by Wilbur Smith
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
this was not some elaborate trap that had been set for him. It seemed
too fortuitous, too heaven-sent to be really true. He searched every
inch of the bank in both directions for hidden gunmen before he smiled
his cold little smile.
"Of course they are alone. Mek would never let one of his men see Tessay
naked like this." His smile grew broader as he recognized the full
extent of his luck. "He must have gone crazy. Did he not realize that I
would follow him? Did he think he was far enough ahead to be able to
indulge tu himself like this? Is there anything in this world as pid and
as shortsighted as a standing prick?" Boris was gloating delightedly
now.
uple had stripped off their clothes and left them The coin a pile on the
beach of grey basalt gravel in the shade of AL
the tall boulder. They were splashing together in the slack water of the
river at the edge of the main current. Both Of them were stark
mother-naked. Mek Nimmur was broadshouldered, with a heavily muscled
back and hard, tight buttocks. Beside him Tessay was slim as a river
reed, her waist tiny and her hips narrow. Her skin was the colour of
wild honey. They were completely absorbed in each other, without eyes or
ears for anything else in this world.
"He must have left men guarding his back trail." Boris gave Mek the
benefit of some sense. "He never expected me to be ahead of him on the
trail. He thinks they are completely secure. Look at the fool," he
gloated, as Mek chased the girl and she let herself be caught. They fell
into the shallow water locked in each other's embrace, mouths seeking
each other as they surfaced again, laughing as the water streamed down
their darkly beautiful faces, the epitome of handsome masculinity and
lovely womanhood, the image of an African Adam and Eve captured for a
moment in their own little carefree paradise.
Boris tore his eyes from them, and looked to where their clothing had
been abandoned on the gravel bar.
Mek's AK rifle lay carelessly on top of his camouflage jacket, within a
few paces of where Boris stood. He crossed the open gravel bar with a
few quick strides, picked up the AK, unclipped the curved magazine and
dropped it into his pocket, ejected the round from the chamber and let
it fly away into the gravel, replaced the unloaded rifle on the jacket,
and rapidly returned to the tee of the boulder. Both Mek and Tessay
remained utterly oblivious to what had happened.
Boris stood there quietly in the shadow of the rock, watching them at
play in the river. They were almost childlike in their love and their
complete preoccupation with each other.
Tessay at last broke from Mek's embrace and left the water. She came up
the gravel bar, running long-legged and coltish, her wet silken breasts
swinging and jostling each other at each stride as she looked back at
him over her shoulder in open invitation. Mek followed her out, the
water glistening in the dense curls of his barrel chest, his genitals
weighty and puissant.
He caught her before she could reach her clothing and she struggled
playfully for a while in his arms, until his mouth clamped down over
hers. Then she gave herself up to him completely. While he kissed her
his hands ran down her back and over her wet glistening buttocks.
Pressing herself against him she moved her feet apart and spread her
thighs, inviting him to explore the secrets of her body. She groaned
with desire as his hand cupped her sex gently.
Boris felt his anger mingle with the perverse voyeuristic thrill of
watching his own wife being taken by another man. A devil's brew of
emotions bubbled up inside him.
He felt his loins engorging and stiffening almost painfully with
excitement, but at the same time his rage shook him like the branch of a
tree in a gale of wind.
The lovers sank down on to their knees. Still locked together, Tessay
fell backwards and pulled him over on top of herself.
Boris called out loudly, "By God, Mek Nimmur, you will never know how
ridiculous you look with your bare backside in the air like that."
Mek reacted as swiftly as a leopard surprised on his kill. With a blur
of movement he flipped over and reached for the AK-47. Although Boris
was ready for him, covering him with the 30/06, aiming at the back of
his neck when he shouted to him, Mek was so quick that he had swept up
the AK from where it lay and had it pointed at Boris's belly before he
could move. Mek pressed the trigger in the same instant as the muzzle
came to bear.
The firing-pin fell on the empty chamber with a futile click, and the
two men stared at each other across the gravel beach, both with their
weapons levelled. Tessay was curled naked where Mek had left her, her
dark eyes liquid with pain and horror as she watched her husband and
realized that Mek was about to die.
Boris chuckled softly, throatily. "Where do you want it, Mek? How about
I shoot the head off that filthy black tool of yours, while it is still
standing up in the air like that?"
Mek Nimmur's eyes darted away from his adversary's face, back towards
the mountain, and Boris realized that his guess had been correct. Mek
had some of his men up there, but they were keeping out of view of the
beach while their commander indulged himself.
