Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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charged by the image of blood and violent death set opposite Tessay's

loveliness and grace. "I might even have a chance to get one of the

others. But I can't bank on that. These men are good.

More likely that they will dive into cover before I have even had time

to kill the woman."

He watched the faces of the rear guard as, one at a time, carefully

spaced, they came into view. Each time he felt his heart trip with

disappointment. In the end there were three of them on the path, moving

past him at a steady, businesslike jog-trot. But no sign of Mek and the

woman. The rear guard disappeared down the path, and the small sounds of

their progress dwindled into silence. Boris lay alone on the ledge, his

heart thumping and the sour taste of disappointment in the back of his

throat.

"Where are they?" he thought bitterly. "Where the hell is MeV And the

obvious answer to his own question occurred to him immediately. They had

taken a different trail. Mek had used this patrol as a decoy to lure him

away.

He lay quietly for a measured five minutes by his wristwatch, just in

case there might be more men coming up the trail. His mind was racing.

His last definite placin of 9 Tessay had been the glimpse of her

footprint on the trail at the far bend of the oxbow.

That was several hours ago, and if she and Mek had given him the slip

they could be anywhere by now. Mek might have won himself a start of a

full day or more – it might take Boris that long to work the spoor

through.

Feeling waves of anger overwhelm him, he had to close his eyes and fight

it off in order to keep his sense of reason from being swamped. He had

to think clearly now, not go rushing at the problem like a wounded

buffalo. He knew that this was one of his weaknesses: he had to keep

tight control of himself.

When he opened his eyes again, his anger had become cold and functional.

He knew precisely what he had to do and the order in which he must do

it. The very first task was t& sweep and check the back trail. He had to

establish the point at which Mek had left the main detachment of shufta.

He slipped down off the ledge and through the scrub to the open trail.

Still anti-tracking, but moving swiftly, he made his way upstream, back

towards the patch of Thorn  scrub where the party of shufta had lain up

in the heat of the day. The first thing he noticed was that the pair of

kites had gone. But he did not take this as proof that the bush was

deserted! and began to circle it carefully. First he worked the incoming

trail on the far side of the patch of bush. Although several hours old

now, it was still clear enough to read.

Suddenly he stopped in the centre of the trail and felt the hair rise on

his forearms and down the back of his neck as he stared at the sign in

the dust of the path. He realized that he had walked into Mek's trap.

There lay the distinctive imprint of a Bata tennis shoe.

Mek and the woman had gone into the patch of scrub and had not come out

again. They were still in there, and Boris was seized by the strong

premonition that Mek was watching him even at that moment, over the open

sights of his AK. While he was out in the open like this, stooped over

the spoor, Boris was completely vulnerable.

Hurling himself sideways off the path, he landed like a cat in the wire

grass beside it, with the rifle at the ready. It took many minutes for

his heartbeats to return to normal, and then he rose again into a

stealthy crouch and began circling the patch of scrub very cautiously.

His nerves were as taut as guitar strings, and his pale eyes darted from

side to side. His finger lay upon the trigger of the 30/06 and he kept

the muzzle weaving slowly, like the head of a cobra ready to strike in

any direction.

He moved down towards the bank of the river, where A the noise of the

rapids would mask any sound he might make. But when he had almost

reached the shelter of the house -sized boulder that he had noticed from

the mountain crest he froze again. He had heard a sound that carried

over the sound of Nile waters – a sound so incongnious in this place and

at this time that for a moment he doubted his own hearing. It was the

sound of a woman's laughter, sweet and clear as the tinkle of a crystal

chandelier swinging in the breeze.

The sound came from below him, from the river bank beyond the tumbled

boulder. He crept towards the boulder, determined to use it for cover

and as a vantage point from which he could cover the bank beyond it. But

before he reached it he heard the splash of some heavy object striking

the surfac& of the river, and an excited female squeal, both playful and

provocative.

Reaching the side of the boulder, and keeping close in under its

protective bulk, he stole towards the corner, from which he could

overlook the gravel bank beyond. Then, peeping cautiously around the

angle of the boulder, he stared in amazement. He could barely believe

what he was seeing. He could not credit this kind of stupidity from a

man like Mek Nimmur. This was the hard man, the seasoned warrior and

survivor of twenty years of bloody bush war acting like a love-sick

teenage booby.

