There were two tall trees directly overlooking the camp. Good places from which to watch and listen. They needed to get in position while it was still dark, ensure they were well-covered.
The banging on the door took its time to filter through Clement’s thick skull, through the whisky fumes and cigar smoke.
“What is all this, what is going on?” He asked irritably, his eyes focusing on the unruly vision at the end of his bed. One of his bodyguards appeared to be holding a young boy by the scruff of his neck.
“Sorry Sir, this boy has been trying to wake you all night. He rushed past me into your room but I caught him. I will be happy to beat him for you sir, if you wish to return to sleep.” The guard attempted to execute an untidy salute but was still holding onto Jumo, who was attempting to wriggle out of his grasp. Clement flicked the light switch, and the dull yellow bulb above the bed flickered to life, painting everything a sickly green. He scratched his head, frowned.
“I know this boy. Sent him out earlier tonight into the jungle.” He said impatiently. “Let him go.” He turned to Jumo. “Now tell me boy, what is so important that it cannot wait till morning?” Jumo shook himself free from the guard’s grip.
“Soldiers sir, heading to camp.” Clement sat upright smartly. Looked deep in the boy’s eyes. “How many?” He asked.
“Five. Maybe more.” He thought back, ran through the scene in his mind, the dark figures passing below the tree. “No, five Sir, definitely.”
“Did you see the uniform? Were they Ugandans?” Clement hacked up a heavy gob of phlegm as he said the word, spitting it smartly into an elephant’s foot umbrella stand, a relic of the previous owners. He had been expecting a raid from Ugandan forces for over a month now, their helicopters had been seen hovering over his camp and didn’t leave until he sent a volley of ground-to-air missiles in their direction. A waste of ammo as far as he was concerned.
“Not Ugandans. Not like any jungle army Sir. More weapons. Big packs. Rich army.” Clement patted the boy on the head. Five soldiers, well-equipped, heading towards his camp. Didn’t make any sense. Only an elite division would be confident enough to walk through enemy territory in such small numbers. He knew the British and Americans liked to send in a small force, specialist troops using guerrilla tactics to spread panic through the enemy, but what the hell were they doing here? Was it even him they were after? There were plenty of other armed militias that might be the target.
“Well done, you were right to wake me. I assume the other boys are keeping track of them?” Jumo swallowed hard, his large eyes blinked quickly.
“No sir, I am afraid they did not make it. Dead Sir.” He tried to keep his voice from cracking but failed. Now he really had the General’s attention.
“How?” He asked, getting up from the bed and pulling on his combat fatigues. Jumo hesitated. “How!” Clement shouted.
“Burnt Sir. White fire. All of them. First Toma, then the rest. All at once.”
“Flame thrower?” He asked, whipping his belt around his waist, buckling it tight under his belly.
“No. Just light. No petrol. And a noise like an insect in the fire. Crackling.” Clement frowned. The boy must be in shock. Blocking out details of the attack. Nothing else it could be other than a flame thrower.
“And all of them dead?”
“Yes sir, one shot. All of them dead.” Clement shook his head and turned to the guard. “Bring Uko here. And rouse the soldiers, tell them to ready themselves.”
51
Jack had heard the commotion in the corridor, wondered what was going on, he got up to have a look but the boy waved his gun at him. He looked nervous enough to use it. Gustav burst through the door, barely cast a glance at the guard, pushing him to one side.
“Come with me. Monsieur Blanc’s orders. I’m taking you away from the camp.” Jack took in his dishevelled appearance, the dark rings round his eyes, heavy from whiskey consumed the night before.
“Now Jack, now!” He said impatiently, pulling him by the shoulder and off the bed. Jack ducked out of his grasp. “Why, what’s happening?” He asked, backing away from Gustav, suddenly suspicious.
“Something’s going on. A disturbance in the camp.” Jack ran to the window. Outside the soldiers were moving, darting across the camp, dark figures at the edge of dawn. Checking equipment, shifting supplies across the courtyard.
“Most of them don’t normally get up before midday, so something must be up.” Gustav said, “and I am leaving now whether you are coming or not, it was not my idea to take you with us.” Jack frowned, something in the man’s bearing made him more believable, an urgency to his movements.
“Here, untie me.” Jack said, holding up his wrists. Gustav pulled a hunting knife from his belt and cut quickly through the cable. The boy with the gun shouted at him, Gustav knocked him smartly to one side, opened the door and ran out, shutting it quickly behind him. He ran down the stairs without checking to see if Jack was following, walked quickly past the white Delft tiles in the kitchen, and into the rear garden. A row of jeeps were parked under the trees close to the house. Two of them had machine guns mounted on the back, three didn’t. Gustav picked one that didn’t, the lighter it was the faster it would travel.
“So where did Monsieur Blanc go in the middle of the night?” Jack asked, climbing into the seat beside him.
Gustav ignored him, gunning the engine determinedly. He took his pistol out of its holster and placed it on his lap, switching off the safety. The engine revved, rattling noisily as he reversed quickly, spinning a circle so tight it almost tipped them onto the courtyard floor. Around them young soldiers scurried from tent to tent, pulling on their make-shift uniforms in the orange glow of the lamp lights, draping bandoliers over their shoulders. Gustav drove toward the gate. The two guards on either side walked to the centre and hefted the heavy gates upwards, opening it just wide enough to let the car out. They didn’t ask any questions. Clement had already told them to ensure they treated Monsieur Blanc and his associate with respect, he was, after all, the man who supplied most of their armoury.
Gustav grated through the gears as the car bounced over the track. He turned the car towards the jungle, away from the camp and the runway. Once they’d put some ground between them and the house, he switched the safety catch back on his gun, replacing it in his holster.
Jack looked behind him, darkness swallowing up the road as they moved forward, chasing them, devouring the meagre amount of light they cast.
“So where is Monsieur Blanc?” He asked again. He wanted to know why there’d been a change of plan but he didn’t want to distract Gustav from his driving. The track they were on demanded his full attention, the potholes and vines attempting to wrestle the wheel from his grasp. He shrugged his broad shoulders.
“You should know. Whatever you said to him yesterday must have scared him. And he’s not an easy man to scare. Told me he was going to wait till the others had drunk themselves into a stupor, then leave the camp quietly under cover of darkness. Take that girl with him,” he added, shaking his head. He had known Monsieur Blanc a long time, but his boss’s sudden turns of sentimentality were still beyond his comprehension.
“So where did he go? I thought a helicopter was taking you both out tonight.” Jack said, a puzzled look on his face. The lights from the jeep were dim, casting a stingy beam over the bumpy road ahead. Jagged shadows thrown across their path.
“So did I. But Monsieur Blanc is a man who acts on instinct. He told me to meet him along this road. Be prepared for a trek. Drive as far as we can then continue on foot. No more helicopter from the runway. Too dangerous. He should be near here, can’t have walked far.”