Those in Peril

  ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ Cayla screeched wildly. She hopped up and down and waved the pistol above her head. In the hatchway Hazel waved back just as energetically. Hans lowered the MIL-26 to earth and the instant the landing gear touched the ground Hazel jumped down from the hatch, landed neatly and broke into a dead run towards her daughter. Cayla pulled out from Hector’s protective arm and stumbled unsteadily to meet her mother.

  ‘Now that’s what I call a fine sight!’ said Hector with a smile as he watched the two women race into each other’s arms, shrieking and weeping with joy. He felt the tears sting his own eyes, and he shook his head.

  ‘Bawling like a baby. You’re getting soft, Cross.’ Hazel looked at him over Cayla’s shoulder as she hugged her daughter. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and dripping from her chin. She made no effort to wipe them away. She didn’t have to say anything, the way she looked at him was eloquence enough.

  ‘And I love you too, Hazel Bannock!’ he shouted for the entire world to hear. Then he forced his mind back to the business in hand, and he waved Daliyah and the men of his stick forward to board the helicopter. They jumped up and charged in a bunch across the open ground.

  ‘Hazel! Get Cayla on board.’ He started towards the women. Hazel heard him and grabbed Cayla by the wrist and started dragging her towards the machine. Then another voice rang out in a tone that cut through Hector’s exultant joy like a slash from a sabre.

  ‘On the rim of the ravine, Hector!’ It was Tariq. He was pointing beyond the helicopter, and Hector’s gaze swivelled in that direction. There was a man there, and though he was almost two hundred yards away and only his head was showing above the lip of the ravine, Hector recognized him instantly.

  ‘Uthmann Waddah!’ The shock stalled his mind. Tariq did not have a clear shot at his former comrade from where he stood. The men of his stick and the two running women blocked him. Only Hector was in position to deal with the traitor. But for a few vital fractions of a second he was paralysed. Any other person than Uthmann, any other time and his reaction would have been instantaneous, but Hazel and Cayla had usurped all his attention. He moved at last, but it was as though he were trying to swim through a bath of clinging honey. He watched Uthmann jump out of the ravine, run forward three paces and drop to one knee. He saw him lift a long metal tube and place it across his right shoulder.

  ‘RPG!’ Even at this distance Hector knew exactly what it was. The rocket-propelled grenade, the insurgent’s weapon of choice, could pop open the armour of a battle tank as though it were a cheap condom. Uthmann was taking a steady and deliberate aim at the helicopter.

  By now Hector had his Beretta assault rifle to his shoulder. Subconsciously he noted that Uthmann was still wearing his flak jacket. It was Bannock issue and top of the range, made of Kevlar with ceramic plate inserts. At this range Hector’s light 5.56mm NATO bullet had a notoriously poor performance against this grade of body armour. Originally designed to shoot squirrels and prairie dogs, not men, the bullet would probably tumble on impact and not penetrate flesh, but it would be enough to knock Uthmann flat. He fired and he knew his aim was true. The instant before Hector fired Uthmann let fly with the RPG.

  Hector saw the blast of blow-back from the rocket billow out behind Uthmann, and the smoke trail of the grenade as it lanced towards the MIL-26. Before it reached the target Uthmann was spun around as Hector’s bullet exploded against the front panel of his flak jacket and he was hurled to the rocky ground with brutal force. Before Uthmann hit the ground the grenade struck the front of the helicopter and exploded. Hector staggered as the blast wave blew over him, but he kept his feet. Just short of the big machine, Hazel and Cayla were knocked down in a heap together. Daliyah and the men with her were closer to the explosion. They all went down and Hector knew that some of them had probably been seriously wounded or even killed. The flight engineer standing in the hatchway was shredded. Hector saw his severed head and one arm spinning in the air.

  The nose and front section of the helicopter’s fuselage were torn away. The cockpit and its canopy were gone leaving a gaping hole, and there was nothing left that was recognizable as Hans Lategan’s body. He had borne the brunt of the explosion. Out of control, the gigantic machine toppled onto its side and the whirling rotors flogged into the hard-baked earth and rocks, twisting themselves into fantastic shapes before the engines stalled and a heavy pall of dust and smoke hung over the wreckage.

