The Spoilers

I

Entry into Iraq was not too difficult. They had visas for all countries in the Middle East into which it had been thought the chase might lead them, and Hellier had provided them with documents and letters of introduction which apparently carried a lot of weight. But the Iraqi officer at the border post expressed surprise that they should enter via Kurdistan and so far north, and showed an undesirable curiosity.

Tozier made an impassioned speech in throat-rasping Arabic and this, together with their credentials, got them through, although at one time Warren had visions of a jail in Iraqi Kurdistan — not the sort of place from which it would be easy to ring one’s lawyer.

They filled up with petrol and water at the border post and left quickly before the officer could change his mind, Tozier in the lead and Follet riding with Warren. At noon Tozier pulled off the road and waited for the other vehicle to come up. He pulled out a pressure stove and said, ‘Time for a bite to eat.’

As Follet opened cans, he said, ‘This isn’t much different from Iran. I don’t reckon I’m very hungry — I’m full of dust.’

Tozier grinned and looked at the barren landscape. The roads were just as dusty here, and the mountains as bleak as on the other side of the border. ‘It’s not far to Sulaymaniyeh, but I don’t know what we’ll do when we get there. Take it as it comes, I suppose.’

Warren pumped up the pressure stove and put the water to boil. He looked across at Tozier, and said, ‘We haven’t had the chance of talking much. What happened back there?’

‘In the qanat?’

‘Yes,’ said Warren quietly.

‘It collapsed, Nick. I couldn’t get through.’

‘No hope for Ben?’

Tozier shook his head. ‘It would have been quick.’

Warren’s face was drawn. He had been right when he told Hellier that blood would be shed, but he had not expected this. Tozier said, ‘Don’t blame yourself, Nick. It was his own choice that he went back. He knew the risk. It was a damn-fool thing to do anyway, it nearly did for us all.’

‘Yes,’ said Warren. ‘It was very foolish.’ He bent his head so that the others could not see his face. It was as though someone had stabbed a cold knife into his guts. He and Ben were both medical men, both lifesavers. But who had been the better — Ben Bryan, for all his foolishness and idealism, or Nicholas Warren who had brought him to the desert and his death? Warren did not relish that ugly question.

They were half-way through lunch when Tozier said casually, ‘We’ve got visitors. I’d advise against sudden moves.’

Despite himself Warren hastily looked around. Follet went on pouring coffee with a steady hand. ‘Where are they?’ he asked.

‘There are a couple on the hill above us,’ said Tozier. ‘And three or four more circling around the other side. We’re being surrounded.’

‘Any chance of making a break?’

‘I don’t think so, Johnny. The guns are too hard to get at right now. If these boys — whoever they are — are serious they’ll have blocked off the road ahead and behind. And we couldn’t get far on foot. We’ll just have to wait until we find out the score.’ He accepted the cup of coffee from Follet. ‘Pass the sugar, Nick.’

‘What!’

‘Pass the sugar,’ said Tozier patiently. ‘There’s no point in getting into an uproar about it. They might be just curious Kurds.’

They might just be too goddam curious,’ said Follet. ‘That guy Ahmed is a Kurd, remember.’ He stood up slowly and stretched. ‘There’s a deputation coming down the road now.’

‘Anyone we know?’

‘Can’t tell. They’re all wearing nightgowns.’

Warren heard a stone clatter behind him, and Tozier said, ‘Easy does it. Just get up and look pleasant.’ He stood up and turned, and the first man he saw come into view was Ahmed, the son of Sheikh Fahrwaz. ‘Bingo!’ said Tozier.

Ahmed stepped forward. ‘Well, Mr Warren — Mr Tozier; how nice to see you again. Won’t you introduce your companion?’ He was smiling but Warren could detect little humour in his face.

Playing along, he said, ‘Mr Follet — a member of my team.’

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Ahmed brightly. ‘But wasn’t there another man? Don’t tell me you’ve lost him?’ He surveyed them. ‘Nothing to say? I’m sure you’re aware that this is no fortuitous encounter. I’ve been looking for you.’

‘Now why should you do that?’ asked Tozier in wonder.

‘Need you ask? My father has doubts about your safety.’

He waved his hand. ‘You would not believe what dreadful people roam these hills. He has sent me to escort you to somewhere safe. Your escort, as I am sure you are aware, is all around to... er... protect you.’

‘To protect us from ourselves,’ said Warren ironically. ‘Aren’t you off your beat, Ahmed? Does the Iraqi government know you are in the country?’

‘What the Iraqi government does not know would take far too long to detail,’ said Ahmed. ‘But I suggest we go. My men will put your picnic kit back in your vehicles. My men will also drive your vehicles — to save you from needless fatigue. All part of the service.’

Warren was uncomfortably aware of the rifles held by Ahmed’s men and of the wide circle drawn about them. He glanced at Tozier who shrugged, and said, ‘Why not?’

‘Very good,’ said Ahmed approvingly. ‘Mr Tozier is a man of few words but much sense.’ He snapped his fingers and his men moved forward. ‘Let us not waste time. My father is positively aching to... interrogate you.’

Warren did not like the sound of that at all.

II

The three of them were crammed into the back of one of the Land-Rovers. In the front seats were a driver and a man who sat half-turned to them, holding a pistol steadily. Sometimes, as the vehicle bounced, Warren wondered if the safety-catch was on because the man kept his finger loosely curved around the trigger, and it would not have taken much movement to complete the final pressure. Any shot fired into the back would have been certain to hit one of the bodies uncomfortably huddled among the photographic equipment.

As near as he could tell their route curved back to the east, almost as far as the Iranian border, and then straightened out in a northerly direction, heading deeper into the mountains. That meant they had circled Sulaymaniyeh, which was now left behind them. They followed a truck, a big tough brute which looked as though it had been designed for army service, and when he was able to look back he saw the other Land-Rover from time to time through the inevitable dust-cloud.

The man with the gun did not seem to object to their talking but Warren was cautious. The fluent Oxbridge accent that had come so strangely from Ahmed had warned him that no matter how villainous and foreign the man appeared it did not automatically follow that he had no English. He said, ‘Is everyone all right?’

‘I’ll be fine as soon as whoever it is takes his elbow out of my gut,’ said Follet. ‘So that was Ahmed! A right pleasantspoken guy.’

‘I don’t think we should talk too much business,’ said Warren carefully. ‘Those little pitchers might have long ears.’

Follet looked at the pistoleer. ‘Long and goddam hairy,’ he said distastefully. ‘Needing a wash, too. Ever heard of water, bud?’

The man looked back at him expressionlessly, and Tozier said, ‘Cut it out, Johnny, Nick’s right.’

‘I was just trying to find out something,’ said Follet.

‘You might just find out the hard way. Never make fun of a man with a gun — his sense of humour might be lethal.’

It was a long ride.

When night fell the headlights were switched on and the speed dropped but still they jolted deeper into the mountains where, according to Warren’s hazy memory of the map, there were no roads at all. From the way the vehicle rolled and swayed this was very likely true.

