She looked up at me calmly without struggling and nodded. You are right, dear friend. I owe you that at least. Perhaps there is a quiet place you know of? Somewhere we could talk
I took the road to Talamanca then followed a cart track that brought us after a couple of miles to an old ruined farmhouse in an olive grove above the sea. There wasnt a soul around. She sat on a low stone wall which had once marked the boundary of the grove and I sprawled on the ground at her feet and smoked a cigarette.
It was a marvellous day and quite suddenly, nothing seemed to matter very much. I narrowed my eyes, watching a hawk spiralling down out of the blue and she said, Did you really mean what you said back there in the church? That you are ruined?
As near as makes no difference.
She sighed, I too, know what it is like to lose everything.
Is that supposed to make me feel better?
She looked down at me sharply, something very close to anger in her face for the first time, but she controlled it admirably.
Perhaps if I told you about it, Mr Nelson.
Has it anything to do with this present affair?
Everything. She plucked a green leaf from a caper shrub, shredding it between her fingers as she stared back into the past. I was born in Algeria. In the back country. My father was French, my mother, Bedu.
An interesting mixture, I said. Where do you keep your knife?
She ignored me completely and carried straight on. We had a large estate. Two vineyards. My father was a wealthy man. When de Gaulle declared Algeria independent in 1962 we decided to stay, but by 1965 things were very bad. All agricultural land owned by foreigners had been expropriated and most of the French population had gone. When my mother died, my father decided it was time we left also.
How old were you then?
Just fourteen. He decided to fly us out secretly, mainly because he considered it unlikely that the authorities would allow us to leave with anything worth having.
There was another reason?
I think you could say that. She smiled faintly. There was a convent of the Little Sisters of Pity not far from our place at Tizi Benou. An old Moorish palace built like a fortress. I received my education there. During those difficult early years of independence, it acted as a refuge many times and churches over the entire region sent their more tangible assets there for safe keeping rather than see them looted.
The whole thing was beginning to sound more than interesting and I sat up and turned to face her. These tangible assets - what exactly did they consist of?
Oh, the usual things. Church plate, precious objects of various kinds. Most of this was rendered down into bullion at the convent, crudely, but effective enough.
Why bullion? It was something of a superfluous question for I already knew the answer.
So that my father could fly it out.
And how much did that little lot come to?
Something over a million pounds sterling in gold and silver. A rough approximation only and then there was a considerable amount in precious stones impossible to estimate and the most important item of all was priceless.
And what was that?
A statue of the Virgin in beaten silver, known as Our Lady of Tizi Benou, but actually manufactured by the great Saracen silversmith, Amor Khalif in Damascus in the eleventh century
My God, but they must have loved you when you flew in with that little lot. I said. But we didnt, Mr Nelson, she said calmly. Thats the whole point. Its still there.
The pilot my father hired was a man named Jaeger. A South African. He flew in from France by night at four hundred feet. He told me that was to foil their radar. She shook her head and there was a kind of sadness in her voice. He was so alive. A great, black-bearded man who seemed to laugh all the time and wore a pistol in a shoulder holster. I think he was the most romantic figure Id ever seen in my life.
What was the aircraft?
A Heron, is that right?
I nodded, Four engines. They used them for the Queens Flight a few years back. What about passengers?
My father and I and Talif who was overseer of the vineyards.
What was his story?
He had worked for my father for years. They were very close. She shrugged. He preferred to come with us rather than stay. There should have been others, but there was trouble at the last moment and we had to leave in a hurry.
What went wrong?
Oh, I dont really know. Somehow the local area commander got to know - Major Taleb. He and my father never really got on. Talebs mother had been French, but for some reason that only seemed to make him hate France more. Hed fought with the F.L.N. for years.
What happened?
We took off as Taleb arrived to arrest us. Not that it did us any good. I suppose he must have got on to their air force straightaway
And you were intercepted?
She nodded. Over the Algerian coast near Cape Djinet. Are you familiar with that coast at all? Do you know the Khufra Marshes?
