All that remained of a warning notice-board was the ghost of a skull and crossbones on a sheet of tin which had fallen to the ground.
The doors were too heavy to slide. They swung outwards from the centre, each on a broad metal wheel which ran along a curved rail. Somebody, presumably Rasputin, had already scraped most of the accumulated sand out of the first couple of metres of the track; I cleared the rest with the toe of my boot, and then with a big heave got the right-hand door open enough to slip through the gap.
Inside, I immediately became aware of a sharp, acidic smell. At first I could see nothing. Then, at the furthest reach of the torch beam, something light-coloured showed up. A few steps forward, and I made out pointed white nose-cones facing towards me.
A shiver went down my back. Shells about six inches in diameter had been stored on heavy-duty wooden shelves, a honeycomb with partitions like a giant wine rack. The top shelf was half empty and carried only five, but the other four shelves were fulclass="underline" forty-five missiles in all. At the right-hand end of the stack some of the lower woodwork had collapsed, so that all the rows were tilted, on a slope, and the missiles in the bottom corner had been forced down into a tight-packed heap. Even from a distance I could see that liquid of some kind had seeped out of one or more of them and had crystallised on the casings.
I stood and stared at them, holding my breath, hoping that would protect me from the worst of the radiation. The points of the warheads were within fifteen feet of me.
I backed out, hauled the door shut behind me and turned the key in the lock. My mind was moving at speed. I assumed Rasputin, or the South African, had radioed news of the cache back to base the moment they’d checked it, and that Muende’s snatch party was already well on its way. Back in the chopper, I greeted Stringer with a non-committal ‘okay’ and said to Rasputin, as a matter of fact, ‘Muende’s force is coming to pick these things up.’
He nodded.
‘When?’
‘They are coming now.’
‘What time will they arrive?’
‘One hour, two hour.’ He pointed at his wrist, with circling movements of his forefinger.
‘Is Muende with them?’
Rasputin shook his head.
‘What’s he doing, then?’
‘He goes to other place.’
‘What about the white woman?’
‘She goes with him.’
‘So neither of them’s in the convoy?’
‘Nyet.’
I took a deep breath. They must have gone looking for the diamond. I felt a stab of disappointment. I’d really been hoping to clobber the pair of them. Too bad. Sod the diamond. That was only a personal vendetta. We were on to something bigger now. We’d committed ourselves to the nuclear snatch and had to go through with it.
‘Start up,’ I told the pilot.
The guy seemed to have run out of arguments; this time he went through his checks without protest, and only when he had the engines running did he ask where he was to go.
‘Back to the place you found us.’
The flight lasted no more than two or three minutes. Throughout the short transit Stringer stared at me as though I was lit up by radioactivity. All I could manage in return was a sickly grin. Was I feeling ill already, or was it my imagination? I had a headache, for sure, but I’d had that ever since I could remember. Also, I had that leaden feeling brought on by prolonged loss of sleep. But was this lethargy something worse than mere exhaustion? Don’t be stupid, I kept telling myself. Even if you are contaminated, you wouldn’t be feeling the effects yet.
Morale lifted when I saw our two vehicles side by side on what we’d called the football field. Pav had done his stuff and brought the mother wagon forward, and Danny had driven the pinkie out beside it. Someone had dragged the two black bodies out of sight.
‘Over there!’ I shouted to the pilot, pointing at the far end of the open space. He put down in the usual cloud of dust.
As the rotor slowed, I told Stringer to stay put, jumped out and ran across to the mother wagon. There, perched on the passenger’s side of the bench seat, was Jason. In the general panic I’d forgotten all about him.
‘Mabonzo!’ I went. ‘What the hell are you doing there?’
‘I come with you, sir. I help.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Get out! It’s far too fucking dangerous. You’d risk getting contaminated.’
‘I have medicine.’ He gave a slow smile and patted the breast pocket of his DPMs. ‘Medicine make me safe.’
‘No!’ I told him. ‘You don’t understand. Radiation can kill you. You can’t see it, but still it can kill you.’
‘I know,’ he said calmly. ‘We have lecture on atomicals. Sir take medicine.’
He was holding something out in his long, thin fingers. Abruptly I felt on the verge of tears, choked by this man’s loyalty, his determination to stick with me. Jesus, I thought, never mind the warheads, it’s me who’s going unstable. I took the offering — a small, grey, rough-cut block the size of one square of chocolate. What if it’s hyena shit? I thought. But I put it in my mouth and took a gulp of water to wash it down. For a second I had a sharp, bitter taste, and then it was gone.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You’d better come as co-driver and security, on the basis you don’t go into the silo, and don’t try to touch the warheads. All right?’
Jason nodded, again giving that secret smile. There was something about his unshakeable confidence that bolstered my morale. Even if his imperturbability was based on ignorance, it was still reassuring. I felt that, whatever happened, he would never panic.
I noticed a few odd looks as I joined the rest of the team. There was evidently something about my appearance that spooked them. But I ignored it, and said, ‘Right. We’re going for the weapons.’
‘Who’s going?’ Pav demanded.
‘Me and Jason. We’ve captured two Russians. We’ll take them with us and make them do the loading. I’ll keep one tied up while the other works.’
‘What?’ Pav spoke for all the lads when he yelled. ‘You’re fucking mad!’
‘Don’t touch that stuff!’ said Phil. ‘Geordie, you’ll kill yourself. No kidding. Blow the dump up. Booby-trap the doors. Let the villains blow it up. Anything but go back in there.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘And let loose a bloody great cloud of nuclear fall-out over half of southern Africa? Forget it, lads. Anyway, I’m not going to touch it. Rasputin’s going to handle the warheads. Him and his pilot.’
There must have been something about my manner that cut argument short. Normally, if one of us had made a proposition as outrageous as that, the rest would have ganged up on him and suppressed the idea. For a brief moment I thought Pav was going to come at me physically, but I think he saw that if he did, I’d put him on the deck, and he checked himself.
Everybody was staring at me. I glared back at them.
‘The plan is this,’ I said. ‘The Herc’s due overhead the Mall at 1430 our time. We drive the mother wagon from here to the dump now, load it as fast as possible, bring it out and head for the Mall. The rest of you go back on the pinkie. Get on the OP and position the vehicle so you can cover the road junction with the .50. Get the best protection you can. If Muende’s convoy appears, you’ve got to hold it up at least until the Herc’s on the deck and loading. Then break, belt for the Mall, jettison the vehicle and get aboard the aircraft. Any questions?’
‘Comms,’ said Chalky.