At midnight the sound of the engine reverberated from the sides of a rocky gorge, and Warren eased himself up on one elbow to look ahead. The lights showed a rocky wall straight ahead and the driver hauled the Land-Rover into a ninety-degree turn and then did it again and again as the gorge twisted and narrowed. Suddenly they debouched into an open place where there were lights dotted about on a hillside and they stopped.

The rear doors opened and, under the urged commands of the man with the gun, they crawled out. Dark figures crowded about them and there was a murmur of voices. Warren stretched thankfully, easing his cramped limbs, and looked about at the sheer encroaching hills. The sky above was bright with the full moon which showed how circumscribed by cliffs this little valley was.

Tozier rubbed his thigh, looked up at the lights in the cliff side, and said sardonically, ‘Welcome to Shangri-la.’

‘Very well put,’ said Ahmed’s voice from the darkness. ‘And just as inaccessible, I assure you. This way, if you please.’

And if I don’t please? thought Warren sourly, but made no attempt to put it to the test. They were hustled across the valley floor right to the bottom of a cliff where their feet found a narrow and precipitous path which wound its way up the cliff face. It was not very wide — just wide enough to be dangerous in the darkness, but probably able to take two men abreast in full daylight. It emerged on to a wider ledge halfway up the cliff, and he was able to see that the lights came from caves dotted along the cliff face.

As they were marched along the ledge he peered into the caves, which were pretty well populated. At a rough estimate he thought that there could not be very much less than two hundred men in this community. He saw no women.

They were brought to a halt in front of one of the larger caves. It was well illuminated and, as Ahmed went inside, Warren saw the tall figure of Sheikh Fahrwaz arise from a couch. Tozier gave a muffled exclamation and nudged him, ‘What is it?’ he whispered.

Tozier was staring into the cave, and then Warren saw what had attracted his attention. Standing near Fahrwaz was a short, wiry, muscular man in European clothing. He lifted his hand in greeting at Ahmed’s approach and then stood by quietly as Ahmed talked to Fahrwaz. ‘I know that man,’ whispered Tozier.

‘Who is he?’

‘I’ll tell you later — if I can. Ahmed’s coming back.’

As Ahmed came out of the cave he made a sign and they were pushed further along the ledge and out of sight of Fahrwaz. They went about twenty yards and were stopped in front of a door let into the rock face. Someone opened it with much key-jangling, and Ahmed said, ‘I trust you won’t find the accommodation too uncomfortable. Food will be sent; we try not to starve our guests... unnecessarily.’

Hands forced Warren through the doorway and he stumbled and fell, and then someone else fell on top of him. When they had sorted themselves out in the darkness the door had slammed and the key turned in the lock.

Follet said breathily, ‘Pushy bastards, aren’t they?’

Warren drew up his trouser-leg and felt his shin, encountering the stickiness of blood. A cigarette-fighter clicked and sparked a couple of times and then flared into light, casting grotesque shadows as Tozier held it up. The cave stretched back into the darkness and all was gloom in its furthest recesses. Warren saw some boxes and sacks stacked against one side but not much more because the light danced about and so did the shadows as Tozier moved about exploratively.

‘Ah!’ said Tozier with satisfaction. ‘This is what we want.’ The flame grew and brightened as he applied it to a stump of candle.

Follet looked around. ‘This must be the lock-up,’ he said. ‘Store room too, by the look of it, but first a lock-up. Every military unit needs a lock-up — it’s a law of nature.’

‘Military!’ said Warren.

‘Yes,’ said Tozier. ‘It’s a military set-up. A bit rough and ready — guerrilla, I’d say — but definitely an army of sorts. Didn’t you see the guns?’ He set down the candle on a box.

‘This is something I didn’t expect,’ said Warren. ‘It doesn’t fit in with drugs.’

‘Neither does Metcalfe,’ said Tozier. ‘That’s the man who was with Fahrwaz. Now I really am puzzled. Metcalfe and guns I can understand — they go together like bacon and eggs. But Metcalfe and dope is bloody impossible.’

‘Why? Who is this man?’

‘Metcalfe is... well, he’s just Metcalfe. He’s as bent as they come, but there’s one thing he’s known for — he won’t have anything to do with drugs. He’s had plenty of opportunity, mark you, because he’s a smart boy, but he’s always turned down the chance — sometimes violently. It’s a sort of phobia with him.’

Warren sat down on a box. ‘Tell me more.’

Tozier prodded a paper sack and looked at the inscription on the side. It contained fertilizer. He pulled it up and sat on it. ‘He’s been in my game — that’s how I met him...’

‘As a mercenary?’

Tozier nodded. ‘In the Congo. But he doesn’t stick to one trade; he’s game for anything — the crazier the better. I believe he was kicked out of South Africa because of a crooked deal in diamonds, and I know he was smuggling out of Tangier when it was an open port before the Moroccans took over.’

‘What was he smuggling?’

Tozier shrugged. ‘Cigarettes to Spain; antibiotics — there was a shortage in those days; and I also heard he was smuggling guns to the Algerian rebels.’

‘Was he?’ said Warren with interest. ‘So was Jeanette Delorme.’

‘I heard a garbled story that he was mixed up in smuggling a hell of a lot of gold out of Italy, but nothing seemed to come of that. It didn’t make him much richer, anyway. I’m telling you all this to show what kind of a man he is. Anything goes, excepting one thing — drugs. And don’t ask me why because I don’t know.’

‘So why is he here?’

‘Because it’s military. He’s one of the best guerrilla leaders I know. He never was any great shakes in a formal military unit — he didn’t go in for the Blanco, bullshit and squarebashing — but with guerrillas he’s deadly. That’s my guess for what it’s worth. We know the Kurds are having a bash at the Iraqis — Ahmed told us. They’ve imported Metcalfe to help them out.’

‘And what about the drugs which he’s not supposed to like?’

Tozier was silent for a while. ‘Maybe he doesn’t know about them.’

Warren ruminated over that, wondering how it could be turned to advantage. He was just about to speak when the key clattered in the lock and the door swung open. A Kurd came in with a pistol ready in his hand and stationed himself with his back to the rock face. Ahmed followed. ‘I said we don’t starve our guests. Here is food. It may not be congenial to your European palates, but it is good food, none the less.’

Two big brass trays were brought in, each covered by a cloth. Ahmed said, ‘Ah, Mr Tozier: I believe we have a friend in common. I see no reason why you and Mr Metcalfe should not have a chat later — after you have eaten.’

‘I’d be pleased to see Tom Metcalfe again,’ said Tozier.

‘I thought you would.’ Ahmed turned away, and then paused. ‘Oh, gentlemen, there is just one other thing. My father needs certain information. Now, who can give it to him?’ He studied Warren with a half smile on his lips. ‘I don’t think Mr Warren could be persuaded very easily — and Mr Tozier even less so. I regarded you carefully last time we met.’

His gaze switched to Follet. ‘Now, you are an American, Mr Follet.’