Ive heard of them.
Jaeger managed to crash-land and in one of the lagoons in there. He and my father were killed and the Heron went to the bottom, but Talif managed to get me out in time. He took me to a fishing village not far away, a place called Zarza and nursed me back to health. Later, he got me to France and placed me in the care of the Little Sisters at Grenoble.
And did you tell anyone about all this?
Only the Sisters, but there was nothing to be done about the situation obviously. To the Algerians, of course, we were all dead.
So what happened then?
The Order used its influence to get Talif work in Marseilles. I continued my education with them and eventually realised I had a vocation. After my training as a nurse, they sent me to our centre in Dacca.
And now youre back.
For a time only. I had yellow fever very badly. It was thought that a spell in Grenoble would prove beneficial.
Which was all absolutely fascinating, but came nowhere near explaining more recent events.
So whats all this got to do with Redshirt and his friends? I demanded.
Thats simple enough. They work for Taleb. Hes a colonel now in the Algerian Security Police. Ive made enquiries.
But how in the hell did he come back into the picture?
Talif came to see me in Grenoble three weeks ago. It seems that about a month ago while working on the Marseilles docks, he was recognised by an Algerian merchant navy officer hed known years before. He packed his bags at once and moved to Lyon where he got work on the night shift at the local market. When he got home one morning, he found Taleb waiting for him in his room. He told Talif that if he came back to Algeria with him and showed them where the plane had gone down, theyd give him ten per cent and a government job.
And what did Talif do?
Pretended to agree, then gave him the slip on the way to Marseilles and came to see me. She raised her hands and suddenly her face was flooded by the most glorious smile imaginable. Oh, how can I put it to you. It seemed like a sign. Like something that was meant to be.
I was completely puzzled. I dont understand.
Our hospital in Dacca was burned to the ground, Mr Nelson. We lost everything. We have willing hands, plenty of those, but now what we need more than anything else in the world is money
I saw it all then, in that single, precise moment in time and stared at her in astonishment. And you think the best way of raising it is to pay a quick visit by night to the Khufra Marshes.
Exactly, she said, her eyes shining. When Mr Jaeger was dying, just before the plane sank he gave me the exact bearing, made me repeat it to him. Its burned into my brain until this very day
What do the Sisters of Pity think of this little scheme?
They know nothing about it. I was due some leave and Im taking it. Talif agreed to help and we decided, between us, that Ibiza would be the most suitable base for operations. Its only two hundred miles from here to Cape Djinet. I borrowed a little money from an old aunt in Dijon and Talif came on ahead of me to procure a suitable boat.
You must be stark, staring, raving mad, I said.
Not at all. Talif wrote to tell me he had arranged for a boat and was negotiating with a diver. He suggested I join him this week and booked a hotel room for me.
Let me get this straight, I said. You actually intend to go with him?
Naturally.
The whole thing by then, of course, had assumed all the aspects of a privileged nightmare and I was aware of that curiously helpless feeling again where she was concerned.
I said, All right, what about Redshirt and his pals last night.
There was a note from Talif at the hotel when I got in yesterday. It asked me to meet him at the Mill at La Grande at nine oclock. It seemed genuine enough. I went out there by taxi.
And promptly found yourself in the bag.
To my astonishment she said, They were not responsible for their actions, those young men. They were all under the influence of drugs.
Oh, I get it, I said. I suppose I hit them too hard. Anyway, how can you be sure they werent just three fun-loving boys out for kicks?
Because they had an argument about keeping me intact, as the one in the red shirt termed it, for Taleb.
In other words, things just got out of hand?
I suppose so.
And Talif?
Not a word. He gave me no address. Simply told me that he would contact me through the hotel.
Which didnt look too good for Talif.
I said, So what are you going to do now?
I dont know. Look for him, I suppose. She hesitated, glanced at me rather shyly, then looked down at her hands. Its a great imposition I know, Mr Nelson, but I was wondering whether you might be persuaded to help me.
