth. ‘That’s in case he comes to half-way down the shaft. Give me a hand with him, Ben.’

They lashed the rope around Speering’s slack body, dragged him through the doorway and began to lower him down the shaft. When the strain eased off the rope they knew he had touched bottom, and Follet prepared to follow. He went over to Tozier and said, ‘Ben and I are going down now.’

‘Okay. Wait for Nick and me at the bottom.’ Tozier looked at his watch. ‘I’m setting the time of the bang at three hours from now. That should give us time to get out with a bit to spare.’

Follet left and Tozier completed setting the charges. The last thing he did was to set the clock carefully and, very delicately, to push over a small lever. ‘She’s cocked,’ he said. ‘An alarm clock to wake up Ahmed. Come on, Nick, let’s get the hell out of here. Armed charges always make me nervous.’

Warren launched himself into the darkness of the shaft and went down the rope hand over hand until his feet splashed in water. ‘Over here,’ whispered Bryan, and Warren splashed up-stream.

Follet said, ‘Our friend is coming round.’ He flashed his light on Speering who rolled his eyes wildly while choked sounds came from behind the gag. A long knife came into view and highlights slithered along the blade held before Speering’s eyes. ‘You make a noise and you’ll end up with a cut throat.’

Speering became abruptly silent.

There was a muffled thump and a splash from the direction of the shaft. ‘All right,’ said Tozier. ‘Let’s move fast. Can Speering walk?’

‘He’d better,’ said Follet. ‘I’ll be right behind him with this pig-sticker.’ He flashed his light on Speering’s feet and cut away the bonds. ‘Get on your feet, you son-of-a-bitch; get on your feet and move.’

Despite the encumbrance of Speering they travelled rapidly up the qanat. Tozier went first with Speering right behind urged on by the fear of Follet and his knife, while Bryan and Warren brought up the rear. Because Speering’s hands were bound he found it difficult to keep his balance — he plunged about from side to side of the qanat, ricocheting from one wall to the other, and sometimes fell to his knees, while Follet pricked him mercilessly with the knife and kicked him to his feet.

After three-quarters of an hour of punishing progress Tozier called a halt. ‘It’s time to have a breather,’ he said. ‘Besides, we want to talk to Speering, don’t we? It should be safe enough here.’ He flashed his light upwards. ‘We’re well between shafts. Take out the gag, Johnny.’

Follet brought up the knife close to Speering’s face. ‘You keep quiet — you understand?’ Speering nodded, and Follet inserted the knife under the cloth that held the gag in place and ripped it free. ‘Spit it out, buster.’

Speering coughed and choked as he ejaculated the wad of sheeting that filled his mouth. Blood ran down his cheek and matted his beard from the gash where Follet had cut him in hacking away the gag. He swallowed violently, and whispered, ‘Who are you?’

‘You don’t ask questions,’ said Tozier. ‘You answer them. Carry on, Nick.’

‘How much morphine did you extract, Speering? And where is it now?’

Speering had not yet recovered his breath. His chest heaved as he shook his head. ‘Oh boy!’ said Follet. ‘We’re talking to a dead man.’

Tozier moved suddenly and viciously. His hand came up fast and he rocked Speering with a hard double slap. ‘My friend is right,’ he said softly. ‘Answer the questions — or you’re dead.’

‘How much morphine did you extract, Speering?’ asked Warren quietly.

‘They’ll kill me,’ gasped Speering. ‘You don’t know them.’

‘Who?’ asked Tozier.

‘Fahrwaz and Ahmed.’ Speering was terrified. ‘You don’t know how bad they are.’

‘You don’t know how bad we are,’ said Follet reasonably. ‘Take your choice — die now or die later.’ He pricked Speering’s throat with the knife. ‘Answer the question — how much morphine?’

Speering arched away in an attempt to get away from the knife. ‘A thou... thousand kilograms.’

Tozier glanced at Warren. ‘You just about hit it. That’s twenty-two hundred pounds. All right, Speering; where is it?’

Speering shook his head violently. ‘I don’t know. I swear I don’t know.’

‘When did it leave?’

‘Last night — they took it away in the middle of the night.’

