Sheba

by Jack Higgins

  The one who had done the talking shrugged and started to remove his outer garments, but the other suddenly made a break for the door. Kane stretched out a foot and tripped him and as the man scrambled to his feet, hit him across the face with the barrel of the Colt. The heavy foresight slashed open the man’s cheek and he slid to the deck, moaning.

  Kane slipped the Colt into his pocket and walked to the door. He turned and said calmly to the other man, “Tell Selim he’ll get out of Dahrein if he knows what’s good for him.”

  He closed the door behind him, crossed the deck, and dropped down into the dinghy. “Is everything settled, sahib?” Piroo said.

  Kane nodded. “I think you might say that. You can take me to the jetty now. I’m going into town.”

  He stood on the jetty and listened to the sound of the dinghy disappearing into the darkness as the Hindu rowed away, and then he turned and walked along the waterfront to the hotel and his appointment with Ruth Cunningham.

  7

  THE HOTEL WAS ABLAZE WITH LIGHTS AND THE FOYER was crowded with people. Kane pushed his way through to the entrance of the casino. Skiros was sitting at a table by the window. His eyes, moving rapidly from table to table, gleamed with satisfaction as the dealers raked the chips across the green baize covers. When he saw Kane, a smile appeared on his face and he waved. Kane nodded briefly and turned away.

  The bar was doing a brisk trade, and Romero, Noval, and Conde, the Catalina crew, were sitting there in flying jackets. Romero waved and Kane joined them.

  “Run any good cargoes lately?” Romero asked.

  “The pot calling the kettle black,” Kane said. “Gupta’s told me he saw you and some Portuguese freighter off-loading twenty miles out.”

  Romero smiled. “We all need to make a living, amigo.”

  “Take care,” Kane said. “If he saw you, so could someone else.”

  He walked away. Noval said, “He’s right.”

  Romero shrugged. “No problem. A few more days and it will all be over. Let’s have another drink.”

  The corridor was quiet and the noise from below sounded curiously muted and unreal as if it came from another world. A light showed through the transom window above her door, and he knocked softly. It was opened almost immediately and she looked out.

  She was wearing a brocaded housecoat in heavy silk, tied with a crimson sash at the waist. Her hair hung loosely to her shoulders and her face was pale and drawn as if she had slept badly. She smiled and stood to one side and he went in.

  She closed the door and leaned against it, her eyes gazing into his searchingly. After a few moments she sighed. “You haven’t got any news for me, have you?”

  For a fraction of a second he hesitated and then he shrugged, “I’m afraid not.”

  She moved across to a wicker chair by the window and there was an edge of desperation in her face. “Surely you’ve managed to find out something? This is a small town. Somebody must have known of him.”

  Kane shrugged. “That’s the peculiar thing about the whole business. Nobody seems to have heard of your husband. I finally had a talk with the Customs Chief here. He swears your husband hasn’t disembarked in Dahrein during the past two months.”

  “But that’s impossible,” she said. “We know he has.”

  Kane shook his head. “We know he intended to come here. We know he got on the boat at Aden. He may have gone on to another port—Mukalla, for instance.”

  “Do you think that’s possible?”

  He shrugged. “Anything’s possible. On the other hand, I’m still not convinced your husband didn’t land in Dahrein. Captain Gonzalez is inclined to skimp his duties. If he meets half the boats that come in here he’s doing well, but he won’t admit it.”

  She looked up at him eagerly, “Then you think my husband may have landed here after all?”

  Kane nodded. “If he landed and went straight up-country the same day, it would explain why no one has heard of him.”

  An expression of relief appeared in her eyes and she relaxed against the cushions. “I’m sure that’s what must have happened.” She smiled wanly. “What’s the next move?”

  He went across to the window and looked down into the crowded street. “There’s one more person left to see,” he said. “Marie Perret.”

  Ruth Cunningham looked up at him in surprise. “A woman? But how can she help?”

