‘How are they?’ Kane asked quickly.
Jordan offered him a cigarette. ‘Slightly dehydrated, but otherwise okay. I’ve given them both a sedative. They’re asleep in the tent.’
Kane drew the smoke from the cigarette deep into his lungs. ‘Lucky for all of us that you met up with Jamal. What were you doing so far out in the desert?’
‘I’ve been looking for you for the past three days,’ Jordan said. ‘When Marie failed to return in the truck she’d borrowed, the driver waited until the following morning, and then came and told me. I found the plane yesterday, but no sign of the truck. I figured it must have broken down somewhere on the return journey.
We were doing our best to search the area between here and the plane when we came across the Somali.’
Kane glanced across at Jamal, who squatted by the spirit-stove, eating boiled rice from a bowl, closely watched by Jordan’s men. ‘I guess we owe our lives to him.’
‘You can say that again,’ Jordan said, ‘but how about filling me in on this whole thing? Where have you been since the plane crashed, and what’s happened to Marie?’
Briefly and with as much economy as possible, Kane told him of the events of the past four days. When he had finished, Jordan shook his head. ‘Skiros a Nazi – it’s the most fantastic thing I ever heard.’
‘It’s true^ Kane said. ‘But it’s Marie I’m worried about. Ruth Cunningham says they’re supposed to be waiting at Hazar.’
Jordan frowned. ‘I passed through the place two weeks ago. There’s a tribe of Bedouins camped there – Bal Harith. Their chiefs called Mahmoud, a wizened old guy with a grey beard.’
Kane nodded. ‘I know the man you mean. I’ve traded with him in the past.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Come to think of it, I heard that Muller was pretty thick with the Bal Harith. Maybe he knew they were encamped at Hazar.’
Jordan grinned. ‘They’re the sort of friends he and Skiros would need. Big, rough-looking guys who bare their teeth and finger their rifles every time I drive by. They’d cut your throat for a pair of socks.’
Kane shook his head. ‘Not Mahmoud. He’s a Bedouin of the old school. Very keen on his honour and the strict observance of the ancient customs.’
He pushed himself to his feet and walked out from under the awning. He felt light-headed again and swayed slightly, bracing his feet to steady himself. Jordan said anxiously, ‘Sure you feel okay?’
‘I’ll feel a lot better when I catch up with Skiros,’ Kane told him. ‘Can I borrow one of the trucks?’
Jordan shook his head. ‘No need, I’m corning with you. I happen to think quite a lot about Marie Ferret myself
‘What about Cunningham and his wife?’
Jordan shrugged. ‘They’ll sleep for hours. I’ll leave my men here to look after them.’
Kane was too tired to argue. He called Jamal over, explained the situation, and they climbed into one of the trucks and waited for Jordan, who was giving his men their instructions.
They drove away a few minutes later, Jordan behind the wheel, and Kane closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. It was as if all the action, all the passion of the past few days had finally caught up with him, draining the strength from his very bones. He didn’t even bother to think about what lay ahead.
They reached Hazar in just under an hour, and Jordan braked the truck at the head of the wide valley and they looked down on the black tents of the Bedouins.
‘Whatever happens, leave the talking to me,’ Kane said. ‘I know exactly how I’m going to handle it.’
The palm trees of the oasis extended for several hundred yards along the valley, their green fronds forming a solid roof against the rays of the sun. As they drove into the encampment, scattering camels and goats before them, children ran towards the tents with shrill cries of alarm, and tall, black-bearded men in flowing robes emerged, most of them carrying rifles.
As they drove into the centre of the camp, Kane straightened in his seat and Jamal touched him lightly on the shoulder. Fifty or sixty yards away, two trucks were parked.