Kane slid to the ground and sat down, shaking his head from side to side to bring himself awake. His mouth was dry as a bone and full of dust and, as Cunningham threw himself wearily down beside him, Jamal produced one of the goatskins and handed it round.
They had two good swallows each and then it was empty. The Somali tossed the useless skin away and walked back to his camel and stood holding its bridle, staring impassively into the distance.
Cunningham's face was drawn and haggard, the skin stretched tightly across the cheekbones. When he spoke, his voice was a dry croak like an old man's. 'What are we going to do - keep going through the night?'
Kane nodded. 'The camels are in good condition. We'll be feeling the shortage of water before they are. We stand a better chance" during the cool of the night.'
'What about Skiros?'
Kane shrugged. 'That's another point. He'll probably make camp soon.'
He struggled wearily to his feet, and the wind lifted sand into his face and then Jamal was moving towards him quickly, eyes flashing.
The Somali cupped a hand to one ear in an unmistak- able gesture, and Kane listened. Faintly, borne on the wind, came the sound of voices in the distance.
Excitement moved inside him, and the weariness dropped from his shoulders like an old cloak. 'Did you hear it?' he asked Cunningham.
The Englishman nodded. 'Perhaps something went wrong and they've made camp sooner than they intended.'
'Whatever the reason, they're in for one hell of a surprise,' Kane said.
They hobbled the camels and went forward cautiously on foot. The wheel tracks turned away to circle the base of a large dune and Kane hesitated for a moment, and then led the way up the steep side, sinking knee-deep in the soft sand.
He covered the last few feet to the summit on his belly and raised his head cautiously. Seventy or eighty feet below, in a hollow, a tent was standing. A truck was parked beside it, hood raised, while an Arab tinkered with the engine.
As Cunningham moved up, the flap of the tent was thrown back and Ruth Cunningham emerged, pushed by Selim. She seemed to have lost all hope and dragged her feet as she went towards a flaring spirit-stove. She picked up a pan and placed it on the stove, and Selim stood over her, laughing.
Cunningham half-rose to his feet and Kane pulled him back behind the lip of the dune. 'Don't be a damned fool. At this range, you'd stand as much chance of hitting her as hitting Selim, and if you go down on foot, he'll have her at the other end of his rifle before you get half-way.'
'But we must do something,' Cunningham said desperately. 'We can't afford to wait for darkness.'
Kane's eyes narrowed as he hunted for a solution, and then a quick flare of excitement moved across his face. 'I think I've got it,' he said, and explained rapidly.
When he had finished, Cunningham sat up and nodded slowly. 'It's a good plan. At least it stands an even chance of coming off.'
He started to get to his feet and Kane caught hold of his sleeve. 'I'll handle this. You don't look too good.'
The Englishman shook his head, jaw set firmly. 'She's my wife,' he said simply, 'so it's my job.'
Kane didn't try to argue with him. Cunningham checked the action of his sub-machine gun and slipped it out of sight under his outer robe, holding it with one hand. He smiled once and then pulled back his head-cloth and stood up on the summit of the dune.
For a moment, they did not see him, and he opened his mouth and cried hoarsely, 'Water! Water, for the love of God!' He took one deliberate fumbling step forward and fell headlong into the sand, rolling over and over, down into the hollow.
At the first cry, Selim and his companions had turned in alarm, snatching up their rifles. Kane moved cautiously forward and peered down into the hollow as Cunningham rolled to a halt. For a little while he lay there and then he climbed painfully to his feet and lurched forward. 'Water!' he moaned, and pitched forward on to his face.
Ruth Cunningham sprang to her feet. For a moment she stood there, unbelief on her face, and then she started forward. Selim grabbed her by the shoulder and hustled her across to the tent. He pushed her inside and turned.
Cunningham got to his knees and stretched out a hand appealingly and Selim laughed. He shouted something unintelligible to his companion, put down his rifle, and walked forward.
Cunningham stood up and produced the sub-machine gun, and as Selim turned to run, a long burst caught him full in the back.
The other man still stood in front of the truck, rifle in hands. He raised it to his hip and fired one shot wildly. Cunningham swung towards him, a line of bullets lifting the sand in a curtain, driving the man back against the vehicle.
He stopped firing and walked forward until he was standing over Selim, and then the tent flap was thrown back and Ruth emerged and came into his arms.
Kane got to his feet and stood on top of the dune looking at them and a gust of wind drove sand particles against his face. He ploughed down the hill into the hollow, followed by Jamal.
Cunningham held his wife close and she started to tremble as reaction set in. 'It's all right,' he said. 'He can't hurt you any more.'
Selim was dead, fingers clawing into the sand, and Kane looked down at him without pity. The other man was groaning horribly and Jamal knelt beside him and raised his head. As Kane went forward, the man seemed to choke and blood poured from his mouth. His head lolled back and Jamal lowered him to the ground.
'Is he dead?' Kane said.
The Somali nodded and pointed silently at the truck. Along the side facing them, was a neat line of bullet holes. They had emptied the jerrycan of water that was bracketed to the side of the vehicle, and when Kane examined the engine, he found it damaged beyond repair.
He moved back to Cunningham and his wife. 'That final burst of yours caught the truck as well. I'm afraid we'll still have to rely on the camels to get us out of here. How do you feel?'
Cunningham looked pale, but he managed a smile. 'A lot better now that Ruth's safe.'
The wind was increasing, driving the sand across the hollow, and whining round the truck. Kane slung his sub-machine gun over his shoulder, and said quickly, ùù...ùù....ù..ù¯ùù.....ù.....ùù....ùù.ù..ùùù 5HEBA ùùùùùùùùùù".ùùùùùùùùùùùùùùùùù®ùùùùùùùùùù®ù
'Looks as if we're in for some bad weather. You two get into the tent and Jamal and I will get the camels.'
