‘Results to be sent direct to me. And now take Grant to your truck and show him how it works. Meanwhile, I’ll write a letter for you to Sheikh Makhmud, just in case. I don’t doubt he knows you’re here.’ He stood back from the door. ‘Ten minutes,’ he said to me. ‘All right? And then I want to find Charles Whitaker’s rig; find out why he isn’t drilling here if his son was so damn’ sure.’
I nodded. I didn’t even hesitate. I was being given the opportunity of ten minutes alone with Entwhistle. I jumped out of the plane and it was like jumping into the full glare of an open-hearth furnace. Entwhistle remained a moment talking to Gorde, and when he joined me in the Land-Rover he glanced at me curiously so that I wondered what Gorde had told him about me. Stones rattled against the rusted mudguards as we batted over the gravel towards the truck which seemed to be standing in a pool of water. The mirage only lifted when we were within a hundred yards of it.
I was more interested in Entwhistle than in the mechanics of his seismological equipment, and as soon as we were in the shade of the truck’s interior, I asked him what he thought had happened to David. ‘I suppose there’s no chance that he’s still alive?’
It didn’t seem to surprise him that I’d made the suggestion. ‘Did you see my personal report to Erkhard, or was it some sort of a composite thing re-hashed by the Bahrain Office?’ he asked.
‘It was a general report,’ I told him.
‘Aye, I thought so. They’ll be letting the dust collect on mine in some pigeon-hole. Can’t blame them. I made it pretty plain what I thought.’ He hesitated, rubbing his hand across the ginger stubble on his chin. ‘A rum do, and no mistake. There was that truck half-buried in sand and about forty miles from the nearest waterhole. And nothing wrong with the damned thing but lack of petrol. Even the spare jerry-cans were empty.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ I asked.
He hesitated. ‘I don’t rightly know,’ he muttered, eyeing me cautiously. ‘But I know this,’ he added with sudden violence; ‘a chap like David doesn’t drive into waterless desert with empty fuel cans. And to run out of juice just there … except for the centre of the Empty Quarter he couldn’t have picked a spot that was much farther from water.’ He stared at me and I think we were both thinking the same thing, for he said, ‘I’d like to know what his father thinks about it. In fact, when I’ve finished here I intend to drive over to Saraifa and see if the old Bedou knows-’ He stopped and cocked his head on one side, listening. Faint through the noise of the drill came the distant sound of an engine. I didn’t understand at first, but then it grew louder, over-topping the noise of the drill, and in a sudden panic of realization, I dived for the door, just in time to see the plane become airborne.
It passed so low over the top of the truck that I instinctively ducked, and as I straightened up I was cursing myself for a fool. I should have known. I should have realized Gorde might want to get me out of the way. I turned furiously on Entwhistle, who was standing in the doorway of the truck looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘You knew about this?’
‘Aye, he told me.’ He smiled a little doubtfully. ‘He asked me to give you his apologies for any inconvenience.’
‘God rot the old man!’ I muttered savagely. To be caught like that, to be fooled into thinking he was just trying to be helpful, and all the time-
I stared at the plane, which was rapidly dwindling to a speck, feeling suddenly helpless, isolated out here in an oven-hot world that I didn’t understand. ‘A day or two, he said,’ Entwhistle murmured apologetically. That’s all. I’ll try and make it as pleasant as possible.’
The plane had altered course. I saw it circle once and then it was heading back towards us and for a wild moment I thought perhaps he’d changed his mind. It came in low, flying slowly with the flaps down. But the under-carriage remained up. As it bumbled close over our heads something white fluttered down from the pilot’s window. And then it turned and disappeared low over the dunes, and the sound of it was lost again in the noise of the drill.
Entwhistle was already running to retrieve the object they had dropped to us. He came back with a cigarette packet and a crumpled sheet of paper. ‘All right. You can stop drilling,’ he shouted. He repeated the order in Arabic and as the drill slowed to an abrupt silence, he handed me the paper. On it was written in penciclass="underline" Stop drilling and proceed at once to Saraifa. Concentration of armed tribesmen camped in the dunes two miles north of you. Warn Sheikh Makhmud and give him my salaams. Philip Gorde. A chill feeling crept up my spine as I read that message, and Entwhistle’s comment did nothing to restore my morale.
‘Bit of luck, the Old Man flying down here.’ He flipped the coin that Otto had used to weight the packet. ‘Mightn’t have seen the sun rise tomorrow otherwise.’
It came as a shock to me to realize that he was perfectly serious. They would have attacked you?’ I asked.
‘Slit our throats, probably.’ He sounded quite cheerful.
‘But-’ I looked about me, at the dunes asleep in the heat of the day, the furnace-hot world of the desert all around me, quiet and peaceful. It was hard to believe. ‘But you’re still on Saraifa territory,’ I said.
He shrugged. The Emir would dispute that. And the political boys, all those bloody old Etonians — they don’t want any trouble. My name’s going to be mud.’ He stared down at the coin in his hand. And then he put it in his pocket and set about organizing the packing up of the outfit, leaving me standing there, feeling slightly lost, a stranger in a strange world.
4. The Doomed Oasis
His crew were all Arab and they went about the business of breaking camp noisily but efficiently. They had done it many times. In fact, it seemed a natural process out there amongst the dunes. They were mostly young men, a colourful mixture of race and dress, their teeth flashing white in their dark faces as they fooled around, making light of the work. They were fit and full of life and laughter; they had a football which they kicked at each other periodically, the guttural Arab tongue coming in staccato bursts from their lips.
There was nothing for me to do and I sat perched on the Land-Rover’s mudguard, watching them and looking around me at the surrounding country. There was a dune, I remember, that ran away into the distance like the Prescelly hills north of St David’s. I was looking at it, thinking of holidays I had spent in that part of Wales, and suddenly my eyes became riveted on a dark speck that showed for an instant on its back. It vanished almost immediately so that I thought my eyes had played me a trick. In that shimmering heat it was difficult to be sure. And then it showed again, nearer this time. I could have sworn it was a man moving below the crest of the dune. I was just on the point of telling Entwhistle that he had a visitor when I was jolted off my seat; the clang of metal against metal was followed instantly by the crack of a rifle, and I was looking down at a hole the size of my fist in the side of the Land-Rover’s bonnet.
For an instant everything was still. There was no sound, no movement; Entwhistle and his Arabs just stood there, shocked into immobility, staring at that hole in the side of the Land-Rover. Then Entwhistle shouted something.
Rifles cracked from the top of the dune, little spurts of sand were kicked up round us. A bullet ricocheted off the truck’s drill and went whining past my head. Entwhistle flung himself at the Land-Rover. ‘Jump in!’ he shouted. His crew were running for the truck. Another bullet smacked into the Land-Rover, so close that the wind of it fanned my trouser legs, and then I heard shouts, saw men running towards us from the line of the dunes. The engines burst into life, drowning all other sounds. I dived for the seat beside Entwhistle as he slammed the Land-Rover into gear. Two Arabs landed almost on top of me as the vehicle jerked forward. Behind us the truck was moving, too, and beyond its lumbering shape I caught a glimpse of longhaired tribesmen dropping on to their knees, aiming their rifles. But I never heard the shots. All I could hear was the revving of the engine as Entwhistle ran through the gears.