‘That must have been while we were there,’ said Tozier thoughtfully. ‘They lifted the stuff right out from under our noses. Where did they take it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘But you can guess,’ said Follet, putting a fraction more pressure on the knife. A trickle of blood ran down Speering’s neck. ‘I bet you can guess real good.’

‘Iraq,’ Speering burst out. ‘They said it was going to Iraq.’

‘We’re about thirty miles from the Iraqi border,’ said Tozier. ‘It begins to add up. I’d swear I heard camels last night. Did they take the stuff out on camel back?’

Speering tried to nod but ran his throat on to the knifepoint. ‘Yes,’ he said weakly.

‘Why didn’t you acetylate the morphine here?’ asked Warren. ‘Where are they going to turn it into heroin?’

‘I was going to do it here,’ said Speering, ‘but they changed their minds. They took it away last night. I don’t know anything more than that.’

Tozier looked at Warren. ‘Wouldn’t they need Speering for that?’

‘Maybe not. It’s not too difficult a job. It looks as though we threw a scare into Ahmed. He got the stuff out of the way prematurely as a safety precaution, I’d say.’

‘As a safety precaution it worked,’ said Tozier grumpily. ‘If he hadn’t done it we’d have copped the lot. As it is, we’ve lost it. The stuff will be in Iraq by now.’ He turned to Speering. ‘Are you sure you don’t know where it was going to in Iraq? You’d better tell the truth.’

Speering twitched his eyes back and forth. ‘Come on, baby,’ said Follet encouragingly. ‘It’s the last question.’

Speering gave in. ‘I don’t know exactly — but it’s somewhere near Sulaymaniyeh.’

Tozier checked the time. ‘Gag him again, Johnny. The road to Iraq goes past Fahrwaz’s settlement. We have to be on time when the balloon goes up.’

‘What can we do with Speering?’ asked Warren.

‘What can we do with him? We leave him here. With his hands tied and a gag in his mouth he can’t do much. Hurry it along, Johnny.’

Three minutes later they were on their way again without Speering. As they left Warren turned round and flashed his light down the qanat. Speering was slumped against the wall in the position they had left him, but then he turned and stumbled away in the opposite direction. Warren met the eyes of Ben Bryan. ‘Come on, Ben; let’s go.’

Bryan hesitated fractionally, then fell in behind Warren who was making good time to catch up with the others who had already drawn well ahead.

Warren’s mind was busy with the implications of what he had learned. The mountains of Kurdistan formed part of an age-old smuggler’s route — Fahrwaz and Ahmed would know them well and he had no doubt that the morphine could be smuggled into Iraq with little difficulty. The writ of the law did not run strongly in any part of Kurdistan and had broken down completely in Iraqi-Kurdistan where the government forces were held at arm’s length.

He plugged along mechanically behind Follet and wondered what the devil they were going to do now. It was evident that Tozier had no doubts. ‘The road to Iraq goes past Fahrwaz’s settlement,’ he had said, and had taken it for granted that they were going to Iraq. Warren envied him his stubborn tenacity.

His train of thought was broken by Bryan thumping him on the back. ‘Stop,’ said Ben. ‘Tell Tozier.’

Warren passed the word on and Tozier stopped. ‘What is it?’

‘Speering is going to die,’ said Bryan. ‘The last I saw of him he was heading in the other direction. If he doesn’t get killed in the explosion the roof of the qanat will cave in and he’ll be trapped. So he’ll die.’

‘He can climb a shaft,’ said Follet.

‘With his hands tied behind his back?’

‘He’s going to die,’ said Tozier flatly. ‘So?’

‘But to die like that!’ said Bryan desperately. ‘Tied up and stumbling around in the dark.’

‘Don’t you think he deserves it?’

‘I wouldn’t want anyone to die like that. I’m going back.’

‘For Christ’s sake!’ said Tozier. ‘We haven’t time. We have to get back to the vehicles and be on our way before the big bang. That settlement is going to swarm like an ant heap when that underground room goes off pop, and I want to be on the other side when it happens.’

‘You go ahead,’ said Bryan. ‘I’ll catch you up.’

‘Hold it, Ben,’ said Warren. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Untie his hands and turn him round,’ said Bryan. ‘It gives him a chance.’

