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“You will be able to move the better without the excess weight—for you will be unable to take your car the whole way, you know. It is a rare thing to see a vehicle at all in these parts. Which being so, we will relieve you of one of these also.” He motioned one of his men to take out one of a pair of 14-gallon drums filled with gasoline which were housed against the fiat back of the Landrover.

“But I shall not be able to replace them,” Illya expostulated. “The tank needs replenishing now—and I have perhaps two hundred miles to go. Plus at least another four hundred before I find a gas station on the return journey…”

“As I said, you will not be able to take your vehicle the whole way to the forest,” Ononu remarked smoothly. “The scarcity of gasoline now will ensure that you do not stray into regions where you have no business in your attempts to find alternative routes. Besides, you have the pleasure of knowing that you are advancing the Cause.”

Kuryakin raised his arms and let them drop helplessly by his sides. There was no point in arguing: there was nothing he could do; and if he provoked Ononu too much, the soldier was quite capable of taking the whole car and abandoning him in the wilderness. At least they had left him his field glasses and his three cameras—one of which was a dummy and fired eight .32 bullets in rapid succession from what appeared to be a range-finder. The cigarette-lighter pistol, with its sleep darts, remained in his trouser pocket, too.

After two and a quarter hours’ driving, he reached the fork where the roads for Wau and Halakaz diverged. There had once been a settlement at the junction, but all that remained now was the familiar patch of blackened and seared ground, pock-marked with the jagged stumps of walls. From a horizontal branch jutting out over the road, a scorched tree dangled the bodies of five hanged men—naked, decomposing, the eyes plucked out by vultures. Illya’s eyes narrowed grimly as he swung the Landrover around the grisly spectacle to take the right hand track towards Halakaz.

The scrub had given place to a mean variety of bushes and squat trees as the road had mounted. Now the trees thickened and the angle of incline grew more steep. Soon the Landrover was laboring in low gear up what appeared to be a channel carved in the solid bedrock. After several miles of this, the trail flattened out—although it grew no smoother—and Illya saw that he was crossing a plateau of bare volcanic rock surrounded on all sides by steep, sugar-loaf hills covered dense vegetation. The foliage was brownish-gray in color and could by no stretch of the imagination be termed rich; but it was a welcome change from the eternal monotony of the thorn tree desert. At least there must be some water about somewhere…

The Landrover had plunged into several valleys and climbed the steep slopes on the far side before Illya saw any, however. Then suddenly the trail, instead of ascending after it had crossed a dry riverbed, turned and followed the watercourse along a twisting defile which opened out into a wide, shallow valley four or five miles across. And in the middle of the valley a trickle of brown water flowed sluggishly in a deep wadi. Birds flapped in the air and a herd of deer-like creatures—there must have been several hundred of them—galloped off in a cloud of dust as the vehicle approached. They were the first living creatures Illya had seen since he had left Colonel Ononu and his detachment that morning. He stopped the car at the bottom of the wadi, replenished his radiator with some of the brackish water, and poured fuel from his remaining gasoline drum into the tank. Then, after eating some cold food from his pack, he drove on towards the hills on the far side of the valley.

The topography was different here—the slopes gentler, the vegetation lusher and more verdant. To balance this advantage was the fact that, among undergrowth, the trail was at times very difficult to find. Several times he had to stop, get out and search around for some time before he could identify the route.

Towards the end of the afternoon, he found himself emerging from an area of dense forest into a small glade floored with plants which had bright violet flowers. The trail vanished among the trees on the far side of the open space—but across the middle, a chasm barred the way. Illya pulled up and walked to the edge of the fissure. Some gigantic upheaval eons ago had split the earth open as though it had been cleft with a vast axe. On either side, the trees closed in and lined the gorge as far as he could see. Far below, a thread of water glistened in the shadows—and among the smooth rocks he could make out the splintered remnants of what had been a plank bridge. The sheer faces of the cleft overhung at the top and the gap was no more than four or five feet where the bridge had been; a child of ten could have leaped it with ease. But for the Landrover it was an impassable barrier.

For minutes, the Russian pondered. To go back was hopeless: he had no means of knowing how far around he would have to go. And in any case, no alternative route was marked on the map. Equally, without the right kind of tools and tackle it would be impossible to fell trees and fashion any kind of makeshift bridge. There was no choice: he must abandon the vehicle and continue on foot.

Once more he consulted the map. So far as he could make out from the undetailed markings, he was still more than thirty miles short of Halakaz. He would have to sleep somewhere in the jungle and walk there tomorrow. It was an awkward predicament: it could be dangerous—but on the other hand, it could have been much worse. Perhaps he would be able to hire a mule or a camel in the town.

He backed the Landrover into the trees and bumped a hundred yards off the track among the undergrowth. It was quite invisible from the trail and there was just a chance it might remain undetected. Making a compact roll of his sleeping bag, a couple of sweaters and the remainder of his provisions, he slung field glasses, Hasselblad and the gun-camera over his shoulder and returned to the chasm. After pitching the roll across; he retreated a few paces, ran up and jumped lightly over the gap.

The trail twisted and turned among the giant trees. The undergrowth was now positively luxuriant and long strands of creeper hung down from branches far above his head. It was airless and somber, the atmosphere moist and humming with invisible insects, but from what he could see of the sky through the treetops he estimated that there was still an hour or more of daylight. He must press on as far as he could.

For half an hour he trudged through the forest—and then, to his astonishment, he heard voices. Cautiously rounding a thicket, he found himself face to face with a woman in riding breeches carrying an elephant gun.

At first he was irresistibly reminded of General Mazzari, for her accouterments gleamed from the tips of her knee-length leather boots to the lenses of the sunglasses masking her eyes. But there the resemblance ended. Although deeply bronzed, she was a white woman, small-waisted, about thirty-five years old, and wearing, incongruously, a Sam Browne belt. She wore lipstick and her ash-blonde hair was absurdly gathered on the nape of her neck in a black velvet bow.

“And from where have you suddenly sprung, young man?” she inquired in English. Her voice was deep, husky, overlaid with a trace of accent—Swiss, perhaps?—that he could not quite place.

Illya dropped the roll at his feet with a sigh of relief and explained about the chasm.

“Yes, the Arabs destroyed the bridge six months ago,” she said. “I suppose they thought it might hinder the Nya Nyerere. But there are dozens of places further down where they can cross. However, that doesn’t help you: you had better stay with us tonight and tell me all about it while we eat.”

She led the way back to a clearing where a fair-sized encampment was laid out. Two orderly lines of flysheeted tents faced a charcoal fire from which drifted an agreeable smell of cooking. At one side, bales and crates of stores were neatly stacked. Among them, Illya saw, was a theodolite on a tripod. There seemed to be about a dozen Negro bearers in the camp, and at least three white men.