‘Don’t you think we ought to go and check things?’ Gen persisted. ‘I mean, if there’s twelve holy sisters there, they could be in trouble.’
I looked at our walking bible and saw him staring into the darkness. Obviously he was fancying the chance of visiting a religious retreat and helping the nuns out. That’d give him a bigger kick than shagging them.
‘What are Poor Clares, anyway?’ I asked, playing for time.
‘They’re Franciscan nuns,’ he replied, immediately. ‘Named after St Clare of Assisi, who was a disciple of St Francis. They lead a life of prayer and spend most of their days in silence.’
Phil was fanning himself with one hand in sarcastic appreciation of such great knowledge. ‘What the fuck do we do when we get there?’ he demanded. ‘Sing a few hymns, dig in, and spend the next six months defending the holy sisters, without talking to anybody?’
‘They may be wanting out,’ said Gen. ‘We might need to organise an airlift.’
I turned to Danny, who was in charge of our transport, and said, ‘By the way, make sure there’s no keys left in dashboards tonight. I wouldn’t put it past the Kraut to try doing a runner in one of the vehicles. Even if she can’t walk, she could probably drive.’
‘Sure, sure.’ Danny looked faintly peeved at the suggestion that he couldn’t be trusted to do his job. ‘She’ll not get far.’
‘To hell with the convent,’ Whinger announced. ‘She’s going out on the fucking relief aircraft, even if you have to carry her aboard kicking and screaming.’
‘At least Msisi exists,’ I said. ‘I asked the Belgian. Apparently he’s been there, and it’s only a couple of hours downstream from here.’
‘Eh, Geordie,’ went Whinger. ‘You gone soft on the woman or something?’
‘Piss off, mate,’ I told him. ‘I’m just considering options. What if the plane doesn’t come tomorrow, for instance? What if it goes U/S? There’s a very good chance of that. Then we’ll be stuck with her.’
I paused, looking round the circle. Various ideas were chasing each other round my head.
‘Try the satcom again,’ I told Stringer. ‘I wish to hell we could have a word with the Kremlin.’
Stringer stood up, went over to the pinkie with the comms equipment on board and began to fiddle with his aerials.
‘Leave the woman out of this for the moment,’ I said. ‘She’s only a side issue. We haven’t answered the main question. What do we want to do? Go on or pull out? What’s the crack on that? Whinger?’
‘It depends on Joss,’ he replied, his voice heavy and slow. ‘He may have settled down by tomorrow. If he has, carry on. We’ve only lost one guy, and that was to an elephant. Pure bad luck. If we watch ourselves, there shouldn’t be a problem.’
‘But if he’s still the same?’
‘Then fuck off, fastest.’
‘Okay. That’s you. Danny?’
‘I agree. If Joss pulls round, no reason not to carry on.’ He shot me a look, and went on, ‘I dunno about you, Geordie, but it strikes me there’s something big going down here.’
‘Like what?’ I waited, knowing that Danny often had good ideas, but was slow to articulate them.
‘The South African involvement. This company, Interaction. These guys wouldn’t be pissing about with the rebels if it was just a question of diamonds. Southern Africa’s full of diamonds.’
‘So?’
‘There must be some other agenda. Something that’s really got them going.’
‘Okay, I agree. But what are you saying? That we should stick with it, or what?’
‘If Joss comes back on-side, yes, we should.’
‘Right. Genesis?’
‘I disagree. If we go any further south we could land ourselves in the shit. We might not be able to get back at all. And as we know, the chances of getting lifted out of the bush are zero. I’m for pulling off, first to the convent, then to Mulongwe. Bollocks to the uranium, and to the agreement.’
Next round the circle was Phil, and I knew before I asked him what his answer would be.
‘Fuck Joss. Go for it! Get stuck in with Alpha and go for the bridge. Let’s have another good shoot-out and hit the rebels where it hurts.’
Before I could say anything else, Mart’s voice abruptly came up in my earpiece with ‘Green One’.
‘Green One, roger,’ I answered.
‘Got an intruder,’ he said quietly.
I held up a hand to stop anyone talking, and asked, ‘What is it?’
‘Somebody coming up the track from below.’
‘Sure it’s not an animal?’
‘Definitely human. I had him in the kite-sight.’
‘Stand by. I’ll be with you.’
Our meeting broke up as though a bomb had landed in the middle of the group. In seconds the guys vanished outwards into the darkness and took up prearranged positions — all except Gen, who grabbed Whinger’s cot by the head-end and dragged it alongside one of the pinkies. I ran the few yards to the seven-tonner and hissed at Inge, ‘Stay where you are. Don’t move. We’ve got problems.’
Mart was about two hundred metres to the east. He’d stationed himself on a bank where the track came up over a steep little rise. He’d told us that from that vantage point he could see out over an expanse of open bush.
We hadn’t expected any visitors, certainly no friendly ones. But the one thing we needed to avoid, above all, was any risk of a blue-on-blue — a clash between our own people.
My boots made no sound in the dust as I scurried forward. The moon was still low in the sky, but the starlight was strong, and I could see quite well. When I reckoned I was halfway to Mart’s position I called him on the radio, and said, ‘Closing on you from behind.’
‘Roger,’ he answered.
‘Anyone in sight?’
‘Negative.’
He must have been watching me through the kite-sight. Long before I could see him, he came on the air with, ‘I have you visual. Keep walking.’ A few seconds later I saw his head come up from behind a rock and I crouched beside him, looking out over the drop.
‘Where was the guy?’ I whispered.
‘See the big tree?’ He handed the sight over. ‘Just to the left of it. The track’s coming nearly straight towards us at that point.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘Walking slowly. Carefully.’
‘Weapon?’
‘Yep. At the ready. Looked like an AK47.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Disappeared into that dead ground on our right.’
As he whispered, I was scanning with the sight, which gave out a faint, high hum. I searched the ground to our front, checking every shape, looking for a black figure moving across the fluorescent green background.
‘Nothing,’ I breathed. I switched the sight off. Its tiny scream died, and we crouched side by side without speaking, listening to the cicadas grinding away all round. The air was comfortably cool, but the mozzies were out and about. Every few seconds, one came whining past.
If any of the other guys got a contact nearer camp, we’d hear immediately over the radio, so I felt that our rear was covered. But who the hell was this, on the move out front? Because the area was devoid of civilians, it could only be someone from Alpha Commando. My stretched nerves told me it must be a scout, sent up to spy on us, or the lead man in an assassination squad.
Minutes passed. Nothing stirred in the dark landscape below us. Up above, the stars were bright as diamonds. Diamonds. The trouble they caused. I thought of the prisoner slumping under a hail of bullets at the kangaroo court. Seeing the guy killed like that had shaken me more than I liked to admit. It was one thing to be hit by rounds in the middle of a battle, another to be deliberately murdered in front of an audience.