General Moses will not travel during darkness - none of his men would risk that - and the condition of the road from Senwqti after
three months neglect is such that he will need ten or twelve hours to cover the distance.”
“ I hope you’re right.” Bruce was worried. “I’m not sure that we shouldn’t pull out now.”
“That involves a risk also, Captain,” Boussier pointed out.
“We know there are tribesmen in close proximity to the town. They have been seen. They must be aware of your arrival, and might easily have wrecked the lines to prevent our departure. I think your original decision is still good.”
“I know.” Bruce was hunched forward in his chair, frowning, sucking on the cheroot. At last he sat back and the frown evaporated. “I can’t risk it. I’ll place a guard on the causeway, and if this Moses gentleman arrives we can hold him there long enough to embark your people.”
“That is probably the best course,” agreed Boussier. He paused, glanced towards the open windows and
lowered his voice. “There is another point, Captain, which I wish to bring to your attention.”
“Yes?”
“As you know, the activity of my company in Port Reprieve is centred on the recovery of diamonds from the Lufira swamps.” Bruce nodded.
“I have in my safe” - Boussier jerked his thumb at the heavy steel door built into the wall behind his desk - “nine and a half thousand carats of gem-quality diamonds and some twenty-six thousand carats of industrial diamonds.”
“I had expected that.” Bruce kept his tone noncommittal.
It may be as well if we could agree on the disposition and handling of these stones.” “How are they packaged?” asked Bruce.
“A single wooden case.”
“Of what size and weight?”
“I will show
you.” Boussier went to the safe, turned his back to them and they heard the tumblers whirr and click. While he waited Bruce realized suddenly that Shermaine had not spoken since her initial greeting to Boussier.
He glanced at her now and she smiled at him. I like a woman who knows when to keep her mouth shut.
Boussier swung the door of the safe open and carried a small wooden case across to the desk.
“There,” he said.
Bruce examined it. Eighteen inches long, nine deep and twelve
wide. He lifted it experimentally.
“About twenty pounds weight,” he decided. “The lid is sealed.”
“Yes,” agreed Boussier, touching the four wax imprints.
“Good,” Bruce nodded. “I don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to it by placing a guard upon it.”
“No, I agree.” Bruce studied the case a few seconds longer and then he asked: “What is the value of these stones?” Boussier shrugged. “Possibly five hundred million francs.” And Bruce was impressed; half a million sterling. Worth
stealing, worth killing for.
“I suggest, monsieur, that you secrete this case in your luggage.
In your blankets, say. I doubt there will be any danger of theft until we reach Msapa Junction. A thief will have no avenue of escape. Once we reach Msapa junction I will make other arrangements for its safety.”
“Very well, Captain.” Bruce stood up and glanced at his watch. “Seven o’clock, as near as dammit. I will leave you and see to the guard on the causeway. Please make sure that your people are ready to entrain before dawn tomorrow morning.”
“Of course.” Bruce looked at Shermaine and she stood up quickly.
Bruce held the door open for her and was just about to follow her when a thought struck him.
“That mission station - St. Augustine’s, is it? I suppose it’s deserted now?”
“No, it’s not.” Boussier looked a little shamefaced.
“Father Ignatius is still there, and of course the patients at the hospital.”
“Thanks for telling me.” Bruce was bitter.
“I’m sorry, Captain. It slipped my mind, there are so many things to think of.”
“Do you know the road out to the mission?” he snapped at
Shermaine. She should have told him.
“Yes, Bruce.”
“Well, perhaps you’d be good enough to direct me.”
“Of course.” She also looked guilty.
Bruce slammed the door of Boussier’s office and strode off towards the hotel with Shermaine trotting to keep pace with him. You can’t rely on anyone, he thought, not anybody!
And then he saw Ruffy coming up from the station, looking like a big bear in the dusk. With a few exceptions, Bruce corrected himself
“Sergeant Major.”
“Hello, boss.”
“This General Moses is closer to us than we reckoned.
He’s reported two hundred kilometres north of here on the Senwati road.” Ruffy whistled through his teeth. “Are you going to take off now, Boss?”
“No, I want a machine-gun post on this end of the causeway.
If they come we can hold them there long enough to get away. I want you to take command.”
“I’ll see to it now.”
“I’m going out to the mission - there’s a white priest there. Lieutenant Haig is in command while I’m away.”
“Okay, boss.”
“I’m sorry, Bruce. I should have told you.” Shermaine sat small and repentant at her end of the Ranchero.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Bruce, not meaning it.
“We have tried to make Father Ignatius come in to town.
Martin has spoken to him many times, but he refuses to move.”
Bruce did not answer. He took the car down on to the causeway, driving carefully. There were shreds of mist lifting out of the swamp and drifting across the concrete ramp.
Small insects, bright as tracer in the headlights, zoomed in to squash against the windscreen. The froggy chorus from the swamp honked
and clinked and boomed deafeningly.
“I have apologized,” she murmured.
“Yes, I heard you,” said Bruce. “You don’t have to do it again.”
She was silent, and then: “Are you always so bad-tempered?” she asked in English.
“Always,” snapped Bruce, “is one of the words which should be eliminated from the language.”
“Since it has not been, I will continue to use it. You haven’t answered my question: are you always so bad-tempered?”
“I just don’t like balls-ups.”
“What is balls-up, please?”
“What has just happened: a mistake, a situation precipitated by inefficiency, or by somebody not using his head.”
“You never make balls-up, Bruce?”
“It is not a polite expression, Shermaine. Young ladies of your refinement do not use it.” Bruce changed into French.
“You never make mistakes?” she corrected herself Bruce did not answer. That’s quite funny, he thought - never make mistakes! Bruce
Curry, the original balls-up.
Shermaine held one hand across her middle and sat up straight.
“Bonaparte,” she said. “Cold, silent, efficient.”
“I didn’t say that-” Bruce started to defend himself.
Then in the glow from the dash light he saw her impish expression and he could not stop himself; he had to grin.
“All right, I’m acting like a child.” “You would like a cigarette?” she asked.
“Yes, please.” She lit it and passed it to him.
“You do not like-” she hesitated, “mistakes. Is there anything you do like?”
“Many things,” said Bruce.
“Tell me some.” They bumped off the end of the causeway and Bruce accelerated up the far bank.
“I like being on a mountain when the wind blows, and the taste of the sea. I like Sinatra, crayfish thertnidor, the weight and balance of a Purdey Royal, and the sound of a little girl’s laughter. I like the first draw of a cigarette lit from a wood fire, the scent of jasmine, the feel of silk; I also enjoy sleeping late in the morning, and the thrill of forking a queen with my knight. Shadows on the floor of a forest please me. And, of course, money. But especially I like women who do not ask too many questions.”