Marie frowned. ‘But how would he know that you would be at Bir el Madani this morning?’
Kane considered the fact and then nodded. ‘You’ve got a point there. Anyway, to hell with it. It didn’t come off and somebody’s paid a lot of money out for nothing.’ He groaned and wiped a hand across his mouth. ‘I could use a drink.’
‘I’ve got a flask in the truck,’Jordan told him. ‘Come to think of it, I could do with a swallow myself.’ He grinned and shook his head. ‘And I was worried in case being a geologist turned out to be boring.’
As they walked back towards the truck, an excited crowd of people swarmed past them and moved towards the dead bodies.
‘Where the hell did they spring from?’ Jordan said. ‘Anyone would think they knew something was going to happen.’
‘They very probably did,’ Kane told him.
Ruth Cunningham looked sick and her face was pale. ‘Are you all right?’ she said to Kane.
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’
She seemed to find difficulty in speaking and clambered back into the front seat, where she sat, nervously clasping and unclasping her hands.
Jordan had been examining the bag of coins Jamal had found on the body of the first assassin and he looked at Kane enquiringly. ‘What happens to this little lot?’
‘You hang on to it for now,’ Kane told him. ‘I’m sure we’ll find a use for it later.’
Jordan grinned. ‘Pietty good pay under the circumstances.’ He produced a brandy flask from a compart- ment under the dashboard, took a long swallow and handed it to Kane. ‘Compliments of the house.’
Kane raised the flask and toasted him silently. He choked as the brandy burned its way down into his stomach, and he climbed into the rear of the truck. ‘I haven’t thanked you yet. That was nice shooting back there.’
Jordan slipped behind the wheel and drove towards the village. ‘I was raised on a ranch in Wyoming.’
He turned the truck into the wide main street and braked to a halt outside the largest house, scattering a herd of goats.
Kane got down and Ruth Cunningham followed him. ‘After we’ve had our talk with Omar, we’ll take a flight over the Shabwa area,’ he said to Marie.
She nodded. ‘Take care, Gavin, and don’t go too far out into the desert. It’s bad flying country.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Let’s see – with any luck, we should be back here just after noon.’
Kane smiled. ‘We’ll be back by then easily.’
There was a grinding of gears and the truck shot away in a cloud of dust. Kane turned to speak to Ruth Cunningham and found the headman of the village standing outside his door, waiting to welcome them.
‘You honour my poor house, Captain Kane,’ he said in Arabic.
Kane smiled. ‘Always I come when I need something, my friend, but let us go inside. The sun is hot and the events of the past half-hour have given me a great desire to sit down.’
Omar led the way into his windowless, mud-brick home. The house was divided into two rooms. In one were kept the goats and chickens belonging to the family, and the other was the general living room. At night Omar and his family simply lay down in their robes on rush mats and slept.
Despite the obvious poverty of the place, Omar bin Naser had the native courtesy and instinctive dignity of the Arab. He motioned Kane and Ruth Cunningham to two cushions and clapped his hands. Within a few moments, a woman entered the room, wearing a long black outer robe which also closely veiled her face. She carried a brass pot in her left hand and three cups in the other.
After the customary feigned refusals that courtesy demanded, Kane accepted a cup and nodded slightly to Ruth Cunningham who followed suit. The woman poured a few drops into their cup and waited for approval. It was Yemeni mocha – the finest coffee in the world. Kane smiled and held out his cup, which the woman promptly filled.
Omar waved her away and Kane offered him a cigarette, which the headman accepted eagerly. When it was drawing to his satisfaction, he sat back with a sigh and said courteously, ‘In what way may I help you?’