Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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ver his shoulder and they set off up the valley, their mood changed to

one of anticipation.

They had been going for an hour when Nicholas glanced over his shoulder

and then cautioned her with a frown. "We are being followed."

Taking her wrist, he drew her behind a slab of sandstone. He flattened

himself against the rock and stured at her to do the same. Then he

poised himself, ge an  suddenly leaped forward to seize the lanky figure

in a dirty white shamnw who was sneaking up the valley behind them. With

a howl the creature fell to his knees, and began gibbering with terror.

Nicholas hauled him to his feet. "Tamre! What are you doing following

us? Who sent you?" he demanded in Arabic.

The boy rolled his eyes towards Royan. "No, please, effendi, do not hurt

me. I meant no harm."

"Leave the child, Nicky. You will precipitate another fit," Royan

intervened. Tamre scurried behind her and clung to her hand for

protection, peering out around her shoulder at Nicholas as though his

life were in danger.

"Peace, Tamre," Nicholas soothed him. "I will not hurt you, unless you

lie to me. If you do, then I will thrash you until there is no skin on

your back. Who sent you to follow us?"

"I came alone. Nobody sent me," blubbered the boy. "I came to show you

where I saw the holy animal with the fingermarks -of the Baptist on his

skin."

Nicholas stared at him for a moment, before he began to laugh softly.

"I'll be damned if the boy doesn't really believe he saw

great-grandfather's dik-dik." Then he scowled ferociously. "Remember

what will happen to you, if you are lying."

"It is true, effendi," Tamre sobbed, and Royan came to his defence.

Don't badger him. He is harmless. Leave the poor ,  A hild."

"All right, Tamre. I will give you a chance. Take us to where you saw

the holy animal."

Tamre would not relinquish his grip on Royan's hand.

He clung to it as he danced beside her, leading her along, and within a

hundred yards his terror had faded and he was smiling and giggling at

her shyly.

For an hour he led them away from the Dandera rier  and up over the high

ground above the valley, into an area of thick scrub and up-thrust

ridges of weathered limestone.

The thorny branches of the bush were densely intertwined, and grew so

close to the ground that there seemed to be no way through them.

However, Tamre led them on to a narrow twisting path, just wide enough

for them to avoid the red-tipped hook thorns on each side of them. Then

abruptly he stopped and pulled Royan to a halt beside him.

He pointed down, almost at his own toes.

"The riverPhe announced importantly. Nicholas came up beside them and

whistled softly with surprise. Tamre had led them around in a wide

circle to the west, and then brought them back to the Dandera river at a

point where it still ran in the bed of the deep ravine.

Now they stood on the very edge of the chasm. He saw at once that,

although the top of the rocky ravine was less than a hundred feet wide,

the chasm opened out below the rim. From the surface of the water far

below, the rock wall belled out in the shape of one of the pottery tej

flasks.

It narrowed again as it neared the top where they stood.

 saw the holy thing over there."Tamre pointed to the far side of the

chasm where a small feeder spring meandered out of the thorny bush.

Streamers of bright green moss, nourished by the spring, hung from the

lip of the concave rock wall, and the water trickled down them and

dripped from the tips into the river two hundred feet below.

"If you saw it there, why did you bring us to this side of the

river?"Nicholas demanded.

Tamre looked as though he were on the point of tears.

This side is easier. There is no path through the bush on the other

side. The thorns would hurt Woizero Royan."

"Don't be a bully," Royan told him, and put her arm around the boy's

shoulder.

Nicholas shrugged, "It looks like the two of you are ganging up on me.

Well, seeing that we are here, we might as well sit a while and see if

great-grandpa's dik-dik puts in an appearance."

He picked out a spot in the shade of one of the stunted trees that hung

on the lip of the chasm, and with his hat swept the ground clear of

fallen thorns until there was a place for them to sit. He placed his

back against the trunk of the thorn tree and laid the Rigby rifle across

his lap.

By this time it was past noon, and the heat was stifling.

He passed the water bottle to Royan and, while she drank, glanced at

Tamre and suggested to her in English, "This might be a good time to

find out what, if anything, the lad knows about the Taita ceramic in the

crown. He is besotted with you. He will tell you anything you want to

know.

Question him."

She began gently, chatting softly to the boy. Occasionally she stroked

his head and petted him as though he were a puppy– She spoke to him of

the previous night's banquet, the beauty of the underground church, and

the antiquity of the murals and the tapestries, and then at last

mentioned the abbot's crown.