"Don't worry about them. You will both be dead long before your chimps
can get down here to save you." Boris chuckled again. "I am enjoying
this. You and I had an appointment once before, but you broke it. Never
mind this is going to be even more fun." He knew that it was not wise to
delay with a man like this. Mek had made one mistake, and it was highly
unlikely that he would make another. He should blow his head off now,
and that would give him a few minutes more to deal with Tessay. But the
temptation to gloat over him was too strong.
"I have good news for you, Mek. You will live a few seconds longer. I am
going to kill the whore first, and I am going to let you watch. I hope
you enjoy it as much as I am going to." He sidled away from the shelter
of the boulder, edging towards where Tessay lay curled on the gravel
beach. She was turned half away from him, trying to cover her breasts
and her pubic area with hands too small and delicate for the job. Even
as he approached the woman, Boris was watching Mek with his full
attention. Mek was the danger, and he never took his eyes off him. It
was a mistake. He had underestimated the woman.
While pretending to turn away from him modestly, Tessay had reached down
between her thighs and found a round, water-worn stone that fitted
neatly into her small fist. Suddenly she uncoiled her lithe body and
used all the strength of it to hurl the stone at his head. Boris caught
the movement from the corner of his eye and flung up his arm to shield
his head.
The stone, flying with surprising force at close range, never struck its
target. Instead it caught the point of Boris's upraised elbow. His
sleeves were rolled up high around his biceps, and there was no padding
to cushion the impact of the stone; his arm was bent and flexed, the
thin covering of skin drawn tightly over the bone of the joint. The head
of the ulna cracked like glass, and Boris howled at the excruciating
agony. His hand opened involuntarily, and his forefinger jerked away
from the trigger without the strength to fire the shot he was aiming at
Mek's belly.
Mek rolled to his feet, and before Boris could change the rifle to his
other hand he disappeared behind the angle of the giant boulder.
With his left hand Boris swung the butt of the rifle at Tessay's head,
knocking her backwards into the sand. Then he thrust the muzzle into her
throat, pinning her there while he shouted angrily. "I am going to kill
her, you black bastard! If you want your whore, you' better come fetch
her!" The pain of the shattered elbow rendered his voice hoarse and
brutish.
From somewhere behind the boulder Mek Nimmur's voice fang out strongly
and clearly, calling a single word in Amharic that echoed along the
cliffs. Then he spoke in English, "My men will be here in a moment.
Leave the woman and I will spare you. Harm her and I will make you plead
for death."
Boris stooped over Tessay and dragged her to her feet with his good arm
locked around her throat. He held the rifle in the same hand, pointing
it over her shoulder. The hand of his injured arm had recovered
sufficiently from the first shock to be able to hold the pistol grip and
&nbs
p; to manipulate the trigger.
"She will be dead long before your men get here," he shouted back as he
started to drag her away from the boulder. "Come and get her yourself,
Mek. She is here if you want her."
He tightened his lock around her throat, choking her until she struggled
and gasped, tearing at his arm with her nails and leaving long red welts
across the tanned skin.
"Listen to her! I am crushing this pretty neck. Listen to her choking."
He tightened his grip, forcing the sounds of distress out of her.
Boris was watching the corner of the boulder where Mek had disappeared.
At the same time he was backing away from it, giving himself space in
which to work. His mind was racing, for he knew that he could not
escape. His right arm was barely usable, and there were too many of
Mek's shufta companions. He had the woman, but he wanted the man as
well. That was the best trade that he could hope for - both of them, he
had to have both of them.
He heard a shout, a strange voice from higher up the slope. Mek's men
were on their way. He was desperate now. Mek was not going to be drawn;
he had not heard him speak or move for almost two minutes. He had lost
him - by this time he could be anywhere.
"Too late," Boris realized. "I am not going to get him.
Only the woman. But I must do it now." He forced her to her knees and
stooped over her, shifting the lock of his arm around her throat.
"Goodbye, Tessay," he grated in her ear. He tightened his arm muscles
and felt the vertebrae in her neck arched to breaking point. It needed
only an ounce more pressure.
"It's all over for you," he whispered, and began the final pressure. He
knew from long experience the sound, that the vertebrae would make as
they gave, and he tensed himself for it, poised for that crackle like
the breaking of a green branch, and the stack weight of her corpse in
his grip.
Then something crashed into his back with a force that seemed to drive
in his backbone and crush his ribs.
Both the strength and the direction were entirely unexpected. It did not
seem possible that Mek Nimmur could have moved so far and so swiftly. He
must have left the shelter of the boulder and circled out through the
scrub.
Now he had come at Boris from behind.
His attack was so savage that the arm that Boris had wound around
