Maybe Lois would agree to stay with him. No, he couldn’t ask that, the place would be terrifying after the attack. Everybody white outside the Russian camp would be considered a traitor. People would be hauled off the street and interrogated.
He got back into Beira as the sun was setting and parked the car at the back of the hotel. There was nothing left to do, and he knew the next twenty-four hours was going to pass agonisingly slowly. Fortunately he’d heard nothing more about the arms deal he had arranged with the Russians.
He went up to his room and opened the double doors leading onto the balcony. He would have no more alcohol now, his reflexes had to be at their very best for what was to come. There had been no contact from either Bunty Mulbarton or Michael Strong, but this didn’t bother him; keeping silence was far more important than keeping in touch.
Now he had time to think about what Lois had told him. When he got back to South Africa he would tell Penelope’s father the whole story. How many other people’s lives had this maniac wrecked in his quest for more and more power? But Aschaar was another score to settle, one that would have to be dealt with later.
He reviewed the instructions Fry had given him. To avoid destroying the fuel storage tanks; to take the bank and destroy the contents of the safe-deposit boxes; to hit the airport at the same time and then to get the hell out. Not for the first time, he began to question these commands. The bank was a sensible enough diversion to take the focus of Russian attention away from the airport defences - but why should he waste his time destroying the contents of safe-deposit boxes? And why the hell shouldn’t he torch the fuel tanks?
On top of the fear Rayne already felt at being in enemy territory came the new fear of betrayal.
Major Martin Long reached for the bottle of sleeping tablets and poured another two into his hand. He looked at his alarm clock. It was past midnight.
He swore out loud. Samantha Elliot lost in enemy territory, Rayne Gallagher gone on a crazy mission for the CIA . . . They’d been his friends, and what had he given them in return for that friendship?
He picked up the framed photograph of his father and threw it hard against the wall, watching the glass splinter into tiny pieces. It wasn’t his fault his father had been a coward, a failure. Yet he’d never been man enough to confront him with the truth, and instead he’d protected his father’s lie and betrayed his friends.
He picked up the phone and dialled the emergency number he’d been given. Maybe there was something he could still do.
John Fry looked up at the ceiling reflectively, said goodbye and put down the phone. Major Martin Long’s usefulness was definitely over. The panicky call late in the evening had surprised him. Of course he’d reassured the Major that Captain Gallagher would be well looked after.
He picked up a folder lying next to his bed and paged idly through it. The attacks on the bank and the airfield were scheduled to take place on Sunday afternoon. After that he would be able to relax again. With the contents of the safe- deposit box in the bank in Beira destroyed, there would be nothing to worry about. Vorotnikov’s career would be finished and his own assured.
As for Gallagher and his men, well, they would indeed be taken care of.
Tongogara
Tongogara sat huddled in an old wool blanket in the lonely kraal. He was very worried. Usually there was dissension amongst his men, but now they were quiet. A new feeling possessed them - a sense of approaching power. They felt in their bones that the attack on Salisbury would be successful, and already the anticipation of victory was strong in them. There was talk of killing, looting and raping. Tongogara knew better than to argue.
After all the idealistic talk of communism and a people’s state, the years of dreaming how to refashion their country, this was what they had become - a rabble bent on revenge, whose savagery would confirm the worst suspicions of the white men.
He had changed. The loss of his wife had changed him, he knew that. Mnangagwa was also different, maybe because he had trained as a lawyer. They had talked at great length and both decided that they would take no active part in this assault. Instead they would follow behind and try to restore some order.
What would it take to make these men change? It was too late for them, nothing would change them now. They had only been educated in handling the AK-47. Would future generations even appreciate their sacrifice? He prayed that his dream of a free and prosperous Zimbabwe would not turn into another Angola. Angola should have been one of the wealthiest countries in Africa and now it was almost as poor as Mozambique.
Tongogara looked up at the stars that had looked down on Africa for eternity. Time was running out for black Africa. The benevolent attitude of the West would change, his people must earn the right to successful government. While they lived in chaos they would always be at the mercy of foreign powers. In a previous age they had been slaves, but today they were still fighting for their freedom. And outside Africa, no one wanted the black man. While hundreds of white families left the continent every month, able to relocate with ease, Tongogara and his countrymen had no choice but to stay where they were and fight themselves out of the mess the Europeans had created.
He felt Sam’s arms around his shoulders, felt the warmth of her body arousing him. The irony of this moment caught him by surprise. She, the white woman who was only free to come out at night.
In spite of himself, he pulled her close to him. His lips touched hers briefly and he sensed the desire in her body. It frightened him. He had to think of some way to get her out of this place. Any development in their relationship could only be a disaster. ‘What are you worried about, Tongogara?’
‘The attack the Russians have planned for next week. It will be terrible. It will probably go down as one of the worst massacres in history.’
‘There is little you can do about it now.’
Now Sam sat in silence. She thought of all the people she knew who lived in Salisbury, most of them elderly, for the young ones had either left or joined the army. She could imagine what would happen - she had seen American soldiers running riot in Vietnam, civilised men reduced to the level of savages ... Of course, that was what Tongogara was scared of, the black man living up to his comic-strip image . . .
