1965 - This is for Real

by James Hadley Chase

  The hawks overhead hung motionless. Their shadows made large black splashes on the white sand.

  With forced casualness, Girland patted the hot steering wheel.

  “Well, that's it. We have three hours to sunset. We'll stay right here until the sun goes down, and then we'll walk.”

  Tessa stared at the black shadows on the sand.

  “I'm glad you are with me,” she said huskily. “I couldn't face this alone.”

  “That makes two of us,” Girland said, and put his hand on hers.

  ***

  Smemoff had been fiddling with the dial of the 'Walkie-talkie for some minutes. Watching him, Malik saw his impatient tension gradually mounting.

  “I'm getting no reply from Post Three,” Smemoff said finally.

  “Something's wrong.”

  “Try Post Four.”

  “They're too far to the north to know anything. Post Three said they were driving straight towards them. They must have intercepted them by now.”

  “We can't be more than ten kilometres from them,” Malik said, after studying the map. “Drive quicker,” he went on to Dieng.

  The jeep increased speed and the four men had to cling to their seats. Daouda, on the roof, was nearly thrown off. He wailed his alarm as he clung to the roof support.

  They drove like that for ten minutes, then Ivan said sharply, “Something over there... to your right.”

  Dieng reduced speed. Malik peered out of the jeep. He saw something white in the sand. At his order, the jeep headed towards it and pulled up.

  They all scrambled out of the jeep and went over to the three dead bodies lying in a little group in the sand.

  There was a long pregnant silence, then Smemoff said, “I warned you Girland was dangerous.”

  “He's got their rifles,” Ivan said.

  Malik turned away and stared across the waste land. Faintly in the soft sand he could make out the tracks of a car.

  “They went that way,” he said and walked back to the jeep.

  He picked up the map and studied it. His green eyes were unnaturally bright: the only sign of his rage and disappointment.

  Smemoff joined him.

  “Post Four is here. Is that right?” Malik asked, pointing to the map.

  “Yes.”

  “Then they have broken through the circle. We'll have to go after them. They are heading into the bush and not out of it, but none of the Posts can intercept them now. We'll have to keep after them until they run out of petrol. How is our petrol?”

  “We have half a tank full and two spare Jerry cans. We have plenty.” Ivan said.

  “And water?”

  Ivan grimaced.

  “Not as much as we should have. It keeps evaporating in this damned heat. We'll have to watch it.”

  Malik looked at his watch.

  “It'll be dark in about four hours. We will have to catch them before then. We'll have to be careful how we approach them. Ivan, you'd better have the rifle. You're the best shot.”

  Ivan turned to Daouda.

  “Give me the rifle.”

  The tall scarred African shuffled his feet in the sand. He giggled with embarrassment, covering his gold filled teeth with his hand.

  “It fell off the roof when we went so fast,” he said. “I would have fallen too if I hadn't been so strong.”

  Ivan's fiery face turned purple.

  “You mean you've lost the rifle?” he said, his voice rising to a shout.

  “It fell off the roof.”

  Malik came up and caught Ivan's arm as he was about to strike the African.

  “Wait. How far back did you drop it?”

  Daouda shrugged his shoulders.

  “Back there,” and he pointed.

  “We'd better go back for it,” Smemoff said in Russian.

  “We'll never find it,” Malik said also in Russian. “We could pass within a metre of it and not see it.” He paused, then went on, “Every minute we waste gives them a chance of getting away.” He turned to Daouda. “Go back and get it. We will wait here.”

  Daouda shook his head.

  “It is too far. monsieur. I would get lost.”

  “Go and get it!” Malik said, pulling his gun.

  Dieng came up.

  “Excuse me monsieur, but this man is my friend. If he goes he will get lost and he will die.”

  “Then go with him” Malik said, and the gun swung towards Dieng. “Go!”

  Dieng stared into the green glittering eyes and sweat sprang out on his black face.

  “I have said nothing, monsieur: I will stay. He will go.”

