Judas Country

*

I mooched about the town staring into closed shops and listening to church bells until noon, then back to the hotel for a first beer with Kapotas.

He was looking fresh and smart in a non-Sunday tie, but also gloomy and nervous. Then I remembered Papaand the partner from Harborne, Gough coming in that afternoon.

'Cheers. Have you got the books balanced?'

'On a tight-rope. You know about Papadimitriou?'

'I heard. Tell me – when we were in Beirut, was anybody here asking for him?'

'Would I know? Papadimitriou was the first person anybody coming here would meet, most of the time.'

I nodded. It was also possible that Papa had gone looking for a partner instead of one finding him.

'Somebody was asking about Professor Spohr,' Kapotas added.

'Who? When?'

'On Friday evening. Only by telephone. It was the Israeli Embassy.'

'Areyou sure?'

He shrugged. 'The voice sounded… well, right.' There's already a clipped, dry tone you could call an Israeli accent just so long as you don't expect all Israelis to have it. 'I said I knew nothing and put Papadimitriou to speak to him.'

'This was Friday evening? After dark?'

'Yes, why?' Then: 'Oh, of course,' as he got the point.

Naturally no Israeli Embassy can be strictly religious; they'd break the Sabbath, all right – but only on important business. Dead or alive, Bruno Spohr couldn't stand very high on Israel's list of problems.

'What happened then?' I asked.

'I don't know.' He took a mouthful of beer and tried to think. 'Papa went out soon after, and… and I never saw him again,' he suddenly remembered. 'Perhaps I should tell the police.'

I nodded. God knows what they'd make of it, but at least they'd have the authority to check with the embassy. I'd get told to go and unleaven my head.

I changed the subject: 'Has Papa's niece been told?'

'She is off duty now. I gave Inspector Lazarosher address.'

A waiter – I meanthe waiter – came in and started clattering about leisurely, laying the tables behind us. I went to fetch two more beers.

Then Ken came in, bouncing like a frisky cat. He saw the glasses in my hand. 'Lay off that stuff, boyo- you're aviating.'

I put the glasses carefully back on the bar. 'I'm what?'

'Doing the ever-popular intrepid birdman act. Private charter to Israel.'

If the glasses hadn't been out of my hands they would have been anyway. 'Towhere! On whose money? And with that… that… 'Apostólosthe barman was watching me; '… with that… load?'

Kapotas was on his feet by now. Ken grabbed both beer-glasses and shooed us back to the table, out of range of the bar. He shoved one glass at Kapotas and gulped at the other. 'The girls'll pay the charter, they've agreed. They think Gadulla's our only chance, and if it comes right we need the Beech. Nowyou-' he turned to Kapotas '-wouldn't mind having the aeroplane and its cargo out of the way – earning money, remember -while your big wheel from London comes snooping through? Roy told me about him.'

Kapotas looked thoughtful. I said: 'I hope they know what charter rates are like. '

'I was moderately honest about it,' Ken said. 'They're paying a hundred quid – they're saving the air fares, remember – and it won't be more than three hours there-and-back so you'll seesome profit. The lad from London will think you're marvellous.'

Kapotas was beginning to like it. I said firmly: 'Dynamite into Hell, yes, but I'm not flying that load into Israel. Of all places-'

Ken waved his non-drinking hand impatiently. 'It's stilltransit cargo. They won't care as long as it stays in the Beech.'

There was a long silence except for the shufflings of the waiter in the dining-room end. Kapotas was back to gloom again.

I slapped both hands on the table. 'All right. This time. But Ken -you go by airline. Eleanor won't look suspicious and Mitzi should get by with Braunhof on her passport, but the name Cavitt could blow the whole expedition.'

He saw the sense of it. 'Okay, I'll get booking.'

I followed him into the lobby; there was nobody around. 'You got the hundred off the girls in advance?'

He nodded. 'I didn't want to mention it in front of Kapotas.'

'Quite so. But give me fifty now; I've got to refuel.'

'Sure.' He split a wad of Cyprus notes and gave me half.

'Thanks. And I learnt one thing: somebody saying they were the Israeli Embassy rang about Spohr on Friday evening. He talked to Papa, then Papa went out and resigned from there.'

He got the point of Friday evening straight off. 'But an Israeli accent?'

'Kapotas thinks so.'

He considered. 'I doubt Papa knew Israel. He might've been ready to go shares with somebody who did.'

'And who knows us.'

'Say again?'

'One reason why he didn't kill you: if he recognised you he'd guess I'd be somewhere around.'

He scratched his nose with the earpiece of the phone. 'Plenty of people who know us and Israel… Only one I can think of here is that Israeli agent – Mihail Ben Iver.'

I nodded. 'I love him, too.'

'Come off it, Roy. The Ha Mosad's pulled some dirty tricks down the line, but…'

'Who says he's their secret service, except you?'

After a time he said softly: 'That's right, isn't it?'

23

These unexpected flights really louse up your laundry, and the Castle hadn't been doing any delousing since the crunch. Now I had two dirty khaki shirts, one dirty white one and two others that hadn't quite drip-dried. In the end I put on the dirty white and my blue uniform trousers, bundled everything else into the bag and was at the airport by half past one.

Sunday's a quiet day at that season. A couple of parked airliners with nobody working on them, a Piper Navajo- the one where the props spin in opposite directions – buzzing down the approach. I watched it on to the runway, smoothly. No turbulence.

Ken's flight wasn't due till a quarter to three and he'd be bringing the girls out with him. I ordered seventy gallons of fuel, cash waggled in advance, then studied the met chart and ate a sticky bun to wipe the beer off my breath. Weather was no problem, and Airway Blue 17 went straight from here to Tel Aviv, so I flight-planned myself on it, counting on a three o'clock takeoff. I still had an hour and more.

I paid for the petrol, got cleared out airside and walked down to the Queen Air. It was some distance away, on the Number 8 stand they use for visiting private aircraft, just past the customs bonded store. The Piper Navajowas parked not far away.

I climbed into the Beech and sat staring at those bloody boxes. By now I was convinced they'd be happiest at the bottom of the sea, and me too, if you see what I mean. Stage an engine failure and have to lighten the load? It sounded pretty unconvincing, particularly to an insurance company. But maybe the cover had lapsed by now.

That didn't solve my immediate problem. Maybe the customs would let me store it in bond, make it realentrepôtcargo, for a few days. I'd got time to try… then I remembered Jehan-gir's automatic: if the Israelis gave the aeroplane a real frisking… I untangled it from the seat springs and dropped it in among the maps in my flight briefcase. I could sling it out of the window into the grass at the runway end.

As I climbed down, Jehangir, Janni and a third man came round the tail.

'How very convenient,' Jehangir smiled. Today he was the respectable banker again: dark green silk suit, old school tie and white shirt. Even Janni looked moderately neat in a striped shirt and dark trousers.

Their hands were empty.

I said: 'How's the leg today?'

'Expensive, thank you. I'm having to use an old-style one that I keep as reserve, and I'd forgotten how uncomfortable these belts and shoulder straps are. However, we came to talk about champagne, not legs.'

'If you get rough I'll scream for my mummy.'

He shook his head firmly. 'There is absolutely no need for any violence. All we have to do is go and inform the customs that the champagne you arranged to sell us, and we have come to collect, has – you now tell us – turned out to be small arms. Naturally, we felt it our duty to report this.'