"Yes. Yes. That is the stone of the saint," he agreed readily. "The blue

stone of St. Frumentius."

"Where did it come from?" she asked. "Do you know?" The boy looked

embarrassed, "I do not know. It is very old, perhaps as old as Christ

the Saviour. That is what the priests say."

"You do not know where it was found?"

He shook his head, but then, eager to please her, he suggested, "Perhaps

it fell from heaven."

"Perhaps." Royan glanced at Nicholas, who rolled his eyes upwards and

then pushed his hat forward to cover his face.

"Perhaps St.. Frumentius gave it to the first abbot when he died." Tamre

warmed to the subject. "Or perhaps it was in his coffin with him when he

was placed in his tomb."

"All these things are possible, Tamre,' Royan agreed.

"Have you seen the tomb of St. Frumentius?"

He looked around him guiltily. "Only the ordained priests are allowed

into the tnaqdas, the Holy of Holies," he hung his head and whispered.

"You have seen it, Tamre," she accused him gently, stroking his head.

She was intrigued by the boy's guilt. "You can tell me. I will not tell

the priests."

"Only once," he admitted. "The other boys. They sent me to touch the

tabot stone. They would have beaten me if I had not. All the new

acolytes are made to do this." He began to babble with the horror of the

memory of his initiation ordeal. "I was alone. I was very afraid. It was

after midnight when the priests were asleep. Dark. The maqdas is haunted

by the ghost of the saint. They told me that if I was unworthy the saint

would strike me down with lightning."

Nicholas removed the hat from his face and straightened up slowly. "My

word, the child is telling the truth," he said softly. "He has been into

the Holy of Holies-'Then he looked across at Royan, "Keep questioning

him. He may just give us something useful. Ask him about the tomb of St.

Frumentius."

"Did you see the tomb of the saint?" she asked, and the boy nodded

vigorously. "Did you go into the tomb?" This time he shook his head.

"No. There are bars across the entrance. Only the abbot is allowed into

the tomb, on the birthday of the saint."

"Did you look through the bars?"

"Yes, but it is very dark. I saw the coffin of the saint. It is wood and

there is painting on it, the face of the saint."

"Is he a black man?"

"No – a white man with a red beard. The painting is very old. The

picture is faded, and the wood of the coffin is rotting and crumbling."

"Is it lying on the floor of the tomb?" Tamre screwed up his face in

thought, then after careful consideration shook his head. "No, it is on

a shelf of stone in the wall."

"Is there anything else you remember about the tomb of the saint?" Royan

tried to prod his memory, but Tamre shook his head.

"It was very dark, and the opening in the bars is small, he apologized.

"It does not matter. Is the tomb in the back wall of the rrtmdu?"

."Yes, it is behind the altar and the tabot stone."

"What is the altar made of – stone?"

"No. It is wood, cedarwood. There are candies, and a big cross, and the

many crowns of the abbot, and the chalice and staff."

"Is it painted?"

"No, it is carved with pictures. But they are different from the

pictures inside the tomb of the saint."

"What is different? Tell me, Tamre."

"I don't know. The faces are funny. They wear different clothes. There

are horses." He looked puzzled. "They are different."

Royan tried for a while to get a clearer description from him, but he

became more and more confused and contradictorywhen she pushed him, so

she changed tack.

"Tell me about the tabot," she suggested, but Nicholas forestalled her.

"No, you tell me about the tabot," he demanded of her.

"Is it similar to the Jewish Tabernacle?"

"Yes, at least in the Egypti She turned to him, an Church it is. It is

usually kept in a jewelled box and wrapped in an embroidered cloth of

gold. The only difference is that the Jewish Tabernacle is carved with

the ten commandments, but in our Church it is carved with the words of

dedication of the particular church that houses it.

It is the living heart of the Church."

"What is the tabot stone?" Nicholas frowned with concentration.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Our Church does not have a tabot stone."

"Ask him!

"Tell me about the tabot stone, Tamre."

"It is so high, and so square." He indicated a height of a little above

his own shoulder, and the width of his spread hands.

"And the tabot stands on top of this stone?" Royan guessed.

Tamre nodded.

"Why did they send you to touch the stone and not the tabot itself?"

Nicholas demanded, but Royan shook her head to silence him.

"Let me do the talking. You are too harsh with him. She turned back to

the boy. "Why the stone, rather than the Ark of the tabot that stands on

top of it?"

Tamre shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. They just did."

"What does the stone look like? Are there paintings on it also?"

"I don't know." He looked distraught at not being able to satisfy her.

