Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers

by Wilbur Smith

  Chapter 32

  His body was long and supple. In the dim light beneath the mosquito-net his skin shone like washed coal, still damp with the sweat of love. Ephrem Taffari lay on his back on the rumpled white sheet and she thought he was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

  Slowly she lowered her head and laid her cheek against his naked chest. It was smooth and hairless, and his dark skin felt cool. She blew softly on his nipple and watched it pucker and harden in response. She smiled. She felt aglow with well-being. He was a wonderful lover, better than any white man she had ever had.

  There had never been anyone else like him. She wanted to do something for him. “There is something I must tell you, she whispered against his chest, and with one lazy hand he stroked the thick glistening coppery bush of hair back off her face.”

  “What is it?” he asked, is voice so and deep and replete, almost uninterested.

  She knew she would have his complete attention again with her next statement, and she delayed the moment. It was too sweet to waste. She wanted to draw every last possible enjoyment from it. it was double pleasure, her revenge on Daniel Armstrong and her offering to Ephrem Taffari which would prove to him her loyalty and her worth.

  “What is it?” he repeated. He took a handful of her hair and twisted it just hard enough to hurt. He was a master in inflicting pain, and her breath caught with masochistic pleasure.

  “I’m telling you this to show you how completely I am yours, how much I love you,” she whispered. “After tonight you’ll never be able to doubt where my loyalties lie.”

  He chuckled and shook her head gently from side to side, his fingers still locked in her hair, still hurting exquisitely. “Let me judge that, my little red lily. Tell me this terrible thing.”

  “It is a terrible thing, Ephrem. On the instructions of Daniel Armstrong I filmed the forced removal of the villagers from Fish Eagle Bay to make way for the new casino.”

  Ephrem Taffari stopped breathing. For twenty beats of his heart under her ear he held his breath. Then he let it out softly, and his pulse rate was slightly elevated as he said quietly, “I don’t know what you arc talking about. Explain this to me.”

  “Daniel and I were on top of the cliff when the soldiers came to the village. Daniel ordered me to film them.”

  “What did you see?”

  “We saw them bulldoze the village and burn the boats. We saw them load the people into the trucks and take them away.” She hesitated.

  “Go on,” he ordered. “What else did you see?”

  “We saw them kill two people. They clubbed an old man to death and they shot another when he tried to escape. They threw their bodies on the fire.”

  “You filmed all that?” Ephrem asked, and there was something in his tone that made her suddenly uncertain and afraid.

  “Daniel forced me to film it.”

  “I do not know anything about these events, this atrocity. I gave no orders,” he said, and with a surge of relief she believed him.

  “I was sure you didn’t know about it.”

  “I must see this film. It is evidence against those who perpetrated this atrocity. Where is the film?”

  “I gave it to Daniel.”

  “What did he do with it?” Ephrem demanded, and now his voice was terrible.

  “He said that he had lodged it with the British Embassy in Kahali. The ambassador, Sir Michael Hargreave, is an old friend of his.”

  “Did he show the film to the ambassador?” Ephrem wanted to know.

  “I don’t think so. He said that it was dynamite, that he wouldn’t use it until the time was ripe.”

  “You and Armstrong are-the only ones who know about it, who know that the film exists?”

  She hadn’t thought of it that way, and now it gave her an uneasy feeling. “Yes, I suppose so. Unless Daniel has told anybody. I haven’t.”

  “Good.” Ephrem released her hair and stroked her cheek. “You are a good girl. I am grateful to you. You have proved your friendship to me.”

  “It is more than friendship, Ephrem. I have never felt about another man the way I feel for you.”

  “I know, he whispered,” and lifted her head and kissed her on the lips. “You are a wonderful woman. My own feelings for you grow stronger all the time.” Gratefully she pressed her own full body to his sleek feline length. “We must get that film back from Sir Michael. It could do untold damage to this country and to me as the president.”

  “I should have told you sooner,” she said. “But only now I realise how much I love you.”

