He was quick to see Fantaz had lost colour and was sweating by the time he had come to the end of his recital.
“I don't like this,” Fantaz said. “I shouldn't have brought you out here, Tessa. None of us will be safe. I know these Russians.”
“Don't let's waste time. How long will it take to reach your father?” Girland asked Tessa.
“It's a good three hours' drive from here.”
“What are we waiting for?” He got to his feet. “Let's go.”
He looked at Fantaz. “You coming?”
The fat man shook his head.
“I'm staying here.” He glanced at Gomez. “You stay too.”
Gomez hesitated.
“Perhaps I should go with them. Suppose they run into trouble? Three are better than two.”
“What about me?” Fantaz's voice went shrill. “I'm not staying here alone! It's your duty to remain with me. I have taken too many risks already.”
“Stay with him.” Girland said, then turning to Tessa, he asked, “Have you a car?”
“It's at the back. I have an African guide waiting.”
“Do we have to take him?”
“We'd be lost in five minutes without him He used to be my father's houseboy. It is he who is hiding him.”
“Well, okay. Then let's go.”
“What about your two men?”
“They're watching the main road. Better leave them there. If your father is as bad as you say he is, he won't want them around. Come on, let's go.”
She led him through the kitchen and out into the dark, hot yard, through a gateway to where a Deux Chevaux stood waiting.
A stooped, grizzled-haired African got out of the car and bowed to her.
“This is Momar,” Tessa said. “Momar, this is Mr. Girland. He is here to help father.”
Black suspicious eyes stared at Girland then the old African grunted. He climbed into the back seat of the little car.
As Tessa was about to get in the car a hoarse voice demanded. “Hey, palsy, just where do you think you're going?”
Tessa spun around as Borg appeared out of the darkness.
She stared at the fat man who was gaping at her.
“Who's this?” Borg asked. “What's all this about?”
“Where's Schwartz?” Girland asked, moving up to Borg. He caught hold of his arm and began to lead him away from the car.
“He's watching the front.” Borg said. “Wait a minute. What are you shoving me around for? What's going on?”
“Keep your voice down.” Girland said. He kept pushing Borg further into the darkness. “I told you if you queered my pitch I’d tell Radnitz.”
“You're running out on us.” Borg protested, coming to a halt. “Now look palsy; I like you but that doesn't mean I trust you. We stick together ... understand? Who's the girl?”
Girland stepped back slightly to give himself room, then his fist flashed out in a crushing punch to Borg's jaw. Borg grunted and began to fall forward. Girland hit him again, then lowered him to the ground He turned and ran back to the cat
“Let's go!” he said. “Come on, come on, let's go!”
Tessa started the car engine.
“What's happened? Who is he? Did you hit him?”
“Never mind! Drive!”
The car moved forward; bumping over the uneven ground; then slowly gathering speed. There was no road, only shrub and loose sand. Tessa reached for the headlight switch, but Girland struck her hand down.
“No lights!” He peered back, but could see only darkness.
“I can't see where I'm driving,” Tessa wailed. “We'll hit a tree or something.”
“Keep going,” Girland said. “We won't hit a thing.”
Tessa slowed the car and leaning forward to peer through the windscreen, she guided the car through the tall shrubs, avoiding the trees as they loomed out of the darkness until after a ten minute, nerve-racking drive, she reached the main road into the bush.
“There you are ... not a tree damaged,” Girland said cheerfully. “You can put on the lights now.”
Tessa stopped the car and swung around to face him.
“Who was that man? I've seen him before somewhere. Who is he?”
“One of Dorey's boys, and as useful as a hole in the head. Forget him. Come on. we're wasting time.”
“But I've seen him before... in Paris.”
“So what? He lives in Paris. Get moving!”
A puzzled expression still on her face, Tessa drove the car through the loose sand covering the road and into the wastes of the bush.