He wanted desperately to please her.  don't know. The stone is wrapped

with cloth."

Nicholas and Royan exchanged startled glances, and then Royan turned

back to the boy.

"Covered?" Royan leaned closer to him. "The stone is covered?, "They say

that it is only uncovered by the abbot on the birthday of St..

Frumentius."

Again Nicholas and Royan stared at each other, and then he smiled

thoughtfully. "I would rather like to have a look at the tomb of the

saint, and the tabot stone – in its uncovered state."

"You' have to wait for the saint's birthday," she said, she broke and

have yourself ordained. Only the priests off and stared at him again.

"You aren't thinking of – no, you wouldn't, would you?"

"Who, me?" he grinned. "Perish the thought."

"If they caught you in the maqdas, they would tear you to little

pieces."

"The answer, then, would be not to let them catch me."

"If you go, I am going with you. How are we going to manage it?"

"Throttle back, dear girl. The thought only occurred to me ten seconds

ago. Even on my good days, I need at least ten minutes to come up wit a

brilliant plan of action."

They both stared out across the chasm in silence, until Royan whispered

softly, "The covered stone. Taita's stone testament?"

"Don't say it aloud," he pleaded, and made the sign against the evil

eye. "Don't even think it aloud. The Devil is listening."

They were silent again, both of them thinking furiously. Then Royan

started, "Nicky, what if-' she broke off. "No, that won't. work." She

relapsed into frowning silence again.

Tamre broke the quiet with a sudden squeak of excitement, "There it is.

Look!'

They were both startled by the interruption. "What is it?" Royan turned

to him.

Tamre seized her arm and shook it. He was trembling with emotion. "There

it is. I told you." With his other hand he was pointing out across the

river, "There at the edge of the thorn bushes. Can't you see it?"

"What is it? What can you see?"

"The animal of John the Baptist. The holy marked creature."

Following the direction of his outflung arm, she picked out a soft,

brownish blur of movement at the edge of the thicket on the far bank. "I

don't know. It is too far-'

Nicholas scrabbled in his pack and brought out his binoculars. He lifted

and focused them, and then he began to chuckle.

"Hallelujah! Great-grandpa's reputation is safe at last." He passed the

binoculars to Royan. She focused them and found the little creature in

the field. It was three hundred yards away, but through the ten-power

lens she could make it out in detail.

It was almost half as large again as the common dikdik that they had

seen the previous day, and instead of drab grey its coat was a rich red

brown. Its most striking feature, however, was the distinct dark bars of

chocolate colour across its shoulders and back – five evenly spaced

markings that did indeed look like the imprint of fingers and thumb.

"Madoqua harperii, no less," Nicholas whispered to her.

"Sorry, great-grandfather, for doubting you."

The dik-dik stood half in shadow, wriggling its nose as it snuffled the

air. Its head was held high, suspicious and alert. The soft breeze was

quartering between them and the animal, but every so often a wayward

eddy gave it the faint whiff of humanity that had alarmed it.

Royan heard the snick of the rifle action as Nicholas worked the bolt

and chambered a round. Hurriedly she lowered the glasses, and glanced at

him. "You aren't going to shoot it?" she demanded.

"No, not at that range. Over three hundred yards, and a small target.

I'll wait for it to get closer."

"How can you bring yourself to do it?"

"How can I not? That's what I came here to do, amongst other things."

"But it's so beautiful."

"I take it, then, that it would be perfectly all right to whack it if it

were ugly?"

She said nothing, but raised the binoculars again. The eddy of the wind

must have changed, for the dik-dik lowered its head to nibble at a tuft

of coarse brown grass.

Then lifted its head again and came on down the clearing in the Thorn

scrub, stepping daintily, pausing every few paces to feed again.

"Go back. She tried to will it into safety, but it kept on coming,

meandering towards the edge of the chasm.

Nicholas rolled on to his stomach and settled himself behind the trunk

of the tree. He screwed up his hat into a soft pad on which to rest the

rifle.

"Two hundred yards," he muttered to himself "That's a fair shot. No

further." Resting the cushioned rifle on the twisted root, he aimed

through the telescopic sight. Then he lifted his head, waiting to let it

come within certain range.

Abruptly the dik-dik lifted its head again and came to a halt, quivering

with tension.

"Something he doesn't like. Dammit all, wind must have changed again,'

Nicholas growled. At that moment the little antelope bolted. It streaked

across the clearing, back the way it had come, and disappeared into the

thorn scrub.

