As soon as the beasts had been fed and watered, most of the members of the caravan plunged into the narrow streets of the town. Only the pilgrims, sitting quietly among their bedrolls, the women, and some old men were left under the date palms in the dusk. When the train split into two portions the following morning, each was to be escorted by a squadron of Sudanese cavalry—so it was more than ever important that Solo should locate the canister that night and identify the camel carrying it. Tomorrow might be too late.
For a while he debated with himself whether he should stay as he was or conduct his researches in different clothes. He was stuck with the facial disguise, for he would never be able to reapply it once it had been removed. And as far as garments went, a burnoose would undoubtedly be the most anonymous—but on the other hand it would restrict his movements if he was spotted, and it might lead any pursuers back to the caravan. Eventually he decided to dispense with it. He had erected his bivouac close to a crumbling wall which bordered on one side of the open space where they were camped. The pack camels were lying near the tethered horses, some way beyond the trees on the far side. Inside the low tent, he wriggled out of the headdress and Arab robes, drawing on a pair of khaki shorts and a bush shirt. He was wearing rubber-soled sneakers. The Mauser was too conspicuous, he decided, and would have to be left behind.
Cautiously lifting the back flap of the bivouac, he crawled out and stood between tent and wall, listening. From somewhere over the rooftops reflected light from naptha flares flickered and there was a gabble of voices from the bazaars. Nearer at hand in the darkness only an occasional murmured conversation and the movement of tethered beasts broke the silence.
It was now or never. Flexing his knees, he sprang lightly upwards and grasped the top of the wall. A moment later he had hauled himself up and dropped to an evil-smelling alley choked with refuse on the far side. He ran swiftly along the lane between the wall and the backs of a row of mean houses. A hundred yards further on, the passage twisted away from the square around the bulk of the mosque and eventually emerged into a narrow street. Solo paused, looking up and down. To his right, the street led towards the hubbub and the bright lights of a market place; to the left, it curved away into shadows. If he were to turn left, and left again somewhere, he should be able to double back and reach the square on the far side from his bivouac. He turned and hurried on.
There were many people in the street, most of them drifting towards the bazaar, but few gave more than a second look at the bearded Arab in the bush shirt: the town was full of merchants, soldiers, refugees from the rebel country to the southwest, and country people in for the market.
Solo plunged down another alleyway to the left, squeezed past a veiled woman leading a donkey with bulging panniers, and ran on. Soon he was back in the square, crouched down behind the nearest line of recumbent camels. Fortunately, many of the traders in the caravan had unpacked their rolls to take samples to the bazaar, and to that extent his task was easier: the lead canister would be concealed somewhere in an untouched bale.
Furtively, crawling on hands and knees across the beaten earth between camel and camel, he searched and prodded and investigated with exploring fingers. After an hour he was halfway along the third line of animals. The great beasts chewed noisily on the cud, turning their eyes to gaze incuriously at the crouching man. He was enveloped in the rank odor of their fetid breath.
Towards the end of the line, he fell forward as his wrist turned under him on a loose stone, and lurched against a bulging bale of merchandise still harnessed to a dromedary. The pack swung away from him in an odd manner: it didn’t move as a tightly folded wad of materials should move…
Feverishly, he turned towards it. In a moment its secret was revealed. The thin layer of cloths on the outside was stretched over a wickerwork cage: inside, the bale was bulked out with some light substance like cotton wool—and, buried in the center, his fingers slid down the cold, greasy surface of a lead container.
He let out his breath in a long sigh. Unbuttoning the flap of his breast pocket, he drew out a small leather case containing two metal devices about the size of a matchbox. One of them emitted a continuous radio signal; with the dial of the other correctly tuned, one could follow the movements of the first one from a distance by taking the direction in which the bleeps were the loudest. For a moment he hesitated, wondering where to conceal the homing device. Its magnetic limpet attachment would be useless on lead. Finally, he shrugged and thrust it as far as he could into the cotton beneath the canister. At least now he would be able to keep track of the camel carrying the deadly load, even if he had to leave the caravan when the two portions split up. The homer had a range of over thirty miles. Just in case, though, he permitted himself the briefest flash from a pencil flashlight. Between the bogus bale carrying the canister and the balancing pack on the animal’s other side, a blanket in yellow, red and black striped material was rolled. This would give him a visual check as well.
Carefully he replaced the coverings over the wicker cage, tightened the retaining straps, and crawled back the way he had come. He was just rising to his feet at the end of the line when a flashlight beam blazed at him from behind a tree trunk.
“What are you doing?” a harsh voice snarled. “Stay still or I shall shoot.” There was a movement towards him in the shadows.
Solo froze. “Pardon,” he said in French. “I was trying to find my way to the central bazaar. Perhaps Monsieur could direct me?”
“On your hands and knees? A likely story! Come here and let’s have a good look at you. The police and the military here do not look too kindly on thefts from caravans.” The man holding the flashlight advanced. It was Ahmed, the camel-master.
Solo went slowly forward, thankful that he had had the foresight to change clothes. “I assure you, Monsieur, that there was no question of theft,” he said. “I had lost my way and I fell. When you saw me, I was just rising again…”
“We shall see about that,” the other sneered. “Put up your hands and we shall find out what you have thieved.”
The agent raised his arms, standing where he was. Ahmed came closer, circling him warily, the barrel of a revolver gleaming in the beam from the flashlight. He patted Solo on both hips and under the arms, running his fingers expertly up the inside of his thighs and across his stomach. “At least you’re not armed,” he said. “That should get the sentence reduced by perhaps five years—Aha! What have we here?” His hand had touched the hard bulge of the leather case in Solo’s breast pocket.
“A transistor radio,” Solo said truthfully.
“I shall believe that when I see it. Let’s have it.”
“You want me to take it out?”
“Quick.” The gun jabbed Solo hard in the small of the back.
He lowered his right arm slowly and unbuttoned the flap of the pocket, drawing out the case with the homer in it between finger and thumb. Then, before the exclamation of satisfaction had left Ahmed’s lips, he dropped the case and his hand streaked down and behind him, knocking the other’s gun arm aside. The heavy caliber revolver roared as Solo whirled and grasped the hand holding it in both of his own. He jerked the man’s arm up and then down, exerting a paralyzing judo grip on the wrist. As the barrel pointed at the ground, the pistol exploded again, the ricochet whining away among the trees from the stony terrain.
As the weapon finally dropped from his nerveless fingers, Ahmed slammed the heel of his other hand under Solo’s chin, thrusting back the agent’s head with agonizing force. Solo went with the thrust, letting go of the man’s wrist and rolling backwards. At the same time, he brought up his knees, set his heels on Ahmed’s stomach and then suddenly straightened his legs. The camel-master flew over his head and crashed to the ground behind him with a clatter which echoed around the square.