  “It is still not too late,” he assured her. “I will speak to Armstrong in the morning. I will give him my word that the guilty persons will be brought to justice. He must give me the film to be used in evidence.”

  “I don’t think he will do that,” she said. “That tape is too sensational. It is worth a million to him. He won’t want to give it up.”

  “Then you will have to help me get it back. After all, it is your film. Will you help me, my beautiful red and white lily?”

  “You know I will, Ephrem. I’ll do anything for you,” she murmured, and without another word he made love to her, that beautiful devastating love of which only he was capable.

  Afterwards she slept. When she awoke it was raining again. It always seemed to be raining in this terrible green hell of jungle. The rain clattered and drummed on the roof of the VIP guest bungalow, and the darkness was complete. She groped instinctively for Ephrem but the bed beside her was empty. The sheets on which he had lain were already cool. He must have left her some time ago. She thought he might have gone to the bathroom, and felt the pressure in her own bladder which had woken her.

  She lay and listened for him to return, but after five minutes when he had not come, she crept out from under the mosquito net and groped her way through the darkness to the bathroom door. She bumped into a chair and stubbed her bare toe before she reached it. She found the light switch and blinked in the sudden glare of white tiles.

  The bathroom was empty, but the toilet seat was raised to prove he had been there before her. She flapped it down and perched naked upon it, still groggy with sleep, her red hair tangled over her eyes.

  Outside the rain battered down and a sudden flare of lightning hit the window. Bonny reached across to the side wall for the roll of toilet paper in its holder and her ear was inches from the thin prefabricated partition wall of the bungalow. She heard voices, indistinct but masculine, from the room beyond.

  She was slowly coming fully awake, and her interest was aroused. She pressed her ear to the wall and she recognized Ephrem’s voice. It was crisp and commanding. Somebody answered him but the sound of the rain intruded and she could not recognize the speaker.

  “No,” Ephrem replied. “Tonight. I want it done immediately.”

  Bonny was fully alert now, and at that moment the rain stopped with dramatic suddenness. In the silence she heard the reply and recognized the speaker.

  “Will you sign a warrant, Mr. President?” It was Chetti Singh. His accent was unmistakable. “Your soldiers could carry out the execution.”

  “Don’t be a fool, man. I want it done quietly. Get rid of him. You can get Kajo to help you, but do it. No questions, no written records. Just get rid of him.”

  “Ah, yes. I understand. We will say that he went to film in the jungle. Later we can send a search party to find no trace of him. A great pity. But what about the woman? She is also a witness to our arrangements at Fish Eagle Bay. Do you want me to take care of her at the same time?”

  “No, don’t be an idiot!” I will need her to recover the tape from the embassy. “Afterwards, when the tape is safely in my hands, I will reconsider the problem of the woman. In the meantime just take Armstrong out into the jungle and get rid of him.”

  “I assure you, Mr. President, that nothing would give me more pleasure. it will take me an hour or so to make the arrangements with Kajo, but it will be all over before daylight
. I give you my solemn promise.” There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and heavy footsteps, then a door slammed and there was silence from the sitting-room of the bungalow.

  Bonny sat frozen for a moment, chilled by what she had heard. Then she sprang to her feet and darted across the floor to the light switch and plunged the bathroom into darkness. Swiftly she groped her way to the bed and crept under the mosquito net. She lay rigid under the sheet, expecting Ephrem Taffari to return at any moment.

  Her mind was racing. She was frightened and confused. She had not expected any of this. She had thought that Ephrem might seize the videotape and arrest Daniel, then deport him immediately and declare him an undesirable alien, or something like that. She hadn’t been too clear as to what Ephrem would do to Daniel, but she had never dreamed for a moment that he would have him killed, squashed like an insect without pity or remorse. With a jolt she realised just how naive she had been.