  For a moment there was silence. Then Tariq yelled, ‘Uthmann is up. Shoot him, Hector. In Allah’s name, shoot him again!’ By now Hector’s vision was partially obscured by the smoke and dust, but he fired at the hazy figure stumbling back towards the lip of the ravine. Hector was not certain if he had hit him or if Uthmann had simply fallen over the edge. Tariq sprinted after him.

  ‘Come back, Tariq!’ Hector yelled at him, ‘Leave him! His men are probably following close behind him. We have to get out of here. See to the others. See to Daliyah.’ Tariq turned back, and Hector ran out to where Hazel and Cayla were lying. He was desperate with fear and concern for both of them. They had been well inside the danger zone, and could very easily have been hit by grenade shrapnel or flying slivers of metal from the fuselage. He dropped to his knees beside them. Hazel was on top of Cayla spreading her arms over her daughter to protect her. Afraid that he would see blood on them, Hector reached down and touched Hazel’s hand. She rolled her head to look up at him with a dazed expression and then sat up quickly and reached for him with both arms.

  ‘Hector!’ She kissed him with an open mouth, then both of them turned their full attention back to Cayla. Between them they lifted her to her feet.

  ‘Are you hurt, baby?’ Hazel demanded anxiously.

  ‘No, Mummy. Don’t worry about me, I’m just fine.’

  ‘That’s great news,’ Hector said, ‘because we have to move immediately. Hazel, this daughter of yours is weak as a new-born, but fiery as Tabasco. She just does not give up. I will send someone to help you keep her on her feet.’ He ran to where Daliyah and the others were reassembling. Some of them had been hit by flying fragments from the explosion, but though they had cuts and bruises none of them was unable to go on. Daliyah seemed untouched.

  ‘The girl needs your help,’ Hector told her and she hurried to Hazel and Cayla. He turned to his men and ordered, ‘Get your gear sorted out, we will be moving out right now.’

  ‘Which direction are we heading in, Hector?’ Tariq asked.

  ‘Back across the ravine.’ They all stared at him in astonishment, and quickly he went on to explain, ‘If we keep heading east we will find very little except desert and more bloody desert. Now that they have lost their dogs the enemy won’t know for sure which route we have taken; but they’ll probably expect us to keep heading east towards the coast.’ He turned and pointed back the way they had come. ‘However, the main north–south highway passes close to the Oasis of the Miracle and the fortress. Isn’t that correct, Tariq?’

  ‘That’s right, it runs about ten miles west of the fortress. A lot of traffic uses it,’ Tariq confirmed.

  ‘If we can get there, we will commandeer the first likely truck or bus that comes along.’ The men began to perk up immediately. The downing of the helicopter had left them numbed with despair, but Hector had given them a plan and with it a glimmer of hope. Within minutes they were ready to move out.

  They made up an odd little caravan; the three women of different ages and colours, and six men in ripped and bloodied camouflage. All of them coated with dirt and dust. Hector took the point and Tariq brought up the rear, with two of the men to help him sweep the tracks left by the column. Cayla was in the centre of the line with her mother on one side of her and Daliyah on the other to support her. They filed over the lip of the ravine and began the long climb down to the bottom. By the time they began to climb the far wall most of them were close to exhaustion, and the pace slowed inexorably. Hector moved up and down the line, jollying them along, trying to keep them moving
with false assurances and bawdy humour that Hazel and Cayla were fortunate not to understand. Those men who had been injured by the explosion of the RPG bomb were now suffering badly and Cayla’s legs were once again beginning to give out on her. Hector carried her piggyback up the last steep pitch to the top of the wadi. As the others reached the top they threw themselves down in what little shade they could find, and lay panting like dogs. The water bottles were almost dry.

  Hector sat with Hazel and Cayla and made them share the last few mouthfuls that were left in his bottle. He gave Cayla another antibiotic tablet to swallow. He was sure the medication was having a beneficial effect. She had a better colour and her spirit was stronger. He touched her forehead and judged that her temperature was close to normal.

  ‘Show me your tongue!’ he ordered.