Mek Nimmur had sent his men away so that he could be alone to frolic

with his new paramour. Boris took time to make absolutely certain that

this was not some elaborate trap that had been set for him. It seemed

too fortuitous, too heaven-sent to be really true. He searched every

inch of the bank in both directions for hidden gunmen before he smiled

his cold little smile.

"Of course they are alone. Mek would never let one of his men see Tessay

naked like this." His smile grew broader as he recognized the full

extent of his luck. "He must have gone crazy. Did he not realize that I

would follow him? Did he think he was far enough ahead to be able to

indulge tu himself like this? Is there anything in this world as pid and

as shortsighted as a standing prick?" Boris was gloating delightedly

now.

uple had stripped off their clothes and left them The coin a pile on the

beach of grey basalt gravel in the shade of AL

the tall boulder. They were splashing together in the slack water of the

river at the edge of the main current. Both Of them were stark

mother-naked. Mek Nimmur was broadshouldered, with a heavily muscled

back and hard, tight buttocks. Beside him Tessay was slim as a river

reed, her waist tiny and her hips narrow. Her skin was the colour of

wild honey. They were completely absorbed in each other, without eyes or

ears for anything else in this world.

"He must have left men guarding his back trail." Boris gave Mek the

benefit of some sense. "He never expected me to be ahead of him on the

trail. He thinks they are completely secure. Look at the fool," he

gloated, as Mek chased the girl and she let herself be caught. They fell

into the shallow water locked in each other's embrace, mouths seeking

each other as they surfaced again, laughing as the water streamed down

their darkly beautiful faces, the epitome of handsome masculinity and

lovely womanhood, the image of an African Adam and Eve captured for a

moment in their own little carefree paradise.

Boris tore his eyes from them, and looked to where their clothing had

been abandoned on the gravel bar.

Mek's AK rifle lay carelessly on top of his camouflage jacket, within a

few paces of where Boris stood. He crossed the open gravel bar with a

few quick strides, picked up the AK, unclipped the curved magazine and

dropped it into his pocket, ejected the round from the chamber and let

it fly away into the gravel, replaced the unloaded rifle on the jacket,

and rapidly returned to the tee of the boulder. Both Mek and Tessay

remained utterly oblivious to what had happened.

Boris stood there quietly in the shadow of the rock, watching them at

play in the river. They were almost childlike in their love and their

complete preoccupation with each other.

Tessay at last broke from Mek's embrace and left the water. She came up

the gravel bar, running long-legged and coltish, her wet silken breasts

swinging and jostling each other at each stride as she looked back at

him over her shoulder in open invitation. Mek followed her out, the

water glistening in the dense curls of his barrel chest, his genitals

weighty and puissant.

He caught her before she could reach her clothing and she struggled

playfully for a while in his arms, until his mouth clamped down over

hers. Then she gave herself up to him completely. While he kissed her

his hands ran down her back and over her wet glistening buttocks.

Pressing herself against him she moved her feet apart and spread her

thighs, inviting him to explore the secrets of her body. She groaned

with desire as his hand cupped her sex gently.

Boris felt his anger mingle with the perverse voyeuristic thrill of

watching his own wife being taken by another man. A devil's brew of

emotions bubbled up inside him.

He felt his loins engorging and stiffening almost painfully with

excitement, but at the same time his rage shook him like the branch of a

tree in a gale of wind.

The lovers sank down on to their knees. Still locked together, Tessay

fell backwards and pulled him over on top of herself.

Boris called out loudly, "By God, Mek Nimmur, you will never know how

ridiculous you look with your bare backside in the air like that."

Mek reacted as swiftly as a leopard surprised on his kill. With a blur

of movement he flipped over and reached for the AK-47. Although Boris

was ready for him, covering him with the 30/06, aiming at the back of

his neck when he shouted to him, Mek was so quick that he had swept up

the AK from where it lay and had it pointed at Boris's belly before he

could move. Mek pressed the trigger in the same instant as the muzzle

came to bear.

The firing-pin fell on the empty chamber with a futile click, and the

two men stared at each other across the gravel beach, both with their

weapons levelled. Tessay was curled naked where Mek had left her, her

dark eyes liquid with pain and horror as she watched her husband and

realized that Mek was about to die.

