by Wilbur Smith
‘Do what you can for him,’ he told Hazel. He was angry again, and he stood tall and swept the cliff face above him with a long burst of fire. Three of the enemy toppled over the lip and came thudding down into the rocks. The other enemy heads jerked back behind cover. Hazel and Daliyah were already attending to Tariq. He saw that Daliyah was weeping, and even in the extremity of the moment this came as a surprise.
‘Why is she bawling?’ he blurted out.
‘Stupid question. She loves him, of course,’ Hazel replied without lifting her head.
‘My God! Everybody’s doing it.’ Hector grinned recklessly with the battle madness fizzing in his blood. ‘How bad is he hit?’ He fired twice at the heads showing on the far side of the pass, and killed another man.
‘I don’t know. It’s in his back. But there are no bubbles in the blood, so maybe it hasn’t pierced his lung.’
‘Put pressure on the wound. Try to stem the bleeding. That’s all we can do for now. But in the name of all that’s holy keep your own head down. You too, Cayla. You can’t take them on with that handgun.’ He punctuated his speech with single rifle shots.
A burst of enemy bullets splashed across the parapet, showering them with stone chips and dust. Hector ducked down and spat out a chip of stone. Then he lifted his head to listen. There were shrill Islamic war cries coming from the direction of the mouth of the pass. Uthmann’s men were scaling the far side of the rock barrier and reaching the top without being offered any resistance. Hector wriggled around on his belly under the parapet until he was in position to fire up at the top of the barrier, without having to expose his head to the men on the cliffs when he did so. He was ready when the first man raised his head above the top of the barrier, but he held his fire and waited for more of them to show themselves. The first head bobbed down again, and when there was no rifle fire it rose again cautiously. Then others came up and went down again. Hector waited for them to become careless. Three of them stood up to their full height and chanted, ‘Allahu Akbar!’
Hector fired five aimed shots so swiftly that they sounded like a burst of automatic fire. Men fell or threw themselves down, shouting with surprise or squealing with pain. In the uproar it was impossible to be certain, but Hector thought that he might have got all three of them.
‘Not too dusty,’ he congratulated himself in an undertone. ‘We haven’t completely lost the touch.’
The rest of the enemy reacted violently and from the top of both the cliff and the barrier they poured a stream of automatic fire into the overhang. The bullets tore chunks out of the cliff, filling the air with a white mist of dust and then whining away in ricochets. Hector put one arm around Hazel and the other around Cayla and pushed them down on the stone floor. All their faces were powdered dead-white by the fine stone dust. Through the chaos of gunfire and the shouted war cries Hector made out the distant but mounting roar of many truck engines.
What trick is Uthmann pulling now? he asked himself. He isn’t going to be crazy enough to try and bring his vehicles over the barrier, much as I’d love to see that. But the engine beat grew louder, almost drowning the jihadist shrieks. Abruptly Hector realized that the engine roar was not coming from the other side of the rock barrier, but was echoing down the open pass from behind their position. The Arab gunfire began to shrivel and dwindle. Hector rolled over and, still keeping the two women pinned to the ground, sheltering them with his own body, he peered back up the open pass to the bend in the rock walls to their rear.
At that moment a column of three huge GM trucks roared into his field of vision, coming straight down the pass towards them. On their sides was blazoned the Cross Bow logo, and in the front of each was mounted a pair of 50 calibre Browning heavy machine guns. Behind the guns on the leading truck stood Paddy O’Quinn. He was grinning happily as he gripped the firing handles and swivelled the twin barrels onto the jihadists who were still swarming over the rock barrier that blocked the pass. In the truck that followed him Dave Imbiss was leaning back and aiming his heavy Brownings up at the cliffs.