  “You both go!” Malik said, and he thumbed back the safety catch on the gun.

  The two Africans turned and began to run back, the way they had come. Malik sent a shot above their heads and they increased speed, stumbling in the loose sand, their arms waving frantically.

  “As we are running short of water.” Malik said, walking back to the jeep, “the less mouths to drink it the better.”

  The three men got in and Malik, taking the wheel, sent the jeep once more moving through the loose sand.

  “I don't like this,” Ivan said uneasily. “Now Girland has a rifle, we are in a bad position. He'll have the range on us.”

  “There are three of us,” Malik said. “One of us will draw his fire while the other two circle him and get within range.”

  Smemoff stared ahead at the monotonous scene.

  “We could miss him. The wind's getting up and if s wiping out his tracks.”

  “We won't miss him.” There was a grim note in Malik's voice. “Look up in the sky. He's where the hawks are hovering.”

  Both Ivan and Smemoff stared into the yellowing sky. In the distance they could make out a few black dots that swooped and hovered and swooped again.

  “Everything depends on how long his petrol lasts,” Malik said. He was sending the Jeep over the rough ground at well over ninety kilometres an hour.

  The walkie-talkie crackled into life and Smemoff hurriedly put on his headphones. He listened to the voice that came through a crackle of static, then said, “We are heading for Square seven. Send men with water after us. That's an order,” and he switched off.

  “What was that?” Malik asked, wrestling with the steering wheel.

  “Post Five. They have found two bodies and a Buick car. The bodies have been half eaten by vultures: a short and a tall man.”

  “Schwartz and Borg,” Malik said. “Good riddance. Will they bring water to us?'

  “No,” Smemoff said. “Post Five is forty kilometres from us at this moment. They have no transport. Why should an Arab care what happens to us?”

  “Let’s have a drink now,” Ivan said, wiping his cracked lips with the back of his hand. “We've got enough for a little drink, haven't we?”

  Smemoff put his hand on the water skin. “Even when we have caught Girland, we still have to get out of the bush.”

  “We were mad to come so far without enough water,” Ivan complained furiously. “Isn't there a water hole somewhere on the route?”

  “Look and see,” Malik said to Smemoff.

  After studying the map, Smemoff said, “There is a water hole sixty kilometres from here, but to get to it we would have to cross absolute desert: no trees no shade, nothing but flat sand. Do you think Girland could be heading that way?”

  “It depends on how much petrol he has left.”

  “Head for the water hole,” Ivan urged. “We have got to have more water”

  Malik hesitated. There was a chance that Girland carried spare petrol. If he did, he too would head for the water hole ... providing, of course, he knew it existed.

  “Yes,” he said and with his eye on the compass on the dashboard, he changed direction and headed due east.

  It was in this way that they finally came to the end of the bush and saw a few kilometres ahead of them, standing in a burning plane of hard, flat sand, the stranded Deux Chevaux.

  Tessa and Gi
rland had been sitting in the little car now for over half an hour. The heat in the car was insufferable and Girland felt as if the blood in his veins was boiling. Every scrap of metal on the car was dangerous to touch. Accidentally, he had brushed against the metal window frame and now had a livid bum on his forearm.

  “I'm not going to stand much more of this,” he said hoarsely.

  “We're going to be cooked alive.”

  “It's much worse outside.” Tessa was breathing in short, laboured gasps. “The sun is going down In an hour the car will make shade and we can sit out.”

  Girland groaned.

  “Another hour! I'll have burst by then!”

  “It's not quite so hot as it was. Let's have a drink.”

  Girland didn't need any encouragement. He turned in his seat and reached for the water skin. He happened to glance through the rear window of the car and what he saw made him forget his thirst and the heat.

  In the distance a cloud of sand was moving rapidly in their direction. That cloud could mean only one thing: a car was approaching at a reckless speed.

  “Tessa look!”

  At the urgent note in his voice, Tessa jerked around.

  “A car coming!” Girland snatched up one of the rifles.