Boris chuckled softly, throatily. "Where do you want it, Mek? How about

I shoot the head off that filthy black tool of yours, while it is still

standing up in the air like that?"

Mek Nimmur's eyes darted away from his adversary's face, back towards

the mountain, and Boris realized that his guess had been correct. Mek

had some of his men up there, but they were keeping out of view of the

beach while their commander indulged himself.

"Don't worry about them. You will both be dead long before your chimps

can get down here to save you." Boris chuckled again. "I am enjoying

this. You and I had an appointment once before, but you broke it. Never

mind this is going to be even more fun." He knew that it was not wise to

delay with a man like this. Mek had made one mistake, and it was highly

unlikely that he would make another. He should blow his head off now,

and that would give him a few minutes more to deal with Tessay. But the

temptation to gloat over him was too strong.

"I have good news for you, Mek. You will live a few seconds longer. I am

going to kill the whore first, and I am going to let you watch. I hope

you enjoy it as much as I am going to." He sidled away from the shelter

of the boulder, edging towards where Tessay lay curled on the gravel

beach. She was turned half away from him, trying to cover her breasts

and her pubic area with hands too small and delicate for the job. Even

as he approached the woman, Boris was watching Mek with his full

attention. Mek was the danger, and he never took his eyes off him. It

was a mistake. He had underestimated the woman.

While pretending to turn away from him modestly, Tessay had reached down

between her thighs and found a round, water-worn stone that fitted

neatly into her small fist. Suddenly she uncoiled her lithe body and

used all the strength of it to hurl the stone at his head. Boris caught

the movement from the corner of his eye and flung up his arm to shield

his head.

The stone, flying with surprising force at close range, never struck its

target. Instead it caught the point of Boris's upraised elbow. His

sleeves were rolled up high around his biceps, and there was no padding

to cushion the impact of the stone; his arm was bent and flexed, the

thin covering of skin drawn tightly over the bone of the joint. The head

of the ulna cracked like glass, and Boris howled at the excruciating

agony. His hand opened involuntarily, and his forefinger jerked away

from the trigger without the strength to fire the shot he was aiming at

Mek's belly.

Mek rolled to his feet, and before Boris could change the rifle to his

other hand he disappeared behind the angle of the giant boulder.

With his left hand Boris swung the butt of the rifle at Tessay's head,

knocking her backwards into the sand. Then he thrust the muzzle into her

throat, pinning her there while he shouted angrily. "I am going to kill

her, you black bastard! If you want your whore, you' better come fetch

her!" The pain of the shattered elbow rendered his voice hoarse and

brutish.

From somewhere behind the boulder Mek Nimmur's voice fang out strongly

and clearly, calling a single word in Amharic that echoed along the

cliffs. Then he spoke in English, "My men will be here in a moment.

Leave the woman and I will spare you. Harm her and I will make you plead

for death."

Boris stooped over Tessay and dragged her to her feet with his good arm

locked around her throat. He held the rifle in the same hand, pointing

it over her shoulder. The hand of his injured arm had recovered

sufficiently from the first shock to be able to hold the pistol grip and

to manipulate the trigger.

"She will be dead long before your men get here," he shouted back as he

started to drag her away from the boulder. "Come and get her yourself,

Mek. She is here if you want her."

He tightened his lock around her throat, choking her until she struggled

and gasped, tearing at his arm with her nails and leaving long red welts

across the tanned skin.

"Listen to her! I am crushing this pretty neck. Listen to her choking."

He tightened his grip, forcing the sounds of distress out of her.

Boris was watching the corner of the boulder where Mek had disappeared.

At the same time he was backing away from it, giving himself space in

which to work. His mind was racing, for he knew that he could not

escape. His right arm was barely usable, and there were too many of

Mek's shufta companions. He had the woman, but he wanted the man as

well. That was the best trade that he could hope for – both of them, he

had to have both of them.

He heard a shout, a strange voice from higher up the slope. Mek's men

were on their way. He was desperate now. Mek was not going to be drawn;

he had not heard him speak or move for almost two minutes. He had lost

him – by this time he could be anywhere.

"Too late," Boris realized. "I am not going to get him.