To go into the Khufra Marshes? I demanded. You must be joking.
She held up a hand defensively. Of course not. I simply want to find Talif, thats all, and it occurred to me that with your local knowledge, you might be able to help.
The face, framed by the white band of her hood, was as guileless as any childs. I sighed heavily, got to my feet and gave her a hand up.
All right, Sister, Ill find Talif for you. It should be simple enough. Algerians arent exactly thick on the ground in Ibiza. But thats all - understood?
Perfectly, dear friend, she said with that calm, radiant smile of hers, turned and led the way back to the jeep.
I followed a trifle reluctantly, I admit, but when it came right down to it, I didnt really seem to have much choice - or did I?
The hotel she was staying at was decent enough. Little more than a pension really and it was certainly no tourist trap. Quiet and unpretentious. I could see why Talif had chosen it. There was no one behind the desk in the tiny entrance hall and when I rattled the brass handbell it sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet.
I tried to make some enquiries about Talif this morning, Sister Claire whispered. But I didnt get very far. The proprietor only seems to speak Spanish and half a dozen words of English.
A door at the back opened and a fat, amiable man appeared in a straw hat and green baize apron. From the trowel in his hand it seemed a fair assumption that he had been gardening.
He removed his hat instantly, not for me, but for Sister Claire, a slightly anxious smile on his face. It seemed more than likely that the language difficulty had been a great worry to him.
Ah, senor, I said in Spanish. Perhaps you could help us?
The relief on his face was intense and he bobbed his head eagerly. At your orders, senor.
The good Sister is anxious to contact her friend. The one who booked the room for her. Unfortunately she has mislaid his address and as her time is strictly limited
Ah, the Arab, senor. He shrugged. What can I say? He left no address with me.
I turned to Sister Claire who waited anxiously, Its no go, Im afraid.
And then the proprietor added, Of course, I have seen this man on many occasions, senor.
And where would that be?
Pepes place at the other end of the harbour by the breakwater. You know it, senor?
My thanks.
We went out into the heat of noon. There was a small cafe next to the hotel, tables and chairs spilling across the sidewalk.
Did he tell you anything?
Only that Talifs been in the habit of using a certain bar at the other end of the waterfront. Ill go and see what I can dig up there.
Cant I come with you?
I shook my head. Not your style at all, Sister. The sort of place stevedores and sailors use. Theyd run for the hills if a nun walked in. You have a coffee and admire the view.
I steered her firmly towards a table under a large and colourful umbrella, snapped my fingers for a waiter and was away before she could argue.
She was on her second cup when I got back, the waiter hovering, anxiously a table to two away, for Ibizans, like all Spaniards, have enormous respect for anything to do with the Church.
She looked up eagerly. Did you get anywhere?
I think you could say that. I told the waiter to bring me a gin and tonic and sat down. The man who owns the place, Pepe, had arranged to hire Talif a thirty-foot sea-going launch and he was trying to find him a diver.
And Talif?
Pepe hasnt seen him for the last couple of days, but he was able to tell me where hes been staying. It seems Talif wanted somewhere cheap and quiet so Pepe arranged for a cousin of his to rent him an old cottage in the hills near Cova Santa.
Is it far?
No more than half-an-hour.
She didnt even ask if I would take her, simply pushed back her chair, stood up and waited for me to make a move with obvious impatience.
I swallowed the rest of my gin and tonic hurriedly. Dont I even get to eat, Sister?
She frowned in obvious puzzlement. I dont understand, Mr Nelson.
I sighed as I took her elbow. Take no notice, Sister. Just my warped sense of humour. Lead on by all means and let us be about the Lords business.
We drove out of town following the main road to San Jose. As was to be expected at that time of day, we had things pretty much to ourselves, the locals having the good sense to get in out of the fierce noonday heat.
She didnt say a word until we were through Es Fumeral and then she said suddenly, as if trying to make conversation, This Cova Santa you mentioned. What is it? Another village?