  The shock was almost too much to bear. She had never hated Daniel. Far from it, she had been as fond of him as she was capable of, until he had begun to bore and irritate her. Of course, after Ephrem had taken over Daniel had insulted and fired her, but she had given him some reason for that and she didn’t hate him, not to the point of wanting him killed.

  “Keep out of it,” she warned herself. “It’s too late now. Danny has to take his own chances.” She lay waiting for Ephrem to come back to bed, but he did not come and she thought of Daniel again. He was one of the few men she had ever genuinely admired and liked. He was decent and good and funny and handsome … She broke that chain of thought.

  “Don’t be a bleeding heart,” she thought. “It didn’t turn out the way you expected but that’s tough on Danny.” And yet there had been a veiled threat to her in what Ephrem had said. When the tape is safely in my hands I will reconsider the problem of the woman. Ephrem still hadn’t come. She sat up in bed and listened.

  The rain had stopped completely. Reluctantly she slipped out from under the mosquito-net and picked her robe from the foot of the bed. She crossed to the door that opened on to the verandah of the bungalow and opened it quietly. She crept down the verandah. The light from the sittingroom windows beamed out on to the verandah floor. She moved into a position from where she could see into the sittingroom while remaining in shadow.

  Ephrem Taffari sat at the desk against the far wall. His back was to her. He was dressed in a khaki T-shirt and camouflage trousers. He was smoking a cigarette and studying the papers that were strewn across the desk-top. He seemed to be settled to his work. It would take her less than ten minutes to reach the row of guest bungalows at the east side of the compound and get back to the bedroom.

  The wooden catwalks were wet and red with mud. She was barefoot. Daniel might not be in his room. She thought of every excuse for not going to warn him.

  “I owe him nothing,” she thought, and heard Ephrem’s voice again in her imagination: Just take Armstrong out into the jungle and get rid of him.

  She backed away from the lighted window, not yet certain what she would do until she found herself running along the catwalk beneath the dark trees that dripped with rain. She slipped and fell on her knees but jumped up and kept running. There was red mud on the front of her robe.

  She saw through the trees that there was one light on in the row of guest rooms. The rest of them were in darkness. As she came closer she saw with relief that the light was in Daniel’s room. She did not go up on to the verandah of the guest house, but jumped down off the catwalk and made her way round the back of the building.

  Daniel’s window was curtained. She scratched softly on the mosquito-mesh screen that covered it, and at once heard a chair scrape back on the wooden floor. She scratched again and Daniel’s voice asked softly, “Who is it?”

  “For God’s sake, Danny, it’s me. I have to talk to you.”

  “Come inside. I’ll open the door.”

  “No, no. Come out here. It’s desperate. They mustn’t see me. Hurry, man, hurry.”

  Half a minute later his broad-shouldered form loomed out of the darkness, backlit by the lighted bungalow window.

  “Danny, Ephrem knows about the Fish Eagle Bay tape.”

  “How did he find out?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “You told him, didn’t you? Damn you to hell.”

  “I have come to warn you. He’s issued orders for your immediate execution. Chetti Singh and Kajo are coming for you. They’re going to take you into the jungle. They don’t want any evidence.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Don’t ask bloody fool questions. Believe me, I know. I can’t waste another minute. I’ve got to get back. He’ll find I’m gone.”

  She turned away, but he seized her arm. “Thanks, Bonny,” he said. “You’re a better person than you think you are. Do you want to make a break for it with me?”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Just get out of here. You’ve got an hour, tops. Get going!”

  She pulled out of his grip and hurried away through the trees. He caught one last glimpse of her: the lights from the bungalow transformed her tumbled hair into a roseate halo and the long white robe made her look like an angel.

  “Some angel,” Daniel muttered, and stood for a full minute in the darkness deciding what he could do. While there had been only Chetti Singh and Ning Cheng Gong to deal with he had stood a chance. Like him, they had been constrained by the necessity of working in secrecy. None of them had been able to attack the other openly, but now Chetti Singh had open sanction to kill him, a special presidential licence.