‘Yeah,’ said Follet. ‘Next time you see the American consul tell him I’d like to see him.’

‘A commendable spirit,’ observed Ahmed, and sighed. ‘I fear you may be as obstinate as your friends. My father wishes to... er... talk to you himself, but he is an old man and in need of sleep at this late hour. So you are fortunate in that you have a few more hours.’ With that he went, followed by his bodyguard, and the door slammed.

Tozier indicated the paraffin lamp on one of the trays. ‘He was kind enough to leave that.’

Follet lifted a cloth. ‘It’s hot food.’

Tozier took the cloth from the other tray. ‘I suppose we might as well eat. It’s not too bad — cous-cous and chicken with coffee afterwards.’

Follet gnawed on a leg of chicken, then looked at it in disgust, ‘This one must have been an athlete.’

Warren picked up a plate. ‘Where do you reckon we are?’

‘Somewhere up near the Turkish border,’ said Follet. ‘As near as I can reckon. Not far from the Iranian border, either.’

‘In the Kurdish heartland,’ commented Tozier. ‘That might mean something — or nothing.’ He frowned. ‘Do you remember what Ahmed was blowing off about back in Iran, Nick? About the Kurdish political situation? What was that name he mentioned? It was someone who had the Iraqi army tied up in knots.’

‘Barzani,’ said Warren. ‘Mullah Mustapha Barzani.’

‘That’s the man. Ahmed said he had an army. I wonder if this crowd is part of it.’

‘It could be. I don’t see how it helps us.’

‘God helps those who help themselves,’ said Follet practically. Still holding the chicken leg, he got up, took the candle, and began to explore the further reaches of the cave. His voice came hollowly. ‘Not much here.’

‘What do you expect in a jail?’ asked Tozier. ‘All the same, it’s a good idea to see what resources we have. What’s in that box you’re sitting on, Nick?’

‘It’s empty.’

‘And I’m sitting on fertilizer,’ said Tozier in disgust. ‘Anything else, Johnny?’

‘Not much. More empty boxes; some automotive spare parts — all rusty, half a can of diesel oil; a hell of a lot of nuts and bolts; a couple of sacks of straw — that’s about all.’

Tozier sighed. Follet came back, put down the candle, then picked up the lamp and shook it close to his ear. ‘There’s some kerosene in here and there’s that straw over there — maybe we can do something with that.’

‘You can’t burn a cave to the ground, Johnny. We’d just asphyxiate ourselves.’ Tozier went to the door. ‘This is going to take some shifting — it must be four inches thick.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘There’s someone coming. Watch it.’ He retreated from the door and sat down.

It opened and the man called Metcalfe came in. He was brushing himself down and turned his head as the door thudded behind him. ‘Then he looked at Tozier and said without smiling, ‘Hello, Andy; long time no see.’

‘Hello, Tom.’

Metcalfe came forward and held out his hand, and Tozier grasped it. ‘What in hell are you doing here?’

‘That’s a long story,’ said Tozier. ‘This is Nick Warren — Johnny Follet.’

‘If I said, “Pleased to meet you,” I’d be wrong,’ said Metcalfe wryly. He looked Warren up and down with a keen eye, then glanced at Tozier. ‘Here on business, Andy?’

‘Sort of. We didn’t come willingly.’

‘I saw the boys hustling you in — I couldn’t believe my eyes. It’s not like you to be nabbed as easily as that.’

‘Take the weight off your feet, Tom,’ said Tozier. ‘Which will you have — the fertilizer or the box?’

‘Yeah, stay and visit with us for a while,’ said Follet.

‘I’ll have the box,’ said Metcalfe delicately. ‘You’re a Yank, aren’t you?’

Follet burlesqued a southern accent. ‘Them’s fightin’ words where ah comes from. Ah may have bin bawn in Arizony but ma pappy’s from Jawjah.’

Metcalfe looked at him thoughtfully for a long time. ‘I’m glad to see high spirits — you’re going to need them. You look as though you’ve seen service.’

‘A long time ago,’ said Follet. ‘Korea.’

‘Ah,’ said Metcalfe. He grinned and his teeth gleamed white against his sunburnt face. ‘A legitimate type. And you Warren?’

‘I’m a doctor.’

‘So! And what’s a doctor doing wandering about Kurdistan with a bad type like Andy Tozier?’

Tozier pulled at his ear. ‘Are you in employment at the moment, Tom?’

‘Just wrapping something up,’ said Metcalfe.

‘In command?’

Metcalfe looked blank. ‘In command!’ His brow cleared and he laughed. ‘You mean — am I training these boys? Andy, this crowd could teach us a thing or two — they’ve been fighting for the last thirty-five years. I’ve just brought a consignment in, that’s all. I’m leaving in a couple of days.’

‘A consignment of what?’

‘What the blazes do you think? Arms, of course. What else would this lot need?’ He smiled. ‘I’m supposed to be asking the questions, not you. That’s what old Fahrwaz sent me in here for. Ahmed didn’t like it — he wanted to carve you up immediately, but the old boy thought I might solve his problem without him going to extreme lengths.’ His face was serious. ‘You’re in a really bad spot this time, Andy.’

‘What does he want to know?’ asked Warren.

Metcalfe looked up. ‘Everything there is to know. You seem to have upset him somehow, but he didn’t go into that with me. He thought that since I know Andy here, I might get your confidence.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve come down in the world if you’re working for a film company, Andy. So I think it’s a cover — and so does Fahrwaz.’

‘And what does Barzani think?’ asked Tozier.

‘Barzani!’ said Metcalfe in surprise. ‘How in hell do I know what Barzani thinks?’ Suddenly he slapped his knee. ‘Did you really think that Fahrwaz was one of Barzani’s men? That’s really funny.’

‘I’m laughing my goddam head off,’ said Follet sourly.

‘It’s time for a lesson in Kurdish politics,’ said Metcalfe didactically. ‘Fahrwaz used to be with Barzani — they were together when the Russkies tried to set up the Mehabad Kurdish Republic in Iran back in 1946. They even went into exile together when it collapsed. They were great chums. Then Barzani came here to Iraq, built up a following, and has been knocking hell out of the Iraqis ever since.’

‘And Fahrwaz?’

‘Ah, he’s one of the Pej Merga,’ said Metcalfe as though that was a full explanation.

‘The self-sacrificing,’ translated Tozier thoughtfully. ‘So?’

‘The Pej Merga was the hard core that Barzani could always rely on, but not any more — not since he started to dicker with President Bakr on the basis of an autonomous Kurdish province in Iran. Fahrwaz is a hawk and he thinks the Iraqis will renege on the deal, and he may be right. More importantly, he and most of the Pej Merga want none of a Kurdish Republic in Iran. They don’t want Kurdistan to be split between Iraq, Iran and Turkey — they want a unified Kurdish nation and no half measures.’

‘Something like the Irish problem,’ observed Tozier. ‘With Fahrwaz and the Pej Merga doing the IRA bit.’

