Rhodesia (15 page)

He had no illusions. The little bomb was powerful but with luck they d still be in action. Scuttling across the roof to a point well away from where he had just appeared, he peeked over the rim.

The man who had carried the MP 44 was down, squirming and moaning, the chunky weapon five feet ahead of him. Evidently he had tried to run to the right and the bomb had gone off behind him. He did not look badly damaged. Nick hoped he was shocked enough to stay dazed for a few minutes; the other man was his worry now. He was nowhere in sight.

Nick crawled forward, saw nothing. The other one must have gained the building's side. You could wait — or you could
move.
Nick moved as swiftly and quietly as he could. He flopped over the next rim, on the side the burp gunner had been heading for. As he had guessed — nothing. He scuttled to the rear edge of the roof, put Wilhelmina over at the same time as his head. The scarred black ground was empty.

Move! By now his man would be creeping along the wall, perhaps turning that back corner. He went to the forward angle and peeped over. He had guessed wrong.

When Bloch had seen the shape of the head on the roof and the sputtering grenade had spun toward him and Krol he had propelled himself forward. The right tactic; get away, get under, and get in — if you can't drop with your helmet toward the bomb. The blast had been surprisingly powerful, even at eighty feet. It had shaken him to the roots of his teeth.

Instead of going along the wall he had squatted at its center, watching left-right-up. Left-right-up. He was looking up when Nick looked over — for a moment each man looked into a face he would never forget.

Bloch had a Mauser balanced in his right hand and he was good with it, but he was still slightly stunned, and even if he were not, the outcome could not have been in doubt. Nick fired with the instantaneous reflexes of an athlete and the skill of the tens of thousands of rounds, burned slow-fire, rapid-fire, and in every position including hanging over roofs. He picked the pinpoint on Bloch's upturned nose where the slug would land, and the nine-millimeter slug missed it by a quarter-inch. It opened up the back of his head.

Even against the impact, Bloch fell forward, as a man usually will, and Nick saw the gaping wound. It was an unpleasant sight. He dropped from the roof and ran around the corner of the building — cautiously — to find Krol slobbering but reaching for his weapon. Nick ran forward and picked it up. Krol stared up at him, his mouth working, blood drooling from the corner of his mouth and one eye.

"Who are you?" Nick asked. Sometimes they will talk under shock. Krol didn't.

Nick searched him swiftly, finding no other weapon. An alligator-skin wallet had nothing in it but money. He went swiftly back to the dead man. He had only a driver's permit issued to John Blake. Nick said to the cadaver, "You don't look like a John Blake."

Carrying the Mauser and the burp gun he went to the truck. It appeared to have escaped damage from the blast He opened the hood and unsnapped the distributor cap and put it in his pocket In the back he found another burp gun and a metal box with eight magazines and at least two hundred extra rounds. He took two magazines, wondering why there wasn't more armament Judas was known for his love of superior firepower.

He put the guns on the rear floor of the Volvo and rolled down the hill. He had to call twice before the girls appeared at the window. "We heard shots," Booty said in a high-pitched voice. She swallowed and lowered her tones. "Are you all right?"

"Sure." He helped them out. "Our friends in the little truck won't bother us anymore. Let's get out of here before the big one comes."

Janet Olson had a small scratch on one hand from a sliver of glass. "Keep that clean till we get something to put on it," Nick ordered. "You can catch all kinds of things around here."

A droning babble in the sky drew his attention. From the southeast, the way they had come, a helicopter appeared, following the road like an exploring bee. Nick thought,
Oh no!
Not that — and fifty miles from nowhere with these girls!

The whirly spotted them, flew over, and went on to hover near the truck standing silently on the plateau. "Let's go!" Nick said.

As they reached the main road the big truck nosed out of the defile at the end of the valley. Nick could imagine the two-way radio conversation as the helicopter described the scene, settling to peer at "John Blake's" body. As soon as they decided...

Nick raced the Volvo away toward the northeast They had decided. At long range the truck fired at them. It sounded like a fifty-caliber, but probably was a European heavy.

