Graham asked him if he could speak English. The lieutenant said nothing then turned and walked over to where Ngune was slumped against the wall, his tracksuit now matted with blood. The fat woman pushed through the crowd and spoke to the lieutenant. Graham thought he heard Ngune's name mentioned. The lieutenant barked out an order and the two soldiers hauled Ngune to his feet. The lieutenant looked carefully at Ngune's bloodied face then took a pair of handcuffs from his belt and manacled Ngune's hands behind his back. The two soldiers pushed Ngune to his knees then stepped back to allow the lieutenant to approach him.
Graham watched, unsure what was going to happen next. Ngune had been handcuffed. That implied arrest. But why hadn't he been taken to the jeep? Then the lieutenant took his RF83 revolver from the holster on his belt and pressed it against the back of Ngune's head. Graham stepped forward, horrified at what he was witnessing. It was barbaric. Ngune's guilt wasn't in doubt. But he still had the right of a fair trial. That was the law, a universal law.
The lieutenant looked across at Graham and said something to him in Swahili. Graham shrugged helplessly but when he tried to get closer his path was blocked by the two soldiers, their Mi6 rifles aimed at his stomach. The lieutenant looked down at Ngune who was babbling incoherently as he pleaded pitifully for his life. Once the second-most powerful man in the country, Ngune was now nothing more than a sad, pathetic old man on the brink of death. The lieutenant pulled the trigger. Ngune's body jerked grotesquely as the back of his head disintegrated in a spray of blood and bone.
The mob cheered triumphantly when he slumped forward onto the pavement. The lieutenant bolstered his revolver then snapped an order at the two soldiers who quickly shouldered their rifles and returned to the jeep. This time the lieutenant ignored Graham as he walked back to the jeep. The driver started the engine and drove away. Graham stared at the body, still struggling to come to terms with the savage justice that had been meted out seconds earlier. But then this was Africa, a continent where mercy was so often regarded as a sign of weakness and where brutality and violent death had become just another acceptable everyday occurrence.
He shook his head sadly as he watched the mob singing and dancing only a few feet away from Ngune's crumpled body then turned away and walked off slowly down the street.
ELEVEN
Sabrina sat forward in the chair, her hands cupped over her face, her eyes riveted on the telephone. It had been over two hours since she had returned to the farm and there was still no news of Graham. She knew from Tambese that he hadn't been one of the casualties at Branco so where was he? And how had he managed to get out of the prison before it was bombed? The questions seemed irrelevant as she willed the telephone to ring.
Moredi and Laidlaw sat in the lounge with her. Neither of them had spoken for over thirty minutes, each engrossed in their own thoughts. She slumped back in her chair and banged the arm with her fist. Laidlaw glanced at her. She looked pale and drawn and he could see the anxiety mirrored in her eyes. She looked from Laidlaw to Moredi. He had been playing patience on the coffee table when she had arrived back at the farm. That had been an hour ago. He was still playing. He sensed she was watching him and looked up at her. He smiled fleetingly. She didn't respond. He was about to resume the game when the telephone rang. She was on her feet before she could check herself. She bit her lip nervously as Moredi lifted the receiver to his ear. He listened momentarily then extended the receiver towards her.
'Is it about Mike?' she asked anxiously.
'It is Mike,' Moredi replied with a reassuring smile.
She took the receiver from him. 'Mike?'
'Yeah,' Graham replied.
'Nice of you to call,' she said. 'Where are you? And where have you been for the past two hours?'
'I'm OK, Sabrina. Thanks for asking,' came the sharp reply.
She sighed deeply then rubbed her eyes wearily. 'I'm sorry, Mike. It's been a long night.'
'Tell me about it.'
'Where are you calling from?'
'The hospital.'
'Are you hurt?'
'No, nothing a few hours' sleep won't heal. You OK?'
'I'm fine. What happened? How did you get out of Branco?'
'It's a long story. I'll tell you about it when I see you. Tambese's also here. He's just finished questioning Mobuto. We should be with you soon.'
'Sure. And Mike, it's good to hear your voice.'
'Hey, don't get sentimental on me now.'
She grinned sheepishly. 'See you later.'
'Yeah,' Graham replied and hung up.
She replaced the receiver and looked round at Laidlaw and Moredi. 'He's OK. He'll be coming back with David.'
Moredi put a hand lightly on her shoulder. 'Now you know he's OK why don't you put your head down for a couple of hours? You looked exhausted.'
'I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to. There are too many unanswered questions up here,' she replied, tapping her head.
'Then how about a coffee while you wait for them to get back from the hospital?'
'I'd love one, thanks,' she replied then pointed to the door. Til be outside.'
Moredi nodded and left the room. She pushed open the door and walked out onto the porch. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon which was bathed in a mirage of orange and gold — the unparalleled beauty of an African sunrise.
'Exquisite, isn't it?'
She looked round sharply at Laidlaw who had emerged silently onto the porch, a mug of coffee in each hand.
'Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,' he said, handing one of the mugs to her.
'Thanks,' she said then moved to the edge of the porch and sat down on the top step.
'Do you mind if I sit down?'
'It's a free country now,' she replied without looking round.
Laidlaw sat in the wicker chair by the door. 'Can we talk?'
She put the mug down and glanced round at him, a look of irritation on her face. 'Talk? What about?'
'Look, I know we haven't exactly hit it off these last few days. And a lot of it's been my fault, I realize that now. I'm sure I'm not the first guy to have doubted your ability because you're a woman.'
'And you won't be the last either,' she replied then sat back against the railing and drew her knees up to her chest. 'But I've come to expect it now. It's all part of being a woman in a male-orientated profession. Not that it bothers me. I've got a job to do and I'll do it to the best of my ability. And if you guys can't accept that, that's your problem not mine.'
'Well, you can count me as one of the converted after tonight.'
'Hallelujah!' she retorted.
'I should have known better than to try and talk to you,' he snapped, getting to his feet.
'Then talk to me, don't patronize me,' she said, glaring up at him.
He sighed deeply then moved to the railing. 'I didn't mean to sound patronizing. I'm sorry. Like you said, you're a woman in a male-orientated profession. I guess I'm just not used to dealing with that.'
'At least you're honest. Most of my colleagues wouldn't have admitted to that.'
'You and Mike seem to get along,' he said.
'We do, up to a point.' She smiled thoughtfully. 'But it wasn't always this amicable. We've been partners for two years now, and it's only been in the last few months that we've started to get along. The first year was a nightmare, an absolute nightmare. All we seemed to do was argue and bicker about every little thing. It got to the point where it was starting to affect our work. That's when it came to a head. We had to decide whether we could continue working together or whether we'd be better off with different partners. I don't think the outcome was ever in doubt. We work well as a team. We always have. So we decided to bury the hatchet and get on with the job. We still have our differences, mainly because we're both very independent. But we've learned to live with that.'