‘You are thinking of the people you know there?’
‘Yes . . . And more. You are right, it will be horrifying. And you will win anyway, without this invasion. History will look kindly on you if all that is recorded is the war for independence; but a massacre is different. Is there nothing you can do to stop it?’
‘Not without destroying myself in the process.’
‘Leave, Tongogara, and take Mnangagwa with you. Get out of here and get away. With a start like this, what sort of a country are you going to have anyway?’
He got up and paced up and down in the darkness. She could tell he was angry, angry at her and at himself.
‘Maybe there is a way. If we incapacitated the Russian planes ... If they did not have the fuel to make the flight to Salisbury, then the attack would not take place. And a big enough explosion would be seen from Rhodesia and give cause for investigation. Yes, it would work, but at what a price? I would be known as the traitor who sold out my own people.’
He stared up at the stars in desperation. Sam rose and came across to him. He wrapped his arms round her and she looked up at his face.
‘They would never know it was you. However, the main thing is that you would have prevented one of the worst episodes in
African history from ever taking place. It’s a decision only you can make, Tongogara. I cannot help you.’
‘How I wish that I had never met you!’
She pulled away from him, her eyes flashing with anger in the darkness. ‘All I’m doing is reminding you of your responsibility. Don’t forget your men captured me in the first place! I’m just a reporter. Let me tell you that your attack on Salisbury would be the news story of the decade, and if I got out of here I could make myself millions by writing a book
on it.’
‘You would do that?’
‘Well, what happens, happens. Why not? Of course, I wouldn’t reveal your name. Or I could write another book, in another time and another place, about a man who had the courage of his convictions, who stood up for what he believed was right and avoided something terrible.’
Tongogara reached out and took her hand. She resisted, but he pulled her close again. He spoke, drawing energy from her.
‘For a woman you have much power. I cannot ignore the truth of what you are saying. If I do as I plan to, we will make for the border together - I won’t be able to live here again afterwards. Then we must go our separate ways. I shall be taking a big risk by trying to sabotage the fuel supply depot, something could well happen to me. You would have to fend for yourself. I don’t know if you would survive.’
His voice, which had been loud and angry, was now soft and caring. Sam steeled herself against this new tactic of evasion.
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not important - but what you have to do, is. As long as you think it’s the best thing for your people. I’ve survived this far, I’m sure I can make it on my own.’
He smiled. It was almost as if he had wanted to hear this declaration from her.
‘Then it is decided. I will have to move quickly now.’
‘You’ll ask no one to help you? Not even Mnangagwa?’
‘Mnangagwa will be my eyes and ears here at the camp. He will explain my absence, he will say that Vorotnikov has sent out a death squad to get me. But I will do this thing alone. If it goes wrong, then I will be the only one that they can blame -1 cannot implicate anyone else.’
‘When will you do it? You don’t have much time.’
‘As soon as possible. This Sunday. I cannot risk leaving it for longer. They’ll start stepping up security soon, in readiness for the invasion.’
Sam looked at him in the darkness and knew that indeed he would do it, though at terrible cost to himself. She would not interfere any more. Perhaps, instead, she might even try to help him.
The heat of the midday sun was burning down on them, the black soldier and the white journalist. At their feet was an open bolthole, and lying at its entrance an array of arms and ammunition.
‘There are thousands of these dumps all over the country. Only a few know of their existence. It’s our guarantee of safety - we learnt the hard way about the danger of keeping all our eggs in one basket, the Rhodesians hit our big dumps as easily as a man swats a mosquito bloated with blood. This cache contains arms and ammunition for fifty men, plus supplies of tinned food. I could have got the weapons through my own men, but that might have attracted suspicion. This way it is only you and I who are involved.’
Tongogara spoke softly. He stared at Sam who had dropped down on her haunches, her breasts clearly visible through her sweat-caked bush shirt. No, he told himself, she is not for you. Every day he had felt more and more drawn to her, and the force of this attraction frightened him. It reminded him of how he had felt for his wife when she was alive.
He wanted to maintain the pace they’d kept up since they’d left the kraal, but she seemed exhausted. She looked up at him, guessing his thought.
‘Can you keep going like this all day?’ she asked.
He took the pack from her back and forced her to sit down. Then he loaded the weapons into his own rucksack. He spoke as he worked.
‘It is only through long experience that I have learnt the value of swift movement. You kept up well, though I don’t think you would have lasted much longer.’
‘Bastard!’
He smiled. He liked her spirit. ‘Ah ha. I see that you Americans also fear to hear the truth.’
‘Touche.’
He carefully covered the bolthole with leaves and sand. Then he hoisted the massive pack onto his back and helped Sam to her feet. She looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Tongogara. I’ll keep going.’
Loaded down with the weapons they had acquired, they now moved slowly back the way they had come. Tongogara was also more cautious because they were near the airport and the area was crawling with Russian troops. They kept to the shadows, and moved swiftly over any open ground they had to cross. It was nerve-racking, and frequently they rested in the bush, panting to regain their breath. Sam’s reporter’s curiosity was awakened. ‘Is this always what it’s like?’