With a sigh of relief Nick twisted the Volvo into the turns leading up the escarpment The big track had shown no speed — just firepower.

On the other hand, the eggbeater up there gave them all the speed they'd ever need!

The Volvo whipped up the turns to the top of the first mountain like a mouse in a maze with food at the end. They passed a tour caravan of four vehicles on the way. Nick hoped the sight of them would cool the lads in the helicopter temporarily, especially if they carried gunship armament. It was a small two-place bird of French make, but good modern weapons don't weigh much.

At the top of the grade the road wound near the edge of a cliff with a lookout parking area. It was empty. Nick drove near the edge. The truck was grinding doggedly up the hills, just passing the tour cars. To Nick's astonishment the helicopter was vanishing toward the east.

He considered the possibilities. They needed fuel; they were going to get a distributor cap to get the truck and body away from there; they would circle and set up a roadblock ahead of him, boxing him between it and the big truck. Or all these reasons? One thing sure, he was up against Judas now. He had taken on a whole organization.

The girls were regaining their composure and that meant questions. He answered them as much as he thought best as he drove swiftly toward the western exit of the giant forest preserve. Please — let there be no construction blocks on the way!

"Do you think the whole country is in trouble?" Janet asked. "I mean, like Vietnam and all those African countries? A real revolution?"

"The country is in trouble" Nick replied, "but I think we tangled with our special dose. Maybe bandits. Maybe revolutionists. Maybe they know your folks have money and want to kidnap you."

"Hah!" Booty snorted and looked at him skeptically, but she didn't butt in.

"Give us your ideas," Nick said sweetly.

"I'm not sure. But when a tour escort carries a gun and maybe that was a bomb you had back there we heard — well!"

"Almost as bad as if one of your girls carried money or messages to the rebels, eh?"

Booty shut up.

Ruth Crossman said calmly, "I think it's wonderfully exciting."

Nick drove for over an hour. They passed Zimpa Pan and Suntichi Mountain and Tshonba Dam. Cars and microbuses passed them now and then, but Nick knew that unless he met an army or police patrol, he should keep civilians out of this mess. And if he met the wrong patrol, and they were politically or financially with the THB mob, that could be fatal. There was another problem — Judas was prone to outfit small detachments in the uniforms of the local authorities. He had once set up an entire Brazilian police post for a robbery caper that was smoothly successful. Nick didn't see himself walking into the arms of any armed squad without plenty of preliminary identification check.

The road wound upward, leaving behind the weird, half-barren, half-jungle valleys of the preserve and they climbed to the ridge that carried the railroad and highway between Bulawayo and Victoria Falls. Nick stopped at a filling station in a small settlement, pulling the Volvo under the ramada-like roof over the petrol pump.

Several white men were glumly watching the road. They looked nervous.

The girls went into the building and the tall, sunburned attendant murmured to Nick, "Are you heading back to Main Camp?"

"Yes," Nick replied. He was puzzled by the confidential manner of the usually open and hearty Rhodesians.

"Won't do to alarm the ladies but we're expecting a bit of trouble. Some guerrillas have been working south from the Sebungwe. Hope to cut the railway, I suppose. They killed four soldiers a few miles upcountry from Lubimbi. Might be a good idea to go back to Main Camp for now."

"Thanks " Nick answered. "I didn't know the rebels were penetrating this far. Last I heard your boys and the South Africans helping them had things under control. Killed a hundred of them, I understand."

The man finished filling the tank and shook his head. "We've got problems we don't talk about. We've had four thousand men south of the Zambesi for six months. They're finding underground camps and all that. We don't have enough petrol for constant air patrols." He patted the Volvo. "We still pump to these for tourist business but I don't know for how long they'll keep it up. Yank, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"You know. You have your own actions going in Mississippi and — let's see — Georgia, isn't it?" He winked, a sad intimacy. "You make a lot of em good ones but where does it lead?"

Nick paid him. "Where, indeed. Which is the shortest way to Main Camp?"

"Six miles along there to the highway. Turn right. Forty miles or so by following the signs. Then two more rights at signs. Can't miss it."

The girls came back and Nick followed the man's instructions.