‘You’ve got the picture. Fahrwaz regards Barzani as a traitor to the Kurdish nation for even listening to Bakr, but Barzani commands respect — he was fighting the Iraqis for years when Fahrwaz was sitting on his rump in Iran. If Barzani makes a deal with the Iraqis then Fahrwaz is out on a limb. That’s why he’s stock-piling arms as fast as he can.’

‘And you’re supplying them,’ said Warren. ‘What do you believe in?’

Metcalfe shrugged. ‘The Kurds have been given a rough deal for centuries,’ he said. ‘If Barzani does a deal with the Iraqis and it goes sour, then the Kurds will need some insurance. I’m supplying it. Bakr came to power by a coup d’état and his regime isn’t all sweetness and light. I can see Fahrwaz’s point of view.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Not that I like him — he’s a bit too fanatical for my taste.’

‘Where is he getting his support — his money?’

‘I don’t know.’ Metcalfe grinned. ‘As long as I’m paid I don’t care where the money comes from.’

‘I think you might,’ said Tozier softly. ‘How did you bring in the arms?’

‘You know better than to ask a question like that. A trade secret, old boy.’

‘What are you taking out of here?’

‘Nothing,’ said Metcalfe in surprise. ‘I get paid through a Beirut bank. You don’t think I wander through the Middle East with my pockets full of gold. I’m not that stupid.’

‘I think you’d better tell him all about it, Nick,’ said Tozier. ‘It’s all falling into place, isn’t it?’

‘I’d like to know something first,’ said Warren. ‘Who contacted you originally on this arms deal? Who suggested it would be a good idea to take a load of guns to Fahrwaz? Who supplied them?’

Metcalfe smiled and glanced at Tozier. ‘Your friend is too nosy for his own good. That also comes under the heading of trade secrets.’

‘It wouldn’t be Jeanette Delorme?’ suggested Warren.

Metcalfe’s eyebrows crawled up his forehead. ‘You seem to know quite a lot. No wonder Fahrwaz is getting worried.’

‘You ought to be getting worried,’ said Tozier. ‘When I asked you if you were taking anything out I had dope in mind.’

Metcalfe went very still. ‘And what gave you that idea?’ he said in a tight voice.

‘Because there’s a ton of pure morphine around here somewhere,’ said Warren. ‘Because Fahrwaz is running drugs to pay for his revolution. Because the Delorme woman is supplying the arms to pay for the drugs, and she’s sitting in Beirut right now waiting to ship a consignment of heroin to the States.’

There were harsh lines on Metcalfe’s face. ‘I don’t know that I believe this.’

‘Oh, grow up, Tom,’ said Tozier. ‘We cleaned up Fahrwaz’s place in Iran. I personally destroyed ten tons of opium — blew it to hell. He’s in it up to his scrawny old neck.’

Metcalfe stood up slowly. ‘I have your word on this, Andy?’

‘For what it’s worth,’ said Tozier. ‘You know me, Tom.’

‘I don’t like being used,’ said Metcalfe in a choked voice. ‘Jeanette knows I don’t like drugs. If she’s implicated me in this I’ll kill the bitch — I swear it.’ He swung on Warren. ‘How much morphine did you say?’

‘About a ton. My guess is that they’ll convert it to heroin before shipment. If that amount of heroin gets on the illegal market in one lump I don’t like to think of the consequences.’

‘A ton,’ whispered Metcalfe incredulously.

‘It could have been double that,’ said Tozier. ‘But we wrecked the laboratory. Your lady-friend has been busy getting everything sewn up. This is one of the biggest smuggling operations of all time.’

Metcalfe thought about it. ‘I don’t think the stuff’s here,’ he said slowly. ‘Just after I arrived a string of camels came in. There was a hell of a lot of palaver about them — all very mysterious. Everyone was kept away while the load was transferred into a truck. It left this morning.’

‘So what are you going to do, Tom?’ asked Tozier casually.

‘A good question.’ Metcalfe took a deep breath. ‘The first thing is to get you out of here — and that’s going to take a miracle.’ He smiled wryly. ‘No wonder Fahrwaz is all steamed up.’

‘Can you get any weapons in to us? I’d feel better with a gun in my hand.’

Metcalfe shook his head. ‘They don’t trust me that much. I was searched when I came in here. There are a couple of guards outside all the time.’

Tozier stuck out his finger. ‘We’ve got to get through that door — guards or no guards.’ He stood up with a quick movement and the sack of fertilizer fell over against his leg. Impatiently he booted it away, and then stopped and gazed at it. Abstractedly he said, ‘Could you find us a few bits of coal, Tom?’

‘Coal in Kurdistan!’ said Metcalfe derisively. He followed the line of Tozier’s gaze, then bent down to read the inscription on the sack. ‘Oh, I see — the Mwanza trick.’ He straightened up. ‘Would charcoal do?’

‘I don’t see why not — we don’t need much. How much oil is there in that can you found, Johnny?’

‘About a quart. Why?’

‘We’re going to blow that door off its hinges. We’ll need a detonator, Tom. If you nip down to the Land-Rovers you’ll find that one has a clock and the others hasn’t. Unscrew the clock and bring it with you with the charcoal.’

‘How do you expect me to smuggle a clock in here?’

‘You’ll find a way. Get going, Tom.’

Metcalfe knocked on the door and was let out. As it closed behind him Warren said, ‘Do you think he’s... safe?’

‘For us — yes,’ said Tozier. ‘For Fahrwaz, no. I know Tom Metcalfe very well. He goes off pop if he even hears people talk about drugs. If we get out of this I’ll feel bloody sorry for the Delorme woman — he’ll crucify her.’ He bent down and started to open the sack of fertilizer.

Follet said flatly, ‘You’re going to blow that door open with fertilizer. You did say that — or am I going nuts?’

‘I said it,’ said Tozier. ‘Tom and I were in the Congo. We were just outside a place called Mwanza and the opposition had blown down a cliff so it blocked the road and we couldn’t get our trucks through. We were low on ammunition and had no blasting explosives, but we had a secret weapon — a South African called van Niekerk who used to be a miner on the Witwatersrand.’

He put his hand in the sack and lifted out a handful of the white powder. ‘This is agricultural fertilizer — ammonium nitrate — good for putting nitrogen into the soil. But van Niekerk knew a bit more. If you take a hundred pounds of this, six pints of fuel oil, two pounds of coal dust, and mix it all together then you get the equivalent of forty per cent blasting gelignite. I’ve never forgotten that. Van Niekerk scared the pants off me — he brewed the stuff in a concrete mixer.’

‘Is this on the level?’ said Follet unbelievingly.

‘We won’t need as much,’ said Tozier. ‘And I don’t know if our substitute ingredients will work. But we’ll give it a bang.’ He grinned. ‘And that’s a hell of a bad pun. Van Niekerk said they do a lot of blasting this way in the South African gold mines. They’ve discovered it’s safer — and cheaper — to mix up the stuff at the work face than to store gelignite in magazines.’

‘But we need the charcoal,’ said Warren.

‘And a detonator. We might as well relax until Tom comes back.’