Hearing the sound of a car engine, Schwartz, watching the front of the house, hesitated, then ran around the house to the back entrance. He was in time to see the car, without lights disappearing into the darkness of the bush. He lifted his gun, then paused Maybe it was some crazy African driving home.
Where was Borg?
A strangled grunt made him turn and he saw what looked like the body of a man lying in the shadows. He went over and found Borg slowly gaining consciousness from the two punches Girland had given him.
Cursing, Schwartz kicked Borg savagely.
“Get up, you jerk,” he snarled. “What's happened?”
“Nearly bust my goddamn jaw,” Borg moaned, sitting up and nursing his face. “Never gave me a chance.”
Schwartz kicked him again and Borg hurriedly staggered to his feet.
“Lay off!” he whined. “Girland nearly bust my jaw.”
Schwartz spun around, looking into the dark bush. He could still hear the car. but he no longer could see it.
“Where did he go?” he demanded, grabbing Borg and shaking him.
“I don't know. He had a girl with him. I caught them getting into the car and then Girland went for me.”
“A girl?”
“Couldn't see much of her... a girl all right.”
“You slob!” Schwartz was beside himself with rage. “He's going after Carey and we've lost him! We haven't a hope in hell to follow them in the bush.”
“It wasn't my fault.”
“You should have shot him.”
Borg leaned against a tree. He was still feeling dizzy and his jaw ached.
Schwartz turned and stared at the white house. He could see a light coming through a chink in the shutter covering one of the windows.
“Someone's in there,” he said, lowering his voice. “We'll see who it is.”
Without waiting for Borg to argue, he went around to the front of the house and moving like a black shadow, he crept into the garden and then up the steps to the front door.
Borg followed him, his gun in his sweating hand.
Schwartz gently turned the handle of the door and pushed.
As the door swung open, he paused to listen. He could hear voices. He looked back over his shoulder at Borg and nodded, then he crept into the dimly lit hall.
He let Borg pass him, then he silently shut the front door.
He heard a man say, “I don't like them going off like that alone, uncle. I should have gone with them.”
“I've done enough for Carey.” a husky voice replied. “I was crazy to have helped him in the first place. If I'd known the risks, I wouldn't have done it. Now the girl's here to look after him, we're going to keep out of it.”
Schwartz nudged Borg, nodded and silently stepped to the half open door. He moved into the room, his gun threatening the two men who faced him.
Fantaz was in the armchair. He was in the act of stubbing out his cigar. Gomez was sitting on the edge of the table.
At the sight of Schwartz and Borg, Fantaz dropped the cigar butt on the floor. His fat face sagged, turning a yellowish green.
Gomez stiffened, his eyes going to his gun on the table near him.
“Don't move!” Schwartz barked. “Get the gun,” he went on to Borg who moved to the table and snatched up the gun which he stuffed into his hip pocket.
“All right,” Schwartz said, staring at Fantaz, “now we'll talk.
Who's the girl who has just left with Girland?”
Neither Fantaz nor Gomez said anything. They remained motionless, staring at Schwartz.
“You want me to soften you up, fatso?” Schwartz asked and began to move towards Fantaz, sliding his gun through his fingers until he was holding it by the barrel. Fantaz watched him, horror growing in his eyes.
“Wait!” he gasped. “I will tell you. She is Carey's daughter.”
Schwartz stood over him.
“Carey's daughter? Have they gone to him?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“In the bush.”
“I know that, you fat fool” Schwartz hit Fantaz on his knee with the butt of the gun. Fantaz groaned, but didn't move. “But where?”
“I know,” Gomez said. “Leave my uncle alone and I'll take you to Carey. You'll never find the place on your own. It's a three hour drive into the bush.”
Schwartz and Borg exchanged glances, then Schwartz nodded.
“Okay, you come with us.” He turned to Fantaz who was clutching his aching knee. “You stay here. If you want to see your boyfriend again, don't do anything smart. Understand?”
Fantaz nodded. He looked at Gomez whose dark face was expressionless.