Only the woman. But I must do it now." He forced her to her knees and

stooped over her, shifting the lock of his arm around her throat.

"Goodbye, Tessay," he grated in her ear. He tightened his arm muscles

and felt the vertebrae in her neck arched to breaking point. It needed

only an ounce more pressure.

"It's all over for you," he whispered, and began the final pressure. He

knew from long experience the sound, that the vertebrae would make as

they gave, and he tensed himself for it, poised for that crackle like

the breaking of a green branch, and the stack weight of her corpse in

his grip.

Then something crashed into his back with a force that seemed to drive

in his backbone and crush his ribs.

Both the strength and the direction were entirely unexpected. It did not

seem possible that Mek Nimmur could have moved so far and so swiftly. He

must have left the shelter of the boulder and circled out through the

scrub.

Now he had come at Boris from behind.

His attack was so savage that the arm that Boris had wound around

Tessay's neck opened.– She drew in a wheezing, strangled breath and

twisted out of his grip. Boris tried to turn and swing the rifle around,

but Mek was on him again, seizing the rifle and trying to wrest it from

Boris's hands.

The Russian's finger was still on the trigger, and a shot went off white

the muzzle was level with Mek's face. The detonation stunned him for an

instant, and he released the rifle and staggered backwards with his ears

ringing.

Boris backed away from him, struggling with the weapon, trying to open

the bolt and crank another cartridge into the chamber, but his crippled

right arm'made his movements clumsy and awkward. Mek gathered himself

and charged head down across the gravel beach. He drove into Boris with

all his weight, and the rifle flew out of the Russian's hands. Locked

chest to chest the two of them spun around in a macabre waltz, trying to

throw each other, wrestling for the advantage, until they tripped and

went over backwards into the river.

They came to the surface still grappling and rolling over each other,

first one on top and then the other, a fearful parody of the lovemaking

which Boris had watched a few minutes earlier. Punching and straining

and tripping  each other, they struggled in the shallows. But every time

they fell back into the water the slope of the bank beneath their feet

forced them further out, until, when they were waist-deep, the main

current of the Nile suddenly picked them up and swept them away

downstream. They were still locked together, their heads bobbing in the

tumble of waters, their arms thrashing the water white around them,

bellowing at each other in primeval rage.

Tessay heard the men that Mek had called coming down through the scrub

at the run. She snatched up her shamnw and pulled it over her head as

she ran to meet them. As the first of them burst on to the gravel bar

with his AK cocked, she shouted to him in Amharic.

"There! Mek is in the water. He is fighting the Russian.

Help him!" She ran with them along the bank. As they drew level with the

two men in midstream one of the men stopped and levelled his AK, but

Tessay rushed at him and struck up the barrel.

"You fool!" she shouted angrily. "You will hit Mek." Jumping to the top

of one of the riverside boulders, she shaded her eyes against the

dazzling reflection of the low sun off the water. With a sick feeling in

the pit of her stomach she saw that Boris had managed to get behind Mek

and had a half nelson hold around his throat. He was forcing Mek's head

under the surface. Mek was struggling like a hooked salmon in his grip

as they were swept into a long chute of white water.

Tessay jumped down from the rock and ran on down the bank to the next

point, from which she could only watch helplessly.

Boris was still holding Mek's head under water as they were home

together into the head of the chute. Fangs of black rock flashed by them

on each side as they gathered speed. Mek was a powerful man and Boris

had to exert every last ounce of his own strength to hold him, and he

knew he could not do so much longer. Suddenly Mek reared back, and for a

moment his head came out. He sucked a quick breath of air before Boris

could force him under again, but that breath seemed to have renewed his

strength.

Desperately Boris looked ahead to the tail of the chute as they sped

towards it. There were more rocks there. Boris picked out one great

black slab over which the waters poured in a standing wave three feet

high. He steered for it, kicking and hauling Mek's body around with the

last of his strength.

They flew down the slope of racing water with the rock slab waiting for

them at the end like a lurking seamonster. Boris continued to wrestle

with Mek, until he had turned him into a position ahead of him. He

planned to steer him into a head-on collision with the rock and use

Mek's body to cushion his own impact.

At the very last moment before they struck Mek dragged his head out from

the surface, and as he grabbed a precious lungful of air he saw the rock

and realized the danger. With a single violent effort he ducked forward

below the surface again and rolle over head-first. It was so powerful

and unexpected that Boris was unable to resist.

