Those in Peril (Unlocked) (27 page)

‘What have you seen?’ Cayla demanded.

‘
Columba guinea
to the ornithologist,’ he replied, ‘but to you and me they are plain old rock pigeons.’

‘Oh!’ Cayla did not try to hide her disappointment. ‘I cannot tell you just how non-fascinating that is, Heck.’ The flock of pigeons began to drop and as they wheeled in the sunlight they appeared a lovely shade of blue with wine-coloured necks, and white rims around their eyes.

‘When they flock up like that at this time of day they are heading for water.’

‘Water?’ the two women asked together.

‘When they descend like that they have found it,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that just so non-fascinating, Cay?’

‘Sometimes you make me feel like a retard,’ she replied contritely.

‘Rest assured, Cay, you act like one only on occasion. On your feet, ladies, let’s go take a look-see.’ He had marked the spot where the flock had gone on to settle a quarter of a mile ahead. As they approached it the geological features became clearer. There was another smaller wadi across their track, an offshoot of the main gorge. It cut through several strata of rock formations. The band of water-bearing limestone showed clearly, overlain by bright orange schist. Suddenly the pigeon flock rose from the wadi wall on clattering wings. They had been hidden in a horizontal fissure formed by the erosion of the softer limestone under the impervious rimrock.

‘Jackpot!’ cried Hector with a smile as he led them to the foot of the wadi wall. While they collapsed thankfully in its shade he scaled it until he reached the fissure beneath the limestone layer. When he peered into the dark opening he could smell the water. The cleft was just wide enough for him to crawl into on his belly and elbows. The water lay in a shallow puddle far back in the low cave. He scooped a cupped handful and tasted it.

‘Shit!’ he said. ‘Literally! Pigeon shit! But what doesn’t kill you makes you fat.’ He shouted down to Tariq to bring up the water bottles. He strained the water through his shirt, and despite the foul taste they drank the bottles dry and Hector filled them again. At last all of them had quenched their thirst and Hector filled the bottles for the third time. When he descended the wall he looked the little group over. The change was almost magical. The men were smiling and chatting quietly. Hazel was sitting behind her daughter, humming softly as she combed and braided her hair.

‘Women!’ Hector murmured, shaking his head fondly. ‘Where the hell did she find a comb?’ Then he called, ‘Don’t get too comfortable, people, we are moving out right this minute.’

They fell into formation again and climbed out of the wadi. Hector kept to the higher ground as much as was possible as he headed west, maintaining a strict watch over the surrounding territory. Within the hour he had good reason to be pleased with his vigilance. A couple of miles to the south he spotted a tiny feather of pale dust rising into the brazen and burning sky. He stopped the column and squatted to study the dust for a few minutes. It was moving slowly in their direction, and he wished he had brought his binoculars, but he had been concerned to cut the weight of the packs to a minimum. After only a short observation it was apparent that the dust was being kicked up by a slow-moving vehicle of some kind.

‘Whatever it is, it’s good enough for me.’ He stood up and called Tariq to him. Quickly he gave orders to leave two of the men to watch over the women, while he and the rest of them ran to meet the oncoming vehicle. It soon became evident that it was keeping to a sandy, dry riverbed that ran along the bottom of a shallow valley where the ground was not as broken and rugged. When it reached a point in the river where the banks were shallower Hector got his first clear view of it. He recognized it at once as a medium-sized four-wheel-drive Mercedes truck. The windscreen was folded down and there was a driver with three other men sitting on a raised bench seat behind him. All four men were armed and wearing traditional tunics and turbans. Hector waited until the truck was hidden again by the bank of the riverbed.

‘Follow me!’ Hector jumped to his feet and with his men close behind him raced down the hillside until they could drop flat on the lip of the riverbank ahead of the truck. The Mercedes appeared around the bend two hundred yards beyond them. Hector let it come on until it was almost level with their position, then he and Tariq dropped down into the riverbed and blocked the way with their rifles levelled at the occupants.