  Kane smiled. “No ordinary woman, I can assure you. Marie Perret is half-French, half-Arab. She’s the head of a trading organization which stretches from Zanzibar to Singapore. A very remarkable woman. She has regular trucks going up to the Shabwa area. If your husband wanted to get there in a hurry, that’s the way he would go.”

  There was a strange smile on her face when she looked up at him. “Is she a friend of yours?”

  Kane shrugged. “I know her,” he said. “She’ll give me any information she has.” He walked to the door. “If it’s not too late when I get back, I’ll drop in again.”

  She stood up quickly and moved across to the table. “I’ve written a letter to the Consul of Aden, telling him I’ve found you all right.” She laughed rather self-consciously. “He asked me to do so. He didn’t seem too happy about my coming here on my own.”

  He slipped the letter into his pocket and grinned. “Maybe he had a point. I’ll see you later.”

  He went downstairs, crossed the foyer, and entered the casino. Skiros was still sitting by the window, cheroot between his teeth and glass at his elbow.

  Kane slipped into the opposite chair. “Looks like you’re having a good night.”

  Skiros smiled. “I do not complain. Luckily the world is full of fools who do not understand that the house always wins. What of Mrs. Cunningham’s husband? Have you managed to trace him yet?”

  Kane shook his head. “Gonzalez says he hasn’t landed here, but you know how much one can rely on his word. I’m going to see Marie Perret now. She might know something.”

  As he got to his feet, he took Ruth Cunningham’s letter from his pocket and pushed it across the table. “Put that in the mail bag for me. It’s important.”

  Skiros nodded and snapped his fingers at a waiter. “You’re just in time. I’m sending a boy down to the jetty now. The mail boat sails on the ten o’clock tide.” He gave the letter to the waiter with a brief command. “Have you time for a drink?”

  Kane shook his head. “Another time, Skiros. I’ll probably be back later on to see Mrs. Cunningham again.”

  Skiros smiled and the flesh creased around his eyes. “I trust you will remember that this is business. She’s a very attractive woman.”

  Kane didn’t to bother reply. He turned and forced his way through the crowd, crossed the foyer, and went out into the cool night.

  As he walked along the center of the narrow street, he thought about the Greek’s last remark. It would be foolish to deny that Ruth Cunningham was an attractive woman and yet, since that brief feeling of excitement and unease when they had first met on the jetty, he had been conscious of no physical feelings about her.

  She was the first woman of his own kind he had met for years; still she had left him completely unmoved. But then, women were something he was extremely careful about. After all, Lillian had seemed a very pleasant girl during those first few months before they got married. Remembering what had come after, the thought that she was no longer a part of his life filled him with a conscious pleasure and he paused on a street corner to light a cigarette.

  It was the best part of the day. The Hour of the Dove, they called it. The lights of the ships in the harbor were mirrored in the water, and from a nearby café came the sounds of music and laughter as someone celebrated a wedding.

  Arabs in colorful robes crowded sidewalk tables, sipping coffee from delicate cups, talking endlessly amongst themselves. With the advent of night, the street had become a bazaar with stalls that sold everything from handmade brassware to cooked food.

  There was an air of excitement, of vita
lity, in the air, and the night, like smooth velvet, brushed his face as he pressed through the crowd.

  Gradually, the streets emptied as he moved away from the center and climbed steadily through narrow, cobbled alleys toward the promontory which curved out toward the sea.

  Marie Perret’s house was perched on the extreme end of the finger of rock, looking out over the harbor. It was a two-storeyed building with a flat roof, standing in an acre of garden surrounded by a high wall.

  Kane paused outside a solid, iron-bound door and pulled the bell chain. After a while there was a movement on the other side and the door swung open noiselessly.

  The man who stood revealed presented an extraordinary figure. A full-blooded Somali, his ebony face was topped by a flowing mane of black hair. He stood six foot six and was broad in proportion. A giant of a man in white robes.

  His mouth twisted in a grin and he moved to one side, motioning Kane to enter. Kane smiled and said in Arabic, “Is your mistress at home, Jamal?”