‘Paddy O’Quinn and his rock and roll band will now play their famous signature tune for us,’ said Hector, laughing and hugging the two women. The guns opened with a tumultuous thunder that filled the pass with sound. Paddy’s tracer shells ripped the top off the rock barricade and filled the air with dust. Running Arabs trying to get to the top of the rock pile disappeared in the storm of shot, cut down before they reached it. In the second truck Dave swept the tops of the cliffs with his fire. Human bodies rained down into the pass, like overripe fruit shaken from the trees of an orchard by a gale of wind. Within seconds all the visible targets were destroyed and the guns fell silent. Paddy looked around and spotted them huddled behind the parapet under the overhang, and he waved cheerily.
‘Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Hector. What a lovely surprise to find you still in such good form. May I offer you a lift home?’
‘Enchanted, I am sure,’ Hector shouted back. ‘I never truly appreciated the sunshine of your smile until this very moment.’ Gently he picked up Tariq. ‘How are you, my brother?’ he asked as he carried him to the leading truck.
‘I will be with you for many more years. You and I still have to kill that son of Shaitan, Uthmann Waddah,’ Tariq said. His voice was feeble but at least there was no blood in his mouth. Hector knew he was going to make it. He laid Tariq in the back of the truck, and the women climbed in beside him.
‘Look after him well,’ he told Hazel. It was more a plea than an order.
‘Don’t worry, Hector,’ Hazel replied. ‘Daliyah and I won’t let anything happen to him.’
‘Where are the others?’ Paddy asked lightly as Hector climbed up beside him.
‘What you see is what you get, Paddy,’ said Hector sadly. ‘There ain’t no others, not no more.’ Paddy stopped smiling and let his next flippant remark die before it reached his lips.
‘God save their souls,’ he said soberly.
‘Amen to that.’
‘But I see you managed to rescue the girl.’
‘She’s not rescued until we get her home. Let’s go, Paddy!’
They drove back up the pass towards the Ethiopian border. It was soon apparent that Uthmann had not been able to get his vehicles over or around the barrier of collapsed rock, for there was no pursuit. They stopped once so that the Bannock Oil company doctor whom Paddy had brought with him could attend to Tariq. He set up a plasma drip, gave him shots of antibiotics and painkillers, and strapped up the wound. Then they drove on, making good progress even though in places the track had been washed away. Paddy’s men had hastily repaired it as best they could on their way in. They reached the crests of the foothills and debouched into a maze of interconnected valleys and mountain passes, through which the old road threaded. They followed it westwards for the remainder of that day, climbing gradually into the highlands. So far there had been no sign of human habitation, so they risked using the headlights of the trucks and drove on after dark. Paddy was navigating with his truck’s GPS. Four hours after nightfall he announced that they had crossed into Ethiopia. However, there was no indication of any kind to mark the border. They halted the convoy briefly to celebrate with a cup of hot tea. While the canteen brewed Hector warmed up the satphone. From this high ground the reception was crystal clear and he spoke to Nella Vosloo at Sidi el Razig as though she were sitting beside him.
‘We will be at Jig Jig before first light. Come and fetch us, my darling.’
‘Bernie and I will be there. Trust me!’ Nella told him. They kept on driving through the night. Hector stood beside Paddy in the open gun mounting, both of them vigilant and unsleeping. But the dark mountains through which they were travelling were deserted. Two hours before dawn they reached the Jig Jig airstrip without having encountered a single living being along the way.
They went into a defensive laager on the edge of the airstrip, and the women prepared breakfast. In the lorry’s tucker box Paddy had two dozen fres
h eggs, a side of streaky bacon and four loaves of mouldy bread. They made toast over the coals and plastered it with canned New Zealand butter while it was still hot. With Daliyah’s assistance even Tariq was able to sit up and, devout Muslim though he was, wolf down a bacon butty. They were still drinking steaming mugs of black tea when they heard the sound of Hercules engines approaching. Paddy ordered a truck to park at each end of the strip, and switch on their headlights. Nella brought the colossal aircraft down smoothly on the strip between the trucks, and as soon as she lowered the rear loading ramp Paddy led all three trucks up into the cargo bay and strapped them securely. The Hercules was airborne again within twelve minutes of touching down.
