Flyaway / Windfall

by Desmond Bagley

  And I could still hear them because they had the windows down. Lash said, ‘When we heard about the leaflets I told you to stay put in Agadez. So what happens? I arrive to find you’ve gone into the damned desert. Then we get a message that Bailly’s been in a motor smash. What happened to him?’

  ‘It wasn’t a smash,’ said Kissack. He told Lash of how he had ambushed us. ‘I had them nailed down, all but one who got away—and I reckoned he couldn’t get far on foot. They didn’t have a chance. Then Bailly started to scream his bloody head off.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Christ knows! This Arab did something to him. What or how I don’t know, but he’s going to lose his foot. There was Bailly wriggling around on the sand and yelling fit to bust, and the Arab was dodging away among the dunes. We chased him a bit but he got away.’

  ‘You were scared,’ said Lash flatly.

  ‘You’d be bloody scared if you’d seen what he did to Bailly,’ Kissack retorted. ‘He wouldn’t stop screaming. I had to slug him to shut him up.’

  ‘So then you put him in this car and brought him to Bilma. Kissack, you’re stupid.’

  ‘What else was there to do?’

  ‘You could have killed Bailly to shut him up and then attended to the others. You said you had them nailed down.’

  ‘Jesus, you…’ Kissack’s voice caught. ‘You’re a cold-hearted bastard.’

  ‘I’m a realist,’ said Lash. ‘Now, who were these men you were shooting at?’

  ‘One of them was Byrne, the Yank who got out the leaflets. He spun me a yarn back in Agadez but I saw through it. Another I’m pretty sure was Billson. The other two were Arabs.’

  ‘Arabs or Tuareg?’

  ‘Who cares? They’re all the same to me.’

  ‘I repeat, and I don’t like repeating myself—you’re stupid, Kissack. Did they wear veils?’

  ‘Byrne did—and one of the others. The one who did for Bailly had no veil.’ There was a pause while Lash digested that, and Kissack said defensively, ‘What’s the difference? Christ, I hate this bloody desert.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Lash was silent for a while, then said, ‘What happened to them?’

  ‘I don’t know. They aren’t here. I shot up that Toyota pretty good; got three of the tyres. And no one is going to walk out of all that sodding sand out there, Mr Lash.’

  ‘You said that before about Billson, and you were wrong.’ Lash was contemptuous. ‘And I’m betting you’re wrong again because you’re stupid. Before I flew down from Algiers I took the trouble to find out about this American, Byrne. He’s been in the desert thirty-five years, Kissack. The Algerians don’t like him much but he has friends with political clout so he still hangs around. Anyway, he spends most of his time here in Niger. If you didn’t kill him, then I’m saying he’s going to get out because he knows how. Did you kill him?’

  ‘No,’ said Kissack sullenly.

  ‘Tomorrow you take me and show me that shot-up Toyota. If it’s not there you’re going to wish you were Bailly.’

  ‘It’ll be there, Mr Lash. I know where I put the bullets.’

  ‘Don’t bet on it,’ said Lash coldly. ‘Because I’m assuming it’s not there. Now I told you to stay in Agadez and wait for me. Why the hell didn’t you?’

  Kissack had an access of courage. ‘Remember what you said when you came in here. You said there was a contract out on Billson and you asked why he was still alive. I was just doing the job.’

  ‘Good God Almighty!’ said Lash violently. ‘Those bloody leaflets changed all that. Even a cretin like you should have realized that. Whether Billson is alive or dead, that plane is going to be found now. If it is, then my principal is going to be up a gum tree and he’s not going to like that.’

  ‘If I’d got Byrne there’d be nobody to give the reward. That’s why I had a crack at him.’

  ‘I don’t deal in damned ifs,’ snapped Lash. ‘I want certainties. And you’re wrong. If that crashed plane is worth maybe a thousand pounds to Byrne, then anyone who finds it will figure it’s worth something to someone else, whether Byrne is around or not. I tell you, that plane is going to be found and talked about.’

  ‘What’s so bloody special about it?’ asked Kissack.

  ‘None of your business.’ Lash fell silent. Presently he said, ‘Any idea why Byrne and Billson suddenly took off in this direction? Do you know where they were going?’

  ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘Working in the dark as usual,’ said Lash acidly. ‘Now this is how we work it from now on. I’m betting that Byrne and Billson are still around—so we find them. And when we do you don’t lay a bloody finger on them. What’s more, if they’re in trouble you get them out of it. Understand?’

  ‘Hell! One minute you want to know why they’re not dead, and the next you want me to pick ‘em up and dust ‘em off.’ Kissack was disgusted.

  Lash was heavily patient. ‘We don’t know where that plane is, do we? But Byrne might have a good idea by now—he’s the one who’s been advertising for it. So we let him find it and, if necessary, we help him. Then, when we’ve got Byrne, Billson and the plane all in one place…’

  ‘Bingo!’ said Kissack.

  ‘And I’ll be along to see you don’t make a balls-up of it,’ said Lash. ‘Now, is there anything else you think I ought to know? It doesn’t matter how insignificant it is.’

  ‘Can’t think of anything, except there’s been some funny rumours going round Tammanrasset.’

  ‘What rumours?’

  ‘Well, I heard that Billson was in some sort of hospital jail in Tam. But he couldn’t be, could he? Not if he was in the Ténéré.’

  ‘When did you hear this?’

  ‘Today—in the restaurant. A British tourist travelling with a German crowd was shooting his mouth off. Billson dead of exposure, Billson alive with a bullet in him, Billson alive and in jail. But all just rumours, this chap Stafford said.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘He said they were just rumours; nothing certain.’

  ‘What did you say the name was?’

  ‘Whose name?’

  ‘The British tourist, for Christ’s sake! Who else are we talking about?’

  ‘Oh! He called himself Stafford. No, he didn’t; but his German mate called him Stafford.’

  ‘Good God Almighty!’ said Lash softly.

  ‘And he answered to Stafford when I talked to him. Is he important?’

  ‘Did he say where he’d come from? He’s been in Tammanrasset, you say.’

  ‘He came down from Djanet with a German tour group. Said he’d flown to Djanet from Tam. I thought that was a bit funny but he explained it. Said he was leaving the tour at Agadez and going down to Kano.’

  ‘And he had a German friend?’ Lash sounded puzzled.

  ‘That’s right. They jabbered a lot in German. I think he was the tour leader. They were talking about a guide to take them across the Ténéré.’

  ‘Coming down from the north with Germans? But how…’ Lash cut himself short. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Not long ago. I came straight here from the restaurant and then you pitched up a couple of minutes later.’

  ‘Then he might still be there?’

  ‘He was there when I left.’ There was a hint of a shrug in Kissack’s voice. ‘We had a bit of a barney; he was getting on my wick.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘All his talk about Billson in Tam was making me edgy.’

  ‘So you do have some imagination, after all. Come on; let’s see if he’s there.’

  ‘So who is he?’

  They got out of the Range-Rover and walked across the courtyard. Lash said, ‘Trouble!’

  The door slammed.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  I got out from under the Range-Rover and looked about. A minor puzzlement which had been a fugitive at the back of my mind during that interesting conversation had been how they had got the Range-Rover into that courtyard. It couldn’t be driven thro
ugh Bilma, not through alleys four feet wide at the most. The puzzle was solved by the sight of a big pair of double doors, so I opened one and found myself on the edge of the town, clear the other side from the restaurant.

  I did the three miles to Kalala at a jog-trot, my mind busy with the implications of what I had heard, the most interesting one being that Lash knew me—or of me—and he had been very surprised to hear that I was in Bilma. That, and a phrase that had been dropped a couple of times, made it almost certain that it had been Lash who had me beaten up in Kensington. I owed him something for that.

  When I got back to the resting caravan Byrne was asleep but Billson was around. He said, ‘Where have you been? Where did he take you?’ He looked me up and down, examining my English tailoring. ‘And why did you change? Byrne wouldn’t tell me anything when he came back.’

  If Byrne had decided to keep mum then so would I. Paul had been improving during the last few days, but if he knew what I had just found out he might blow his top. It was the final proof positive that someone wanted him dead and would go to any length to kill him. And expense was no object, so it seemed. Touring half a dozen men around the Sahara by road and air isn’t the cheapest pastime in the world, especially if they’re killers—guns for hire.

