'No,' I said weakly. 'Nothing the matter. It's just the idea of blanketing the Sahara with leaflets seems a bit weird. You've never worked for J. Walter Thompson, have you?'
'Who's he?'
'A small advertising agency back in the States – and elsewhere.'
'Never heard of him.'
'If you ever leave the desert I'd apply for a job with him. You'd do well.'
'You're nuts!' he said. 'Well, what about it?'
I started to laugh. Between chuckles I said, 'All right… HI do it… but it won't be for Paul Billson. It'll be worth it just to say I've done a saturation advertising campaign in the Sahara.'
Byrne wagged his head. 'Okay – I don't care why you do it so long as you do it.'
'What do I do?' I said. 'Give you a cheque?'
'Now what in hell would I do with a cheque?' he asked. 'I'll put up your half and you get the cash to Hesther in Algiers as and when you can.' He paused. 'Pity we don't have pictures of the plane. Paul had some but they went up with the Land-Rover.'
'I can help there. I got some photocopies from the Aeronautical Department of the Science Museum in London. Not Billson's plane but one exactly like it'
'Good,' said Byrne. 'We'll put those on the hand-out. Or maybe drawings might be better.' He adjusted his veil and stood up. 'There's one thing you maybe haven't thought of.'
'What's that?'
'If the guy who shot Paul is still around he might get to know of these leaflets if he has local connections. If he does he'll be drawn down here like a hornet to a honey-pot It might turn out real interesting.'
It might indeed!
When Paul Billson heard what we were going to do he took it as his due. He didn't even thank us, and I could have picked him up and shaken him as you would try to shake sense into a puppy. But that was the man, and he wasn't going to change. Byrne settled down to draw up his leaflet and I wandered away to think about things – mostly about Byrne, because I was fed up with thinking about Paul From what I had seen of Byrne's camels he seemed to take pride in breeding a superior animal. If his information on the price of camels was correct and a pack camel would cost?100, then it would be reasonable to assume that his might average, say,?150. That would make him worth?45,000 in stock alone, regardless of his other interests. He had said he ran salt caravans; I didn't know if that was profitable but 1 assumed it was. Then there was whatever he got from Hesther Raulier for looking after her affairs in the desert, and there were probably other sources of income.
It seemed likely that Byrne was a wealthy man in his society. I don't know how far the Tuareg had been forced into a cash economy -1 had seen very little money changing hands – but even on a barter basis Byrne would be rich by desert standards.
Next day Byrne and I went to Agadez, Paul staying behind on Byrne's insistence. 'I don't want you seen in Agadez,' he said. 'You'd stand out like the Tree of Tenere. You spend the day here – and stay put. Understand?'
Paul understood. It wasn't what Byrne said, it was the way he said it that drove it home into Paul's skull.
As we drove away Byrne said, 'And Hamiada will see that he stays put.' There was a touch of amusement in his voice.
I said, 'What was that you said about a tree?'
'The Tree of Tenere?' He pointed east. It's out there. Only tree I've ever heard of being put on the maps. It's on your map – take a look.'
So I did, and there it was – L'Arbre du Tenere, about a hundred and sixty miles north-east of Agadez in the Erg du Tenere, an area marked yellow on the map – the colour of sand. 'Why should a tree be marked?'
'There's not another tree in any direction for about fifty kilometres,' said Byrne. 'It's the most isolated tree in the world. Even so, a fool French truck driver ran into it back in 1960. It's old – been there for hundreds of years. There's a well there, but the water's not too good.'
So the map indicated – eau tres mauvaise a 40 m.
It was a little over a hundred miles to Agadez over roughish country. Even though we were able to pick up speed over the last forty miles of reasonable track it took us five hours, averaging twenty miles an hour for the whole trip.
Agadez seemed a prosperous little town by Saharan standards. It even had a mosque, something I had not seen in Tarn. We parked the truck outside the Hotel de 1'Air and went inside to have a beer, then Byrne went to the bank to have his leaflets printed. Before he left he said, 'You might like to do some shopping; it's better here than in Tarn. Got any money?'
It occurred to me that Byrne was laying out considerable sums during our travels and he would need recompense. I dug out my wallet and checked it. I had the equivalent of about a hundred pounds in Algerian currency, another four hundred in travellers' cheques and a small case stuffed with credit cards.