‘Don’t touch your weapons or we will kill you,’ Hector shouted in Arabic. ‘Switch off the engine. Raise your hands above your heads.’ The driver and two of the men behind him obeyed with alacrity, but the third man who was sitting nearest the back of the vehicle rose to his feet. He was very tall but also very old. His face was impossibly wrinkled with a long white beard tipped with henna. In his left hand he held an AK-47 assault rifle. He glared at Hector with the wild hypnotic eye of a biblical prophet and raised his right hand to point at him with a clawlike arthritic finger.

‘You are the murderer of my three sons. You are Cross, the foul infidel swine with whom I have declared a blood feud. I curse you with all the might of Allah. May you never know peace even after I have slain you.’

‘It is the Sheikh Tippoo Tip,’ Tariq shouted in warning. Hector held his aim in the centre of the Sheikh’s chest.

‘Put down that rifle!’ he called harshly. ‘Get down off the truck, old man! Do not force me to kill you.’ The Sheikh was like a deaf man. Without taking his eyes from Hector’s he began to raise the AK-47. His twisted hands were shaking with the force of his hatred.

‘Don’t do it!’ Hector warned him but the Sheikh ignored the menace of the rifle pointed at his chest. He placed the butt of the AK-47 into his shoulder and took his aim over the wavering barrel.

‘God forgive me!’ Hector whispered and shot him in the centre of his chest. Tippoo Tip dropped the rifle but remained on his feet by clutching the grab rail for support.

‘I curse you and all your descendants. I curse you with the fires of Hell and the claws and fangs of the black angels . . .’ Before Hector could prevent it, Tariq shot him once more, this time in the head. The Sheikh was thrown backwards off the truck into the sand of the riverbed. His two bodyguards roared with fury and grabbed their weapons, but before they could get off a single round Hector fired short taps of three rounds at each of them. The guards were knocked out of their seats. Tariq fired a burst at the driver behind the wheel as he drew his pistol, killing him instantly. Then he went to the truck and heaved the driver out of his seat into the wadi. Standing over the bodies he delivered the coup de grâce to each of them at close range. However, when he went to the corpse of the Sheikh Hector stopped him.

‘No, Tariq! That’s enough. Let the old bastard lie.’ Tariq looked at him with mild surprise, and Hector could not really understand his own squeamishness, except that the man was old. He knew that Tippoo Tip was a monster of cruelty and vice, but he was old. It had been unavoidable, but still it left a bitter taste. Thank God that Hazel hadn’t had to witness it.

He went to the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. He hit the starter and the engine fired and caught.

‘Sounds sweet enough.’ Hector checked the fuel gauge. ‘Just over three-quarters of a tank.’ But he saw there were long-range fuel tanks fitted on each side of the body. ‘A hundred gallons each,’ he estimated with satisfaction. ‘We’re good for a thousand miles or more.’ There was also a drinking water tank wedged in behind the front seats and he rapped the side of it with his knuckles. ‘Full!’ he said, but one of their bullets had punctured it and water was pouring from the hole. Hector tore a strip from the tail of his head cloth and plugged the leak. Then he nodded to his men and while they clambered up into the vehicle Hector rummaged in the locker between the seats. He pulled out a large-scale map of the area with all the roads and villages marked and named. This was a prize but best of all was the pair of powerful Nikon binoculars still in their green canvas carry pouch.

‘I’m like a kid on Christmas morning!’ he chortled. He hung the binoculars around his neck, checked that his men were all aboard and drove to where he had left the rest of his party hiding amongst the rocks with weapons ready. Then Hazel recognized him and ran down to meet the truck.

‘Are you all right? We heard shooting.’

‘As you can see, it was us doing the shooting. Now we can move out again in comfort. Hazel, you ride beside me in front.’ Then he jerked his thumb back. ‘Cay, I want you in the truck bed, keeping your head well down in case we run into more flak.’ Cayla clambered over the steel side of the truck and then paused in disgust.

‘Oh, gross! There is blood all over the place. I am not going in there. I want to sit next to my mother in the front seat.’

‘Cayla Bannock, stop playing the grand lady with me. Behave yourself. Get your fundament into this truck right now!’

‘But I don’t want—’

‘Listen to me, little girl. People are bleeding and dying because of you. From now on you will do as you are told.’