  I said casually, ‘I’ve just been wandering around Bilma to see what I could see.’

  ‘Did you find the Range-Rover?’

  ‘If it’s there it must be hidden.’ That was true enough.

  ‘What about Kissack?’ he said fretfully.

  I remembered that Byrne and I had not said anything to Paul about meeting Kissack and Bailly in Agadez. I lied. ‘I wouldn’t know Kissack if I stood next to him. And he wouldn’t know me. Relax, Paul; you’re safe enough here.’

  I went to the Toyota, got out my Tuareg gear, and changed, feeling the better for it. The clothing worn in any area has been refined over the years and is suited to the conditions. It made sense to wear Tuareg clothes and I no longer felt on my way to a fancy dress ball but, instead, cool and free.

  That night, when Paul was asleep, I woke Byrne and told him my story. When I got to Lash’s suggestion to Kissack about what he ought to have done about Bailly he said ironically ‘This Lash is a really nice guy.’

  ‘He calls himself a realist,’ I said, and carried on.

  When I had finished he said, ‘You did right well, Max; but you were goddamn lucky.’

  ‘That’s true enough,’ I admitted. ‘I made a mess of tackling Kissack from the start.’

  ‘Luck runs both ways. Take Billson, now; he’s lucky you followed him from England. He’d be dead otherwise, up in Koudia.’

  I smiled. ‘We’re both of us lucky to have you along, Luke.’

  He grunted. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. You said something about a contract. What sort of contract?’

  ‘You’ve been away from civilization too long. It’s underworld jargon imported from the States. If you want a man killed you put out a contract on him on a fee contingency basis.’

  ‘You call that civilization? Out here if a guy wants another man dead he does his own killing, like Konti.’

  I smiled but this time it was a bit sour. ‘It’s called the division of labour.’

  ‘Which brings us back to the big question,’ said Byrne. ‘Who would want Paul dead? And a bigger question, at least to my mind—who would want me dead?’

  ‘I rather think I’m on the list now,’ I said. ‘I don’t know, Luke; but a name that springs to mind is Sir Andrew McGovern.’

  ‘A British sir!’ Byrne said in astonishment.

  ‘I haven’t told you much about the English end of this,’ I said. ‘But now you’ve got yourself on Lash’s list I think you ought to know.’ So I told him what I knew, then said, ‘I think Lash must have had me beaten up. All contracts aren’t for killing. They wanted to discourage me.’

  ‘And this guy McGovern?’

  ‘Everything seems to lead back to him.’ I ticked off points on my fingers. ‘He employed Paul in the first place and saw that he’s been grossly overpaid ever since. As soon as Paul had his brainstorm and disappeared McGovern pulled my firm out of security of the Whensley Group. He couldn’t just do it for Franklin Engineering, you see—that would have looked fishy. He didn’t want me looking too deeply into Paul and his affairs and that was the only way he could stop me. Then he tried to get Paul’s sister out of the way before I could see her by sending her to Canada. That didn’t work so he called off that plan and kept her in England. It was about that time when I was beaten up and warned off. Everything goes back to McGovern.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Byrne. ‘Now tell me why. Why should a titled Britisher get into an uproar about an airplane that crashed in 1936?’

  ‘I’m damned if I know. But Andrew McGovern is going to answer a lot of questions to my satisfaction when I get back to London.’

  ‘You’d better change that to if you get back to London,’ said Byrne wryly. ‘How old is McGovern?’

  I hadn’t thought of that. ‘I don’t know. Maybe fifty-five—pushing sixty.’

  ‘Let’s take the top figure. If he’s sixty now he’d be eighteen in 1936.’

  Or thirteen on the lower figure. I said, ‘This makes less and less sense. How could a teenager be involved?’

  Byrne moved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ‘Let’s stick to the present. Did you get a look at Lash?’

  I shook my head. ‘Only his feet. I was flat on my belly under that Range-Rover. I didn’t see any of the others, either; except Kissack, of course, and his Arab friend.’

