Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Spy

Chapter Twenty-two

A blinding light flashed in my eyes and, as I came more fully conscious, I saw its beam flicker across the ceiling, and backwards and forwards over the brightly coloured Islamic texts that were pinned to the wall. The iron bedstead creaked as I moved under the rough blanket which covered my legs. Only slowly did I focus on the man. He was sitting motionless in the corner, a fat man with an unshaven face and heavy-lidded eyes. Behind him there was a broken clock and a heavily retouched colour lithograph of a uniformed politician.

The fat man spoke without moving a muscle and almost without moving his mouth. 'The man with the hat awakes.' His Arabic was from far to the east of here; Egypt, perhaps, where the man with the hat — charwaja — is the non-believer, the infidel, the enemy.

A voice from the next room said, 'It is the will of God,' without endorsing God's decision enthusiastically.

'Get him,' said the fat man.

I heard movements from the next room, and with difficulty I moved my head round until I could see the doorway. Eventually Percy Dempsey arrived. The blinding light met my eyes again, and I saw that it came from a small wall-mirror moved by the draught from the door.

'How do you feel?' said Percy. He had a cup of coffee in his hand.

'Lousy,' I said. I took the coffee he offered. It was strong and black and very sweet.

'Your friend got another crack on the head,' said Percy. 'He's conscious but he's sleeping. You'd better come and look at him. I say! steady on with my coffee.'

I got out of bed and found I was fully dressed except for my shoes. I put them on and, as I bent down, suffered pain in a dozen muscles that I never knew I had. 'You did a good job, Percy,' I said. Thanks.'

'If you've got to hit anything: hit it backwards. My old dad taught me that, and he won the Monte two years running.'

'Well, he should have tried it driving,' I said.

Percy smiled politely and showed me to the little bare room where they had laid Major Mann. Someone had removed his tie and his boots, and folded his jacket to go under his head. His hair was ruffled and his face unshaven, and the bruising from the bullet nick had now turned-one half of his face into a rainbow of blues, pinks and purples.

I leaned over him and shook him. 'Waaaw?' said Mann.

'Coffee, tea, or me?' I said.

'Beat it,' said Mann, without opening his eyes. 'Go away and let me die in peace.'

'Don't be a spoilsport,' I said. 'We want to watch.'

Mann grunted again and looked at his wrist-watch. He moved his arm backwards and forwards, as if to get it into focus. Finally he said, 'We've got to get on the road.'

'Get what on the road?' I asked. 'Our car is wrecked.'

Percy said, 'You want to buy a car? Eighty-five thousand on the clock, one owner. Never raced or rallied.'

'Well, rent another car,' said Mann.

'I did,' said Percy. 'I did it about five hours ago, when you were fast asleep. It should arrive any time at all.'

'Well, don't sit back waiting for a round of applause,' said Mann. 'Get on the phone and hurry them up.'

'Don't fret,' said Percy. 'I've made contact with my chap down in Ghardaia. The Landrover filled up there. He's following, and will leave messages along the route."

'How?' said Mann.

'This isn't Oxford Street,' explained Percy. 'This is the Trans-Sahara highway. Either they have to go south through In-Salah, or they take the other route down through Adrar, Reggane and eventually to Timbuktu.'

'The way we came last time,' said Mann. He wiped his face with a hand, and touched the puffy bruising of his chin and cheek. Then he heaved himself into a sitting position, and unfolded the jacket that had been under his head. He looked at me. 'You don't look so good,' he told me.

'And I don't feel so good,' I admitted, 'but at least my brain is still ticking over. Do you two think Mrs Bekuv wanted a Landrover because it matches the colour of her earrings? Or because they were discounted this week. I prefer to guess that she radioed Algiers from the plane, and specified that car."

'Why?' said Mann.

'Ah. Why indeed? Why choose a car that can be outpaced by anything from a housewife's Fiat to a local bus. We've been breathing down their necks as far as this — so why didn't she ask for a tweaked-up car. Keep to the macadam and you could do the trip in a Ferrari, give or take a couples of sand niters and a sump guard.'

'But they couldn't have got past the end of the macadam,' said Percy. 'The made-up road ends at In-Salah on one route, and south of Adrar on the other. After that it's only track.'

'Brilliant,' I said sarcastically, 'You think she's not bright enough to have a desert-worthy vehicle waiting down south. She waves goodbye and they get the best of both worlds.'

'This is not my day for riddles,' said Mann. 'Give it to me.'

'They will leave the road,' I said. 'Whatever they are going to do isn't going to be done at the poolside of some government hotel. They are going to drive off into the desert. And if she is 'as bright as I think she is, they will leave the road at night.'

'And that's why Bekuv came north to meet us driving that GAZ,' said Mann. 'It was such a conspicuous vehicle — that's the only GAZ I've seen in the whole of Algeria — he took it so that, before meeting with us, he could detour out into the desert and bury whatever it is they are going to collect.'

'It's too big to bury,' I said. 'I've told you that,'

'If you're right,' said Percy, 'we're going to need a Land-rover too.

'Yes,' I said.

'Or a big truck,' Percy said. 'A lightly loaded truck is as desertworthy as a Landrover.'

Mann turned to Percy and prodded him in the chest with a nicotine-stained forefinger. 'I want to follow them across that desert wherever they go,' Mann said. 'You fix it so that we can travel across the sand, wadis, rocks — any damn where.'