by Wilbur Smith
He recognized Dimitri's voice raised argumentatively.
"Damn it! The man is unconscious and badly injured, can't you leave him alone?"
"I have my duty to perform," a strange voice answered.
"What's he want, Dimitri?"Rod croaked.
"Rod, how are you?" At the sound of his voice Dimitri was kneeling beside the stretcher anxiously.
"Bloody awful," Rod whispered. "What does this joker want?"
"He's a police officer. He wants to arrest Big King for murder," Dimitri explained.
"Well, he's a bit bloody late," whispered Rod, and even through his pain this seemed to Rod to be terribly funny.
He began to laugh. He sobbed with laughter, each convulsion sending bright bursts of pain along his arms. He was shaking uncontrollably with shock, sweat pouring from his face, and he was laughing wildly.
"He's a bit bloody late," he repeated through his hysterical laughter, as Doctor Dan Stander pushed the hypodermic needle into his arm and shot him full of morphine.
Hurry Hirschfelctstood in the main haulage on 66 level. There , was bustle all around him. Already the crews from the cementation company were manhandling their equipment up towards the blocked drive.
These were specialists from an independent contracting company. They were about to begin pumping thousands of tons of liquid cement into the rock jam that sealed the drive. They would pump it in at pressures in excess of 3,000 pounds per square inch, and when that concrete set it would form a plug that would effectively seal off the drive for all time. It would also form a burial vault for the body of Big King, thought Hurry, a fitting monument to the man who had saved the Sander He would arrange to have a commemorative plaque placed on the outer wall of the cement plug with a suitable inscription describing the man and the deed.
The man's dependents must be properly taken care of-, perhaps they could be flown down for the unveiling of the plaque. Anyway he could leave that to Public Relations and Personnel.
The haulage stank of wetness and mud. It was dank and clammy cool, and it would not improve his lumbago. Hurry had seen enough; he started back towards the shaft. Faintly he was aware of the muted clangour of the mighty pumps which in a few days would free the Sander Ditch of the water that filled her lower levels.
The laden stretchers with their grisly blanket-covered burdens stood in a row under the hastily rigged electric lights along one wall of the tunnel. Hurry's expression hardened as he passed them.
"I'll have the guts of the man responsible for this," he vowed silently as he waited for the cage.
Terry Steyner rode in the rear of the ambulance with Rod.
She wiped the mud from his face.
"How bad is it, Dan?" she asked.
"Hell, Terry, he'll be up and about in a few days. The arms of course are not very pretty, that's why I'm taking him directly to Johannesburg. I want a specialist orthopaedic surgeon to set them.
Apart from that he is suffering from shock pretty badly and his hands are superficially lacerated. But he will be fine." Dan watched curiously as Terry fussed ineffectually with the damp hair of the drugged man.
"You want a smoke?" he asked.
"Light me one, please Dan." He passed her the cigarette.
"I didn't know that you and Rod were so friendly," he ventured.
Terry looked up at him quickly.
"How very delicate you are, Doctor Stander," she mocked him.
"None of my business, of course." Hurriedly Dan withdrew.
"Don't be silly, Dan. You're a good friend of Rod's and joy is mine.
You two are entitled to know. I am desperately, crazily in love with this big hunk. I intend divorcing Manfred just as soon as possible."
"Is Rod going to marry you?"
"He hasn't said anything about marriage but I'll sure as hell start working on him," Terry grinned, and Dan laughed.
"Good luck to you both, then. I'm sure Rod will be able to get another job." "What do you mean? "Terry demanded.
"They say your grandfather is threatening to fire him so high he'll be the first man on the moon." Terry relapsed into silence. Proof was what Pops had asked for, but what proof was there?
"They'll be waiting 4 X-ray reports." joy Albright gave her opinion.
Since her engagement to Dan, joy had suddenly become something of a medical expert. She had rushed down to the Johannesburg Central Hospital at Dan's hurried telephonic request. Dan wanted her to keep Terry company while she waited for Rod to come out of emergency. They sat together in the waiting-room.
"I expect so," Terry agreed. Something joy had just said had jotted in her mind, something she must remember.
"It takes them twenty minutes or so to expose the plates and develop them. Then the radiologist has to examine the plates and make his report to the surgeon." There, joy had said it again. Terry sat up straight and concentrated on what joy had said. Which word had disturbed her?