  ‘But there are now five of them?’ I nodded, and he said, ‘Must have come in on the airplane that’s taking Bailly back to Agadez. And Lash’s plan now is to do nothing until we find that airplane?’

  ‘As of now it is. He could change his mind.’

  ‘That we’ll have to risk. Now, we know what he’s going to do, but he doesn’t know we know, so that gives us an edge. He wants to help us along until we locate that airplane. Okay, that’s fine with me and I propose to let him help, and to do that he’ll have to show himself.’

  ‘Maybe. Perhaps he’ll be master-minding in the background.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Byrne. ‘He won’t use Kissack because he knows I’ve seen Kissack, and Kissack knows I tried to screw him so Lash knows it too. And from what you tell me, the other guys along with him are hired muscle from Algiers.’

  ‘Or hired guns,’ I said glumly.

  ‘Could you recognize him by voice?’

  ‘I think so, unless he’s smart enough to change it.’

  ‘Good enough.’ I couldn’t see Byrne in the darkness but there was a smile in his voice. ‘You know, Max; if these guys follow us and help us on our way I wouldn’t be surprised if they got in real trouble. The desert can be a dangerous place, especially when it has help.’

  I said, ‘How much of this do we tell Paul?’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he said. ‘We don’t tell him a goddamn thing. He’s just along for the ride.’

  We left early next morning with Konti still with us. ‘We’ll take him as far as Djado,’ said Byrne. ‘Then he’ll head east, back home to the Tibesti.’

  We drove openly around Bilma and past the fort. I didn’t see Kissack or anyone who might be Lash. Then we took the track due north, skirting the ramparts of the Kaouar mountains, sheer cliffs for mile after mile. Just after leaving Bilma Byrne said, ‘About forty kilometres ahead there’s the military post at Dirkou; I’ll have to stop there for gas. But not you—they’d want to see your papers and you got none. So I’ll park you just outside with Konti. He don’t like soldiers, either.’

  When we came into sight of distant palm groves he stopped and pointed. ‘Head that way as straight as you can. That’ll bring you to the road the other side of the post but out of sight. Wait for me there.’

  Konti and I got out. Byrne was about to start off again but he paused. ‘You got a spare bottle of whi
sky?’

  ‘In my bag in the back. Why?’

  ‘There’s a guy in Dirkou who likes his booze. A sweetener makes life run easier around Dirkou.’ He drove off.

  Konti and I set off across the desert which, thank God, was flat thereabouts. Presently I stooped and picked up something. Byrne had been right—there were sea-shells in the desert near Bilma.

  After about half an hour’s trudge we reached the track and waited, being careful to stand behind a convenient rock and not in plain sight. Soon we heard the grind of gear-changing and I looked out to see the Toyota approaching, so we stepped out and Byrne stopped just long enough for us to climb in.

  He jerked his thumb back to Dirkou. ‘Would you say Lash is a big man?’

  ‘His feet were middling size.’

  ‘There’s a Britisher back there. Came in twenty minutes behind me.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ I said. ‘In a Range-Rover.’

  ‘No; in an old truck nearly as beat-up as mine. He’s pretty tall, pretty broad, dark hair.’

  ‘Anyone with him?’

  ‘Two guys. From the way they spoke Arabic together I’d say they’re from the Maghreb—Algiers, most likely. The Britisher don’t speak Arabic, he talks to them in French which they don’t understand too good.’

  ‘It fits,’ I said.

  ‘They’ll be more than twenty minutes behind us when they leave Dirkou,’ said Byrne with a grin. ‘I had a talk with the guy who likes his booze. Right now he’s turning them inside out and the English feller is swearing fit to bust a gut. Won’t do him no good, though. Seems that whisky has its uses.’

  ‘That might be useful,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘If your whisky drinker is turning them over that thoroughly he might find guns. He wouldn’t like that, would he?’

  ‘That passed through my mind,’ agreed Byrne cheerfully. ‘Let us not smooth the way of the transgressor.’ He laughed at my expression. ‘Lots of good things in the Bible.’

  From the seat behind me Billson said, ‘What are you talking about? Who was that man back there?’

  ‘Just a guy,’ said Byrne. ‘Maybe nothing to do with Kissack but I like to play safe.’