  ‘With the greatest pleasure.’ She tried to look cocky and stuck it out at him as far as it would go. The white fur on it was dissipating. He leaned closer and smelled her breath. It no longer reeked of the infection.

  ‘Put it back,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to leave that thing lying around for people to trip over.’ Cayla stretched out on her back and closed her eyes. Hazel sighed and leaned against Hector’s shoulder. He caressed her sweat-soaked hair lightly, sweeping it back from her eyes as he murmured encouragement and endearments.

  They were so engrossed with each other that they were unaware that Cayla was watching them through her lashes, until she opened her eyes wide and asked, ‘So, we have changed our minds about firing Heck, haven’t we, Mummy?’

  Hazel looked startled for a moment, then sat up straight upright and without looking at Hector she blushed scarlet. Hector watched her with delight.

  God, I love it when she does that, he thought.

  ‘It’s okay, Mummy. I was already puzzling how I could get you two guys together. Seems I didn’t have to worry so much.’

  ‘All right, ladies, on your feet! It’s time to move out.’

  Hector gave Hazel a chance to recover her poise and stood up. He looked ahead. In the early morning sunlight the desert was endowed with an austere splendour. There was not the faintest touch of green, but the sand sparkled like a trove of diamonds when the sun caught the grains of silica in it; the rocky hillocks were as majestic as Rodin sculptures. He could feel the heat rising. He had given the last of his water to the women. His mouth was dry, and when he touched his lips they were rough as sandpaper. He had passed many years of his life in desert places, so as he led them on he was looking for the signs of surface water as assiduously as he was searching out hidden enemies. Soon they were all struggling as dehydration began eroding their last reserves of strength, and he had to let them rest again. He had picked up a couple of quartz pebbles and now he gave Hazel and Cayla one each.

  ‘Suck it!’ he instructed. ‘It will help keep your mouth from drying out completely. Breathe through your nose and speak only if necessary. You have to save body fluids.’ He looked from them to the men. One was huddled with an agonized expression, fighting cramp. The rest of them did not look as if they would be much good in a fight. A small cloud passed over the brilliance of the sun, and the relief was immediate if temporary. He glanced up and saw birds, dark against the grey cloud. There were five of them, large and swift on quick wingbeats. He stood up and shaded his eyes. The women were both watching him.

  ‘What have you seen?’ Cayla demanded.

  ‘Columba guinea to the ornithologist,’ he replied, ‘but to you and me they are plain old rock pigeons.’

  ‘Oh!’ Cayla did not try to hide her disappointment. ‘I cannot tell you just how non-fascinating that is, Heck.’ The flock of pigeons began to drop and as they wheeled in the sunlight they appeared a lovely shade of blue with wine-coloured necks, and white rims around their eyes.

  ‘When they flock up like that at this time of day they are heading for water.’

  ‘Water?’ the two women asked together.

  ‘When they descend like that they have found it,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that just so non-fascinating, Cay?’

  ‘Sometimes you make me feel like a retard,’ she replied contritely.

  ‘Rest assured, Cay, you act like one only on occasion. On your feet, ladies, let’s go take a look-see.’ He had marked the spot where the flock had gone on to settle a quarter of a mile ahead. As they approached it the geological features became clearer. There was another smaller wadi across their track, an offshoot of the main gorge. It cut through several strata of rock formations. The band of water-bearing limestone showed clearly, overlain by bright orange schist. Suddenly the pigeon flock rose from the wadi wall on clattering wings. They had been hidden in a horizontal fissure formed by the erosion of the softer limestone under the impervious rimrock.

  ‘Jackpot!’ cried Hector with a smile as he led them to the foot of the wadi wall. While they collapsed thankfully in its shade he scaled it until he reached the fissure beneath the limestone layer. When he peered into the dark opening he could smell the water. The cleft was just wide enough for him to crawl into on his belly and elbows. The water lay in a shallow puddle far back in the low cave. He scooped a cupped handful and tasted it.

  ‘Shit!’ he said. ‘Literally! Pigeon shit! But what doesn’t kill you makes you fat.’ He shouted down to Tariq to bring up the water bottles. He strained the water through his shirt, and despite the foul taste they drank the bottles dry and Hector filled them again. At last all of them had quenched their thirst and Hector filled the bottles for the third time. When he descended the wall he looked the little group over. The change was almost magical. The men were smiling and chatting quietly. Hazel was sitting behind her daughter, humming softly as she combed and braided her hair.

