Flyaway / Windfall. Desmond Bagley
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spoke to Mokhtar, who went away fast. He then turned the man over so that he lay more easily and put his hand inside his jacket to withdraw a passport and a wallet from the inside breast pocket. He flipped open the passport one-handedly. ‘This is your boy; this is Paul Billson.’ He gave me the passport and wallet.
I opened the wallet. It contained a sheaf of Algerian currency, a smaller wad of British fivers, and a few miscellaneous papers. I didn’t bother to examine them then, but put the passport and the wallet into my pocket.
‘We’re in trouble,’ said Byrne. He indicated Billson. ‘Or he is. If he stays another night he’ll die for sure. If we try to take him out he’ll probably die. You know how rough it’ll be getting back to Assekrem; I don’t know if he can take it in his condition.’
‘It’s a question of the lesser of two evils.’
‘Yeah. So we try to take him out and hope he survives.’ He looked down at Billson. ‘Poor, obstinate bastard,’ he said softly. ‘I wonder how well Hesther knew his old man? She said in her note to you that she’d wired me. I didn’t tell you it was a ten-page cable, and she was pretty firm and detailed in her instructions.’
‘Has the flow of blood stopped?’ I asked.
‘Yeah; I have the tail of his shirt wadded into the hole. We can’t do much until Mokhtar gets back. He won’t be long.’
‘You must have known about Paul Billson before I arrived.’
‘Sure I did, but he’d taken off by then.’
I said, ‘If you hadn’t waited for me you could have got here earlier.’
‘Not much. I got Hesther’s cable the morning you came. I don’t know when she sent it, but the communications in this country aren’t noted for reliability.’
‘But you did lead me a little way up the garden path.’ It seemed odd to be making conversation over the body of a man who was probably dying.
Byrne said, ‘I wanted time to size you up. I don’t like to travel with people I can’t trust. Hereabouts it can be fatal.’
‘So I passed the examination,’ I said flatly.
He grinned. ‘Just by a hair.’
A shadow fell athwart us. Mokhtar had come back. He had brought cloth for bandages, water, and a couple of sand ladders. The sand ladders, as Byrne had earlier explained, were to put under the wheels of the Toyota if we got stuck in sand. They were about six feet long and of stout tubular steel. ‘Only stinkpots need them,’ Byrne had said. ‘Camels don’t.’
Byrne tore off a strip of cloth, soaked it in water and put it in Billson’s mouth; being careful not to choke him. Then he proceeded to dress the wound while Mokhtar and I lashed the sand ladders together to make an improvised stretcher.
It took us over an hour to get Billson the comparatively short distance back to the Toyota.
We had travelled two hours’ worth into Koudia but it took us four hours to get out from the time Byrne started the engine until we drove beneath the peak of Assekrem. He picked his way as delicately as he could through that rocky desolation but, even so, Billson took a beating. Fortunately, he knew nothing of it; he was unconscious. I tended him as best I could, cushioning his body with my own, bathing his face, and trying to get some water into him. He did not move voluntarily nor did he make a sound.
I had expected Byrne to stop at Assekrem where perhaps we could have got help from the Haratin at the Hermitage, but he drove past the beginning of the path up the cliff and we camped about three miles further on. Mokhtar took a roll of cloth from the back of the Toyota and very soon had a windbreak erected behind which we laid Billson. It was now dark so Byrne redressed the wound in the acid light of a glaring pressure lantern.
He sat back on his heels and watched Mokhtar administer a salve to Billson’s blackened face. ‘If we can get some water into him he might survive,’ he said. ‘That’s only a shoulder wound and the bullet went right through without hitting bone. Weakening but not killing. He’s suffered more from exposure than the wound.’
I said, ‘Why didn’t you stop at Assekrem? They might have had something to help him.’
‘Not a chance.’ He nodded towards the Toyota. ‘I have more stuff in my first aid kit than there is in the whole of the Ahaggar, if you except the hospital at Tam. Besides …’ His voice tailed away, which was odd in Byrne because he was usually pretty damned decisive.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Do you know anything about Algerian law?’
‘Not a thing.’
‘Well, Billson broke one of them. He came out here without a permis.’
‘So did you.’
‘But I didn’t apply for one – he did. You can be sure that when he disappeared from Tam they knew where he’d gone. There are police posts on all the main tracks out of Tam and when he didn’t show up at any of those they’d be sure. So when he shows up in Tam he’ll be arrested.’
‘At least he’ll get hospital treatment,’ I said. ‘And when he’s out of hospital I’ll stand bail.’
‘You’ll be lucky,’ said Byrne drily. ‘Because this guy is going to show up with a bullet hole in him and Algerian cops are no different than any other cops – they don’t like mysterious bullet wounds. It’s going to be a mess.’
He held up a finger. ‘One – Billson has broken the law, and it’s a serious offence. The Algerians are nuts on security and they don’t like foreign nationals floating around the desert tribes unobserved. That could mean prison and I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy in an Algerian prison.’ A second finger joined the first. ‘Two – he comes back with a bullet wound and that the cops won’t like either. It’s not an offence to be shot but it means someone else ought to be in jail, and that means trouble where there ought to be no trouble.’ A third finger went up. ‘Three – the guy who was shot is a foreigner and that brings Algiers into the act complete with a gaggle of diplomats. As far as I know Britain broke off diplomatic relations with Algeria years ago. I don’t know who represents British nationals here – could be the Swiss – but that means a three-cornered international hassle, and no one is going to like that.’
‘I begin to see the problems,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘Four,’ said Byrne remorselessly. ‘And this is the big one. Supposing we take Billson into Tam and he goes into hospital. It’s only a small place and within twelve hours everybody is going to know about the man in hospital who was shot – including the guy who shot him …’
‘… and who thinks he’s dead,’ I chipped in.
‘… and whom Billson can identify. What’s to stop him having another crack and finishing the job?’
‘If he’s still around.’
‘What makes you think he won’t be?’ Byrne stood up and looked down at Billson. ‘This guy is giving everybody a pain in the ass – including me.’ He shook his head irritably. ‘If it wasn’t for Hesther …’ His voice tailed away again.
‘Is there an alternative to Tam?’
‘Yeah.’ He kicked at the sand. ‘But I’ll have to think about it.’
He went over to the truck and came back with the rifle, then spoke to Mokhtar who took a full magazine from the pouch hung on his neck. Byrne slipped it into the rifle with a metallic click, worked the action to put a bullet up the spout, and carefully set the safety-catch. ‘I suppose you know how to use one of these, Colonel, sir?’
‘I