Borg gave Gomez a shove.
“Come on. You got a car?”
“Yes, but I'm low in petrol.” Gomez seemed calm and at ease. “There's nowhere here to buy petrol until tomorrow morning.”
“Well take the Buick,” Schwartz said to Borg. “Go and get it.”
Borg nodded and went out of the room.
Schwartz moved away from the other two and leaned against the wall. They waited in silence until they heard the Buick pull up outside the house then Schwartz jerked his head at Gomez who gave Fantaz a fleeting smile before he walked out of the room.
“Watch it!” Schwartz warned, staring stonily at Fantaz. “You start something and you won't see him again.”
He went out and joined Borg and Gomez. He got in the back seat of the Buick. motioning to Gomez to get in the front seat beside Borg who was to drive.
“Which way?” Borg asked, starting the engine.
“Three kilometres up the main road and then you take the first on the left.” Gomez said, settling back in his seat.
Borg looked at him suspiciously.
“That's not the way they went.”
“We have to use the bush road. Their car is light. If we go through the sand as they did, we'll get stuck.”
This made sense to Borg. He reversed the car and drove onto the main road.
Schwartz touched Gomez's neck with the barrel of his gun.
“You try anything funny Buster, and I'll make a hole in your head.”
Borg drove through the crowds that were wandering in the road. Several smiling Africans hopefully tried to thumb a ride, but Borg kept the car moving. At last they were through Diourbel and once again on a clear road.
“Just ahead to the left,” Gomez said. “You'll have to drive fast. Don't drop below sixty or we'll get stuck.”
The headlights picked out the narrow road that seemed to Borg to be a track of loose white sand. On either side of the road, the flat bush spread out in wastes of sand and scrubby shrubs.
As Borg drove, he felt the rear wheels of the car slipping occasionally. The night air was stifling and his hands were slippery with sweat. It was a drive he wasn't enjoying.
As kilometre after kilometre disappeared behind them into the darkness, Borg began to experience the uncanny feeling that, in spite of the speed at which they were travelling, they weren't moving at all. It was like being on a fast moving belt on which he was running but because of the speed of the belt, he could make no forward progress. The sand, the shrubs, the trees and the flatness of the terrain were identical: the scenery never changed. It began to worry him.
After they had driven for over an hour, Gomez said, “We'll have to leave the road now. You must be careful how you drive. Don't accelerate suddenly. Keep a constant speed or we'll get stuck.” He leaned forward to peer through the windscreen “Turn off just here. Don't slow down.”
Muttering, Borg swung the wheel and steered off the road into the bush. He let the rear wheels slide to the left. He steered into the skid, resisting the temptation to accelerate. The car shuddered, slowed then picked up speed and began bumping over the knots of grass, shaking the three men about in their seats so they had to hang on.
Suddenly an enormous tree with spreading arms appeared in the beams of the headlights. Startled, Borg swung the car away from it his foot automatically pressing down on the brake.
The car slowed, the engine jerked and stalled. The car stopped.
Borg cursed.
“Well, get on!” Schwartz shouted at him.
Borg started the engine again and engaged gear. He let in the clutch and gently accelerated. The rear wheels spun in the sand, but the car didn't move.
Schwartz opened the car door.
“Stay where you are I'll push.” He went around to the back of the car and put both hands on the boot. “Now!”
Borg again let in the clutch and Schwartz pushed with all his strength, but the wheels of the heavy car settled further into the sand and Schwartz's feet sank into the sand up to his ankles.
“Go and help him,” Borg said to Gomez who got out and joined Schwartz who was panting and swearing.
But even Gomez's added weight failed to move the Buick.
The wheels now had sunk down to their hubcaps. Schwartz moved back, wiping the sweat streaming down his face with his shirtsleeve.
