I put a smile on my face and it felt odd because I didn't feel like smiling at this assassin. 'I was asking if you could recommend the omelette. Sorry about that, but I've been travelling with this crowd so long that the German came automatically.'

He grunted. 'It's all right.'

'Thanks. That and a beer should go down well.' I sat at the next table quite close to him.

He turned away and started to talk in a low voice to the Arab. The sun was not dealing kindly with Kissack. His face was burned an angry red and the skin was still peeling from him. I was glad about that; he wasn't earning his murderer's pay easily.

As a waiter came to take my order an aircraft flew over quite low. Kissack made a sharp gesture and the Arab got up and walked out. I ordered beer and an omelette, then I twisted and looked through the window behind me. The Arab was walking towards the fort.

Presently a bottle of beer and a not too clean glass was put in front of me. As I poured the beer I wondered how to tackle Kissack. It was all right for Byrne to talk airily about putting me next to Kissack – that had been done – but what next? I could hardly ask, 'Killed any good men recently?'

But I had to make a start and old ploys are best, so I said, 'Haven't we met before?'

He grunted and looked at me sideways. 'Where have you come from?'

'Up north. Over the Col des Chandeliers.'

'Never been there.' His eyes returned to his plate.

I persisted. 'Then it must have been in England.'

'No,' he said flatly without looking up.

I drank some beer and cursed Byrne. It had seemed a good idea at the time; fellow countrymen meeting on their travels are usually glad to chat, but Kissack was bad-tempered, grouchy and uncommunicative. I said, 'I could have sworn…'

Kissack turned to me. 'Look, chum; I haven't been in England for ten years.' He put a lot of finality in his voice, indicating quite clearly that the subject was closed.

I drank some more beer and waited for my omelette. I was becoming annoyed at Kissack and was just about to put in the needle when someone called, 'Herr Stafford!' I froze, then looked up to see Shaeffer who had just come in. I glanced sideways at Kissack to see if the name had meant anything to him, but apparently it didn't and I breathed easier.

'Hi, Helmut,' I said, hoping he wouldn't show surprise at easy familiarity with his given name from a casual acquaintance. 'Have a beer.' As he sat down I immediately regretted my invitation. Shaeffer could unknowingly drop a clanger and reveal that I was not a part of his group. The only thing going for me was that his English was not too good.

'Everything all right at the fort?' I asked in German.

He shrugged. 'They're too busy to bother with us now. A plane came in from Agadez to take an injured man to hospital. I left the passports; I'll pick them up later.'

The waiter put an omelette in front of me and I ordered a beer for Shaeffer. Kissack ordered another beer for himself so he'd be staying a while. I turned to him. 'You know, I have seen you before.'

'For Christ's sake!' he said tiredly.

'Wasn't it in Tammanrasset? You were driving a Range-Rover.'

That got through to him. He went very still, a glass halfway to his lips. Then he turned and looked at me with stony eyes. 'What are you getting at, chummy?'

'Nothing,' I said coolly. 'It's just that a thing like that niggles me. Nice to know I wasn't mistaken. You were in Tarn, then.'

'And what if I was? What's it to you?'

I tackled my omelette. 'Nothing.' I turned to Shaeffer and switched to German. 'I forgot to tell you. Rhossi, your guide, is here in Bilma. Someone told me he was waiting for a German party so I assume it's you. Have you seen him?' Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kissack staring at me. I hoped his lack of German was complete.

Shaeffer shook his head. 'He'll be camped at Kalala near the salt workings.'

I turned back to Kissack. 'I was just asking Helmut, here, if he's seen the guide yet. You need a guide to cross the Tenere.'

'When were you in Tammanrasset?' Kissack asked suddenly.

'Evidently when you were,' I said. 'Oh, by the way; did you hear anything about that chap who disappeared? Another Englishman. There was a devil of a brouhaha going on about it when I left.'

Kissack moistened his lips. 'What was his name?'

'Wilson,' I said. 'No, that's not right. Williamson? No, not that, either. My memory really is playing me up – first you, now this chap.' I frowned. 'Billson!' I said in triumph. 'That was his name. Billson. The police were really in a stew about him, but you know what Algerians, are like. Bloody bureaucrats with sub-machine-guns!'

The waiter put a bottle of beer and a glass in front of Shaeffer and another bottle before Kissack. He ignored it. 'What happened to this Billson?' His voice was over-controlled.

I didn't answer immediately but popped a slice of omelette into my mouth. I'd got Kissack interested enough to ask questions and that was progress, and the omelette was quite good. I swallowed and said, 'He went up into Atakor without asking permission and didn't come back. There were a hell of a lot of rumours floating around when I left.'

'What sort of rumours?'

'Oh, the usual stuff that goes around when anything like that happens. Unbelievable, most of it.' I had Kissack hooked because he asked, 'Such as?' I shrugged. 'Well, for instance, someone said his Land-Rover had been found burnt out the other side of Assekrem. You know those parts?'

'Not well,' said Kissack tightly.

'This is a damned good omelette,' I observed. 'Anyway, someone else said his body had been brought out and he'd died of exposure. But then there was a buzz that he'd been brought out alive but he'd been shot. I told you – unbelievable stuff. Those things don't happen these days, do they? The desert is pretty civilized now.'

'What are you talking about?' asked Shaeffer. He grinned. 'My Tamachek is better than my English – I heard Tammanrasset and Atakor and Assekrem.'

'Oh, just about an Englishman who vanished near Tarn.' Kissack was looking bleak. He said, 'Any rumours about what finally happened to Billson?'

'The last I heard was that he was in hospital in Tarn with a police guard – sort of house arrest. Just another bloody rumour, though.'

Kissack fell silent and poured his beer. He was thinking hard; I could almost see the damned wheels going round. I turned to Shaeffer and started to chat about the problems of crossing the Tenere, all in German. After a while Kissack said, 'Stafford… it is Stafford, isn't it?' I turned. 'Yes?'

'How did you get from Tarn to here?'

That was a stumer; a damned good question. I visualized the Michelin map I had pored over, and said lightly, 'Flew across to Djanet from Tarn, then came south. I was already booked into the party. Why?'

'What were you doing in Tarn?'

I frowned. 'Not that it's any of your business but I'm interested in Charles de Foucauld. I wanted to see where and how he lived.'

Kissack said, 'I think you're a damned liar.' He nodded towards Shaeffer. 'Any tour group coming down from Djanet is going to go through Tammanrasset anyway. Why should you want to go there twice?'

I stood up. 'Because I'm leaving the group at Agadez and going south to Kano. That's why. Now get up off that damned bench. No man calls me a liar.'

Kissack looked up at me but didn't move. Shaeffer said, 'What's the matter?' He hadn't understood what was said but the changed atmosphere needed no language to understand.

'This man called me a liar.' I was suddenly infuriated with Kissack and I wanted to belt hell out of him. I stooped, grabbed his shirt, and hauled him to his feet. The table went flying and a glass smashed on the floor. Kissack made a grab for the inside of his jacket so I rammed my elbow into his side and felt the hardness of a gun.