Suddenly she had it.
"The repord" she exclaimed. "That's it. The report, that's the proof." She leapt out of her chair.
"Joy! Give me the keys of your car," she demanded.
"What on earth? "Joy looked startled.
"I can't explain now. I have to get home to Sandown urgently, give me your keys. I'll explain later." joy fished in her handbag and produced a leather key folder. Terry snatched it from her.
"Where are you parked? "Terry demanded.
"In the car park, near the main gate."
"Thanks, joy." Terry dashed from the waiting-room, her high heels clattered down the passage.
"Crazy woman. "Joy looked after her bewildered.
Ten minutes later Dan looked into the waiting-room.
"Rod's fine now. Where's Terry?"
"She went mad-" And joy explained her abrupt departure. Dan looked grave.
"I think we'd better follow her, joy."
"I think you're right, darling." "I'll just grab my coat," said Dan.
There was only one place where Manfred would keep the geological report on the Big Dipper that Rod had told her about. That was in the safe deposit behind the panelling in his study. Because her jewellery was kept in the same safe, Terry had a key and the combination to the lock.
Even in joy's Alfa Romeo, taking liberties with the traffic regulations, it was a thirty-five-minute drive out to Sandown. It was after five in the evening when Terry coasted down the long driveway and parked before the garages.
The extensive grounds were deserted, for the gardeners finished at five, and there was no sign of life from the house.
This was as it should be, for she knew Manfred was still in Europe. He was not due back for at least another four days.
Leaving the ignition keys in the Alfa, Terry ran up the pathway and onto the stoep. She fumbled in her handbag and found the keys to the front door. She let herself in, and went directly to Manfred's study.
She slid the concealing panel aside and set about the lengthy business of opening the steel safe. It required both key and combination to activate the mechanism, and Terry had never developed much expertise at tumbling the combination.
Finally, however, the door swung open and she was confronted by the voluminous contents. Terry began removing the various documents and files, examining each one and then stacking them neatly on the floor beside her.
She had no idea of the shape, size nor colour of the report for which she was searching, it was ten minutes before she selected an unmarked folder and flicked open the cover. "Confidential Report on the geological formations of the Kitchenerville gold fields, with special reference to those areas lying to the east of the Big Dipper Dyke."
Terry felt a wonderful lift of relief as she read the titling for she had begun douting that the report was here.
Quickly she thumbed through the pages and began reading at random.
There was "no doubt.
"This is it!" she exclaimed aloud.
"I'll take that, thank you." The dreaded familiar voice cut into h
er preoccupation, and Terry spun around and came to her feet in one movement, clutching the file protectively to her breast. She backed away from the man who stood in the doorway.
She hardly recognized her own husband. She had never seen him like this. Manfred was coat less and his shirt was without collar or stud.
He appeared to have slept in his trousers, for they were rumpled and baggy. There was a yellow stain down the front of his white shirt.
His scanty brown hair was dishevelled, hanging forward wispily onto his forehead. He had not shaved, and the skin around his eyes was discoloured and puffy.
"Give that to me." He came towards her with hand outstretched.
"Manfred." She kept moving away from him. "What are you doing here?
When did you get back?"
"Give it to me, you slut." "Why do you call me that?" she asked, trying for time.
"Slut!" he repeated, and lunged towards her. Terry whirled away from him lightly.
She ran for the study door, with Manfred close behind her. She beat him into the passage and raced for the front door. Her heel caught in one of the Persian carpets that covered the floor of the passage, and she staggered and fell against the wall.
"Whore! He was on her instantly trying to wrestle the report out of her hands, but she clung to it with all her strength. Face to face they were almost of a height, and she saw the madness in his eyes.
Suddenly Manfred released her. He stepped back, bunched his fist and swung it round-armed into her cheek.
Her head jerked back and cracked against the wall. He drew back his fist and hit her again. She felt the quick warm burst of blood spurt from her nose, and staggered through the door beside her into the dining-room. She was dizzy from the blows and she fell against the heavy stinkwood table.
Manfred was close behind her. He charged her, sending her sprawling backwards onto the table. He was on top of her, both his hands at her throat.
"I'm going to kill you, you whore," he wheezed. His thumbs hooked and pressed deep into the flesh of her throat. With the frenzied strength of despair, Terry clawed at his eyes with both hands. Her nails scored his face, raking long red lines into his flesh. With a cry Manfred released her, and backed away holding both hands to his injured face, leaving Terry lying gasping across the table.