  ‘Women!’ Hector murmured, shaking his head fondly. ‘Where the hell did she find a comb?’ Then he called, ‘Don’t get too comfortable, people, we are moving out right this minute.’

  They fell into formation again and climbed out of the wadi. Hector kept to the higher ground as much as was possible as he headed west, maintaining a strict watch over the surrounding territory. Within the hour he had good reason to be pleased with his vigilance. A couple of miles to the south he spotted a tiny feather of pale dust rising into the brazen and burning sky. He stopped the column and squatted to study the dust for a few minutes. It was moving slowly in their direction, and he wished he had brought his binoculars, but he had been concerned to cut the weight of the packs to a minimum. After only a short observation it was apparent that the dust was being kicked up by a slow-moving vehicle of some kind.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s good enough for me.’ He stood up and called Tariq to him. Quickly he gave orders to leave two of the men to watch over the women, while he and the rest of them ran to meet the oncoming vehicle. It soon became evident that it was keeping to a sandy, dry riverbed that ran along the bottom of a shallow valley where the ground was not as broken and rugged. When it reached a point in the river where the banks were shallower Hector got his first clear view of it. He recognized it at once as a medium-sized four-wheel-drive Mercedes truck. The windscreen was folded down and there was a driver with three other men sitting on a raised bench seat behind him. All four men were armed and wearing traditional tunics and turbans. Hector waited until the truck was hidden again by the bank of the riverbed.

  ‘Follow me!’ Hector jumped to his feet and with his men close behind him raced down the hillside until they could drop flat on the lip of the riverbank ahead of the truck. The Mercedes appeared around the bend two hundred yards beyond them. Hector let it come on until it was almost level with their position, then he and Tariq dropped down into the riverbed and blocked the way with their rifles levelled at the occupants.

  ‘Don’t touch your weapons or we will kill you,’ Hector shouted in Arabic. ‘Switch off the engine. Raise your hands above your heads.’ The driver and two of the men behind him obeyed with alacrity, but the third man who was sitting nearest the back of the vehicle rose to his feet. He was very
tall but also very old. His face was impossibly wrinkled with a long white beard tipped with henna. In his left hand he held an AK-47 assault rifle. He glared at Hector with the wild hypnotic eye of a biblical prophet and raised his right hand to point at him with a clawlike arthritic finger.

  ‘You are the murderer of my three sons. You are Cross, the foul infidel swine with whom I have declared a blood feud. I curse you with all the might of Allah. May you never know peace even after I have slain you.’

  ‘It is the Sheikh Tippoo Tip,’ Tariq shouted in warning. Hector held his aim in the centre of the Sheikh’s chest.

  ‘Put down that rifle!’ he called harshly. ‘Get down off the truck, old man! Do not force me to kill you.’ The Sheikh was like a deaf man. Without taking his eyes from Hector’s he began to raise the AK-47. His twisted hands were shaking with the force of his hatred.

  ‘Don’t do it!’ Hector warned him but the Sheikh ignored the menace of the rifle pointed at his chest. He placed the butt of the AK-47 into his shoulder and took his aim over the wavering barrel.

  ‘God forgive me!’ Hector whispered and shot him in the centre of his chest. Tippoo Tip dropped the rifle but remained on his feet by clutching the grab rail for support.

  ‘I curse you and all your descendants. I curse you with the fires of Hell and the claws and fangs of the black angels . . .’ Before Hector could prevent it, Tariq shot him once more, this time in the head. The Sheikh was thrown backwards off the truck into the sand of the riverbed. His two bodyguards roared with fury and grabbed their weapons, but before they could get off a single round Hector fired short taps of three rounds at each of them. The guards were knocked out of their seats. Tariq fired a burst at the driver behind the wheel as he drew his pistol, killing him instantly. Then he went to the truck and heaved the driver out of his seat into the wadi. Standing over the bodies he delivered the coup de grâce to each of them at close range. However, when he went to the corpse of the Sheikh Hector stopped him.