‘It gives him a chance to raise a goddam squawk,’ said Follet sourly.

‘To hell with it, I’m going back,’ said Bryan, and broke away suddenly. Warren flicked on his light and saw him retreating rapidly into the darkness of the qanat.

‘The damned fool,’ said Tozier in a gravelly voice.

Warren hesitated uncertainly. ‘What do we do?’

‘I’m getting out of here,’ said Follet. ‘I’m not risking my life for a guy like Speering.’

‘Johnny’s right,’ said Tozier. ‘There’s no point in waiting here. We’ll bring the trucks down the pass and stand by to pick up Ben. Let’s move.’

It seemed the best thing to do. After an initial pause Warren followed, splashing on the heels of Follet. Tozier imposed a back-breaking pace, secure in the knowledge of free passage ahead and spurred by the imminence of the impending explosion behind. They passed shaft after shaft with monotonous regularity and Warren checked each one off in his mind.

Tozier finally stopped. ‘This is it.’

‘Can’t be,’ gasped Warren. ‘I only make it thirty-one.’

‘You’re wrong,’ said Tozier with certainty. ‘I have hold of the rope. The sooner we’re all on the surface, the better I’ll be pleased.’

He went up the shaft and was followed by Warren, who collapsed gasping for breath on the raised rim. Tozier helped Follet up, then said, ‘Johnny and I will go for the trucks. You stay here and give us a flash when you hear the engines.’ He and Follet disappeared into the darkness and there was just the rattle of loose stones to indicate their passage.

Warren looked up at the sky. The moon was setting behind the mountains but still shed a bright and even light over the rocky landscape so that he could see the roofs of the settlement in the distance. He waited for a while in the profound silence then leaned over the shaft and called, ‘Ben— Ben, where are you?’

His voice echoed hollowly in the shaft, but there was no reply. He bit his lip. Undoubtedly Ben had acted stupidly — but was he wrong? Warren felt a turmoil within himself, an unaccustomed battle between idealism and self-interest which was something he had not felt before. Hesitantly he grasped the rope and prepared to let himself down the shaft, and then he paused, wondering if this was the right thing to do, after all. What about the others? Would he not be endangering the lives of them all if he went down after Bryan?

He dropped the rope and disconsolately sat on the edge of the shaft, fighting it out within himself. Presently he heard the low rumble of an engine and cautiously flashed his light in that direction, being careful to shield it with his hand so that no glimmer could be seen from the settlement in the distance. A Land-Rover loomed up suddenly and stopped, its engine dropping to the thrum of idling speed. Tozier got out and walked over. ‘Any sign of him?’

‘Nothing,’ said Warren despondently.

‘Bloody idealists!’ said Tozier. ‘They get on my wick.’

‘He’s in the profession of life-saving,’ said Warren. ‘It’s hard to change suddenly. So what do we do now?’

Tozier peered at the illuminated fingers of his watch which he carried face inward on his wrist. ‘She’ll blow in thirty minutes. I was hoping to be on the other side of the settlement by then.’ He sighed in exasperation. ‘That bloody young idiot has cocked everything up.’

‘You push off,’ said Warren. ‘I’ll wait for Ben.’

‘No,’ said Tozier. ‘I’ll wait. You and Johnny head for the settlement. When the bang goes off make a break for it — you should be able to get through in the excitement. Wait for me on the other side. If you hear any shooting be prepared to come back in and bail us out.’

‘I don’t know if that’s a...’ began Warren.

‘For Christ’s sake, move,’ said Tozier forcefully. ‘I know what I’m doing and I’ve had more experience. Get going.’

Warren ran for the second Land-Rover and told Follet what was happening. Follet said, ‘You’d better drive then.’ He lifted his machine-pistol. ‘It’ll leave me free to shoot.’

Warren got in and drove off, trying to make as little noise as possible. They bumped across the valley floor towards the settlement, making a speed of less than ten miles an hour, while Follet kept glancing at his watch with a worried eye. At last Warren braked gently; ahead he could see the first low, flat-roofed buildings but there was no movement in the moonlight. The only sound was the gentle throb as the engine ticked over.

‘Less than a minute to go,’ whispered Follet.

