wait. He knew that if Sharif Mamud was still alive Gus would find out. Not many could refuse him. Just his imposing size started most tongues wagging freely.
Dominic came back in and joined him, placing his thin frame gratefully on the cushions. He wiped perspiration from his face and the back of his neck. 'I forgot how damned hot it was out here, and we're not anywhere near the bad part yet.' Snapping his fingers he ordered lemonade. 'Gus told me about you wanting to go and see the old sharif. Good idea. Which of us is going to stay here and wait for Monpelier?'
Carl didn't have to think about it very much. Gus drove Monpelier crazy, and he and Dominic knew it. 'It would probably be better if you were here, Dominic. You know how Gus gets under Monpelier's skin.'
Dominic gave one of his rare smiles. 'Gus could get under the skin of a rhino. It's all right with me. I have no love for riding in that machine any more than I have to. You two go and have the fun. I'll hold things down here till you get back.''
It was nearly dark before Gus returned. 'The old goat's still at Wadi Jebel,' he reported. 'Now let's go and get something to eat before I faint from hunger.'
Neither Carl nor Dominic felt any sympathy for Gus's hunger. Grease stains on his shirt told the story of why it had taken him so long to get back. The beast had been feeding again.
From Ghudamis they cut over to the east, taking the road to Messouda on the Algerian side of the border. At a checkpoint Carl and Gus showed their papers to bored guards who were more interested in the two cartons of American cigarettes they had impounded than they were in the two men in the Land Rover.
Dropping down off the mountain, they could see the sun-baked brick wall of the town in the distance. Small patches of green dotted the countryside, patches where vegetation had taken root. Here rain from the mountains fell to the basin, gathering in underwater reservoirs formed in the past millenia.
Three kilometers from Messouda they turned back to the northwest, driving on a narrow rutted trail till they saw what they had come for, the oasis of Wadi Jebel.
'Welcome and may Allah protect you. Share my tent and salt. Be welcome.'
Sharif Mamud gave his guests greetings in the traditional manner of his race. Instinctively he knew that their visit meant silver or gold for his purse. He had dealt with the scarface in the past. He trusted him to live up to any agreement they came to. This foreigner was an honorable man — if somewhat disconcerting. He knew not where the name for him originated, but from his personal knowledge it was accurate. Al-Kattel… the killer.
During the troubles the Legion had many hard men but no one who struck so much fear into the hearts of enemies as had this gray-eyed one. Sharif Mamud knew that he had been one who never failed when sent to kill. Ah! That had been a bloody time. And profitable for one who was not bothered by such things as national loyalty or political passions. It was Sharif Mamud who had been the eyes and ears of al-Kattel and upon payment, the voice. And now he had returned with the big ugly one who stood as the mountain had stood before the prophet Mohammed. The one whose name sounded like the gurgling of the stomach of a camel in heat. Gusss. A most ugly sound yet it suited the bearer well.
The sides of the tent were raised, closed flaps invited unwelcome listeners. Sharif Mamud waved away a bothersome fly with a horsetail whisk. 'It has been a long time, effendi, since these eyes have seen you and your so large shadow.'
Carl sat on cushions, face-to-face with Sharif Mamud. Gus kept an eye on the outside. Waiting till tea had been brought and the server departed, Carl finally said, 'I have need of your long nose and sharp ears, my friend.'
Sharif Mamud nearly glowed. He was right, there would be gold. Restraining his excitement he responded with calculated disinterest. 'Ah, but what may this old one know that would be of interest to one such as yourself? There is no longer any war. The lands are quiet, the tribes are at peace, the French are gone. What could it be that you wish to know?''
Sipping the tea with sucking sounds to show his appreciation, Carl waded through Sharif Mamud's ritual foreplay. 'True, Sharif, things are different and the land is quiet. But that may change soon. There is trouble coming from the south.'
'Not from my people surely, al-Kattel — '' The title slipped out. Sharif Mamud recovered quickly. '- Effendi.'
Carl waved it away. 'That does not matter. I do not take offense. In my years I have been called much worse. But let us keep that name between us; it's not for outside ears.'
Sharif Mamud bowed his head slightly, the folds of his turban framing his face. 'As you wish. Now back to how I may be of service. What is this trouble you speak of?'
'Sunni Ali of the Azbnei Tuaregs.'
Sharif Mamud sucked the back of his teeth. ' Aiii! I presume you do not mean the Sunni Ali of old but the new one.'
Carl nodded. 'Of course. Tell me what you know of him.'
Sharif Mamud poured more tea, giving himself time to collect his thoughts and calculate how much to give away for free.
'It is said, by whom I do not know, but it is said that this new Sunni Ali would be a torch in the night. He is a man without vice or tolerance. A most hard and unforgiving person trapped in the sands of yesteryear, to which he wishes a return.''
Sharif Mamud paused. Significantly his right hand lay palm open, casually, on the inlaid table. Carl smiled. His own hand was already filled. Over Sharif Mamud's palm he let loose a stream of gold coins until the palm was filled, then he said, 'My old friend, even I know that words must be given nourishment that they might ripen into truth and wisdom.'
Mamud knew within a centime exactly how much had been put into his palm by the weight of it. It was enough.
'It is good to speak with one who has not blinded himself with philosophies or dreams. Reality can be so much more rewarding.'' The coins disappeared into the folds of his jellaba.
'More tea, al-Kattel?' Carl accepted with grace, and waited.
Picking up where he had left off Sharif continued, 'As I said, my friend, this Sunni Ali is a most strange man, and it has been whispered by a few that he is not of the Azbini or even of the Tuareg. But no one knows from whence he came. One day he was there, that is all that is known. He has taken for his own many young men from different tribes including my own.'
Leaning closer he hissed, 'It is good that you have come. Too long have these lands been watered with blood and tears. This Sunni Ali is evil. If perchance you happen to meet him, gain favor with Allah and kill him without hesitation or conscience. I take your gold for such is my weakness of spirit, but I would have told you without payment, such is my distaste for the veiled man.'
Carl knew what he meant. Those bad years were still fresh to the memory. That they would come again he never doubted, but they didn't have to come so soon.
'You said that perhaps he is not of the Azbini. Then what is he? You have sharp ears, old one. Have there not been rumors of his origin?'
Mamud scratched at his beard. 'Rumors, yes. Some have said that he is one of those desert-loving Englesi who has gone mad and become more Arab than the Arab, more Berber than the Berber, and more Tuareg than the Tuareg. Others claim he is a legionnaire who, when he deserted, was taken in by the Tuaregs, for he speaks several languages, something most unusual for a Tuareg. There are many stories. Take your choice of them. One will serve as well as another.'
'One other thing I know is of the guests he keeps at his camp by the mountain known as Baguezane. If my feeble mind has not completely lost its ability to do simple mathematics, I would conclude that they are the reason you are asking these questions. Is it not so?'
'Yes, that is correct, you desert jackal. It has fallen to me and those under me to take the two, as you called them, 'guests' from the hospitality of Sunni Ali.'
Sharif Mamud rose from his cushions. 'Come with me. We shall walk and talk during this the most pleasant time of the day when the sun gives way to the night and the air is cool.'
Gus started to trail after them but was detoured by Mamud. 'No, my large one. Remain and dine. Lamb roasted with mint jelly and grape leaves and sweet rice is being brought to you now. Stay and do that which you do