"Go, dik-dik, go!" said Royan smugly, and Nicholas sat up and grunted

with disgust.

"I can't make out what frightened him." Then his expression changed and

he cocked his head. There was an alien sound on the air growing each

second – a harsh, rising clatter and a shrill, whining whistle.

"Chopper! What the hell!" Nicholas recognized the sound immediately. He

took the binoculars from Royan's hand and turned them to the sky,

sweeping the cloudless blue emptiness above the tops of the escarpment.

"There it is," he said grimly, adding, "Bell Jet Ranger," as he

recognized the profile. "Coming this way, by the looks of it. No point

in drawing attention to ourselves. Let's get under cover."

He shepherded Royan and the boy under the spread branches of the thorn

tree. "Sit tight," he told her. "No chance they will spot us under

here."

He watched the. approaching helicopter through the binoculars. "Probably

Ethiopian air force," he said softly.

"Anti-shufta patrol, most likely. Both Boris and Colonel Nogo warned us

that there are a lot of rebels and bandits operating down here in the

gorge-' he broke off abruptly.

"No. Hold on. That's not military. Green and red fuselage, and the red

horse emblem. None other than your old friends from Pegasus

Exploration."

The sound of the rotors crescendoed, and now with her naked eye Royan

could make out the flying horse on the fuselage of the helicopter as it

flew low across their front, half a mile out, headed down towards the

Nile.

Neither of them paid any attention to Tamre as he crouched behind Royan,

trying to hide behind her body.

His teeth were chattering with terror and his eyes rolled until the

whites showed.

"It looks as if our friend Jake Helm has got himself some fancy

transport. If Pegasus is in any way connected with Duraid's murder and

the other attempts on your life, then we can expect them to be breathing

heavily down our necks from now on. They are now in a position to

overlook us at will." Nicholas was still watching the aircraft through

the binoculars.

"When your enemy is up in the air, it gives you a helpless feeling."

Royan edged instinctively closer to him, staring up.

The green and scarlet machine disappeared over the hump of the subgorge,

down towards the monastery.

"Unless he's just on a joy-ride, he's probably looking for our camp,'

Nicholas guessed. "Under orders from the main man to keep tabs on us."

"He will have no trouble finding it. Boris made no attempt to conceal

the huts," Royan said uneasily. "Let's get out of here, then." She stood

up.

"Good plan." Nicholas was about to follow her, when suddenly he caught

her hand and drew her down again.

"Hold it. They are coming back this way."

The engine beat was rising again. Then they caught a glimpse of the

helicopter through the canopy of leaves and thorn branches overhead.

"Now he is following the river. Still searching for something, by the

looks of it."

"Us?"Royan asked nervously.

"If they are under orders from the head man, could be," Nicholas agreed.

The machine was very close now, and the shrill whine of the engine was

deafening.

At that moment Tamre's nerve broke. He let out a wail of terror, "It is

the Devil, come to take me; Save me, Jesus Christ the Saviour, save me!'

Nicholas put out a hand to restrain him, but he was not quick enough.

Tamre broke free and leaped to his feet.

Still howling with fear of the pit and the flames of hell, he darted

away down the path into the Thorn scrub, the skirts of his shamma

swirling about his skinny legs and his shiny black face swivelled back

over his shoulder to watch the approaching machine.

The pilot spotted him immediately, and the nose of the helicopter sank

in their direction. It came directly towards them, slowing as it

approached the lip of the chasm. They could make out the heads of the

two occupants behind the windscreen of the forward cabin. Still

decelerating, the aircraft hung suspended over the river, pivoting on

the spinning disc of its rotor, while Royan and Nicholas crouched down

in the scrub, trying to avoid detection.

"That's the American from the prospecting camp." Royan recognized Jake

Helm, despite the bulky radio earphones and the mirrored dark glasses.

He and the black pilot were craning their necks to search the river

banks.

"They haven't spotted us-' But even as Nicholas said it, Jake Helm

looked directly at them across the open void.

Although his expression did not change, he tapped the pilot's shoulder

and pointed down at them.

The pilot let the helicopter sink lower until it hovered in the opening

of the chasm, almost on the same level as they were. Only a hundred feet

separated them now. No longer making any attempt at concealment,

Nicholas leaned back against the hole of the Thorn tree. He tipped his

Panama hat forward over one eye and gave Jake Helm a laconic wave.

The foreman made no response to the greeting. He regarded Nicholas with

a flat, baleful stare, then struck a match and held the flame to the tip

of the half-smoked cigar between his lips. He flipped the dead match

away and blew a feather of smoke in Nicholas's direction. Still without

change of expression, he said something to the pilot out of the corner

of his mouth.