“We must collect wood and leaves,” Gomez said. “Then we must level the sand around the wheels and pack the wood and leaves around the tyres. In this way we will be able to move the car again”
Borg joined them. He looked at the sunken rear wheels and felt a twinge of fear. The wheels looked as if they would never climb out of their twin, sandy graves.
“Come on!” Schwartz snarled at him. “You heard what he said.” And he began tearing up small shrubs and throwing them in a pile by the car. Borg moved further away and began to collect dead branches that were scattered over the sand. Gomez walked over to the big tree and began stripping leaves from the lower branches.
They worked for some ten minutes, then Schwartz straightened and looked around. He couldn't see either of his two companions in the darkness and he became alert. He had been so occupied that he had forgotten the other two until now.
“Hey, Borg!” he shouted.
Borg came out of the darkness, carrying a pile of branches.
“Where's the punk?” Schwartz demanded.
Borg gaped at him.
“He was with you, wasn't he?”
“He was with you, you slob!” Schwartz snarled. He peered towards the enormous tree some twenty yards to his right. “He was there.”
Throwing down the branches. Borg ran to the tree, but he could see no sign of Gomez.
“Hey! Where are you?” he bawled. “Come back here!”
Gun in hand, Schwartz joined him.
“He can't have gone far. Come on!” and he broke into a run, his feet sinking into the hot sand, making progress difficult and slow. “I'll beat that jerk to a jelly when I get him!”
Panting at his side. Borg kept stumbling over clumps of brown dried grass. The heat was like a smothering damp blanket.
Sweat turned his shirt black.
Finally, exhausted, he stopped running and stood gasping for breath. In no better state, Schwartz ran on for a few more metres, then also stopped.
The two men listened, but they could hear nothing but the violent thumping of their own hearts.
“He's got away.” Schwartz said and raised his clenched fists above his head. “We'll go back to the house and I'll cut that fat pig to pieces. Come . . . back to the car!”
Scarcely able to drag one foot after the other, Borg followed him.
The darkness worried Borg. He could only see a metre o
r so ahead of him. and he kept running into prickly shrubs that seemed to spring out of the ground before he could avoid them They moved past the tree, but after walking a few steps, Schwartz stopped and peered into the darkness.
“Where's the car?” he demanded.
“It must be just here.” Borg said
“Well, it isn't!” Schwartz looked at the tree and then at the place where the car should have been. “You don't think he came back and took the car?”
“How could he?” There was a quiver in Borg’s voice. “It was sunk up to its hubcaps.”
“Well, it's not here now.” Schwartz put his gun back into his holster and stared at the tree again. “Think this is the right tree?”
“I don't know. Looks like it, but the place is lousy with trees.”
“It all looks the same to me.” Schwartz muttered. “Did you notice that on the way here?”
“Yeah . . . think we're lost?” Borg licked his dry lips.
“It's the dark.” Schwartz refused to panic. He walked to the tree and sat down, resting his back against the tree. “We'll wait until it gets light. I'll bet as soon as it's light we'll see the car. Then we'll go back and I'll teach that fat slob to monkey with me.”
Borg joined him settling his heavy body on the sand with a grunting groan.
“Even if we manage to dig the car out, think we can find our way back?”
“Of course, you fool. We'll have left wheel tracks in the sand. All we have to do is to follow them back.”
“Yeah. I hadn't thought of that.” Borg paused, then said, “Judas! I could do with some beer!”
“Shut up!” Schwartz snarled.
Around three o'clock in the morning a brisk, hot wind got up. It blew steadily for the next two hours, smoothing and flattening the sand and obliterating the wheel tracks of the Buick.
chapter eleven
The headlights of the Cadillac lit up a parked car by the side of the road and two Africans in European clothes, standing dejectedly beside it.
There was something familiar about one of them, and Malik snapped an order to his driver. The Cadillac slowed and stopped a few yards beyond the parked car and Malik got out.
One of the Africans came hurriedly towards him and he recognised Samba Dieng.
1965 - This is for Real Page 19
