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He sat by the fire, still huddled in his djellaba with the hood over his head, and said, ‘You making out all right?’
‘Not bad.’ I pointed to where Billson was asleep. ‘He’s not doing too well, though.’
‘He’s scared,’ said Byrne matter-of-factly.
‘Find anything?’
‘Yeah. Two guys – one called Kissack, a Britisher; the other called Bailly. He’s French, I think. They’re scouring the Aīr looking for Billson.’ He paused. ‘Looking for me, too. They don’t know about you.’
‘How do they know about you?’
‘My name had to go on that leaflet,’ he said. ‘That’s how I figured it. No point in issuing a reward unless you give the name and place of the guy offering it.’
‘Where are they now?’
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