  The Somali turned from the door and nodded. He had been branded in the center of the forehead as was customary with slaves in certain parts of the Yemen. He had tried to escape from his master and on being caught, had had his tongue cut out in the market place as a warning to others.

  His second attempt at escape had been more successful. Dying from thirst in the desert, he had been found by Marie Perret, who had nursed him back to health. He had been her shadow ever since.

  He led the way along a flagged path between the fig trees to a covered terrace, motioned Kane to a chair, and disappeared inside the house.

  Kane inhaled the freshness of the garden. It was a riot of color and the night air was heavy with the scent of flowers. Several palms lifted their heads above the wall and gently nodded in the cool breeze, leaves etched against the night sky, and a fountain splashed into a fish pool amongst the trees. There was a light step behind him and he turned quickly and rose to his feet as Marie Perret walked out onto the terrace.

  She was a small, graceful girl of twenty-five, and the soft contours of her body were accentuated by the jodhpurs and khaki bush-shirt she was wearing. Her hair was black, an inheritance from her Arab mother, as were the wide, almond-shaped eyes and rather full mouth.

  The rest of her was pure French, and she smiled gaily and flung herself down into a chair. “How are you, Gavin? What a wonderful night. I’ve just been for a ride.”

  Kane grinned and offered her a cigarette. When he had given her a light, she leaned back in her chair. “Did everything go all right in Mukalla?”

  He took a letter from his inside pocket and handed it across. “Sorry, I was forgetting. I saw your agent there yesterday. He gave me that for you.”

  As she read it, he watched her covertly, marveling at the change of expression on her face, cold, businesslike, and purposeful. Since the death of her father when she was only twenty, she had ruled Perret and Company with a rod of iron. From the Red Sea to the Pacific her name was a legend. Scrupulously honest but shrewder than any bazaar trader.

  She frowned slightly and called, “Ahmed—here a moment!”

  A heavily built, gray-haired Arab came out onto the terrace. He wore European clothes and held a pen in one hand as though disturbed from some important work. He was the general manager of the firm and an old and trusted friend of her father’s.

  He smiled and nodded to Kane, and Marie handed him the letter. “Read that, will you? Gavin has brought it from Mukalla. Laval says he can take all the sesame oil he can get. If we move fast, we can buy up all available stocks.”

  Ahmed nodded and was about to go back inside when Kane said, “Just a moment, Ahmed. Perhaps you can help me.”

  Ahmed turned with a smile and said in perfect English, “What is it, Gavin?”

  “There’s a Mrs. Cunningham in town at the moment. She’s looking for her husband. When she last heard of him he was supposed to be coming to Dahrein, but no one seems to know anything about him.”

  Ahmed frowned for a moment and then nodded. “Cunningham—John Cunningham. Yes, I remember him. He wanted to go up-country to Shabwa.”

  “When was this?” Kane demanded.

  The Arab shrugged. “About two months ago.” He turned to Marie and explained. “It was when you were in Bombay. This Englishman landed from the boat and visited me at the office. He wanted to go to Shabwa. I warned him of the dangers, but he wouldn’t listen. We had a convoy of four trucks taking equipment to Jordan. I let him go with them.”

  “And when did he return?” Marie said.

  Ahmed shrugged. “I’m afraid I have no knowledge on that point. As far as I remember, he paid to be taken to Bir el Madani—the nearest Arab village to Shabwa. What happened to him after that I do not know.”

  He turned to Kane. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, Gavin.”

  Kane shook his head. “You’ve been a lot of help. At least I know this guy got as far as Bir el Madani. Before that I couldn’t even prove he’d landed in Dahrein.”

  Ahmed smiled. “Well, if you’ll excuse me. I’ve got a lot of work on hand.”

  After he had gone back into the house, Marie said, “What on earth could this man Cunningham be doing in the Shabwa area?”

  Kane shrugged. “He was an archaeologist. Probably looking for rock carvings.”