Their refueling stop had taken perhaps eight minutes. He had not seen any sign of the big truck for an hour. If it was still following them, it was far behind. He wondered why the helicopter did not return to scout them out They covered the six miles and reached the broad, hard-surfaced road. They traveled about two miles when they began to pass an army convoy headed west. Nick estimated it at battalion size with heavy equipment left at home. It was honed for jungle warfare. He thought.
Good luck, you'll need it.

Booty said, "Why don't you stop an officer and tell him what happened to us?"

Nick explained his reasons, not adding that he hoped Judas had removed "John Blake's" remains. A long and sticky explanation of what had happened would be inconvenient.

"It feels good to have the soldiers going by," Janet said. "It's hard to remember that some of them may be against us."

"Not actually against us," Nick corrected. "Just not with us."

"She's really looking at those handsome men," Ruth said. "Some of them are soothy. Look — there's one just the image of Charlton Heston."

Nick didn't look. He was busy watching a speck in the sky that followed the little column. Sure enough — as soon as the last personnel carrier went by, the speck grew in size. A few minutes later it came close enough to be recognized. Their old friend, the two-man helicopter that had left them at the valley.

"It's them again," Ruth said almost happily. "Isn't this exciting?"

"Oh — real groovy, man," Booty agreed, but you knew she didn't mean it.

Nick said, "They're just too cute up there. Shall we shake 'em up?"

"Let's " Ruth said.

"Give'em hell!" Janet snapped.

"How'll you shake 'em?" Booty asked.

"You'll see," Nick promised. "If they ask for it."

They asked for it. As the Volvo rolled through an open, deserted section of scrubby dry
bundu,
the whirly came down on the driver's side of the car. They wanted a close look or a close shot. Nick let the spintop settle, then hit the brakes yelling, "Out and down flat on the right-hand side!"

The girls were getting used to it. They scrambled and hit the dirt like a combat team. Nick wrenched open the rear door, grabbed a burp gun, cut the safety, and hosed a nicely leading stream of lead after the eggbeater, which angled away under full power. The range was long but you could get lucky. He didn't.

"Back in," he yelped. "Let's go, team!"

"Teach me to use one of those things," Ruth said.

"If we have a chance," Nick agreed.

The helicopter flew ahead of them, lazing over the hot road like a waiting vulture. Nick drove about twenty miles, ready to stop and fire at the aircraft if it made another approach. It didn't They passed several side roads but he didn't dare take one. A dead end with the truck guided in behind them would be fatal. Far ahead he saw a black blotch on the side of the road and his spirits sank. When he could see it more clearly he swore silently to himself. A parked car, a big one. He stopped, sawed around in the reverse direction, and halted. A man jumped into the parked car and it started toward them. Boxed! He gunned the Volvo. Two miles back, with the strange car racing behind them, he reached a side road he had noted and whipped into it The car followed.

Booty said, "They're gaining."

"Watch them," Nick ordered.

The chase covered six or seven miles. The big sedan was in no hurry to close. That worried him. They were herding them into a dead end or into the bush. The country became more hilly, with narrow bridges across dry watercourses. He picked one carefully, stopped on a single-lane bridge when their pursuers were not in sight.

"Out and down into the creek bed," he said. They were very good at it now. He balanced a burp gun and waited, down in the gully, using it as a trench. The sedan's driver saw the stopped Volvo and halted, out of range, then drifted forward very slowly. Nick waited, peering through bunch grass.

Now! He fired short, low bursts, saw a tire flatten. Three men spilled out of the car, two carrying long guns. They hit the ground. Well-aimed slugs hit the Volvo. It was enough identification for Nick. He raised the muzzle and dripped short bursts onto the men at the longish range.

They found his position. A heavy-caliber slug ripped across the gravel five feet to his right Good shots, tool He dropped out of sight and changed magazines. Lead chopped and rattled on the ridge above his head. The girls were crouched just below him. He scooted twenty feet to his left and looked over the rim again. Lovely, they were exposed from this angle. The chopper rattled in six-shot bursts, skittering sand over car and men. It wasn't his day. Glass shattered but all three men ran back up the road out of range.