If he comes back, thought Warren. He sat on the box and looked glumly at the sack of fertilizer. He had said to Hellier back in London that they were going into what was virtually a war — but what a devil of a way to fight it!

III

Metcalfe was back within the hour. He came in smoking a cigar and limping a little. As soon as the door closed he nipped the glowing end and handed it to Tozier. ‘A stick of charcoal,’ he said. ‘I did a bit of sleight of hand with a cigar when they searched me. I have a lot more stuffed in my shoes.’

‘The detonator?’ asked Tozier urgently.

Metcalfe unfastened his belt and rummaged around in his trousers. From somewhere mysterious he produced the clock and handed it over, the spike of the detonator sticking out at right-angles to the back. Follet said, ‘How come they didn’t find that when they searched you?’ His voice had an edge of suspicion.

Metcalfe grimaced. ‘I rammed the detonator up my arse and walked tight. I bet it’s started piles.’

‘It’s all for the cause,’ said Tozier with a grin. ‘Did you have any trouble, Tom?’

‘Not a bit. I spun Fahrwaz a yarn pretty close to the truth, but left a couple of gaps in it. He sent me back to fill them in. We’d better get our plans agreed now. They won’t be coming for you for a while; the old boy said he was tired and going to bed.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Dawn will be in three hours.’

‘A night escape might be better,’ said Tozier.

Metcalfe shook his head decisively. ‘You wouldn’t have a chance at night. By the time you found the exit you’d be caught. The best time to make a break is at first light so you can see what you’re doing — and it’ll give me three hours to set up a few diversions I have in mind. How accurately can you set that clock?’

‘To the nearest minute.’

‘Good enough. Make it five-thirty. You’ll hear a lot of action just at that time.’ Metcalfe squatted on his haunches and began to draw on the sandy floor of the cave. ‘Your Land-Rovers are here with the ignition keys still in place — I checked that. The exit is here. When you blow off the door you’ll either kill the guards or give them a hell of a fright; in either case you needn’t worry about them if you move fast. When you leave the cave turn left — not the way you were brought. There’s a devil of a steep path down to the valley floor about ten yards along the ledge outside.’

‘How steep?’

‘You’ll make it,’ assured Metcalfe. ‘Now, there’s only one way in — or out — of this valley, and that’s through the gorge. You make your break for your trucks, drive into the gorge and stop at the first sharp turn. I’ll be right behind you in one of Fahrwaz’s vehicles which I’ll abandon in an immovable condition. If we can block up the gorge behind us we stand a fair chance of getting away. But wait for me, for God’s sake!’

‘I’ve got it, Tom.’

Metcalfe took off his shoes and shook a pile of black dust from them and pulled some charcoal sticks from his socks. ‘I hope this stuff works,’ he said doubtfully. ‘If it doesn’t we’ll all be up the spout.’

‘It’s all we’ve got,’ said Tozier. ‘No use binding about it.’ He looked at Metcalfe and said quietly, ‘Thanks for everything, Tom.’

‘Anything for an old pal,’ said Metcalfe lightly. ‘I’d better be going now. Remember — five-thirty.’

The guard let him out, and Warren said pensively, ‘Andy, supposing there weren’t any drugs involved — would Metcalfe help you out on the basis of the Old Pals’ Act?’

‘I’m glad I don’t have to put it to the test,’ said Tozier drily. ‘A mercenary is like a politician — a good one is one who stays bought. I’ve fought on the same side as Tom Metcalfe, and I’ve fought in opposition. For all I know we might have shot at each other some time. I think that if it weren’t for the drugs we’d have had to take our own chances. We’re damned lucky he considers he’s been double-crossed.’

‘And that he believed us,’ said Follet.

‘There’s that, too,’ admitted Tozier. ‘But Tom and I have swapped drinks and lies for a long time. We’ve never crossed each other up, so there’s no reason why he shouldn’t believe me. Come on; let’s get busy.’

He set Follet and Warren to grinding the fertilizer down into an even finer powder, using plates as mortars and the backs of spoons as pestles. ‘I want all those lumps out of it.’

‘Is this safe?’ asked Follet nervously.

‘It’s just fertilizer,’ assured Tozier. ‘Even when it’s mixed it will need the detonator to explode it.’ He began to figure out quantities and weights, and then began to grind down the charcoal. After a while he went to the back of the cave and rooted about in the box which contained engine spares, and came back with a pipe closed at one end with a plug. ‘Just the thing we need — everything for the do-it-yourself anarchist. Ever made bombs before, Nick?’

‘It’s hardly likely, is it?’

‘I don’t suppose it is much in your line. But this isn’t the first time I’ve had to make do. When you’re on the losing side the money tends to run out and you have to do a lot of patching. I once assembled quite a serviceable tank out of six wrecks.’ He smiled. ‘But this lot is a little too much the Moses lark for my taste — making bricks without straw.’

He cleaned out the coffee-pot and dried it carefully, then poured in the ground-down fertilizer and added the powdered charcoal a little at a time, keeping the mixture well stirred. When he thought he had the right proportions he gave it to Follet. ‘Keep stirring — it’ll help pass the time.’

He picked up the can of oil and looked at it dubiously. ‘The recipe calls for fuel oil — I don’t know if this will be suitable. Still, we won’t know if we don’t try, so let’s do the final mix.’ He poured a little of the oil into the out-held coffee pot. ‘Keep on stirring, Johnny. It shouldn’t get wet enough to form a paste; just damp enough to hold together when you squeeze it in your hand.’

‘You can do the squeezing,’ said Follet. ‘The only thing I squeeze is a dame.’

Tozier laughed. ‘They’re just as explosive if not handled right. Give it to me.’ He tried the squeeze test and added a little more oil. This proved to be too much and the mixture was rebalanced by the addition of fertilizer and charcoal. It was quite a time before he pronounced himself satisfied, but at last he said, ‘That’s it; now we make the bomb.’

He took the tube, checked that the plug was screwed home firmly, and began to stuff the explosive mixture into the other end, using a long bolt to ram it down. Follet watched him for a while, then said tensely, ‘Andy — stop right there.’

Tozier froze. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘That’s a steel tube, isn’t it?’ asked Follet.

‘So?’

‘And you’re using a steel bolt as a ramrod. For Christ’s sake, don’t strike a spark!’

Tozier eased out his breath. ‘I’ll try not to,’ he said, and used the bolt much more carefully. He crammed the tube full of the mixture, well packed down, took the clock and set it, then pressed the detonator spike into the end. ‘There’s a few bits of sheet metal back there, and the box Warren is sitting on is screwed together. That’s how we fasten it to the door.’

It took a long time because they had to work quietly, fearing to attract the attention of the guards outside. Tozier’s small penknife, which they used as a makeshift screwdriver, had all its blades broken by the time they were finished. He regarded the bomb critically, then looked at his watch. ‘It took longer than I expected; it’s nearly five now — just over half an hour to go.’