  “It may not be them.” Tessa said. “Be careful.”

  “Who else could it be as far out as here?” Girland returned.

  Using the butt of the rifle to push open the car door, he slid out into the burning sunlight. “Stay where you are,” he called to Tessa. “I'll give them a warning shot.” Raising the sight of the rifle, he sent a shot over the approaching car which he could now recognise as a jeep.

  The jeep slewed away, its four wheels skidding in the sand and stopped.

  Three men climbed out. Even at a distance of half a kilometre, in the clear, brilliant light, Girland recognised Malik's giant frame and his silver blond hair.

  “It's them all right,” he said and adjusting the rifle sight, he fired three times, aiming carefully at the jeep.

  The three men scattered and took shelter behind the remaining shrubs.

  “We have plenty of ammunition,” Girland said. “We'll cripple their car. If we don't get out of this, they won't either.”

  Both of them aiming at the Jeep, fired again. The bang of a bursting tyre came across the flat plain and Girland grinned.

  “Nice shooting,” then seeing a thickset man dodge out from behind a shrub and start across the sand, an automatic in his hand. Girland hurriedly altered the rifle sight and taking careful aim, pressed the trigger.

  Moving like a bull Ivan felt the bullet zip through his flapping shirt sleeve.

  “Come back, you fool!” Malik shouted after him. “Come back!”

  Ivan stopped running and looked back at Malik. Girland squeezed the trigger. A red blotch suddenly appeared on Ivan's sweat-soaked shirt and he fell forward on the sand.

  “The fool!” Malik snarled.

  “Never mind him,” Smemoff said. He was lying by Malik's side. “What are we going to do? We'll never get near Girland without cover and look at it!”

  “We'll get him when if s dark. It's just a matter of waiting. Go and check the car and bring the water here.”

  Smemoff began to crawl towards the jeep. As he was within reach of the jeep, Girland fired again. A glancing bullet shattered the windscreen and Smemoff cursed. He cursed again when he saw a large dark stain under the car and smelt petrol fumes. He crawled around the far side of the jeep. He saw at a glance the petrol tank had been holed three times and the last of the petrol was dribbling out of the holes. He reached into the back of the jeep and hauled out the two full Jerry cans of petrol, dumping them in the sand. Then he grabbed hold of the water skin and a wave of panic went through him. The water skin was empty! A bullet hole in the skin told him the reason as Girland once more fired and Smemoff, flopping down, heard the bullet smash into the bonnet of the jeep.

  He crawled back to Malik.

  “The water's gone,” he said, his voice shaking. “And he's shooting the car to hell.”

  Malik's lips pulled off his white teeth in a vicious snarl.

  “So the water's gone. That won't save them They must have water with them and we can use their car. The spare petrol's all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then ... should give you an incentive to get them.”

  He moved further into the shade of the shrub. “Get under cover. We haven't long to wait.”

  “I could do with a drink,” Smemoff said, a whine in his voice.

  “Go and ask Girland for one,” Malik sneered, “and shut up!”

  Out in the blinding rays of the sun. both Tessa and Girland were suffering. He dare not get back into the car. A quick rush from the Russians would bring them within revolver shot distance.

  He had to keep them pinned down where they were.

  “Let's have a drink Tessa.” he said, wiping the sand and sweat from his face.

  She walked unsteadily to the car and returned with two glasses of water.

  “The damn stuff is nearly boiling,” Girland said as he sipped.

  “We'll have to watch out when it gets dark. That'll be their chance to get at us.” He peered across the sand, screwing up his eyes against the dazzling glare. There was no sign of the Russians. “You keep watch. I'm going to fix the car.”

  He looked down at her.

  “We have to face up to it, Tessa. We have a very slim chance of getting out of this mess. Without petrol, we're sunk. Even if we manage to kill those two we can't hope to reach Diourbel. I'm taking damn good care, they don't use our car.”