  Daniel grinned as mirthlessly as a wolf. He could expect the Sikh to act swiftly and ruthlessly. Bonny was right. He had to get out of Sengi-Sengi within the next few minutes, before the executioners arrived.

  From the angle of the building he threw a quick glance down the verandah and around the compound. All was quiet and dark. He slipped back into his room, and lifted his small travel bag down from the cupboard. It contained all his personal documents, passport, airline tickets, credit cards and travellers cheques. Apart from his clothing and toilet bag there was nothing else of value in the room.

  He pulled on a light wind-cheater and checked that the key of the Landrover was in his pocket. He extinguished the lights and went out. The Landrover was parked at the far end of the verandah. He opened the door quietly and threw his bag on to the passenger seat. All the hired VTR equipment was packed into the rear compartment and there was a selection of basic camping and first-aid equipment in the lockers, but there was no weapon of any kind, apart from his old hunting knife.

  He started the Landrover. The engine noise seemed excessively loud in the darkness. He did not switch on the headlights and he let in the clutch gently, keeping the engine revs down. He drove slowly through the darkened compound towards the main gates. He knew that the gates were never closed at night, and that a single guard was on duty there.

  Daniel was under no illusion as to just how far he was going to get in the Landrover. There was only one road from Sengi Sengi to the Ubomo river ferry, and there was a road-block every five miles. A radio call from Sengi-Sengi would alert every one of them.

  The guards would be waiting for him with their fingers on the triggers of their AK 47s. No, he would be lucky to make it through the first block, and then he would have to take to the jungle. He didn’t relish that prospect. He had been trained for survival and warfare in the drier bushveld of Rhodesia, a long way further south. He would not be nearly as adept in the rain forest, but there was no other way open to him.

  The first thing was to get clear of Sengi-Sengi. After that he would face each problem as it arose. “And this is number one,” he thought grimly as suddenly the floodlights at the main gates switched on in a bright halogen dawn. The entire compound was brightly lit.

  There were half a dozen figures running from the barrack area where guards were quartered. It was obvious they had dressed ha
stily; some were in undervests and shorts. Daniel recognized both Captain Kajo and Chetti Singh.

  Kajo was brandishing an automatic pistol and Chetti Singh was trotting along behind him, shouting and waving at the approaching Landrover, his white turban very visible in the glare of the floodlights. One of the guards was trying to shut the gates. He already had one wing of the steel-framed mesh gate half across the roadway.

  Daniel switched on his headlights, put his hand flat on the horn and drove hard at him, the hooter blaring. The guard dived nimbly aside, and the Landrover slammed into the unlocked leaf of the gate and whipped it aside. He roared through.

  Behind him he heard the rattling clamour of automatic riflefire. He felt half a dozen bullets slam into the aluminium bodywork of the Landrover, but he crouched low over the wheel and kept his foot hard down on the accelerator. The first bend in the roadway rushed towards him in the headlights.

  Another burst of automatic fire splattered against the rear of the vehicle. The rear window exploded in a storm of glass splinters and something struck him high in the back within an inch of his spine. He had been hit by a bullet before, in that long-ago war, and he recognized the sensation. From the position of the wound, high and close to the spine, it had to be a lung shot, a mortal wound. He expected to feel the choking flood of arterial blood into his lungs.

  “Keep going as long as you can,” he thought, and swung the Landrover into the bend at full throttle. She went up on two wheels but didn’t roll. When he glanced in the rear-view mirror the camp lights were obscured by forest trails, a dwindling glow in the darkness behind.

  He could feel hot blood, running down his back, but there was no choking, no weakness, not yet anyway. The wound was numb. He could think clearly, He could keep going.

  He knew exactly where the first road-block was situated. Approximately five miles ahead, he reminded himself. On the first river crossing. He tried to remember how the road ran to reach it. He had driven over it half a dozen times during the last three days filming. He could remember almost every twist, every track that led off it.