‘I don’t want to appear difficult,’ said Follet. ‘But we’re now locked in a cave with a bomb that’s about to explode. Have you thought of that little thing?’

‘We should be safe enough lying at the back behind those boxes.’

‘I’m glad we have a doctor along,’ said Follet. ‘You might come in useful, Nick, if that firecracker really works. I’m going to pick me a good safe place right now.’

Warren and Tozier followed him to the back of the cave where they built a rough barricade of boxes, then they lay down using the sacks of straw as improvised mattresses. The next half hour crawled by and Warren was mightily astonished to find himself nodding off to sleep. If anyone had told him this could — or would — happen in such a critical circumstance he would have laughed; yet it was not surprising considering that this was his second night without sleep.

Tozier’s elbow jerked him into wakefulness. ‘Five minutes — get ready.’

Warren found his mind full of questions. Would Tozier’s ridiculous bomb work? If it did, would it work well enough? Or too well? Follet had already expressed his apprehensions on that score.

‘Four minutes,’ said Tozier, his eyes on his watch. ‘Johnny, you go first, then Nick. I’ll bring up the rear.’

The seconds ticked by and Warren found himself becoming very tense. His mouth was dry and he had an odd feeling in his stomach as though he was very hungry. In a detached manner one part of his mind checked off the symptoms and he thought — So this is what it’s like to be frightened.

Tozier said, ‘Three minutes,’ and as he said it there was a sound from the door. ‘Hell’s teeth!’ he exclaimed. ‘Someone’s coming in.’

Follet grunted. ‘A hell of a time to pick.’

Tozier raised his head cautiously as the door creaked open, and saw men silhouetted against the grey light of dawn. The mocking voice of Ahmed echoed from the stone walls. ‘What — all asleep? No guilty consciences here?’

Tozier pushed himself up on one elbow and stretched as though just aroused from sleep. ‘What the hell do you want now?’ he said in a grumbling voice.

‘I want somebody to talk,’ said Ahmed. ‘Who shall it be? Who do you think we should take first, Mr Tozier?’

Tozier played for time. He looked at his watch and said, ‘You start too early for my liking. Come back in an hour. Better still, don’t come back at all.’ One and a half minutes to go.

Ahmed spread his hands. ‘I regret I cannot oblige you. My father sleeps lightly — he is an old man — and he is now awake and impatient.’

‘All right,’ said Tozier. ‘Wake up, you two. I’ll give you one minute to be on your feet. One minute, do you hear?’

Warren heard the emphasis and pressed himself to the floor of the cave. He said, ‘What is it, Andy? I’m tired.’

‘Ah, Mr Warren,’ said Ahmed. ‘I trust you slept well.’ His voice sharpened. ‘Up with you, all of you; or do I have to have you dragged out? My father is waiting to entertain you with some of our typical Kurdish hospitality.’ He laughed.

Tozier took one glance at him before throwing himself flat. Ahmed was still laughing when the bomb exploded. It blew the door off its hinges and hurled it bodily at the laughing man and swept him aside to smear him bloodily against the rock wall. Dust billowed and far away someone screamed.

‘Move!’ yelled Tozier.

Follet was first out of the door as planned. He skidded to the left and stumbled over a body on the ledge and nearly went over the edge of the cliff. Warren, right behind him, shot out his arm and grabbed him before he toppled.

Follet recovered and plunged forward along the ledge. At the top of the path there was a guard, his mouth opened in surprise and desperately trying to unsling his rifle. Follet was on him before he could get the rifle free, and hit him in the face with his closed fist. The fist was wrapped around a big steel bolt and Warren distinctly heard the crunch as the man’s jawbone was smashed. The guard gave a choked wail and fell aside and the way down the narrow path was open.

Follet ran down it at a dangerous speed, slipping and sliding, with his boots starting miniature avalanches of dust and pebbles. Warren stumbled over a loose stone and pitched forward and for one blind moment thought he was going to fall, but Tozier’s big hand grabbed him by the belt and hauled him back. That was all the trouble they had going down to the valley floor.

Across the valley things were happening. A fusillade of small-arms fire popped off, interspersed with the deeper note of exploding grenades. One of the further caves erupted with an earth-shattering explosion and a part of the ledge on the cliff slid abruptly into the valley. Metcalfe’s ‘diversion’ was taking on all the aspects of a small war.

In the dim light of dawn they ran towards the Land-Rovers. A man lay writhing with a broken back just below the cave in which they had been imprisoned, and Warren surmised he had been blown off the upper ledge by the force of Tozier’s bomb. He jumped over the feebly moving body and hurried to catch up with Follet. Behind him he heard the regular thudding of Tozier’s boots.

A small herd of camels tethered close by were much alarmed by the sudden noise and some of them plunged wildly and, tearing up their stakes, went careering up the valley ahead of them, adding to the confusion. A bee buzzed past Warren’s head and there was the sharp spaaang and a whine as a bullet ricocheted from rock, and he realized that someone had recovered enough from the general alarm to shoot at them. But he had no time to worry about that — all his attention was directed to getting to the Land-Rovers in the shortest time possible.

There was a hundred yards to go and the breath rasped in his throat as his lungs pumped hard and his legs pumped even harder. Ahead, in front of the vehicles, three Kurds had materialized from nowhere and one was already on one knee with rifle poised to shoot at point-blank range. It seemed he could not miss but as he fired a camel cut across between them and received the bullet. Follet swerved to the right, using the staggering camel as cover, and the second of the Kurds was bowled over by another maddened beast.

Follet jumped him and put the toe of his boot into his throat with great force. He scooped up the fallen rifle and fired as he ran, rapidly but with no great accuracy. But the unexpected spray of bullets was enough to make the two opposing men duck and run for cover, and the way was clear.

Behind them all was turmoil as the frantic camels plunged and bucked and more of them tugged free of their tethers to run down the valley. Warren thought afterwards that this was the one thing that saved them; none of the Kurds near them could get a clear shot in the confusion and their bullets went wild. He reached the nearest Land-Rover, snatched open the door, and hurled himself inside.

As he twisted the ignition key he saw the other Land — Rover take off with spinning wheels with Tozier still running next to it. Tozier jumped as Follet pushed open the door and bullets sent dust spurting in fountains around where his ankles had been. But he was in the passenger seat, and Warren ground gears as he followed, hoping to God that Follet remembered the direction of the gorge.

He glanced in the wing mirror and saw a big truck wheel in line behind. That would be Metcalfe doing his best to bottle up the gorge. The movable windscreen of the truck was wide open and he saw the tanned blur of Metcalfe’s face and the glint of white teeth — the man was actually laughing. In that brief glimpse he also saw that there was something wrong with the truck; it trailed a thick cloud of billowing black smoke which coiled in greasy clouds and drifted across the valley behind. Then there were a couple of quick thumps somewhere at the back of the Land-Rover and abruptly the wing-mirror shivered into fragments.

Warren revved the engine fiercely and plunged after Follet as he entered the gorge. He hazily remembered that there was a sharp bend about a hundred yards along, but it came sooner than he expected and he had to slam on anchors in a hurry to prevent himself running into Follet.

