Buzz: A Thriller by Anders de La Motte Read Free Book Online Page A

she held her cigarette in his direction.
    All the smarming left HP feeling annoyed even before he had been stuffed into the luggage compartment, and things weren’t made any better by the fact that Madame Argos appeared to be ignoring him.
    The car in front of them dived into another valley and a few seconds later theirs followed it. HP’s stomach turned another somersault and suddenly he felt a familiar sensation creep through his body.
    “Bag,” he groaned, and the other passengers grinned as they passed him the crumpled plastic bag they had already taken bets on.
    One thousand dirhams, HP had time to think before filling the bag with the contents of his stomach.
    Damned expensive puke!
    When his stomach finished cramping a few minutes later and he stumbled back toward the car, shamefaced and splattered with vomit, Anna Argos’s mocking laughter told him that his vomit had cost him considerably more than the bet.
    “Let’s head straight for the Bedouin camp—no more hard driving, okay?”
    The driver glanced at HP’s chalk-white face in the rearview mirror and merely nodded in reply. All the windows were open, the air-con was on full, but it was still impossible to escape the acrid smell emanating from his beard and clothes.
    Anna leaned over and whispered something in Vincent’s ear. HP could see her lips almost touching the lobe of the Frenchman’s ear, and then they both burst into another peel of conspiratorial laughter.
    No prizes for guessing who they were making fun of . . .
    He made up his mind to ignore them and looked out of the side window instead. The sun was slowly turning into a red ball on the horizon, and the shadows of the sand dunes were getting longer and longer. Far in the distance some dark birds were circling slowly. Around and around, above the same point in the desert sand.
    Their movement was peculiarly restful—almost hypnotic—and for a short while it made him forget about the lurching motion of the car.
    ♦  ♦  ♦
    He didn’t really know what he’d expected from the Bedouin camp. Maybe a few canvas tents and some scabby camels with BO? A decent dose of shabby, everyday desert life, just enoughto keep the tourists happy? He should have known better. This was the land of excess, after all.
    The camp was in a small hollow, about a dozen pavilions all facing into a circle, surrounded by a tall, closely woven fence made of damask or some strawlike material, presumably meant to protect against sandstorms. A number of telegraph poles with floodlights attached to them stuck up from the fence, and strings of colored lamps and streamers hung between these. At the front of the compound the fence was replaced by a tall wall with two watchtowers and an open gate.
    The whole thing had been made to look medieval, but to judge by the color and condition of the buildings the camp must have been a fairly recent construction.
    They parked the cars outside the wall and as they walked through the gate Arabic pop music began to blare out at them. In the open area at the center of the camp there was a large wooden floor covered with Arabic rugs, and on these stood a number of low tables with cushions to sit on, with space for something like a hundred guests. The buildings he had seen as they were approaching turned out to be missing their fourth wall, and were open where they faced the center of the camp. They contained even more seating areas, as well as a kitchen, a souvenir shop, and a pavilion with water pipes.
    To put it mildly, the whole thing seemed rather absurd in the middle of the desert, almost like a mirage.
    “ Salaam Aleikum , welcome, welcome, my friends!” a fat little man in Bedouin dress exclaimed as he jogged over to meet them.
    “You’re early, dinner won’t be for another hour or so, but you can spend the time buying souvenirs, riding quad bikes, sand surfing, riding camels, or smoking shisha. If none of thatappeals, then of course the bar is open for those of you who