Immediately the helicopter rose vertically and banked away to the north,

heading back directly towards the wall of the escarpment and the base

camp on its summit.

"Mission accomplished. He found what he was looking for."Royan sat up.

"Us!'

"And he must have spotted the camp. He knows where to find us

again,'Nicholas agreed.

Royan shivered and hugged herself briefly. "He gives me the creeps, that

one. He looks like a toad."

"Oh, come on!" Nicholas chided her. "What have you got against toads?"

He stood up. "I don't think we are going to see great-grandfather's

dik-dik again today. He has been thoroughly shaken up by the chopper.

I'll come back for another try tomorrow."

"We should go and look for Tamre. He has probably had another fit, the

poor little fellow."

She was wrong. They found the boy beside the path.

He was still shivering and weeping, but had not suffered another

seizure. He calmed down quickly when Royan soothed him, and followed

them back towards the camp.

However, when they neared the grove he slipped away in the direction of

the monastery.

That evening, while it was still light, Nicholas took Royan back to the

monastery.

"I believe that the criminal fraternity refer to a reconnaissance of

this nature as "casing the joint"," he remarked, as they stooped through

the entrance of the rock cathedral and joined the throng of worshippers

in the outer chamber.

"From what Tamre says, it sounds as though the novices wait until they

know that the priests on duty are ones that will nod off during their

watch," Royan told him softly, as they paused to gaze through the doors

into the middle chamber.

"We don't have that sort of insider knowledge," Nicholas pointed out.

There were priests passing backwards and forwards through the doors as

they watched.

"There doesn't seem to be any sort of procedure," Nicholas noted. "No

password or ritual to allow them through."

"On the other hand, they greeted the guards at the door by name. It's a

small community. They must all know each other intimately."

"There doesn't seem any chance at all that I could dress up like a monk

and brazen my way through,'Nicholas agreed-A wonder what they do to

intruders in the sacred areas?"

"Throw them off the terrace to the crocodiles in the cauldron of the

Nile?" she suggested maliciously. "Anyway, you are not going in there

without me."

This was not the time to argue, he decided, and instead he tried to see

as much as possible through the open doors of the qiddist. The middle

chamber seemed much smaller than the outer chamber in which they stood.

He could just make out the shadowy murals that covered the portions of

the inner walls that he could see. In the facing wall was another

doorway. From Tamre's description, he realized that this must be the

entrance to the maqdas. The opening was barred by a heavy grille gate of

dark wooden beams, the joints of the cross-pieces reinforced with

gussets of hand hammered native iron.

On each side of the doorway, from rock ceiling to floor, hung long

embroidered tapestries depicting scenes from the life of St. Frumentius.

In one he was preaching to a kneeling congregation, with the Bible in

one hand and his right hand raised in benediction. In the other tapestry

he was baptizing an emperor. The king wore a high golden crown like that

of Jali Hora, and the saint's head was surrounded by a halo. The saint's

face was white, while the emperor's was black.

"Politically correct?" Nicholas asked himself, with a smile.

"What is amusing you?" Royan asked. "Have you thought of a way of

getting in there?"

"No, I was thinking of dinner. Let's go!

At dinner Boris showed no ill effects from the previous night's debauch.

During the day he had taken out his shotgun and shot a bunch of green

pigeons. Tessay had marinated these and barbecued them over the coals.

"Tell me, English, how was the hunting today? Did you get attacked by

the deadly striped dik-dik? Hey? Hey?" He bellowed with laughter.

"Did your trackers have any success?" Nicholas asked mildly.

."Da! Da! They found kudu and hushbuck and buffalo.

They even found dik-dik, but no stripes. Sorry, no stripes."

Royan leaned forward and opened her mouth to intervene, but Nicholas

cautioned her with a shake of the head. She shut her mouth again and

looked down at her plate, slicing a morsel from the breast of a pigeon.

"We don't really need company tomorrow," Nicholas explained mildly in

Arabic. "If he knew, he would insist on coming with us."

"Did your Mummy never teach you no manners, English? It's rude to talk

in a language that others can't understand. Have a vodka."

"You have my share," Nicholas invited him. "I know when I am

outclassed."

During the rest of the meal Tessay replied only in low monosyllables

when Royan tried to draw her into the conversation. She looked tragic

and defeated. She never looked at her husband, even when he was at his

loudest and most overbearing. When the meal ended, they left her sitting

with Boris at the fire. Boris had a fresh bottle of vodka on the table

beside him.

