‘Skiros was a German,’ Kane said. ‘Was it wise to have dealings with such a man?’
Mahmoud smiled. ‘Your friend represents an American oil company. If he finds oil, how long will it be before we receive the benefits of so-called American aid?’
‘Would that be such a bad thing?’ Jordan said.
Mahmoud shrugged. ‘In Oman, they have the British to protect them. Here, we would rather protect ourselves. If the Germans are foolish enough to give us arms free, I will accept.’
‘But most of the border tribes have used those arms to attack the British in Oman,’ Kane said. ‘This is what the Germans wish to see happen.’
The old man shrugged. ‘That is not my affair.’
There was obviously no point in further discussion and Kane changed the subject. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t see the woman?’
Mahmoud shook his head. ‘She is still under guard in her tent. I will take you to her myself.’ As he led the way through the camp, he said, ‘If you will take an old man’s advice, be careful when you return to Bahrein. Skiros will not forget what you have done to him.’
He paused outside the tent that contained Marie Ferret. The guard sat cross-legged in the shadows beside the entrance, head lolling forward over his chest. Mahmoud exclaimed in annoyance and prodded the man with his foot.
The guard rolled forward into the sand, face turning to one side. He was still alive, but there was blood on his neck behind his left ear, the mark of a heavy blow.
There was no sign of a struggle when Kane looked inside the tent, but she was no longer there, and he turned to Mahmoud and said, ‘They have taken her with them.’
‘But why?’ Jordan demanded.
‘A hostage until he manages to get safely out of the country, or a means of hitting at me.’ Kane shrugged. ‘The reason isn’t important.’
Mahmoud touched him on the sleeve and the old sheik’s eyes were troubled. ‘I am shamed that this thing should happen in my tents. Naturally this absolves me from my promise to hold you here for a day.’
‘No one is to blame,’ Kane told him, ‘but we must leave at once. Where is the Somali?’
‘He sleeps with my bodyguard,’ Mahmoud said. ‘I will send him to you.’ He walked back to his tent, and Kane and Jordan hurried towards the truck.
‘What about the Cunninghams?’ Jordan asked.
Kane shrugged. ‘They’ll have to fend for themselves for the time being. This thing is more important.’
He smoked a cigarette and considered the situation, while Jordan checked that everything was in running order. It was about one hundred and twenty miles to Dahrein over dirt roads, and in places the going was rough. Skiros and Muller had a two-hour start. Unless they had a breakdown, it would be impossible to catch them before Dahrein.
Jamal appeared from the darkness, followed by Mah-moud and several of his men. The Somali climbed into the rear seat, and Jordan slid behind the wheel and pressed the starter.
As the engine roared into life, Mahmoud leaned forward and took Kane’s hand. ‘As Allah wills it, my friend.’
‘Till our next meeting,’ Kane said, and Jordan moved into gear and the truck shot away in a cloud of dust.
For the first hour, they followed an ancient caravan trail through the mountains, Jordan straining his eyes into the darkness, swinging the wheel violently from time to time as the headlights picked out boulders and other obstructions in their path.
Kane leaned back in his seat, one of Jordan’s cigarettes smouldering between his teeth. Despite his long sleep, he was still tired, but from somewhere in the depths of him, he had summoned secret resources of energy, some mysterious vital force that was to hold him together long enough to finish this business. щщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщ….щщщщщщщщщщщщщщщ…..щщщ. s J-J E J} A щЇщщщщщщщщ”щщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщщ®щщщщщ
At the end of the first hour, a strong wind started to blow in from the coast, cutting across the mountains, driving the curtain of cloud before it, and the full moon appeared, its rays drifting down into the valleys, lighting the way before them.