condensed master

Will Bonner
be long before he would be relieved of it's demanding presence.
His driver was taking the well known route to the Queen of Sheba's Wells and
he recognized the land marks, estimating that they would arrive in about fifteen
minutes. This was a rocky, dusty, bare land, and the rest of the journey would not
be very scenic.
The absence of people, the majority of whom were taking a mid-day rest,
took even more away from the surroundings that now lacked the movement of life.
Sliding over to one side of the carriage to try and get a breeze no matter how
small, Will leaned forward to see the old horse swaying from side to side between
the shafts. Poor thing, it had seen better days!
The Queen of Sheba's Wells were situated in a group of hills, the approach
being noticeable by the incline of the road. Feeling the pull on the carriage, the
horse began to slow down, and the driver started to use the whip. You cruel sod,
Will thought, but restrained himself, he just had to keep out of trouble. He
remembered the incident when he wrestled the whip from a gharry driver in India
who was maltreating his horse, whipping the driver with it, and consequently found
himself in trouble with the law.
Arriving at his destination, Will paid the driver and stepped out into the
approaches to the entrance of the Queen of Sheba's Wells. There were a few
people about, some of them servicemen seeing the sights. Will scanned the
immediate area, looking for someone that might fit the possible description of a
man whose picture he had fabricated in his mind. No one appeared to fall into the
category. Glancing at his watch he concluded that his contact would probably still
be at mid-day rest. If he waited there, where he was right now, he would be
pestered by Adenese guides, beggars, etc. so it was best to keep moving.
What if the contact failed to turn up? His stomach turned over at the thought.
He would have no other option than to have a final try tomorrow, with no time to
spare if things went wrong. Walking around the perimeter of the entrance he
practiced the appearance of observing the sights, but there was very little to see
and he felt as conspicuous as a goldfish in a bowl.
The ticket office personnel were constantly looking his way, no doubt hoping
that he would make up his mind to go in, and he was just getting to the point where
he thought he would have to buy a ticket when a battered old taxi, with Arabic
writing on the doors circled, passing Will in front of the entrance before stopping.
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