Flyaway by Desmond Bagley

Author:Desmond Bagley [Bagley, Desmond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure

CHAPTER TWENTY

We arrived at Byrne's house at eleven next morning, Byrne having scouted ahead to see if it was safe to go in. Once there he wasted no time. 'I thought Paul would make that decision,' he said to me. 'We have to go through Agadez to tank up on gas, but Paul mustn't – not with Kissack about. I've sent Hamiada on ahead. He'll be waiting with camels this side of Agadez to take Paul around.'

That reminded me of something. 'I haven't seen Mokhtar around. He just seemed to evaporate as soon as we got here from Algeria.'

Byrne laughed. 'He'll be half-way to Bilma by now. He's my madugu.'

'What's that?'

'Caravan master. He's taking millet to Bilma and bringing back salt. We should catch up with him the other side of Fachi.'

'We're going to Bilma?'

'Through Bilma,' corrected Byrne. 'And away to hell and gone the other side.'

I went to study my invaluable map, and I didn't much like what I saw. We'd be crossing the Erg du Tenere and there was no track marked. And beyond that was the Grand Erg du Bilma. It seemed that I was going to see the Tree of Tenere, very bad water at forty metres included.

When I next saw Byrne he was cleaning and oiling an automatic pistol and another lay by his side. 'You're an old army man; take your pick,' he invited.

They were both German; one was a Walther and the other a Luger. I said, 'Where did you get those?'

'There was a bit of trouble up north, if you remember,' he said. 'The trouble I walked away from. A lot of guns, too; and quite a few came south.'

I nodded. Both the pistols were standard German side-arms, officers for the use of. I picked up the Walther and Byrne nodded approvingly. I said, 'I wouldn't give one of these to Paul.'

Byrne looked at me disgustedly. 'Think I'm crazy? If I'm going to be shot it had better be by the right guy.' He handed me a packet of ammunition and a spare magazine. 'Load up.'

I loaded the magazines and slipped one into the butt of the pistol. Then I had a problem; I didn't know where to put the damned thing. There was an inside pocket in the breast of the gandoura but it wasn't good enough to take anything as heavy as an automatic pistol. Byrne watched me with a sardonic eye, then said, 'There's a belt and holster in the closet behind you.'

There was a pocket built into the holster to take the spare magazine. I strapped the belt around my waist under the gandoura. There was no problem of access because the arm-holes of a gandoura are cut very low and one can withdraw one's arms right inside. A djellaba is made the same way, and on a cold night among the Tuareg one could be excused for thinking one was among a people without arms.

We left within the hour, just Byrne, Billson and myself in the Toyota, heading for Agadez.

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