He checked my passport and then he looked up at the two of us and said, ‘I regret, but I have orders to retain your papers temporarily. You are to remain in this district until you have permission to leave.’
‘What exactly is the trouble?’ I asked.
‘There is no trouble. It is solely a matter of routine.’ He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘If you require accommodation …’
‘We sleep in our vehicle,’ I said.
‘Bon. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to leave for Agdz.’
‘Don’t you want to see my passport?’ Julie asked.
‘It is not necessary, mademoiselle.’
‘But if it is a matter of routine.’ She held out her passport.
‘I repeat, mademoiselle. It is not necessary.’ He shouted for the house-boy. ‘If there is anything you require for your comfort,’ he added formally, ‘Mohammed will see that you have it.’ He indicated the Berber boy and then ordered him to escort us out.
Disconcerted by the abruptness of his change of attitude towards us, we went without another word.
Little runnels of sand had drifted under the front door despite the sacking that had been placed there. And when Mohammed opened it for us, we were met by a cold blast of wind that flung a cloud of stinging sand in our faces. We thrust our way out, too battered by the impact of the storm to think. The door closed behind us and we hesitated, huddling together for protection. The palmerie had disappeared completely. The Foreign Legion fort was no more than a vague blur in the sand-laden atmosphere. The whole surface of the ground seemed to be on the move, rustling past our feet and climbing into the air with a singing sound on each gust, swirling upwards higher than the flagstaff.
We fought our way to the bus, hauled open the door and staggered inside.
‘What happened?’ Julie asked us as she got her breath back. ‘What was that phone call about?’
‘I think the police have discovered that Jan didn’t come straight out from England,’ I said.
But she shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t that. Legard is an officer of the AI, not a policeman, and Jan was a friend of Capitaine Duprez. His attitude wouldn’t change because he was in trouble with the immigration authorities.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But it would if his commandant had thrown doubt on Jan’s identity.’ I glanced at Jan. He was sitting on the berth, his head in his hands, frowning. ‘Well, what do we do now?’ I asked him.
He lifted his head and looked at me almost in surprise. ‘We find Caid Hassan. That’s the first thing. Afterwards…’ He shrugged his shoulders a little wearily. ‘Afterwards, I don’t know. But first we’ll see the Caid. As soon as the storm is over.’
I glanced at my watch. It was just after twelve. And at five Kostos would be at the camp again.
CHAPTER TWO
Though we had parked in the lee of the Foreign Legion fort, the sand still found its way into the interior of the bus. I would have liked some sleep, but sleep was impossible. We just sat and watched the sand whirl past the windscreen, sifting like water over the long snout of the bonnet. A jeep passed us, battling against the swirling clouds of sand like a little mechanical toy. Legard was at the wheel, muffled in his Spahis cloak. He was driving towards the mountains.
‘Why did he have to go to Agdz?’ asked Jan. ‘He said he couldn’t leave the Post until the food trucks arrived.’
‘Well, I’m glad I haven’t got to drive through this in an open jeep,’ Julie said.
‘He’ll be clear of it in the mountains,’ I pointed out.
‘Why don’t we go to the mountains then?’
I glanced round at her. She had her eyes closed and she looked tired. ‘We could go back into the house,’ I suggested.
‘No, we can’t sleep there. Besides, we need some food.’
‘All right. I’ll drive up to the foot of the mountains then.’ I leaned forward and pressed the starter button.
‘Why not go to the Kasbah Foum?’ Jan suggested.
‘If you like.’
It wasn’t easy driving. Sand was sifting along the ground so thick that it was difficult to see the piste. It was like driving through a dead world. But at length the palm trees thinned, and as we climbed towards Kasbah Foum,’ the weight of the sand lessened. Soon we could see the mountains, a vague shadow looming up ahead of us like a heavy cloud formation photographed in sepia. There was the watch tower and the ruined city, and there, straight ahead of us, was the kasbah and the dark gash of the gorge.
In that queer half-light the place looked inhospitable, almost hostile. There was a deadness about it. The tumbled graveyard of the ancient city seemed to be spilling down the hill on to the kasbah. The gorge was a yawning cavity in the mountains, remote and sinister. I glanced at Jan. Those last lines of Browning’s came into my mind: And yet dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, and blew. Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.
I pulled up close to White’s tent and switched off the engine. The camp was deserted, but from the entrance to the gorge came the sound of a bulldozer working, carried to us faintly on the wind. ‘We’ll have some food and then you’d better get some sleep,’ I told Julie.
As soon as we had finished lunch, Jan left us, walking quickly up the track to the gorge. To Julie and me who watched him go, he looked a small and pathetically lonely figure against the immensity of the mountains. ‘What will happen to him?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said.
Her hand touched my arm. ‘How deeply are you involved, Philip?’
‘With the police?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t get more than ten years,’ I said, trying to make a joke of it. But her eyes looked worried. ‘Get some sleep,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to be done about it now.’
She hesitated, and then she nodded and went through into her compartment of the caravan. I stretched myself out on the berth behind the driving seat and pulled a rug over me. I must have slept, for I woke up with a start to the sound of a car drawing up alongside. It was a jeep and for a moment I thought it was Legard. But then I saw there was a Berber at the wheel, and it was Kostos who climbed out of the passenger seat. He saw me and waved his podgy hand.
‘Lat’am. Where is Wade gone to?’
‘Wade?’ And then I laughed because the name sounded so odd now. I pointed up to the mouth of the gorge and he nodded and climbed back into the jeep which shot off up the track. I glanced at my watch. It was just after five. The wind had died away and all the sky over the palmerie was shot with red and gold and a soft blue violet as the sun sank.
I pulled on my shoes and hurried up the track. The gorge was already beginning to get dark and there was a damp chill about the place. It echoed to the thunder of machines and as I rounded the base of the slide, I saw that both bulldozers were in operation. White was driving one and Jan the other, as though they had settled their differences and gone into partnership.
The jeep was parked close to the point where the rubble was being tipped into the water. Beside it stood Kostos and the Berber driver. The Berber, in his white djellaba with the hood drawn up over his head, seemed so natural, so much a part of the scene, that he emphasized the incongruity of the European in his crumpled suit and the great, blundering machines. Every time Jan’s bulldozer rumbled past him, Kostos moved forward, shouting and gesticulating in his endeavour to make himself heard above the roar of the diesel engine. As I came up, Jan stopped and switched off his engine. Seeing this, White stopped his engine, too, and in the sudden silence the Greek’s voice, raised to a scream to make himself heard, was like the cry of some wild bird.
‘… do not stop, we will leave at once, do you hear?’ Kostos was waving his plump hands and his face was red with the effort of shouting. It was rather comic.
And then I saw that the Berber standing beside him was Ali d’Es-Skhira.
‘We would like to talk to you privately,’ Kostos said.