“Yes, I am.” Shaw raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Do I look that new?”
“No, not really.” The man gave a short grunting laugh. “I haven’t seen you before, that’s all. There’s not all that many whites left in the goddam country, and a new face stands out a bit.”
Shaw nodded. “Getting out fast, are they?”
“Well…” The man pursed his lips, pulling at a small dark moustache. “Dare say I did exaggerate a bit. A lot have gone, and the rest — well, they don’t come out much these days. You’ll find out!”
Shaw sipped at his drink, chinking the ice round the glass. “Just what is the situation like?”
The man said quietly, “Bloody murder, chum, that’s what it is. It’s quiet now, but it’s only a lull, and when it starts again it’ll be ten times worse. Better go back home again pretty damn quick if you ask me.” He took a long pull at a John Collins and then dabbed at his mouth with a handkerchief. He picked up a cork drip-mat from the bar counter and passed it to Shaw. “See that?”
Shaw took it. The mat was marked ROYAL COLONY HOTEL. He asked, “Well?”
The man laughed contemptuously. “Typical of the African mind. Unthorough in detail — they forgot these mats. What I mean is, the joint was the Royal Colony Hotel till — what— just a week ago. Had been all its life, and they never bothered with the name even after Nogolia became independent. Not till the recent troubles started. Then one day we woke up and found those bloody great neons. Independence Hotel my foot! Names count with the blacks at times like this — you’d be surprised! It’s only a small point, but it all shows the way the wind’s blowing, doesn’t it? Little things, all mounting up to put old Tshemambi into a diehard minority position.” Again he laughed, bitterly. “Remember years ago some one spoke of ‘the wind of change’ sweeping Africa — Macmillan, wasn’t it? He was a better prophet than even he thought.”
“Yes—” Shaw frowned, rubbed at his chin. “What about the real trouble — rioting and that?”
“There’s been plenty, but of course it’s only what you expect out here these days. It’s what’s going to happen that’s got everybody on edge. I don’t know… the blacks seem to be kind of waiting for something.”
Reflectively Shaw said, “Yes, that’s the feeling I get.”
Course, it’s all to do with this bloke Edo. I dare say you’ve heard about him.”
“Vaguely,” Shaw murmured. “D’you think he’s as powerful as they say he is?”
The man nodded emphatically, “No doubt of it, chum. He’s the worst bastard that’s ever been visited on this whole bloody continent. Got a real stranglehold. Break it, and you’ve got the answer. But the question of how to break it— that’s different! And it won’t be my worry for much longer.” He finished his drink at a gulp. “I’m leaving to-night. Most of my friends are packed and ready to go as soon as anything blows up… just a few are determined to stay at all costs.” He gave a sardonic grin. “They’re the elderly birds you always find in the old Colonial Empire — you know ’em, I expect — the ones who’ve been out here all their lives with their heads rammed in the sand and who feel sure the blacks won’t attack them whoever else they attack.” He slid off the stool, suddenly seemed to have difficulty in keeping upright. He said, “Tell you what, though: Their throats’ll slit as easy as any other bastard’s when the time comes.” He came across and slapped Shaw on the shoulder. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
He made a somewhat unsteady progress out of the bar. Shaw watched him crashing through the swing doors into the street. If that man was typical of the whites out here, then things were going down the slippery slope right enough, and fast. And what would happen to Gillian Ross if she was left for long in the hands of a victorious Cult just didn’t bear thinking about.
After one more drink Shaw had an excellent lunch, but he was in no mood to enjoy it.
He picked up one of the American-style taxis, a really flash job with plenty of gleaming chromium all over it, to take him to the railway station that evening. There was quite a number of taxis and private cars at the station, most of them waiting for the express due in from up-country, and others bringing passengers for the train leaving for the naval port in the north; and Shaw didn’t particularly notice the Cadillac which also stopped, nor did he see the large, greyhaired African who sat back on the cushions smoking a cigar; he didn’t notice either when the man gave an order to his chauffeur, who got out and tagged on behind the passengers entering the station. The chauffeur followed Shaw on to the platform for the Manalati express, hung about casually puffing a cigarette, and watched while Shaw settled himself in a carriage which remained otherwise empty. When the express pulled out the chauffeur, who had noted the exact position of Shaw’s carriage, went back to the car and made his report. Then the Cadillac drove away fast, and within minutes a message was on its way up-country to Manalati and thence to a village not far from the track which the express would take.
The train, which was drawing three truck-loads of military stores and equipment under escort of a small detachment of the Nogolia Rifle Regiment, was hot and stuffy and reeked of damp and mildew.
Shaw sat and sweltered alone in his compartment, the upholstery adding to his discomfort. The train’s only stop was at midnight, when they were about half-way to Manalati, and a handful of soaked, bedraggled whites got on— probably, Shaw thought, employees of the copper-mining company which worked the Manalati mine. There were some women with them — wives, they would be. Shaw was left alone in his carriage. The station platform was open, wet, and dreary. A bunch of Africans, sullen and watchful, stared into the windows of the train as they mooched past to get in. One of them looked back for a moment at Shaw. There was none of that noisy chatter, the light-hearted chatter which Shaw remembered as being characteristic of Africans. It was as though a thick blanket of suspicion had descended over that old, carefree, childlike spirit, and he didn’t like it any more than he’d liked anything about this country so far; the Africans seemed to be holding themselves in check with difficulty, as though a dam would burst when the day of action came, the day of action that would come with Edo…
The train started on the second and last lap for Manalati, and after a while Shaw dozed off, sunk in his corner seat as the train rattled and swayed under the slashing rainstorm across country, through miles and miles of thick green jungle, across rickety bridges over great deep river-beds now flooding deep and fast, over rocky gorges swelling with water, puffed and panted and strained up steep gradients which carried the track over the mountain-ranges into the interior.
He had been asleep for some hours when there was a sudden scream of the whistle which tore back through the rain, and then a jangling jolt of the coaches as the brakes were slammed on in the cab. Shaw came wide awake as the train stopped with a roar of escaping steam. There were flickers of light outside near the track, and he heard shouts and commotion. He jumped to his feet and went to the window. A few moments later all the lights went out. There was a faint sound behind him and as he turned he sensed rather than saw the vague ''shape, the shadow in the corridor moving for his compartment.
As he reached for the Webley .38 the shadow moved fast, hurled itself through the connecting door on top of him, and he went rolling, winded by a hard head in the guts. He felt something black and stuffy being drawn down over his face, suffocatingly, and then he was fighting for his life.