"Gin." I said, tasting the metallic bite of the mica dust on my palate. "Gin. And lime. And lots of ice."
"The penalty for that sort of talk on this sort of day is to be made to take off my shoes," she grinned. "If they come off, I'll never get them on again."
Stein strolled over. "Let's get some wood together for a fire, Captain. This is game country all right. I think we should dig for water, too."
It was better now than later, I decided. I got uncertainly to my feet. Stein was almost friendly as we broke off dry branches and gathered them in a heap.
"We'll start a little later tomorrow morning — a late breakfast won't do any of us any harm," he said amiably. "Miss Nielsen has kept up very well. Now that we're at the river, the going should be easier."
I kept silent.
"You disagree, Captain?" he said quickly.
"I don't know," I replied. "I can only repeat what I said earlier, that if this had been the easy way in, someone would have done it long since."
"Baynes did," he retorted.
"He came in from the other side," I said. "North of Ohopoho there's Swartbooisdrift, but that's a couple of hundred miles upriver from here. There's a hell of a lot can happen in even twenty miles of Skeleton Coast, let alone a hundred."
"If it weren't so late, I would reconnoitre the cataract now," he said impatiently. "But we've still got to dig for water tonight."
We gathered up the wood and threw it down in a large pile between the two trees. Johann did not stir. He looked at me malevolently.
"That man will kill you without any pretext at all," said Stein conversationally, as if my death were the subject of a confidential little chat. "Remember that, if you have any ideas about me, Captain Peace. You wrecked his whole life. It's really a pity you didn't do the job properly."
I was too tired to argue.
"Look," I said, pointing out game tracks in the sand. "Those may lead us to something."
We followed the hoofmarks until they reached the far side of the sand bed. There were deep scratches in the sand, but originally the hole must have been deeper, for fresh sand had blown in. We dug with small folding shovels which had obviously come off the back of a jeep. At about four feet the sand grew damp. By dint of quick shovelling so that the sand did not run back in again, we found a shallow seepage. It seemed drinkable. We filled the canteens, although Stein carried them.
He put a match to the pile of wood as the sun sank. Facing down river, the great murky mass of the Hartmannberge lay behind me to my left and, although it was already almost dark in the river bed, a peak or two were silhouetted, still.
The fire threw a troubled, rosy glow over the white sand. There was absolute silence, except for the crackle of the flames. Anne lay where she had first sat, too weary to move. I flexed my knees and propped my back against the huge tree. Had all this been in company with Mark, the utter peace, the remoteness and the age-old quality of the African bush would have held me enthralled. As it was, my mind crawled with fear, fear because of what Stein was after — it couldn't be just a beetle, I told myself — again — even scientists don't go kill-crazy like he had done just for the sake of one lost species.
The deeper we got into the Kaokoveld, the less became my chances. I was only useful as a guide, a navigator. At what point my usefulness ended was what worried me. Certainly once the beetle had been found. Or was it one of those caches of diamonds real or imaginary, that have lured men to certain death so many times in this wild, untamed region? That was my guess. If so, then Stein must have some notion of the exact spot, but certainly on his map there was nothing to indicate it. He had been quite open about our destination — somewhere in the region of the Otjihipoberge, leaving the river at the Nangolo Flats. Such frankness with me meant one thing only — I wasn't meant to come back.
But why then all this talk about the Onymacris beetle? And why the girl? She obviously wasn't in the plot. Where did she fit into Stein's scheme of things? Looking into the leaping flames, I saw the answer to none of my queries. I only knew that in the Skeleton Coast I must obey the laws of the Skeleton Coast — I must kill or be killed. Johann must be my first objective. To subdue Stein I must have the Remington's range against the Luger's. And to get back, I must have water. I calculated that two days without food or water would see me at the end of my tether. I needed two days from this spot to Curva dos Dunas. Up river there might be more water. It would be suicide to venture from the course of the Cunene. The five-thousand foot peaks of the Hartmannberge were eloquent warning of that.
On the Angola side the Serra de Chela looked even worse. The outline of the massive range on the map looked like some evil animal clamped along the course of the Cunene for sixty miles, with a tail near the Nangolo Flats, where the river bent sharply northwards, as if stepping out of the way of the creature which sucked at its lifeblood on the other side of the Baynes Mountains. Stein had said there was a seven-thousand-five-hundred-foot peak in the Baynes Mountains not far from where we were headed; God alone knows what height they are in the Serra de Chela — no one has ever surveyed them, not even from the air.
I brooded into the gloom. Almost as if reading my thoughts, Johann stirred, and the barrel of the Remington gleamed dully in the firelight. Johann wouldn't sleep.
We ate out of tins, each one of us preoccupied with his or her own thoughts. The water, heavy with minerals, offset the overpowering taste of baked beans and bully beef. Far out in the night distance came the chuffering roar of a lion hunting. Stein looked at Johann and then at me. I suppose the roar of a lion when one is isolated in the bush is one of the most frightening things there is. He must have been miles away. Anne shivered slightly.
"No watch for you tonight, Captain," said Stein. "We shall guard you. But tomorrow night you'll take your whack."
"At least there are some compensations for being held hostage," I replied wearily. I took my single blanket and scooped out a place in the soft sand amongst the roots of the trees. Anne did the same. All the scorpions in the world could not have made me keep my eyes open.
Despite Stein's assurance about a late start, we were shuffling along the course of the river before nine o'clock. The east wind blew down the course of the river into our faces, but the sun was not unbearably hot yet; it had not had time to accumulate the heat of the slopes which makes temperatures in winter on the Skeleton Coast higher actually than in summer, when the seawind brings welcome coolness.
Stein marched alongside me, tensed and anxious. The fringe of the river was dotted with huge ana trees and a load of chattering monkeys made us all feel better. At least there was some sign of life. They stared at the small party in open disbelief and chattered wildly as we passed. We were as much out of place as a journalist at a garden party. The river gorge was narrowing rapidly and a glance ahead showed clearly that the course of the Cunene was the only cleft in the great mountains, and probably the only route through them. Looking at the giant tumble of the Ongeamaberge, which stretch out like a pirate's steel hook from the northern fringe of the Hartmannberge to the river, I could see that any thought of getting across them on foot was out of the question. There might be game tracks, but even so they would be scarce. Besides, it would only be purely mountain animals which could negotiate the riven clefts and precipices, which I could see through my glasses even at this distance. Another dry stream, the Orumwe, hit the Cunene above the cataract with a wide delta shaped like the roots of a dead tooth, but the cleft ran north and south and was no good to me. I wanted a cleft running east to west. There wasn't one.
The river gorge narrowed and more shrub and smaller trees appeared on its walls.