The doctor re-dressed Tariq’s wound and gave his opinion. ‘He’s lucky. Looks as though the bullet missed any vital parts. He is as tough as he is fit, and will be on his feet again in no time.’ Daliyah wept helplessly when Hector translated this into Arabic for her. Then at Hazel’s request the doctor turned his attention to Cayla. He took her into the tiny pilot’s cabin behind the flight deck and examined her carefully. ‘Physically she is doing well enough,’ he pronounced. ‘The antibiotics that Mr Cross administered seem to have taken care of the food poisoning. However, once you get her back to civilization you should immediately see to it that she is tested for any infection. Of course, she is still weak but after the ordeal she has been through that is only to be expected. Her psychological state seems much more precarious. Of course that is not my field; however, I can only urge you to get her to a top specialist as soon as you possibly can.’
‘I plan to do exactly that,’ Hazel agreed. ‘My jet should be waiting at Sidi el Razig. Right now I am going to make certain she gets some sleep.’ She turned to Hector. ‘You too! You haven’t slept for three days.’
‘Don’t fuss so,’ he protested as she tucked him in to one of the sleeping bags that she found in the rack above the bunk.
‘Fussing is one of the things I do best. You have been giving the orders up until now, Hector Cross. From here on I am giving you a taste of your own medicine. Stop arguing and go to sleep!’ She switched out the light. Both Hector and Cayla were still dead asleep when Nella landed the Hercules at Sidi el Razig.
From the moment they landed Hector found himself shunted into the background. He did not see Hazel again for the rest of that day. She disappeared into the executive offices of the Bannock headquarters, where she was locked in meetings with Bert Simpson or in conference calls with her head office in Houston. Every time Hector glanced out of the window of his own office he was made acutely aware of the big Gulfstream jet waiting on the airfield with all her luggage already loaded aboard and her pilots and cabin crew ready at a moment’s notice to whisk her and Cayla away to the other side of the world.
The emotions he was experiencing were unfamiliar. Over the years countless women had walked into and out of his life, but these entrances and exits had always been orchestrated by Hector himself. He had given them only a cursory thought after they had gone. Now he found himself in mortal dread. He realized how very little he knew about the real Hazel Bannock. He was fully aware that she was no ordinary woman. He knew she could be totally ruthless; if that were not the case she could never have climbed to the position of pre-eminence which she now occupied. There were multiple layers and hidden depths to her which he could still only guess at. Up to this moment he had been totally blinded to any flaws in those depths. Now he realized that he was more vulnerable than he had ever been before. He felt naked and defenceless. For the first time he was not in complete control of a relationship. He was hanging on the thread which Hazel Bannock held in her hand, and which she could snip as blithely as he had cut free those other women. The roles were reversed and he was not enjoying the sensation.
‘So this is what it feels like to be really in love,’ he thought bleakly. ‘Seems to me it’s a highly overrated pastime.’ Hazel did not reappear to take lunch in the company canteen. Instead Hector went to Cayla’s room and invited her to join him. She tried to refuse, but he insisted. ‘I am not going to let you lock yourself into this ghastly little room and fret.’ They shared a table with Paddy O’Quinn, Dave Imbiss and the young company doctor. The three younger men had not seen a pretty white girl for months and they competed to try and impress her.
Hector dreaded having to spend the rest of the day in his own office, waiting for a summons from Hazel, or for some other sign that she remembered his presence on this earth. He left a message with Bert Simpson’s secretary to give to Hazel when she was free. He changed his boots for a lighter pair, then went out into the desert and started to run. Four and a half hours later he returned to headquarters drenched in his own sweat. He had run the equivalent of a standard marathon, but he had not succeeded in leaving his demons out there in the sands. The secretary was watching for him from the windows of her office, and she hurried to meet him as he came in the front doors.
‘Mrs Bannock has been asking for you. She wishes to see you in Mr Simpson’s office at your earliest convenience, please, Mr Cross.’ The phraseology of the message was not reassuring.
