directly at Boris, who held his breath and lay as still as the rock
beside him. But finally the shufta straightened up and gave a hand
signal to those out of sight behind him. Then he came on down the trail
at a trot. When he had covered fifty metres the rest of the party began
to appear, keeping their intervals as precisely as beads on a string. It
would not be possible to enfilade this line even with an RPD from a
prepared position.
"Good!" Boris approved. "These are crack troops. Mek must have
hand-picked them." He watched them through the lens, examining the
features of each man as he came into view, searching for Mek Nimmur.
There were seven of them spread out down the trail now, but still no
sign of their leader. The man on the point drew level with Boris's
position and then went on past him. A pair of flankers passed directly
beneath where he lay, rustling softly by in the scrub not more than a
dozen paces from him. He lay like a stone and let them go. The rest of
them passed his position, well spaced and moving swiftly. For some
minutes after the last of them had gone, the gorge seemed deserted and
devoid of all human presence. Then there was another stealthy movement
out there.
"The rear guard," Boris grunted softly. "Mek is keeping the woman at the
rear. His new plaything."He is taking great care of her."
He slipped the safety-catch on the rifle gently, making certain that no
alien metallic sound fell on the heated and hushed air.
"Now let them come," he breathed. "I will take Mek first. Nothing fancy,
no head shots. Squarely in the centre of the chest. The woman will
freeze when he goes down.
She does not have the reflexes of a warrior. She will give me a second
unhurried shot. At this range there will be no question of a miss. Right
between those pretty little black tits of hers." He became sexually
charged by the image of blood and violent death set opposite Tessay's
loveliness and grace. "I might even have a chance to get one of the
others. But I can't bank on that. These men are good.
More likely that they will dive into cover before I have even had time
to kill the woman."
He watched the faces of the rear guard as, one at a time, carefully
spaced, they came into view. Each time he felt his heart trip with
disappointment. In the end there were three of them on the path, moving
past him at a steady, businesslike jog-trot. But no sign of Mek and the
woman. The rear guard disappeared down the path, and the small sounds of
their progress dwindled into silence. Boris lay alone on the ledge, his
heart thumping and the sour taste of disappointment in the back of his
throat.
"Where are they?" he thought bitterly. "Where the hell is MeV And the
obvious answer to his own question occurred to him immediately. They had
taken a different trail. Mek had used this patrol as a decoy to lure him
away.
He lay quietly for a measured five minutes by his wristwatch, just in
case there might be more men coming up the trail. His mind was racing.
His last definite placin of 9 Tessay had been the glimpse of her
footprint on the trail at the far bend of the oxbow.
That was several hours ago, and if she and Mek had given him the slip
they could be anywhere by now. Mek might have won himself a start of a
full day or more - it might take Boris that long to work the spoor
through.
Feeling waves of anger overwhelm him, he had to close his eyes and fight
it off in order to keep his sense of reason from being swamped. He had
to think clearly now, not go rushing at the problem like a wounded
buffalo. He knew that this was one of his weaknesses: he had to keep
tight control of himself.
When he opened his eyes again, his anger had become cold and functional.
He knew precisely what he had to do and the order in which he must do
it. The very first task was t& sweep and check the back trail. He had to
establish the point at which Mek had left the main detachment of shufta.
He slipped down off the ledge and through the scrub to the open trail.
Still anti-tracking, but moving swiftly, he made his way upstream, back
towards the patch of Thorn scrub where the party of shufta had lain up
in the heat of the day. The first thing he noticed was that the pair of
kites had gone. But he did not take this as proof that the bush was
deserted! and began to circle it carefully. First he worked the incoming
trail on the far side of the patch of bush. Although several hours old
now, it was still clear enough to read.
Suddenly he stopped in the centre of the trail and felt the hair rise on
his forearms and down the back of his neck as he stared at the sign in
the dust of the path. He realized that he had walked into Mek's trap.
There lay the distinctive imprint of a Bata tennis shoe.
Mek and the woman had gone into the patch of scrub and had not come out
again. They were still in there, and Boris was seized by the strong
premonition that Mek was watching him even at that moment, over the open
sights of his AK. While he was out in the open like this, stooped over
the spoor, Boris was completely vulnerable.
Hurling himself sideways off the path, he landed like a cat in the wire
grass beside it, with the rifle at the ready. It took many minutes for
his heartbeats to return to normal, and then he rose again into a
stealthy crouch and began circling the patch of scrub very cautiously.
His nerves were as taut as guitar strings, and his pale eyes darted from
side to side. His finger lay upon the trigger of the 30/06 and he kept
the muzzle weaving slowly, like the head of a cobra ready to strike in
any direction.
He moved down towards the bank of the river, where A the noise of the
rapids would mask any sound he might make. But when he had almost
reached the shelter of the house -sized boulder that he had noticed from
the mountain crest he froze again. He had heard a sound that carried
over the sound of Nile waters - a sound so incongnious in this place and
at this time that for a moment he doubted his own hearing. It was the
sound of a woman's laughter, sweet and clear as the tinkle of a crystal
chandelier swinging in the breeze.
The sound came from below him, from the river bank beyond the tumbled
boulder. He crept towards the boulder, determined to use it for cover
and as a vantage point from which he could cover the bank beyond it. But
before he reached it he heard the splash of some heavy object striking
the surfac& of the river, and an excited female squeal, both playful and
provocative.
Reaching the side of the boulder, and keeping close in under its
protective bulk, he stole towards the corner, from which he could
overlook the gravel bank beyond. Then, peeping cautiously around the
angle of the boulder, he stared in amazement. He could barely believe
what he was seeing. He could not credit this kind of stupidity from a
man like Mek Nimmur. This was the hard man, the seasoned warrior and
survivor of twenty years of bloody bush war acting like a love-sick
teenage booby.
Mek Nimmur had sent his men away so that he could be alone to frolic
with his new paramour. Boris took time to make absolutely certain that