  “On his own?” she said incredulously. “Surely not. Only a fool would attempt to travel in that area alone.”

  “Or a man who was looking for something really important,” Kane said.

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them, but it was too late. She leaned across, a slight frown on her face, and said, “You’re holding something back, aren’t you? Hadn’t you better tell me what it’s all about?”

  He sighed and got to his feet. “I suppose I had. For one thing, you might be able to help. For another, now that you’ve scented a mystery, you won’t rest content until you’ve wormed it out of me.”

  She stood up with a soft laugh. “Dear Gavin, you know me so well by now. Let’s walk in the garden and you can unburden yourself.”

  They went down the steps and walked through the trees, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and he inhaled her sweetness and was aware of feelings he had not experienced for a long time.

  He began to talk, starting with the arrival of Ruth Cunningham and ending with an account of Alexias and his journey into the desert.

  When he finished, they were sitting on a seat by the fountain and there was silence for a while. Somewhere a bird called through the night and Marie sighed. “It’s certainly a fantastic story.”

  “Don’t you believe it?” Kane said.

  She shrugged. “The important thing is that Cunningham did. What do you intend to do now?”

  Kane shrugged. “I’ll go up to Shabwa. Question the headman at Bir el Madani and find out what happened to Cunningham.”

  Marie stood up and they started to walk back toward the house. “Personally, I don’t think you or anyone else will ever see John Cunningham again.”

  Kane nodded. “You’re probably right, but his wife won’t rest content until she knows for sure.”

  Marie leaned against the balustrade of the terrace. “I agree with you. However, I think I can help to get this thing cleared up quickly. I’m flying to Bir el Madani in the morning to see Jordan about some equipment he needs. He’s boring a test hole about fifteen miles from there. He’s had his men lay out a rough airstrip for me. I’m only taking Jamal. There’s room for you and Mrs. Cunningham if you want to come along.”

  Kane felt suddenly elated. “That would be excellent.”

  “Jordan will be waiting to take me to his camp by truck. I expect to be there all morning. You can borrow the plane. Three hours should give you ample time in which to make a quick survey of the area.”

  “It would certainly save Mrs. Cunningham a rough trip by truck,” Kane said. “I was worried about that. I don’t think she’s up to it.”

  “Is she prett
y?” Marie said.

  He shrugged. “Skiros certainly thinks she is.”

  “But you are more interested in her money?”

  “The fee she’s offering me to find her husband is certainly attractive, but I’m intrigued by the story about that temple.”

  Marie laughed lightly. “The eternal seeker. Will you ever be content with what is on this side of the hill, Gavin?”

  “Probably not,” he said. “I suppose that’s the main reason archaeology interested me so much when I was a kid. That’s why I stay on here, when each year I swear I’ll leave. There’s so much to do—as long as one has the money, of course, which means working for Skiros occasionally. But beggars can’t be choosers.” He grinned. “If it comes to that, why do you stay? You could make your headquarters in a more congenial spot. Bombay, for instance.”

  She shrugged. “This is an ancient land and my mother was of an ancient people. It’s in my blood, I suppose.”

  He dropped his hands onto her shoulders and smiled. “You’re a wonderful girl.”

  He was suddenly conscious of the warmth of her body through the thin material of her shirt. For several moments they remained like that, staring into each other’s eyes, and then the smile slowly faded from her face. Kane pulled her toward him and she made no attempt to resist.

  His mouth fastened on hers and she melted into him, alive and warm. After a while he pushed her away from him, holding her at arm’s length. “Damn you!” he said softly.

  She smiled faintly, sensing the turmoil in his mind. “My poor Gavin, have I disturbed the ordered pattern of your existence? But women are the devil, you should know that by now.”

  “I’m only too well aware of that fact,” he assured her.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  He struggled with temptation and won. “I don’t think it would be advisable.”

  She took his arm and they went down the steps and through the garden to the gate. She opened it and smiled up at him. “Seven o’clock at the airfield, and don’t be late. I want to get an early start.”