Free Flyaway / Windfall by Desmond Bagley

of sherries. I told her where Paul Billson was.
    ‘So he is trying to find the plane,’ she said. ‘But it’s totally impossible. He’s not the man to…’ She stopped suddenly. ‘How can he afford to do that?’
    I sighed. Alix Aarvik was due to receive a shock. ‘He’s been holding out on you. Probably for a long time, judging by the cash he squirrelled away. He was getting £8000 a year from Franklin Engineering.’
    It took a while for it to sink in, but as it did her face went pale and pink spots appeared in her cheeks. ‘He could do that !’ she whispered. ‘He could let me pay his bills and not put up a penny for Mother’s support.’
    She was becoming very angry. I liked that; it was time someone got mad at Paul Billson. I wasn’t so cool about him myself. I said, ‘I’m sorry to have administered the shock, but I thought you ought to know.’
    She was silent for a while, looking down into her glass and aimlessly rotating the stem between her fingers. At last she said, ‘I just don’t understand him.’
    ‘It seems he didn’t abandon his boyhood dream. He saved up his money to fulfil it.’
    ‘At my expense,’ she snapped. She gave a shaky laugh. ‘But you must be wrong, Mr Stafford. I know what Paul was doing at Franklin Engineering. They wouldn’t pay him that much.’
    ‘That’s another mystery. It seems they did. Your brother had damn near £60,000 to his name when he pushed off—and he turned it all into hard cash. If he’s taken it with him to Algiers he’s put a hell of a crimp into the currency regulations. I think Paul is now a law-breaker.’
    ‘But this is ridiculous.’
    ‘I agree—but it’s also true; Paul has gone to look for his father’s plane. I can’t think of any other reason why he should shoot off to Algiers with a Land-Rover. He’s looking for a plane which crashed over forty years ago and that’s a hell of a long time. I was looking at a map this afternoon. Do you know how big the Sahara is?’ She shook her head and I said grimly, ‘Three million square miles—just about the same size as the United States but a hell of a lot emptier. It’ll be like searching the proverbial haystack for the needle, with the difference that the needle might not be there.’
    ‘What do you mean by that?’
    ‘Suppose Hendrik van Niekirk really did see Peter Billson in Durban after he was supposed to have crashed. You can lay ten to one that Billson wouldn’t have left that plane lying around for anyone to find. If he was a faker after that insurance money my guess is that he’d ditch off-shore in the Mediterranean. He’d row himself ashore in a collapsible dinghy—they had those in 1936, I’ve checked—and get himself lost. So Paul might be looking for something in the desert that’s not there.’
    ‘I don’t like that,’ she said coldly. ‘You’re implying that my mother was party to a fraud.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I don’t like it much myself, but it’s a possibility that has to be considered. I do it all the time in my business, Miss Aarvik.’
    A waiter interrupted us by bringing the first course. Over the onion soup I said, ‘Anyway, that’s where your brother is—somewhere in Algeria if he isn’t already in Niger or Chad or somewhere else as improbable.’
    ‘He must be brought back,’ she said. ‘Mr Stafford, I don’t have much money, but is it at all possible for your detective agency to look for him?’
    ‘I don’t run a detective agency,’ I said. ‘I run a security organization. Lots of people get the two confused. Frankly, I don’t see why you want him back. You’ve just heard of how he’s been deceiving you for years. I think you’re better off without him.’
    ‘He’s my brother,’ she said simply. ‘He’s the only family I have in the world.’
    She looked so woebegone that I took pity on her. I suppose it was then the decision was made. Of course I hedged it about with ‘ifs’ and ‘maybes’ as a sop to my