Instinctively he maintained his lock around Mek's neck and was carried

forward over his back until their positions were reversed. Now Mek had

managed to interpose Boris between himself and the rock, so that when

they slammed into it it was the Russian who bore the full brunt of the

impact.

Boris's right shoulder crunched like a walnut in the jaws of a steel

cracker. Although his head was still under water he screamed at the

brutal agony of it, and his lungs filled with water. He relinquished his

grip and was flung clear of Mek. When he came to the surface he was

floundering like a drowned insect, his tight arm shattered in two

places, his good arm flailing weakly, and his sodden lungs wheezing and

pumping.

Mek exploded through the surface only a few yards behind him. Looking

around quickly as he strained for air, he spotted Boris's bobbing head

almost immediately and with a few powerful overarm strokes came up

behind him.

Boris was so far gone that he was not aware of Mek's intentions until he

seized his shirt collar from behind and twisted it like a strangler's

garotte. With his other hand, below the surface, Mek secured a grip on

the back of Boris's wide leather belt and used it like the helm of a

rudder to steer him towards the next reef of rocks that was boiling the

water ahead of them.

Through his waterlogged lungs Boris was trying to shout invective at

him. "Bastard! Black swine! Filthy-' But his voice was barely audible

above the rush of the waters and the growl of the rocky spur that lay

across their path. Mek rode him head-first into the rock and he felt the

impact transferred through Boris's skull to jolt the straining muscles

of his forearms. Instantly Boris went slack in his grip, his head lolled

and his limbs became as limp and soft as strands of kelp washing in the

surf.

As they tumbled into the next run of open water, Mek used his grip on

the back of Boris's collar to lift the Russian's face above the surface.

For a moment even he was struck with horror at the injury that he had

inflicted.

Boris's forehead was staved in. The skin was unbroken, but there was a

deep indentation in his skull into which Mek could have thrust his

thumb. And Boris's eyes bulged, pushed out of their sockets like those

of a battered doll.

Mek swung the inert carcass around in the water, and stared at the

broken head from a distance of only a few inches. He reached up and

touched the depressed area of the skull with his fingertips, and felt

the shards of splintered , bone grate and give beneath the skin.

Once again he thrust the shattered head below the surface and held it

there, while he crabbed sideways across the current towards the bank.

There was no resistance from Boris, but Mek kept his head submerged for

the rest of that long tortuous swim across the Nile.

"How do you kill a monster?" he thought grimly. "I should bury him at a

crossroads with a stake through his heart." But instead he drowned him

fifty times over, and at the next bend of the river they were washed

into the bank.

Mek's men were waiting for him there. They supported him when his legs

sagged under him, and they helped him up the bank. When they started to

drag Boris's corpse out of the river, Mek stopped them abruptly.

him for the crocodiles. After what he has done

"Leave to our country and our people, he deserves nothing better." But

even in his anger and his hatred he did not want Tessay to have to look

at that mutilated head. She had been unable to keep pace with the men,

but she was coming along the bank towards him now.

One of his men pushed Boris's corpse back into the current, and as it

floated away he unstung his AK rifle from his shoulder and let off a

burst of automatic fire. The bullets chopped up the surface around

Boris's head, and socked heavily into his back. They tore holes in his

wet shirt and kicked out lumps of raw flesh. The other men on the bank

shouted with laughter and joined in the fusillade, emptying their

magazines into the lifeless body. Mek did them. Some of their close

relatives not attempt to prevent had died most horribly under the

Russian's care. The corpse rolled over in a pink cloud of its own blood,

and for a moment Boris's pate bulging eyes stared at the sky. Then he

sank away beneath the surface.

Mek stood up slowly and went to meet Tessay. He took her in his arms,

and as he held her to his chest he whispered to her softly.

"It's all right. He won't ever hurt you again. It's all over. You are my

woman now – for ever!'

Since -Boris and Tessay had left the camp there was no longer any reason

to maintain security, and Nicholas -and Royan were no longer obliged to

skulk in Royan's hut when they discussed their search for the tomb.

Nicholas transferred their headquarters into the dining hut, and had the

camp staff build another large table on which they could spread the

satellite photographs and all the other maps and material that they had

accumulated.