‘Please tell Mrs Bannock that I will be with her at once.’ Hector ran to his own suite. He stood under the cold shower for less than a minute, dried himself so quickly that the clean shirt he threw on had damp patches down the back. He combed his hair while it was still wet, scrubbed his teeth with extra paste on the brush. There was no time for a shave, so he set off immediately for Bert Simpson’s office. He found himself hurrying and he forced himself to slow down to a more dignified pace. He knocked on the door to the office and her voice bade him enter. He drew an involuntary deeper breath as though poised to dive from the high board into cold water, and opened the door. She was alone in the room, seated behind the desk. She looked up from the sheaf of documents she was perusing. Her gaze was even but unreadable. She stood up without a smile.
‘We can’t go on like this,’ she said. The earth shifted under his feet as though in a quake. It was as bad as he had feared. He knew he was about to be dumped into the recycle bin. With a huge effort he hardened his expression.
‘I understand,’ he replied.
‘I don’t think you do,’ she said firmly. ‘You know that I have to take Cayla back to Houston first thing tomorrow morning. She must have professional care immediately. I have not seen you all day. That was bad enough. But now I have to leave you here. It’s going to be like ripping a chunk out of my soul. We can’t go on like this. I have to have you by my side, night and day, for ever.’
Hector felt joy rising up to fill the cold and empty space within him. He could find no words that would not make him sound like an idiot. He held out his hands to her and she came to him. They embraced with a fervour not far short of desperation.
‘Oh, Hector!’ she whispered. ‘How cruel of you to have left me to exist without you all these lonely years!’
‘All that time I was searching for you, but you were so damned elusive,’ Hector replied.
After a while she led him to the leather sofa under the windows. He placed his arm around her and she pressed herself against him.
‘All right, now we have to be serious. We have to make plans before I am forced to leave you,’ she said. ‘I ought to leave right away, but I cannot deny us the joy of one more night together. Cayla and I will go early tomorrow morning. I considered asking you to come with us. But you have new arrangements to put in place here.’ She broke off with a laugh. ‘I am getting a little bit ahead of myself. I have a proposition for your consideration. Do you want to hear it?’
‘I am hanging on your sweet lips,’ he replied.
‘I would very much like to buy Cross Bow Security. The price on the table is forty-five million dollars cash on signature. But that is negotiable,’ she added and Hector laughed.
‘Wow, you work fast. But why would you want to give me all that money?’
‘I don’t do paupers. I like my men to be able to afford to buy me a drink or take
me out to dinner.’
He laughed again then insisted, ‘You do know that Cross Bow is valued at thirty-five million. What would your shareholders say if you shelled out ten million over the going rate?’
‘Firstly, I have done the maths. Thirty-five undervalues the company. It’s worth every dollar of forty-five. Secondly, Hazel Bannock and not Bannock Oil is buying Cross Bow. Have we got a deal?’ She offered her hand.
‘We have indeed got a deal.’ He shook his head in admiration, and took her hand.
‘I want to put Paddy O’Quinn in your place to take over Cross Bow. I want you to hand over to him as soon as you can do so in an orderly manner. That’s why I’m forced to leave you behind for the time being.’ She did not mention that she also had to make plans for his reception and welcome to their new home in Houston.
‘Have you considered that this will leave me out of a job and starving to death on your miserly forty-five mill?’ he asked.
‘I have indeed considered that. It just so happens that there is a job going at Bannock Oil for a senior executive vice-president. You might care to consider it. The salary would be in the region of five million plus perks and bonuses per annum.’
‘Would I be working close to the CEO by any chance?’
‘You would be working directly under her during the day, and directly on top of her at night,’ she answered with a salacious slant of those blue eyes.
‘Cayla is right. You are damned kinky.’ He laughed but suddenly looked serious. ‘But I’m not qualified for the job you’re offering me.’
‘You’re a smart boy, and you’ll have me to teach you. You’ll learn quickly.’
‘Again I have to ask what your shareholders will think of my promotion. Won’t they kick up a fuss?’ he insisted.