‘I never did anything wrong . . .’ she started again.

‘Oh, yes you did. You invited Rogier Marcel Moreau alias Adam Tippoo Tip onto your mother’s yacht.’

‘How did you know that?’ She stared at him with a stricken expression.

‘If you don’t know you must truly be a retard. Now get in the bloody truck!’ Without another word Cayla scrambled over the side and sat beside Daliyah in the truck bed.

Hector let out the clutch and they pulled away. Beside him Hazel sat very still and silent. He did not want to look at her, but he could feel her anger. He knew how protective she was of Cayla. He drove on fast, descending again into the riverbed. The sandy bottom made for heavy going, but it was a faster and smoother ride than over the rocky broken ground and ridges. They had been going for only a short while when suddenly he felt a hand on his thigh and he started with surprise. He glanced sideways at Hazel, and her eyes were sparkling. She leaned towards him until her lips were an inch from his ear.

‘You have a wonderful way with kids, don’t you, Hector Cross?’ she whispered, brushing his bristly cheek with her lips. ‘You will never know how many times I have wanted to do just that. When Mademoiselle Cayla starts acting up she can be a total little bitch.’

The admission astonished Hector. He covered the hand on his leg with his own much larger paw and squeezed it.

‘I expect it’s a sign she is getting her strength back. But I understand your predicament, Hazel. Cay hasn’t had a father for a long time and you feel that you can’t be too tough on her.’ It was her turn to be startled by his perception. Then she recovered herself.

‘I do have somebody in mind to take over the paternal role,’ she said softly.

‘Lucky somebody.’ He grinned and they drove on.

Within the hour they left the riverbed and crested a rise of higher ground. Hector braked to a halt and cut the engine.

‘What now?’ Hazel asked anxiously.

‘I want to make a couple of satphone calls. We should have good reception up here.’ He climbed down and while he spread his newly acquired map on the engine bonnet and switched on the satphone, he told Tariq, ‘Give everybody a full mug to drink. Let them get out to stretch their legs and water the roses.’ He extended the phone aerial and nodded at Hazel. ‘Good contact! There must be a satellite almost overhead.’

‘Who are you calling?’

‘Ronnie Wells on the MTB.’ He dialled in the number and after a few ringtones Ronnie came on the line.

‘Where are you?’ Hector demanded.

‘I’m anchored in a small cove of a rocky islet about five miles off the coast . . .’ He gave the coordinates and Hector checked them on the map.

‘Okay. I’ve got your position. Stay there until I call you again. Hans Lategan didn’t make it. The helicopter is down. We’re on the run, but we have acquired a vehicle. Depending on what lies ahead of us, it’s going to take us eight hours or more to reach the shoreline opposite your position.’

‘Good luck, Heck! I will be waiting for you.’ They both rang off.

‘Why don’t we meet up with Paddy and his land column, rather than the MTB?’ Hazel asked.

‘Good question.’ He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘It’s a judgement call. It’s over a hundred miles further to the Ethiopian border where Paddy O’Quinn is waiting than it is to the coast where Ronnie is.’

‘But will there not be better roads? If we head east towards the sea we will be travelling cross country.’

‘Exactly,’ he agreed, punching more numbers into the phone. ‘The country in the uplands of the interior is much more fertile and heavily populated and by now it will be a hornets’ nest, swarming with Tippoo Tip’s militia. There will almost certainly be roadblocks at every junction. But I am calling Paddy now to let him know what we intend. He will be our last chance if we can’t meet up with Ronnie.’

Paddy answered his call almost immediately. ‘Where are you?’ Hector asked.

‘I am sitting on a mountain top on the Ethiopian border admiring the view over the picturesque Somalian hinterland. Where the hell are you?’

‘We are about twenty miles east of the oasis. Uthmann Waddah is a traitor. He is firmly in the other camp.’

‘Son of a gun! Uthmann a traitor? I can’t believe it.’

‘He blew the whistle. They were expecting us. Uthmann himself hit Hans Lategan’s helicopter with an RPG. Hans is dead and the MIL is wrecked. I managed to commandeer a vehicle and we are on the run for the coast to meet up with Ronnie.’