He stood for a moment, then uncovered his face and inspected the blood on his hands.
"I'll kill you for that!" But as he advanced towards her, Terry rolled over the table.
"Whore! Slut! Bitch!" he screamed at her, following her around the table. Terry kept ahead of him.
There were a matched pair of heavy Stuart crystal decanters on the sideboard, one containing port, the other sherry. Terry snatched up one of them and turned to face Manfred. She hurled the decanter with all her remaining strength at his head.
Manfred did not have time to duck. The decanter cracked against his -forehead, and he fell backwards, stunned. Terry snatched up the report and ran out of the dining-room, down the passage, out of the front door and into the garden. She was running weakly, following the driveway towards the main road.
Then behind her she heard the engine of an automobile roar into life.
Panting wildly, holding the report, she stopped and looked back.
Manfred had followed her out of the house. He was behind the steering wheel of joy's Alfa Romeo. As she watched he threw the car into gear and howled towards her, blue smoke burning from the rear tyres with the speed of the acceleration. His face behind the windscreen was white and streaked with the marks of her nails, his eyes were staring, insane, and she knew he was going to ride her down.
She kicked off her shoes and ran off the driveway onto the lawns.
Crouched forward in the driver's seat of the Alfa, Manfred watched the fleeing figure ahead of him.
Terry ran with the full-hipped sway of the mature woman, her long legs were tanned and her hair flew out loosely behind her.
Manfred was not concerned with the return of the geological report, its existence was no longer of significance to him. What he wanted was to completely destroy this woman. In his crazed state, she had become the symbol and the figurehead of all his woes. His humiliation and fall were all linked to her, he could exact his vengeance by destroying her, crushing that revolting warm and clinging body, bruising it, ripping it with the steel of the Alfa Romeo's chassis.
He hit second gear and spun the steering-wheel. The Alfa swerved from the driveway, and as its rear wheels left the tarmac, they skidded on the thick grass. Deftly Manfred checked the skid and lined up on Terry's running back.
Already she was among the Protea bushes on the lower terrace. The Alfa buck-jumped the slope, flying bird-free before crashing down heavily on its suspension. wheels spun and bit, and the sleek vehicle shot forward again.
Terry looked back over her shoulder, her face was white and her eyes very big and fear-filled. Manfred giggled. He was aware of a sense of power, the ability to dispense life or death. He steered for her, reckless of all consequences, intent on destroying her.
There was a six-foot-tall Protea bush ahead of him, and Manfred roared through it, bursting it asunder. Scattering branches and leaves, giggling again, he saw Terry directly ahead of him. She was still looking back at him, and at that moment she stumbled and fell onto her knees.
She was helpless. Her face streaked with tears and blood, her hair falling forward in wild disorder, kneeling as though for the headsman's stroke. Manfred felt a flood of disappointment. He did not want it to end so soon, he wanted to savour this sadistic elation, this sense of power.
At the last possible moment he yanked the wheel over and the car slewed violently. It shot past Terry with six inches to spare, and its rear wheels pelted her with clods of turf and thrown dirt.
Laughing aloud, wild-eyed, Manfred held the wheel hard over, bringing the Alfa around in a tight skidding circle, crackling sideways through another Protea bush.
Terry was up and running again. He saw immediately that she was heading for the changing rooms of the swimming pool among the trees on the bottom lawn and she was far enough ahead to elude him, perhaps.
"Bitch!" he snarled, and crash-changed into third gear, with engine revs peaking. The Alfa howled in pursuit of the running girl.
Had Terry thrown the bulky report aside, she might have reached the brick change rooms ahead of the racing sports car, but the report hampered and slowed her. She still had twenty yards to cover, she was running along the paved edge of the swimming-pool, and she sensed that the car was right on top of her.
Terry dived sideways, hitting the water flat on her side, and the Alfa roared past. Manfred trod heavily on the brakes, the Michelin metallic tyres screeched against the paving stones, and Manfred leapt out of the driver's seat the moment the Alfa stopped.
He ran back to the pool side. Terry was floundering towards the far steps. She was exhausted, weak with exertion and terror. Her sodden hair streamed down over her face, and she was gasping open-mouthed for air.
