Jack Higgins – Sheba

The air was bumpy as they flew out of the pass, for a forty-knot wind was blowing across the mountains. They climbed through heat haze that already blurred the horizon, and levelled off at six thousand feet to cross the coastal range.

Beyond the mountains the sky was a brilliant sapphire and, within half an hour, the real desert appeared in the distance, its colours varying between burnished gold and deep red.

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Suddenly, they were passing over a tall oil derrick surrounded by a group of tents and several vehicles, and then Ruth Cunningham cried excitedly, ‘Look, there’s a truck down there!’

Kane glanced out of the window and saw a truck moving at high speed in the direction in which they were flying. A little later, a dark splotch appeared in the distance. Within a few minutes it had increased into a clump of green palm trees and a scattered group of flat-roofed houses.

The airstrip was a narrow slot between two dunes, with a windsock on a tall pole at one end. Kane circled once and then turned into the wind for a perfect landing between two rows of empty oil drums. As he taxied to the far end of the airstrip, the truck appeared from among the houses and moved towards them in a cloud of dust.

Kane switched off the engines, opened the door and jumped to the ground. He turned and handed the two women down in turn as the truck braked to a halt a few feet away and a man slid from behind the wheel and came to meet them.

He was young, with a bronzed, reckless face, and his fair hair was closely cropped. He was dressed in sun-bleached khaki and a revolver was slung low on his right hip in a black leather holster.

His teeth flashed in a ready smile and he cried, ‘The Devil himself. What brings you up here?’

Kane grinned and punched him on the shoulder. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help us, Jordan.’ He half-turned and indicated Ruth Cunningham. ‘Mrs Cunningham here, is looking for her husband. We know he arrived in Bir el Madani two months ago. He intended to visit Shabwa for a few days. She hasn’t heard from him since.’

Jordan took her hand, his face serious. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Cunningham.’ He frowned slightly for a moment or two and then shook his head. ‘No, I can’t say I’ve heard of your husband. The headman of the village might be able to help.’

She turned to Kane and he nodded. ‘I know the headman here – Omar bin Naser. If he knows anything he’ll tell us.’

Jordan led her towards the Ford pick-up truck and handed her in. ‘That’s settled then. I’ll drop you and Mrs Cunningham in the village, Kane. We’ll see you sometime this afternoon. Marie and I have a hell of a lot to discuss.’

Marie squeezed into the front seat beside Ruth Cunningham, and Kane and Jamal sat in the back under the canvas awning. As they moved away, Kane glanced casually over his shoulder and saw an Arab in faded russet robes and red head-cloth, appear from behind a dune and urge his camel across the airstrip. He slid to the ground and stood by the plane.

Kane tapped Jordan on the shoulder. ‘Pull up a minute, will you?’

Jordan halted the truck and they all turned and looked back. The Arab was examining the plane closely and then he looked up and gazed towards them.

Kane scrambled out of the truck. Til see what he wants. It may be just idle curiosity, but you never can tell with Bedouins.’

As he approached the plane, the Arab advanced to meet him, hand resting lightly on the silver hilt of his curved jambiya. Kane halted a few feet away from him and said in Arabic, ‘What are you doing here? Are you looking for someone?’

The Arab’s face was lined and drawn. The pupils of his eyes were like pinpricks and his lips were necked with foam. ‘I have a letter for one named Kane,’ he said in a dead voice.

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