From behind there came a rending crash and he turned his head and looked back. Metcalfe had swerved and driven the truck into the wall of the gorge, jamming the entrance completely. Already he was climbing out through the open windscreen while the oily black smoke coming from the truck eddied in thick clouds. It occurred to Warren that this was deliberate — that Metcalfe had provided a smokescreen to cover their sudden dash to the gorge.

Metcalfe ran up brandishing a sub-machine-gun. He waved to Follet in the front vehicle, and shouted. ‘Get going!’ Then he jumped in alongside Warren, and said breathlessly, ‘There’s going to be a hell of a bang any moment now — that truck’s full of mortar bombs and it’s burning merrily.’

Follet moved off and Warren followed, and even as they turned the corner the first explosion came from the burning truck, accompanied by what sounded like an infantry regiment doing a rapid-fire exercise. ‘I burst open a few cases of small arms ammunition and scattered those in, too,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Getting past that truck will be bloody dangerous for the next half hour.’

Warren found his hands trembling uncontrollably on the wheel and he tried desperately to steady them as he drove along the twisting gorge. He said, ‘Are we likely to meet any opposition along here?’

‘Too bloody right,’ said Metcalfe, and cocked the submachine-gun. He saw the microphone and picked it up. ‘Does this thing work? Is it on net?’

‘It’ll work if it’s switched on. I don’t know if Andy will be listening, though.’

‘He will,’ said Metcalfe with confidence, and snapped switches. ‘He’s too old a hand at this game to neglect his communications.’ He lifted the microphone to his lips. ‘Hello, Andy; can you hear me? Over.’

‘I hear you, Tom,’ said Tozier metallically. ‘You timed everything very well. Over.’

‘All part of the service,’ said Metcalfe. ‘There may be some opposition. Fahrwaz has an outpost at the other end of the gorge. Not more’n a dozen men, but they’ve got a machine-gun. Any suggestions? Over.’

There was a muffled exclamation from the loudspeaker and Tozier said, ‘How long have we got? Over.’

‘About twenty minutes. Half an hour at most. Over.’

The loudspeaker hummed and there was a faint crackle. ‘Pull us up short and out of sight.’ said Tozier. ‘I think we can handle it. Out.’

Metcalfe replaced the microphone on its bracket. ‘Andy’s a good man,’ he said dispassionately. ‘He’d better be bloody good this time, though.’ He twisted the satchel he was wearing to where he could unfasten it, then jerked his thumb to the rear. ‘I’m going back there; I won’t be long.’

He climbed into the back of the Land-Rover and Warren, flipping an eye up to the interior mirror, saw his arm move in a rhythmic movement as though throwing something repeatedly. As he came back into his seat he tossed the empty satchel from the window.

‘What were you throwing out back there?’ asked Warren curiously.

‘Caltrops — tyre-busters,’ said Metcalfe with a grin. ‘Whichever way they land there’s always one sharp point sticking up. The Kurds use a lot of them when they’re being chased by the Iraqi armoured car patrols. I see no reason why they shouldn’t be on the receiving end for once.’

Warren’s hands were steadier. This calm, matter-of-fact man was a soothing influence. He slowed for another sharp bend, and said, ‘How did you cause all that racket back in the valley?’

‘Started a fire in an ammunition dump,’ said Metcalfe cheerily. ‘And laid a time-fuse in the mortar bomb store. I also tied strings to a hell of a lot of grenades and tied the other end to the truck — when I moved off it pulled out the firing pins and they started popping off. Old Fahrwaz may still have the guns I brought, but he won’t have much left to shoot out of them.’

More explosions sounded distantly behind them, the noise deadened by the rock walls of the gorge, and Metcalfe grinned contentedly. Warren said, ‘How much further to go?’

‘We’re about half way.’ He picked up the microphone and rested it on his lap. Presently he raised it to his lips and said, ‘We’re just about there, Andy. Stop round the next corner. Over.’

‘Okay, Tom. Out.’

Warren eased to a halt as Follet slowed. Metcalfe jumped out and joined Tozier, who asked, ‘What’s the situation?’

Metcalfe nodded up the road. ‘The gorge ends just round that corner. There’s a small rocky hill — what we’d call a kopje in South Africa — which commands the entrance. Our boys are on top of there.’

‘How far from this spot?’

Metcalfe cocked his head on one side. ‘About four hundred yards.’ He pointed upwards. ‘If you climb up there you’ll be able to see it.’

Tozier looked up, then nodded abruptly and turned to Warren. ‘Nick, you’ll be helping Johnny. The first thing you do is to get out the spare wheel. And do it quietly — no metallic clinks.’

Warren frowned. ‘The spare wheel...’ But Tozier had already walked away and was talking to Follet. Warren shrugged and got out the wheel brace to unfasten the nuts which held the spare wheel in place.

Metcalfe and Tozier began to climb the side of the gorge, and Follet came across to help Warren. The spare wheel came loose and Follet rolled it along the ground as though he was looking for a special place to put it. He laid it down carefully, then went back to Warren. ‘Get out the jack,’ he said, and surprised Warren by diving under the Land-Rover with a spanner clutched in his hand.

Warren found the jack and laid it on the ground. Follet said in a muffled voice, ‘Give me a hand with this,’ so Warren dropped to his knees and saw Follet busily engaged in removing the exhaust silencer. When he took hold of it he found it surprisingly heavy and only slightly warm to the touch. They dragged it clear and Follet unfastened a couple of nuts and slid out the baffles which formed an integrated unit. He nodded towards the wheel. ‘Take it over there,’ he said, and picked up the jack and a toolbox.

Warren dumped the silencer next to the wheel. ‘What are we supposed to be doing?’

‘This will be a mortar when we’ve assembled it,’ said Follet. ‘A mortar needs a base plate — that’s the wheel. There’s a flange on it so it makes firm contact with the ground. The silencer is the barrel — you didn’t think Rover silencers are machined like that, did you?’ He began to work rapidly. ‘Those lugs fit here, on the wheel. Help me.’

The lugs slid home sweetly into the slots in the wheel and Follet pushed a pin through the aligned holes. ‘This screw jack is the elevating mechanism,’ he said. ‘It fits in here like this. You fit the wheel brace and turn, and the whole barrel goes up and down. Just fasten those nuts, will you?’

He ran back to the vehicles leaving Warren a little numb with astonishment but not so much as to neglect the urgency of the occasion. Follet came back and tossed down an ordinary transparent plastic protractor. ‘That screws on to the jack — it already has holes drilled.’ Warren screwed the protractor in place and found that he had just installed a simple range scale.

Above his head Metcalfe and Tozier looked across at the small rocky hill. As Metcalfe had said it was about four hundred yards away and he could see quite clearly the half dozen men standing on top. ‘Has Fahrwaz got a telephone line laid on — or anything like it?’

Metcalfe held his head on one side as he heard a distant thud. ‘He won’t need it in the circumstances,’ he said. ‘Those boys can hear what’s going on. They’re getting worried — look at them.’

