Graham entered and levelled the A K-47 at Ngune's chest. 'You should have trained your men to expect the unexpected. It wasn't very difficult to disarm him.'
Ngune swallowed nervously. 'We can make a deal, Graham. Take the money from the safe. Take it.'
'In return for letting you go?'
'Yes.' Ngune gestured towards the safe. 'It's all in pounds and dollars. Take it, all of it.'
'Oh, I intend to-all of it-and I'll hand it over to the authorities when I hand you over.' Graham moved forward and peered into the safe. He whistled softly.
'Christ, there's enough in there to wipe out the trade, deficit back home. You'll be crucified when you go on trial, Ngune. I only wish I could stay around to watch it.'
Ngune's eyes flickered towards the Walther on the desk. Could he reach it before Graham shot him? He doubted it. But what other option did he have? He would be crucified at his trial. He had to take the chance and go for the gun. Then the moment was gone. Graham stepped forward and picked up the Walther. He ejected the clip and tossed the gun back onto the table.
'Empty your pockets,' Graham snapped.
Ngune pulled the bundles of bank notes from his pockets and tossed them reluctantly onto the desk.
'All of it!' Graham said, pointing to the breast pocket on Ngune's tracksuit top.
Ngune pulled another bundle of notes from his breast pocket and dropped them onto the table.
'Let's go,' Graham said, indicating the door.
Ngune had already moved round from behind the desk when the shell hit the side of the building. The window shattered and plaster showered the room.
I Ngune lashed out with his fist, catching Graham on the side of the head. Graham fell back heavily against the wall and the AK-47 slipped from his hands.
Ngune kicked Graham viciously in the stomach then grabbed the transmitter and used it to activate the door behind the desk. A panel, hidden in the wall, slid back, revealing a set of concrete steps leading down to a tunnel. Ngune darted through the opening and immediately activated the panel behind him. Graham hauled himself to his feet and lunged at the door, hooking his fingers around it when it was only inches away from resealing itself. He gritted his teeth as he began to slowly, painfully ease it open again. After what seemed an age he managed to open it enough to be able to slip through. The panel immediately closed behind him.
The tunnel was over three hundred yards in length, and Ngune had already covered half the distance. Graham bounded down the stairs and sprinted after him. He was surprised by Ngune's pace. He was certainly fit for a man of his age. Although Graham was able to close the gap considerably he still couldn't catch up with Ngune before he reached another flight of steps at the other end of the tunnel. Ngune paused at the foot of the steps, his face now bathed in sweat, and ripped the chain off from around his neck. From it hung a key. He scrambled to the top of the steps and unlocked the door. He pulled it open but made no attempt to retrieve the key from the lock. That would just waste valuable time — and yardage. He disappeared through the doorway. ®
Graham reached the foot of the steps a few seconds later. He took them two at a time but paused at the door and peered cautiously into the room which was lit by a single naked bulb hanging from a frayed length of flex in the centre of the roof. It was a lock-up garage. Ngune had ignored the battered green Ford station wagon and continued instead on foot. The side door was ajar. Graham pulled open the door and cursed angrily to himself. It led out onto a street where a group of locals were dancing and singing to celebrate the liberation of their city. If Ngune could blend in with the locals Graham knew he would never find him. He looked the length of the street but couldn't see any sign of him. He couldn't have gone far, Graham said to himself, not after that run. Even he felt exhausted.
Then he noticed a movement in a doorway on the opposite side of the street. He waited until the locals had passed then ran across the road and moved slowly towards the doorway. A stray light swept across the street and for a split second Ngune's face was illuminated in the darkness. Graham broke into a run. Then Ngune saw him. He darted out of the doorway but his legs wouldn't carry him any further and Graham was quick to grab him from behind and slam him up against the wall. Ngune's body sagged and Graham made the mistake of loosening his grip on the front of the tracksuit. Ngune caught Graham with a hammering punch to the side of the face then hit him again as he stumbled off balance. The second punch dropped Graham to the pavement. Ngune ran towards the end of the street. Graham scrambled to his feet and sprinted after him. He was quick to close the gap and felled Ngune with a bruising football tackle. Both men landed heavily on the pavement but Graham was the first to react and brought his elbow up sharply into Ngune's midriff. Ngune slumped back against the wall, temporarily winded. Graham stood up then hauled Ngune to his feet and shoved him face first against the wall.
It was then he noticed the mob standing on the corner of the street. He counted about a dozen of them, mostly men. And they were armed with sticks and chains. One had a machete. Ngune also saw them and started shouting to them in Swahili as he struggled to break free of Graham's vice-like grip.
The mob moved towards them. Graham was caught in a dilemma. He may need to defend himself, but that would mean releasing Ngune. One of the men suddenly broke free from the others and ran towards the two men. He caught Graham painfully on the shoulder with his stick. Graham stumbled back and Ngune began gesticulating wildly in his direction while continuing to incite the mob in Swahili. The men moved tdwards Graham. Ngune sensed his chance and began to move away from the mob. They had now surrounded Graham and were shouting at him in Swahili. Another blow was aimed at him but this time he was able to block it with his forearm. He couldn't hold out like this for long. But what could he do? He couldn't communicate with them. But you don't need to speak Swahili, he suddenly chided himself. Of course not.
'Tito Ngune!' Graham shouted and pointed an accusing finger towards the retreating figure. 'Tito Ngune. Tito Ngune.'
The name caused an immediate response. All heads turned towards Ngune who immediately tried to bluff his way out of trouble. A fat woman grabbed his arm and pulled him round to face her. She stared at his bowed head for several seconds then looked across at Graham and nodded in agreement. She pushed Ngune towards the men who shoved him roughly to the ground before beating him with their sticks.
Graham was about to try and intervene when an army jeep appeared at the end of the street. It pulled up beside the men and two soldiers jumped out and forced their way through to where Ngune lay huddled against the wall, his arms wrapped over his head. An officer, wearing the rank of lieutenant, climbed out of the passenger seat and stopped in front of Graham who estimated him to be no more than twenty-five.