The chef sent a steady supply of coffee from the kitchen, while they

pored over the papers and discussed their discoveries in Taita's pool

and every theory that either of them dreamed up, no matter how

far-fetched.

"We will never be certain if that shaft was made by Taita, or whether it

was a natural sink-hole, until we can get back in there with the right

equipment."

"What type of equipment are you talking about?" she wanted to know.

"Scuba, not oxygen rebreathers. Although the navy rebreathing outfits

are much lighter and more compact, you cannot use them below a'depth of

thirty-three feet, the equivalent of one atmosphere of water. After that

pure oxygen becomes lethal. Have you ever used an aqualung?"

She nodded. "When Dutaid and I were on honeymoon at a resort on the Red

Sea. I had a few lessons and made three or four open-water dives, but

let me hasten to add that I am no expert."

"I promise not to send you down there," he smiled, "but I think we can

safely say that we have found enough evidence both in Tanus's tomb and

Taita's pool to make it imperative that we mount the second phase of

this operation."

She nodded agreement. "We will have to return with a much more extensive

range of equipment, and some expert help. But you are not going to be

able to pose as a– tourist Sportsman next time around. What possible

excuse are we going to find for returning that will not set off all the

alarm bells in the minds of Ethiopian bureaucracy?"

"You are speaking to the man who has paid unofficial and uninvited

visits to both those charming lads Gadaffi and Saddam. Ethiopia should

be a Sunday-school picnic in comparison."

"When do the big rains start up in the mountains?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes!" His expression became serious. That is the jackpot question. You

only have to look at the high-water mark on the walls of Taita's pool to

have some idea what it must be like in there when the river is in full

flood." He flipped over the pages of his pocket diary. "Luckily, we

still have a bit of time – not a great deal, but'enough. We will need to

move pretty smartly. We have to get back home before I can start work on

planning phase two."

"We should pack up right away, then."

"Yes, we should. But it seems a damned shame not to take full advantage

of every moment we are here, having come all this way. I think we can

spare just a few more days to sound out some ideas that I have about

Taita's pool and the sink-hole, to try to arrive at some sort of

informed guess about what we will need when we return."

"You are the boss."

"My word, how pleasant to hear a lady say that." She smiled sweetly.

"Enjoy the moment," she counselled him, "it may never happen again." And

then she became serious again. "What are these ideas that you have?

"What goes up must come down, what goes in must come out," he said

mysteriously. "The water going into the sink'hole under such pressure

must be going somewhere.

Unless it joins a subterranean water system and makes its way into the

Nile that way, then it should come to the surface where we can find it."

"Go on," she invited.

40the thing is certain. Nobody is going to get into the sink-hole from

the pool. The pressure is lethal. But if we can find the outlet, we may

be able to explore it from the other end."

"That's a fascinating possibility." She looked impressed, and turned to

the satellite photograph. Nicholas had identified the monastery and

ringed it on the photograph.

He had marked in the approximate course of the river through the chasm,

although the gorge itself was too narrow and covered with bush to show

up on the smallscale picture, even under the high-powered magnifying

lens.

"Here is the point where the river enters the chasm." She pointed it out

to him. "And here is the side valley down which the trail detours.

Okay?"

"Okay," he nodded. "What are you driving at?"

"On our approach march, we remarked that this valley might at one time

have been the original course of the Dandera river, and that it seemed

to have cut a new bed for itself through the chasm."

"That's right,'Nicholas agreed. "I am still listening."

"The fall of the land towards the Nile is very steep at this point,

isn't it? Well, do you recall we crossed another smaller, but still

pretty substantial, stream on our way down the dry valley? That stream

seemed to emerge from somewhere on the eastern side of the valley."

All right, I am with you now. You are suggesting that this may be the

overflow from the sinkholes Clever little devil, aren't you?"

"Just capitalizing on your genius." She cast down her eyes modestly, and

looked up at him from under her lashes.

She was clowning, but her lashes were long and dense and curling, and

her eyes were the colour of burnt honey with tiny golden highlights in

their depths. At this close range he found them disturbing.

He stood up and suggested, "Why don't we go and take a look?"

Nicholas went to fetch his camera bag and the light day'pack from his