"The way he is pumping the liquor, it looks as if I might be called out

on another midnight rescue mission," Nicholas remarked as they made

their way to their own huts.

"Tessay has been in camp all day with him. There has been more trouble

between them. She told me that as soon as they get back to Addis Ababa

she is going to leave him.

She can't take any more of this."

"The only thing I find surprising is that she ever got mixed up with an

animal like Boris in the first place. She is a lovely woman. She could

pick and choose."

"Some women are drawn to animals," Royan shrugged.

"I suppose it must be the thrill of danger. Anyway, Tessay has asked me

if she can come with us tomorrow. She cannot stand another day in camp

with Boris on her own.

I think she is really afraid of him now. She says that she has never

seen him drink like this before."

"Tell her to come along, Nicholas said resignedly. "The more of us the

merrier. Perhaps we will be able to frighten the dik-dik to death by

sheer weight of numbers. Save me wasting ammunition."

It was still dark when the three of them left camp the next morning.

There was no sign of Boris and, when Nicholas asked about him, Tessay

said simply, "After you went to bed last night he finished the bottle.

He won't be out of his hut before noon. He won't miss me."

Carrying the Rigby, Nicholas led them tip into the weathered limestone

hills, retracing the path along which Tamre had taken them the previous

day. As they walked, Nicholas heard the two women talking behind him.

Royan was explaining to Tessay how they had sighted the striped dik-dik,

and what they planned.

The sun was well up by the time they again reached the spot under the

thorn tree on the lip of the chasm, and settled down to wait in ambush.

"How will you retrieve the carcass, if you do manage to shoot the poor

little creature?" Royan asked.

"I made certain of that before we left camp," he explained. "I spoke to

the head tracker. If he hears a shot he will bring up the ropes and help

me get across to the other side."

"I wouldn't like to make the journey across there." Tessay eyed the drop

below them.

"They teach you some useful things in the army, along with all the

rubbish," Nicholas replied. He made himself comfortable against the

thorn tree, the rifle ready in his lap.

The women lay close by him, talking together softly.

It was unlikely that the sound of their low voices would carry across

the ravine, Nicholas decided, so he did not try to hush them.

He expected that if it came at all, the dik-dik would show itself early.

But he was wrong. By noon there was still no sign of it. The valley

sweltered in the midday sun. The distant wall of the escarpment, veiled

in the blue heat haze, looked like jagged blue glass, and the mirage

danced across the rocky ridges and shimmered like the waters of a silver

lake above the tops of the thorn thickets.

The women had long ago given up talking, and they lay somnolent in the

heat. The whole world was silent and heat-struck. Only a bush dove broke

the silence with its mournful lament, "My wife is dead, my children are

dead, Oh, me! Oh, my! Oh, me!'Nicholas found his own eyelids becoming

leaden. His head nodded involuntarily, and he jerked it up only to have

it flop forward again. On the very edge of sleep he heard a sound, close

by in the thorn scrub behind him.

It was a tiny sound, but one that he knew so well. A sound that

whiplashed across his nerve endings and jerked him back to full

consciousness, with his pulse racing and the coppery taste of fear in

the back of his throat. It was the metallic sound of the safety-catch on

an AK-47 assault rifle being slipped forward into the "Fire' position.

In one fluid movement he lifted the rifle out of his lap and rolled

twice, twisting his body to cover the two women who lay beside him. At

the same time he brought the Rigby into his shoulder, aimed into the

scrub behind him from where the sound had come.

"Down!" he hissed at his companions. "Keep your heads down!'

His finger was on the trigger and, even though it was a puny weapon with

which to take on a Kalashnikov, he was ready to return fire. He picked

up his target immediately, and swung on to it.

There was a man crouched twenty paces away, the assault rifle he carried

aimed into Nicholas's face. He was black, dressed in worn and tattered

camouflage fatigues and a soft cap of the same material. His webbing

held a bush-knife and grenades, water bottle' and all the other

accoutrements of a guerrilla fighter.

"Shufta!" thought Nicholas. "A real pro. Don't take chances with this

one." Yet at the same time he realized that if the intention had been to

kill him, then he would be dead already.

He aimed the Rigby an inch over the muzzle of the assault rifle, into

the bloodshot right eye of the shufta behind it. The man acknowledged

the stand-off with a narrowing of his eyes, and then gave an order in

Arabic.

"Salim, cover the women. Shoot them if he moves.