A signaler came through from the radio room and handed China a message flimsy. As he read it, the General exclaimed with disgust tinged with anxiety and reached up to move a group of colored pins on the map. Frelimo had broken through in the west and were closing in remorselessly.
"We are not containing them," China told Sean without looking around. Another messenger ducked into the bunker. He was one of China's personal bodyguards, wearing the distinctive maroon beret. He whispered something to China, and Sean thought he heard the word "American." It quickened his interest.
China smiled briefly and dismissed the man with a nod before he "t work," he said.
turned to Sean. "It won "What won't work?"
"The attack as you have planned it."
"Nothing is certain in war, as you should know, General. But I disagree. The plan has about a sixty percent chance of total success. That's pretty good odds."
"The odds would be considerably higher, perhaps eighty percent, if you led the attack, Colonel Courtney."
"I'm flattered by your estimate. However, it's hypothetical. I'm not leading it. I'm going home."
"No, Colonel. You are leading the attack."
"We had a bargain."
"Bargain?" China smiled. "Don't be naive. I make bargains and break them as the need arises. The need has arisen, I'm afraid."
Sean sprang to his feet, his face pale as candle wax beneath the deep tan. "I'm going," he said. Despite his fury, he managed to keep his voice thin and tight. "I'm taking my people, and I'm leaving now. Right away. You'll have to kill me to stop me."
China touched his deaf ear and smiled again. "That notion is not without its attractions, I assure you, Colonel. However, I don't think it will come to that."
"We'll see." Sean kicked back the sto al on which he had been sitting, and it hit the wall and crashed over on its side. He turned and ducked out of the low doorway.
"You'll be back," China assured him softly, but Sean gave no sign of having heard him. He came out in the sunlight and strode down toward the river.
He had reached the amphitheater before he realized that something was desperately amiss.
The Shanganes so t rigid at their places upon the slope; they seemed not to have moved since he had last seen them. Alphonso's features were graven in black ironstone, expressionless and dull, the shield of deliberate stupidity behind which the African distances himself from powers and forces against which he has no other defense.
Job was sprawled across the table in the center of the amphitheater. Ms tunic was floury with dust, and his cap lay in the dirt at his feet. He shook his head in a dazed, uncertain fashion, and drops of blood dripped from his nose.
"What happened?" Sean ran to him, and Job stared at him, trying to focus his eyes. He had been brutally beaten. His lips were swollen into purple bruises, his mouth full of blood that stained his teeth like red wine. One eyebrow was cut through, a deep jagged split from which blood trickled down the side of his nose. Blood welled out of both nostrils, swelling into bright pink bubbles as he breathed through it. There were lumps on his forehead like overripe grapes, and the lobe of one ear was torn. Blood dripped onto the front of his dusty tunic.
shoulder.
"Job, what the hell,-?" Sean caught him by the
"WhaT "I tried to stop them"" Job blurted out, his eyes fixed on Sean's face. "I tried!"
"Take it easy."
Sean tried to lead him to a seat, but he shook Scan's hands away and said, "Claudia."
A flash frost of dread chilled Sean's belly. "Claudia!" he repeated, and looked around him wildly. "Where is she, Job? What happened?"
"They took her," Job repeated. "China's goons. I tried to stop them."
Sean reached for the pistol on his webbing belt. "Where is she, Job?" The pistol grip fed his hand.
"I don't know." Job Swiped the palm of his hand down his face and looked at the blood. "I was out cold, I don't know for how long."
"China, you turd-munching bastard, you are going to die." Sean whirled, ready to go charging back to the headquarters bunker.
"Sean, think first!" Job called urgently, and Sean checked. So often Job had saved him with those two words: "Think first!"
It required an enormous effort of will, but for seconds Sean managed to keep his head above the wave of his killing rage. "The manuals, Job!" he gritted out. "Burn them"" Job blinked at him through the blood that spilled from the split eyebrow. "Burn the manuals!" Sean repeated. "Insurance, wan.
We are the only ones who know."
Job's expression cleared. "And the cassettes!" he exclaimed.
"Right!" Sean said. "The cassettes. Give them to me."
While Job hastily repacked the attack cassettes into their carrying case, Sean walked across to where Alphonso sat at the front of the amphitheater and unhooked a phosphorus grenade from his belt.
Working swiftly, he used his pistol lanyard and the phosphorus grenade to rig a makeshift self-destruction device in the interior of the case of attack cassettes. He hooked the clip of his pistol lanyard through the pin of the grenade and laid the grenade itself in the middle of the case. Using the point of a bayonet, he drilled a hole through the rid of the carrying case and threaded the end of the lanyard through it. When he locked the case, he looped the free end of the lanyard securely around his own wrist.
"Let China try and get them away from me now," he said grimly. If the case were jerked out of his grip, or if he let it fall, the lanyard would pull the pin of the grenade, destroying not only the contents but anybody standing nearby. He waited just long enough to watch Job set a match to the pile of instruction manuals.
Once they were fully ablaze he ordered Job, "Stay here, make certain they are burned to ashes."
Then, lugging the case of cassettes, he started back to the headquarters bunker.
"I said you would be back," China greeted him, but that icy sardonic smile faded swiftly as he saw the case Sean carried and the lanyard looped around his wrist.
Sean lifted the case in front of him and flaunted it in China's face. "There is the Hind squadron, China," he said, keeping his voice level with an effort. "Without this your Stingers are useless to YOU."
China's eyes flicked toward the entrance of the dugout.
"Don't even think about it," Sean warned him. "There is a grenade inside the case, a phosphorus grenade. This lanyard is attached to the firing pin. If I drop it, like if I was to die suddenly or someone were to pull it out of my hand, the whole lot goes up in a nice little bonfire, happy fifth of November."
They stared at each other across the desk.
"So this is a pretty little stalemate, Colonel." China's smile was reborn, colder and more deadly than Sean had ever seen it before.
"Where is Claudia Monterro?" Sean asked. China raised his voice, summoning an orderly from the radio room.