‘It is usually worse because when I am inside Rhodesia I can never relax. The man who feels comfortable is a dead man. Now I move like a disease through my own people, silent and deadly.’
‘When will you strike?’
‘Tomorrow afternoon.’
‘So soon?’
His face hardened. ‘The longer I leave it, the more dangerous it will be. Often the more time I have to think about an attack, the more afraid I become. Waiting around for too long is death.’
They got up again and kept moving, skirting the airfield. Eventually they lay down in the tall grass running along the edge of the main runway. Sam stared aghast at the vast array of weapons and the camouflage sheets covering the planes. It would all be completely invisible from the air.
‘Bombers and fighters,’ she whispered. ‘God, there’s a fortune sitting there on the tarmac, Tongogara. How do we take that lot on?’
‘By not taking it on. All these planes need fuel to launch an attack - and I intend to cut off their supply. Once I’ve done that, we can come back here, but now we must keep on moving. We have to be in position by tomorrow morning.’
They crawled away from the runway, and only stood up once they were back in the thicker vegetation on the perimeter. Sam was sweating now with the fear of being so close to the enemy. She moved closer to Tongogara and whispered to him, ‘I had no idea it would be this bad. It’s crazy to attack them. They’ll massacre us.’
‘Sam, that is the language of defeat. We have surprise on our side; when we attack they’ll have no idea of our numbers. I’ll rocket the tanks, which will go up in great sheets of flame - it will take them months to rebuild. I know the security on the fuel tanks is lax, it’s their weakest link. We must conserve our energy to get away as quickly as possible.’
Sam dropped her pack and put her arms around him. ‘Just hold me for a few seconds.’
Tongogara held her tightly. He could sense the fear she felt but would not admit, and his body shivered with the excitement of her closeness. He closed his eyes. Danger made him acknowledge what up to now he had been forcing himself to deny. Dammit, he said to himself. Yes, dammit, I am in love with her.
It was many minutes before Sam broke the spell. ‘Surely we’d be better off getting away in the darkness?’
‘You’re right. We’ll attack the tanks just before sundown. Anyone who looks at the blaze will be dazzled for a long time afterwards. It will be very difficult for them to pursue us.’
They moved very slowly now, keeping to where the vegetation was thickest. The thorns tore at Sam’s skin so that soon her face was a mass of bloody streaks, and perspiration poured from her forehead and mingled with the blood. She felt terrible but did not complain. Eventually the enormous shapes of the fuel tanks appeared before them and they sank gratefully into the shade of a huge flame tree.
‘Now we must rest. Tonight we can go down to the shore and wash, the salt will be good for the cuts on your body. You did well, Sam, it wasn’t an easy advance. Try to lie perfectly still, keep yourself calm with the thought of the water you will bathe in this evening.’
Sam lay down at Tongogara’s side, closed her eyes and tried to imagine that she was back in her parents’ house, playing with her brothers and sisters. She relaxed in the comfort of this image of her past, blocking out the sounds of the mosquitoes and the terrible heat. Soon she was dreaming.
Her brothers and sisters had taken her favourite toy away from her and she was desperately searching for it. Eventually she climbed out of a skylight onto the roof of their house, and saw that the teddy bear was lying in the gutter. Sh
e edged towards it, conscious of the terrible drop below, and was almost within reach and stretching out for it when the tiles beneath her started to shift, and she began sliding inexorably downwards.
Desperately she clutched the teddy to her breast, and then tumbled over into the void. Now she was flying through the darkness, and it was strange that she did not hit the ground but felt as if she was tumbling down an endless shaft, and the loneliness and oppression of the void pressed in against her so that she pulled the teddy bear closer. Suddenly she struck an object in the darkness, and the teddy was flung from her arms. She started to scream -
She woke to find Tongogara’s hand clamped hard across her mouth. Once he was certain that she was no longer going to cry out, he took his hand away.
‘A bad dream?’
‘I’m sorry, I nearly blew it for you.’
‘Once you start apologising for your dreams, you might as well be dead. They are the secret messengers of your soul.’
‘You believe that?’
‘Of course. Tell me about your dream and I’ll tell you what’s wrong.’
Sam recounted the dream, the memory of it still vivid in her mind. He listened intently, nodding his head occasionally. When she had finished he was silent for a few moments as he decided what to make of it.
‘You realise that a nightmare only comes because you are unhappy or afraid? I thought maybe it was something to do with our present situation, but in fact it has nothing to do with this. There is someone you love, someone you need desperately and who you feel has been torn away from you. With that person gone, you are lost.’
The accuracy of what he said frightened her. He had understood her innermost feelings perfectly.
‘Ah. I see the truth of the dream makes you silent. I think that you did not want to know the message. Is there a man you love whom you’re scared you’ve lost? He must be mad, if he is prepared to give you up. But forget about him for the moment, there is nothing you can do about this until you are away from here. Your worries will distract you. This man, I think he will come back to you.’
Hyena Dawn Page 32