Even as he spoke there was a deep thump as though a giant had coughed explosively, and the ground quivered under them. A plume of dust shot into the air from the shaft of the qanat nearest the settlement — the shaft which had formed the secret entrance to the underground laboratory. It rose higher and higher in the form of a ring, coiling and guttering in the moonlight as though the giant had blown a smoke ring. There was a brief change in the skyline of roofs, but it was so imperceptible that Warren could not pin it down.

Follet smote him on the shoulder. ‘Go, man — go! Lights!’

The Land-Rover bucked ahead under fierce acceleration, its headlamps glaring at the settlement, and the engine roared and roared again as he slammed through the gears. He felt the wheels spin as he accelerated too fast and then they were off in a jolting ride he would never forget.

All was speed and motion and suddenly-seen vignettes caught in the brightness of the lights — a flutter of hens in the road rudely awakened and alarmed by the explosion, a brown face at a window, eyes squinting as they were dazzled, a man flattened against a wall with arms outspread where he sheltered from their mad rush.

Suddenly Follet yelled, ‘Watch it!’ and Warren slammed on the brakes. Ahead of them a crack in a wall widened slowly and the wall toppled into the road in what appeared to Warren’s heightened senses to be slow motion. There was a crash and a billowing cloud of dust into which the Land — Rover lurched and crunched to a halt. The dust swirled into the cab and Warren coughed convulsively as his mouth was filled.

‘Goddam jerry-built houses,’ grumbled Follet.

Warren rammed the gear lever into reverse and backed out fast. As the dust settled he saw that the road ahead was completely blocked. Somewhere there was the flat report of a gun being fired. ‘Better get out of here,’ said Follet. ‘See if we can find a way around.’

Warren kept going in reverse because there was no room to turn. At the first clear space he swung around and looked for an exit roughly in the direction he wanted to go. More shots were fired but no bullets seemed to come close. Follet pointed. ‘Try down there. Move it, for Christ’s sake!’

As Warren headed the Land-Rover at the narrow street something thumped against the side. Follet swung his machine-pistol out of the side window and pressed the trigger. There was a sound as of cloth ripping as he emptied half a magazine. ‘Just to keep their heads down,’ he shouted.

The Land-Rover plunged down the street which seemed to become even narrower and there was a clang as it scraped a wall. Ahead a man ran out and stood pointing a gun at them. Warren ducked involuntarily and stamped harder with his foot. The Land-Rover bucked and drove ahead; there was a soft thump and a last vision of two hands thrown up despairingly and a rifle thrown into the darkness.

Then they were out of the street and on the other side of the settlement with blackness in front of them as far as they could see. Follet tugged at Warren’s arm. ‘Switch off the lights so they’ll lose us.’ He looked back. ‘I wonder how Andy’s doing?’

Tozier was looking towards the settlement when the explosion happened. He saw the dust cloud climb into the air and presently the ground shivered beneath his feet under the transmitted shock and he heard the sound. A sudden breeze drove upward from the mouth of the shaft against his face and then was gone and there was a noise which he could not interpret.

He bent down and shouted, ‘Ben!’ There was no answer.

He hesitated, biting his lip, and then seized the rope and lowered himself into the shaft. At the bottom he flashed his light around. Everything appeared to be normal so he shouted again. A piece of earth broke from the roof and splashed into the water.

He pointed his lamp downwards and frowned as he estimated the depth of water. Surely it had not been as deep as that before. He pulled out his knife and stuck it into the qanat wall just above the water level and his frown deepened as he saw the water level slowly rise to cover the haft of the knife.

His light, pointing down the qanat, showed nothing as he went forward. By the time he had gone a hundred yards and passed two shafts the water was swirling about his thighs, and then he saw the roof fall that blocked the qanat completely. This primitive tunnel with an unsupported roof had not been able to withstand the hammer blow of the explosion even at this distance, and he wondered how much of the qanat had collapsed.

There was nothing he could do, so he turned away and by the time he reached the rope the water was chest high, fed from the underground spring upstream in the mountains.

When he reached the surface he was soaked and shivering in the cold night air, but he ran without a backward glance at the deadly trap that had entombed Bryan and Speering. In his profession death was a commonplace to be accepted. Nothing he could do would now help Bryan and he would be hard put to it to save his own skin.

