‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ I said, and took hold of him and swung him round so that he faced me. ‘Now just listen. I’m in this as deep as you are. If you’re caught, then I’ll be in trouble, too. If you don’t like this arrangement, then I’m through with you. Understand?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’ He half shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, if it’s the only way…’ He nodded slowly. ‘Very well. I’ll do what you say.’
‘Fine. You’ve nothing to worry about. Just convince yourself that you really have come direct from England.’
‘I’ll try.’ He nodded and then asked me where he should meet me in Casablanca.
‘At the railway station,’ I said. ‘The train for Marrakech leaves at 8.45 a.m. tomorrow.’
‘And your train arrives when?’
‘At seven twenty.’
‘I shall be at the station in time to meet your train then.’
‘All right. But if we do happen to miss each other, we’ll rendezvous in the foyer of the Hotel Metropole.’
‘If I’m not there to meet your train,’ he said, ‘you’d better look for me in the prison.’ He said it unsmilingly.
The taxi driver, who had been standing talking to one of the baggage checkers, called out to us and pointed. The silver glint of wings showed above the hills behind us. I pulled open my case and handed Kavan my shaving things. As we got out of the taxi, Vareau appeared round the corner of the airport building and signalled to us. I gripped Kavan’s hand. ‘Good luck!’ I said. ‘You’re clear on what you have to do?’
‘Quite clear.’ He nodded and then said urgently, ‘You’ll contact Karen, won’t you? You’ll let her know where I am?’
‘I’ll get in touch with her somehow,’ I assured him.
‘Promise you won’t leave Tangier without — ‘
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Now hurry. Vareau’s waiting.’
I watched him climb the fence and disappear round the front of the building with the clerk and then I got back into the taxi and sat there, watching the airfield, whilst the Constellation landed and taxied over. It was about ten minutes before the passengers emerged from the plane and came across the brown, burnt-up grass to the airport building.
I was nervous and the minutes dragged by. Cars came and went and my eyes remained on the corner of the building, my mind trying to visualise the scene inside. It was a modern brick building and on the side facing the airfield was a buffet with tall windows looking out to the runway. The baggage counter was between the buffet and the entrance hall, enclosed by doors. The officials would be fully occupied with the papers and baggage of the passengers stopping at Tangier. Kavan should have finished shaving by now. He should be sitting in the buffet with the rest of the passengers bound for Casablanca. The air hostess had gone into the building with the air crew several minutes ago. Vareau should have added Kavan’s name to the list by now. He should have got Kavan’s immigration form, too.
I got out of the taxi and began pacing up and down. If I could only have been in the buffet to keep an eye on things, to keep Kavan’s mind occupied … I was afraid his nervousness would give him away, sitting there alone. I tried not to think what would happen if they started questioning him.
I kept glancing at my watch, but it seemed ages before the hands pointed to four forty-five. The air crew strolled out to the plane, their flat hats and dark blue uniforms looking oddly naval. A mechanic was clambering along one wing. Then he jumped down and the air crew disappeared inside the fuselage. It was ten to five. What were they waiting for? Had something happened? Were they interrogating Kavan now? I went to the rail, craning my head forward to see farther round the corner of the building.
And then the air hostess came out, the board with her list of passengers swinging in her hand. The passengers followed in a long, straggling line. I didn’t recognise Kavan at first. He was near the end of the line, walking close to a French family. He looked quite different without his beard. He was walking jerkily, a little nervously, his head thrust forward, his eyes on the ground. Once he half-turned and glanced in my direction. His face looked stronger, more positive without the beard. He had a strong jaw and somehow the sight of him looking like that made me feel it would be all right.
The passengers were bunching up now, queueing at the foot of the steps into the fuselage. Gradually the little crowd thinned. I could see the immigration official. He was talking to the hostess, only half his attention on the passengers. And then he was looking at Kavan and my muscles tensed and my mouth felt dry. The air hostess glanced down at her list and I breathed a sigh of relief. Kavan was climbing the steps. I watched him disappear into the fuselage and then I turned and walked rather shakily back to the taxi.
Five minutes later the plane taxied out to the end of the runway. It stood there for a moment, revving its engines, and then it took off, the undercarriage retracting and the starboard wing dipping as it swung south and disappeared in the direction of Morocco.
I told the driver to take me back to Tangier and I lay back in my seat and closed my eyes. In little more than an hour Kavan would be through the airfield immigration check and on his way into Casablanca in the Air France bus — so long as nothing went wrong. But I couldn’t do anything about it now. I would mail Vareau his money from Marrakech and that, I hoped, would be the end of the whole business.
For the first time since I had pulled Kavan out of the sea I felt relaxed. Lying back, watching the dusty road stream by, my mind turned to Enfida. Now at last I was able to think and plan again for the future.
The next thing I knew we were back in Tangier and a horn was blaring at us. We had stopped at some traffic lights and somebody was gesticulating and shouting to me from a car drawn up alongside. It was Kostos, and he leaned across the Arab he had with him and wound down the window. ‘Lat’am!’ he called across to me. ‘I like to talk to you. Tell your driver to stop opposite the British Post Office, eh?’
‘And I’d like a word with you,’ I shouted at him. The sight of him had suddenly made me angry. If it hadn’t been for that nonsense about the passport, I shouldn’t have had to run the risk of getting Kavan out of the Zone illegally. He could have travelled with me on the train. I leaned forward and told the driver to stop opposite the BPO. The lights changed and we moved forward. Through the rear window I saw Kostos nose his car in behind us. I sat back again, thinking how dangerous it could be to take another man’s name when you knew nothing about him — especially when the destination was Tangier. I was consumed with sudden curiosity to discover what it was all about. What were these documents that Kostos was so anxious to get hold of? And this place Kasbah Foum — it had an oddly sinister sound.
The taxi stopped and I paid the driver off. Kostos and the Arab were waiting for me on the curb. ‘Where have you been?’ Kostos demanded. ‘You don’t go to the British Consulate. I check that. An’ you don’t go to the Pension de la Montagne. I just come from there. Where do you go?’
‘That’s none of your business,’ I said. ‘There are one or two questions I want to ask you. First, I want that passport. What have you done with it?’
‘The passport?’ He smiled at me. ‘You heard what Lopez say. He give it to you.’ He leaned closer to me, still smiling. ‘You tell me where Wade is, Lat’am, an’ I make it worth your while, eh?’
‘He’s left Tangier,’ I told him.
‘Left the Zone? Oh no.’ He shook his head, looking down at the suitcase I was carrying. ‘He don’t leave the Zone with you — not now. So you better cancel that other berth in the wagon-lit. He don’t leave till I get what I want.’
‘And that is the deeds of Kasbah Foum?’
He nodded, watching me closely. ‘Strictly between you an’ me, Lat’am, I trade the papers for his passport. You tell him.’
‘And if he hasn’t got them?’
‘Oh, he has them.’