The men on the hill were gazing at the entrance to the gorge and there was some gesticulating going on. Tozier produced a small prismatic compass and sighted it carefully on the hill. ‘We have a mortar,’ he said. ‘Johnny Follet is assembling it now. We also have a light machine-gun. If we get the machine-gun up here you can hose the top of that hill and draw their fire.’ He turned and took another sight on the mortar. ‘As soon as we know where their machine gun is, then we knock it out with the mortar.’

‘Andy, you’re a tricky bastard,’ said Metcalfe affectionately. ‘I always said so and, by God, I’m right.’

‘Our machine-gun has no belt or drum — just a hopper into which you dump loose rounds. You should be able to handle it.’

‘It sounds like the Japanese Nambu. I can handle it.’

‘You’ll also be artillery spotter,’ said Tozier. ‘We’ll be firing blind from down there. Do you remember the signals we used in the Congo?’

‘I remember,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Let’s get that machine-gun up here. I wouldn’t be surprised if those boys come down the gorge to see what’s happening back there.’

They climbed down and found Warren tightening the last nut on the mortar. Metcalfe looked at it unbelievingly. ‘What a crazy lash-up. Does it really work?’

‘It works,’ said Tozier briefly. ‘See how Johnny’s getting on with the machine-gun. Time is getting few.’

He dropped on one knee, checked the assembly of the mortar, then began to line it up in conformity with the angles he had taken using the compass. ‘We’ll set it at four hundred yards,’ he said. ‘And hope for the best.’

‘I didn’t believe you when you said we had a mortar,’ said Warren. ‘What about shells?’

‘Bombs,’ said Tozier. ‘We’ve got precious few of those. You might have noticed that we’re liberally equipped with fire extinguishers. There’s one under the bonnet in the engine space, one under the dash and another in the back. Six for the two trucks — and that’s all the bombs we have. Help me yank ‘em out.’

Metcalfe climbed up to his perch on top of the gorge again, trailing a rope behind him. Once settled he hauled up the machine-gun, filled up the hopper with rounds of ammunition, and pushed it before him so that it rested firmly on its bipod. He sighted in carefully at the little group on the hill then turned his head and waved.

Tozier held up his hand and jerked his head at Follet. ‘Take that burp-gun which Tom brought along, and go back along the gorge to the first corner. If anything moves, shoot it.’

Follet indicated the mortar. ‘What about this?’

‘Nick and I can handle it. We’re not out for rapid fire — not with only six rounds. Get going. I like to feel that my back’s protected.’

Follet nodded, collected the sub-machine-gun and departed at a trot. Tozier waited two minutes and then waved to Metcalfe.

Metcalfe moved his shoulders to loosen them, set his cheek against the butt and looked through the sights. There were five men clearly in view. Gently he squeezed the trigger and death streaked towards the hill at 2,500 feet per second. At that range he could not miss. Delicately he traversed the gun and a scythe of bullets chopped across the top of the hill and suddenly there was no one to be seen.

He stopped firing and waited for something to happen. Moving very slowly he brought his hand forward and dropped a handful of bullets into the hopper. That first long burst had been ruinously expensive of ammunition. He studied the hill carefully but detected nothing that moved.

A rifle cracked twice but no bullet came near him. It was just random shooting. The outpost’s machine-gun was mounted so as to sweep the open ground in front of the entrance to the gorge. Apparently no one had taken into account an attack on the outpost from the rear, so it would take some little time for them to reorganize. He smiled grimly as he thought of the frantic effort that must be going on behind the hill. There would be quite a bit of consternation, too.

The rifle fired again, twice in quick succession — two of them, he judged. He was there to draw fire so he decided to tickle them up and squeezed the trigger again in a quick and economical burst of five rounds. This time he was answered in like manner by the sustained chatter of a machine-gun, and a hail of bullets swept the rocks thirty yards to his left and ten yards below.

He could not see where the gun was firing from so he squirted another short burst and was answered again. This time he spotted it — they had brought the machine-gun around the curve of the hill and about half way up, sheltered in a tumbled heap of boulders. He signalled to Tozier who bent down to adjust the mortar.

Tozier tugged the lanyard and the mortar barked. Warren saw the thin streak against the sky as the bomb arched in its trajectory and disappeared from sight, but Tozier was already looking at Metcalfe to find the result of the first ranging shot.

He grunted as Metcalfe waved his hand complicatedly. ‘Thirty yards short — twenty to the left.’ He adjusted the elevation and traversed the mortar slightly, then reloaded. ‘This one ought to be better.’ The mortar barked again.

The second bomb exploded dead in line with the machine-gun position but behind it. A man broke from cover and Metcalfe coolly cut him down with a short burst, then signalled to Tozier to reduce the range. The consternation must be just about complete, he thought, but changed his mind as the machine-gun rattled again and the earth just below his position fountained magically and rock splinters whined above his head. He ducked and slipped back into cover as the leaden hail beat the ground where he had been, sending his gun flying under the impact of the bullets.

But by that time the third bomb was in the air. He heard it explode and the machine-gun fire was cut off. He eased himself up and risked a look at the hill. A faint drift of smoke on the still morning air marked where it had fallen — square on the machine-gun position. A flat report sounded from behind him as the mortar fired again, and another bomb dropped in almost the same place.

He turned and yelled, ‘Enough — they’ve had it.’ He began to scramble down, slipped, and fell most of the way but landed on his feet like a cat. He ran over to the mortar and said breathlessly, ‘Let’s get on our way while they’re still shaken. That natty little gun of yours is buggered, Andy.’

‘It served its turn,’ said Tozier, and put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly like an urchin. ‘That ought to bring Johnny.’

Warren ran for the Land-Rover and started the engine, and Metcalfe tumbled in beside him. ‘Andy’s a bloody wonder,’ he said conversationally. ‘That was a lovely bit of shooting.’ His head snapped back as Warren took off with tyre-punishing acceleration. ‘Take it easy — you’ll do me an injury.’

The two Land-Rovers roared out of the gorge and past the hill which was still faintly wreathed in smoke. Follet in the first vehicle was hanging out of the back, his gun at the ready, but for that there was no need. Nobody shot at them, nor did they see anyone move. All Warren saw were three bundles of rags on the rocky hillside.

Metcalfe unhooked the microphone. ‘Andy, let us get in front — I know the way. And we’d better move fast before young Ahmed pulls out the plug back there. Over.’

‘He won’t do that,’ said Tozier. ‘He’s dead. He bumped into a door. Over.’

‘Dear me,’ said Metcalfe. ‘He was the old man’s favourite son. All the more reason for speed — Fahrwaz will be looking for us with blood in his eye. The sooner we clear out of the country the better. That means Mosul and the international airport. Move over — I’m coming through. Out.’

He replaced the microphone, and said, ‘Doctor, if you want to get back to curing people instead of killing them you’d better hope that this jalopy doesn’t break down this side of Sulaymaniyeh. Now move it, Doctor — move it fast.’