He spoke briefly to the Somali in Arabic and they hurriedly retraced their steps and climbed up the side of the dune. As they moved over the top, the wind lifted in sudden fury, carrying a curtain of sand with it that blotted out everything.
He pulled a fold of his head-cloth about his face and went down the other side of the dune. Already their tracks were obliterated, and within a few moments, they were alone, enveloped in a thick cloud of swirling sand.
It was impossible to see anything. He paused, eyes vainly trying to pierce the gloom, then turned and cannoned into Jamal. He and the Somali linked arms and struggled back up the side of the dune. It was impossible to remain standing on top and they slid down the other side and stumbled blindly into the camp.
Sand was already piled around the base of the tent, and when Kane ducked in through the flap, Ruth Cunningham turned, fear in her eyes. 'How long will it last?' she demanded.
He pulled off his headcloth and tried to sound unconcerned. 'An hour or two. Perhaps a little longer. They always blow themselves out in the end. There's nothing to worry about.'
Jamal carefully laced up the entrance and sat against it, arms folded. Cunningham had an arm round his wife's shoulder and held her close. 'How do you feel?' Kane asked her.
When she spoke, her voice sounded unnatural and strained, like a spring too tightly wound up. 'I never expected to see either of you again. After the fighting last night, Skiros told us you'd been buried under a fall of rock.'
'You'd better bring us up to date,' Kane said. 'What's been happening today and why did the party split up?'
She pushed back a tendril of hair with one hand. 'It was pretty horrible. We left the gorge this morning in the two trucks. Skiros, Muller and Marie in the front one; Selim, his man and myself in the other.'
'Why were you with Selim?' her husband asked.
She flushed. 'Skiros came to some agreement with him. He needed Selim's help when we reached Dahrein. I don't know what it was about, but I was the price Selim demanded.'
There was a short silence. As Cunningham slipped an arm round her shoulders, Kane went on, 'But why the split?'
She shrugged. 'The truck had engine trouble. Selim had to stop to fix it, and Skiros and Muller went on with Marie. They said they'd wait for us at a place called Hazar near Bir el Madani.'
'They'll have to wait a long time for Selim,' Cunningham said.
She looked down at her hands, twisting together nervously in her lap. 'He kept telling me what he was going to do when we camped for the night. He was so loathsome.'
Cunningham pulled her close and she turned her head into his chest and started to cry, her whole body shaking with the violence of her weeping.
Outside, the wind howled, driving the sand against the frail skin of the tent in a relentless fury that was somehow terrifying. Kane bowed his head down on his knees and relaxed, breathing deeply through half-open mouth, feeling each tired muscle ease.
Gradually it became completely dark, and the wind was so violent that he and Jamal had to hang on to the pole at each end of the tent to prevent it from being torn away into the night.
Four hours later, the storm departed as suddenly as it had come, and Kane unlaced the tent flap and crawled outside. The night sky was clear and millions of stars burned in its depths like white candles. The moon was full and its radiance flooded down into the hollow.
The sides of the tent sagged under the weight of the drifting sand and the truck was half-buried. Cunningham ducked out through the opening of the tent and joined him. What do we do now?'
'See if we can round up the camels,' Kane told him. Til take Jamal with me.'
'You don't sound too hopeful,' Cunningham said.
'It was a bad storm. I know we hobbled them, but a frightened camel has surprising strength. Once they get into a panic, they can kick themselves free of anything.'
He called to Jamal and they moved up the steep side of the dune away from the camp. The view from the top was quite spectacular. Rolling dunes stretched away to meet the horizon, and the hollows between them lay dark and forbidding, thrown into relief by the white moonlight, which picked out the higher stretches of ground.
They moved down the other side and walked forward in the general direction of the place where they had left the camels. All tracks had been swept away by the storm, and Kane's heart sank. He stopped and whistled several times, the sound falling shrill on the cold night air, but there was no answering cry.
They separated, Kane going one way, Jamal another, but it was no good. An hour later, they returned to the camp without the camels.
Cunningham was sitting outside the camp, wearing his Bedouin robes against the chill of the night. He rose to meet them, and as they approached, his wife emerged from the tent and joined him.
'No luck,' Kane told them. 'They're probably miles away by now. I'm afraid our last goatskin of water has gone with them as well.'
Cunningham slipped an arm around his wife's shoulders. 'What do we do?'
Kane shrugged. 'There isn't any choice - we start walking.'
'But the nearest water's at Shabwa and that's at least forty miles away,' Cunningham said. 'It's impossible - especially for Ruth.'
Kane went across to the truck, leaned inside the cab and unscrewed the compass from its fixing. When he turned, his face was grim. 'There aren't any ifs or buts about it. We walk, and we walk now. With luck we can cover maybe twenty or twenty-five miles before daylight. If we don't, we're finished.'
Cunningham's shoulders sagged and he turned to his wife. 'In a way, I got you into this. I want you to know that I'm sorry.'
She touched his face gently and smiled. 'There's no place I'd rather be.'
They might have been alone as they stood there, staring into each other's eyes, and Kane turned away quickly and went to speak to Jamal.
SIXTEEN
A THOROUGH SEARCH of the camp produced plenty of food, but only one aluminium water-bottle. When they left at midnight, Kane carried it slung over one shoulder.
Split four ways, its contents were virtually useless, but they had no choice and he was determined it should not be used until the last possible moment.
He led the way at a fast pace, using the compass regularly to check on direction. It was bitterly cold and he felt quite fresh and full of energy. It was ironic to think that, within another six hours, they would be exposed to the merciless rays of the sun. How long they would be able to keep going after that was anyone's guess.