He drove to the edge of the settlement carefully and stopped, switching off the engine so he could hear better. There was much to hear — shouting and a babble of voices — and there were lights now as Ahmed and his men tried to find the extent of the damage. Tozier grinned coldly as he heard the centre of activity move over to the left towards the qanat.

He removed the shoulder-rest from the machine-pistol, cocked it and laid it on the seat next to him, ready to hand. Then he restarted the engine and crept forward in the darkness without switching on his lights — this was a time for cunning, not bravado; Ahmed’s men were now roused and he could not tear through the settlement as he had advised Warren to do.

He moved forward steadily past the first buildings, and as he came into an open space he was spotted. There was a shout and somebody fired a gun, and there was a faint response of other and fainter shouts from further away. Even as he manipulated the gear lever there was another shot; he saw the muzzle discharge as a flicker in the darkness ahead so he switched on his lights to see what he was up against.

The Land-Rover gained momentum and he saw three men ahead of him, their hands upflung to shade their eyes against the sudden dazzle. He groped for the gun on the seat and was just in time to raise it as one of the men jumped on to the running-board, wrenching the door open and reaching for him. He lifted the gun and fired twice and there was a choked cry. When he had time to take his eyes from the road he risked a glance sideways and saw that the man was gone.

He looked up to the rear view mirror and saw the flicker of rifle fire in the darkness behind him which disappeared with shocking suddenness as a bullet whipped past his head to shiver the mirror to fragments. He swung the wheel to turn a corner and pawed at his brow to wipe a sticky wetness from his eyes where the blood dripped from a deep cut.

Then he skidded to a halt as he faced the same fallen wall that had confronted Follet and Warren. He cursed as he put the Land-Rover into reverse and ducked as a bullet hit the side of the body. The quick, sharp report of several rifles shooting simultaneously made him grab his machine-pistol, thumb it on to rapid fire and squirt a magazine full of bullets in a deadly spray towards the indistinct figures behind him.

Follet had been listening intently to the rising crescendo of gunfire in the settlement. When he heard the rip of the machine-pistol he said, ‘They’ve cornered Andy. Let’s go get him out.’

Warren, who had already turned the vehicle around in preparation for this moment, moved into action, and they started on their way back. Follet said, ‘I think they’ve trapped him in the same place where they nearly got us. You know where to go.’

Warren drove down the narrow street and past the crumpled body of the man he had run down. At the corner, sheltering from the threat of Tozier’s gun, was a crowd of Kurds who were taken by surprise by this newlylaunched attack in their rear. Follet leaned from the window and pressed the trigger and they ran for cover. One did not make it — he lurched as though he had tripped over something invisible and went head over heels and lay still.

‘Straight on,’ yelled Follet. ‘Then turn round.’

The tyres squealed as Warren pulled the Land-Rover in a too tight turn at too high a speed. His lights illuminated the other vehicle, and Follet leaned out and yelled, ‘Come on, Andy, what the hell are you waiting for?’

Tozier’s Land-Rover jerked backwards into the clear space and shot up the narrow street with Warren close behind, while Follet squeezed off regular bursts to the rear to discourage pursuit. They broke from the settlement with Warren close on Tozier’s tail, and drove a full three miles before pulling to a halt at the top of the high ground above the valley.

Follet looked down at the lights in the valley, but none was moving. ‘They’re not following us,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t chase us in the dark without lights.’

Warren felt squeezed and empty. It was the first time anyone had shot at him with intent to kill. He lifted trembling hands, then looked towards the other vehicle. ‘I didn’t see Ben,’ he said.

There was the crunch of boots on gravel and Tozier appeared at his side window, his face blood-smeared. ‘Ben won’t be coming,’ he said quietly. ‘He bought it.’

‘It was his own goddam fault,’ said Follet in a high voice.

‘Yes,’ agreed Warren sadly. ‘It was his own fault. You’re sure, Andy?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Tozier with finality. He looked back at the valley. ‘We’d better go. I want to be over the Iraqi border before Ahmed wakes up to what’s really happened.’

He walked away and Warren heard a door slam. The two vehicles moved off slowly.