  He went over to the Deux Chevaux, opened the bonnet with the barrel of his rifle, then ripped the electrical leads from their terminals. Reversing the rifle, he used the butt to smash the petrol pipe to the carburettor. Satisfied he had wrecked the engine, he returned and dropped down by Tessa's side.

  “I'll take over. You get back into the car.”

  “I'm staying with you. Mark.”

  They remained silent for some moments, then Girland asked.

  “Just suppose we do manage to get out of here, what will you do with yourself, Tessa?”

  “Go back to Paris. I can always get some kind of job, but why talk about it?”

  Girland looked up at the darkening sky. The hawks still floated above them.

  “As soon as it gets dark enough, we'll have to move away from the car. Malik will try to rush us. I'd like to get him if I could.”

  “It'll be dark in another half hour.”

  They lay side by side, waiting. The minutes crept by. The light slowly faded. The brilliant red of the sunset turned to orange and the stars began to appear.

  Suddenly Tessa lilted her head, listened, then jumped to her feet.

  “Do you hear something?” she asked excitedly. “Listen!”

  “Sounds like an aircraft.” Girland scrambled up.

  They stood side by side, staring up at the sky.

  “It is an aircraft... a hovercraft!” Girland pointed. “There it is! Hedge-hopping... American markings!” He began to wave his arms.

  Flying low the approaching hovercraft scattered the hawks and slowed.

  They saw the pilot lean out of his open window. He waved, then gently brought the hovercraft in to land.

  Girland grabbed hold of the water skin and tipped it upside down, spilling the water out onto the burning sand. Then he ran to the car and snatched up the tin box that Carey had given him. With Tessa, he ran to the hovercraft.

  As the grinning pilot swung open the door, there came the sound of a distant shot. Girland helped Tessa into the machine and looked back over his shoulder.

  Followed by Smemoff, Malik was running with lurching strides, across the sand, shooting as he ran.

  “Let's get out of here.” Girland said, scrambling in after Tessa and slamming the door.

  The hovercraft swung away from the two running men and began to climb.

  “N
ot waiting for your friends?”

  Girland looked sharply at the man who spoke. He was sitting in the rear of the machine with a U.S. Army officer by his side.

  “I'm Jack Kerman,” the man said. “You may have heard of me. This is Lieutenant Ambler, Security. Just like the movies, wasn't it? You can consider yourself lucky.”

  Girland looked down at the two white figures far below.

  From this height, he now could see the hopelessness of getting out of this death trap. The flat plane extended for kilometre after kilometre to the distant horizon. The two Russians, now motionless, looked like white ants in an ocean of sand.

  He drew in a deep breath before saying. “I do.” Then he went on, “You wouldn’t have a cold drink with you?”

  Kerman grinned. He handed over a large vacuum flask “Gin and orange,” he said. “Take it easy.”

  With a shaking hand. Girland poured two gave one to Tessa and saluted Kerman before he drank deep and long “Swell!” he said, then. “How the devil did you find us?”

  “Just played it smart with a little luck,” Kerman said. “After I found Janine Daulnay dead...”

  Girland stiffened.

  “She's dead?”

  “Yeah. She overplayed her hand and Malik, got wise. She took the quick way out.” Kerman shrugged. “Best way from the look of the set-up when I found her. I then went after Malik, came on your wrecked car, went on to Diourbel, phoned Ambler who came running in this fancy machine. While I was waiting for him, I nosed around the town and one of the gossipy Africans told me he had seen you go to a nearby villa. So I went there and met your pal Fantaz. I had to get a little rough with him but he finally told me the whole story. By then Ambler had arrived. We waited until it got light enough and then took off over the bush. We've been searching for you ever since. We found your pals, Borg and Schwartz: very dead. We also found where Carey had been hiding. All the Africans there were also very dead. Then we found you and ... I suppose Miss Carey?”

  “Yes,” Girland said. “You've been quite a busy bee, haven't you?”

  Ambler spoke for the first time.

  “You're under arrest, Girland I have orders to fly you back to Paris tonight. Mr. Dorey wants you.”