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upwards and Bruce was thrown back against the side of the cliff with
such force that for a second he lay there.
Wally was on his knees, facing Bruce, his eyes glazed and
sightless, and the strangling rattling sound spraying from his throat in
a pink cloud of blood. With both hands he was fumbling his pistol out of
its canvas holster.
Bruce drew his knees up on to his chest, then straightened his legs in a
mule kick. His feet landed together in the centre of
Hendry's stomach, throwing him backwards off the platform. Hendry made
that strangled bellow all the way to the bottom, but at the end it was
cut off abruptly, and afterwards there was only the sound of the wind in
the forest below.
For a long time, drained of strength and the power to think, Bruce sat
on the ledge with his back against the rock.
Above him the clouds had rolled aside and half the sky was blue.
He looked out across the land and the forest was lush and clean from the
rain. And I am still alive. The realization warmed Bruce's mind as
comfortably as the early sun was warming his body. He wanted to shout it
out across the forest. I am still alive!
At last he stood up, crossed to the edge of the cliff and looked down at
the tiny crumpled figure on the rocks below.
Then he turned away and dragged his beaten body down the side of the
turret.
It took him twenty minutes to find Wally Hendry in the chaos of broken
rock and scrub below the turret. He lay on his side with his legs drawn
up as though he slept. Bruce knelt beside him and drew his pistol from
the olive-green canvas holster; then he unbuttoned the flap of Hendry's
bulging breast pocket and took out the white canvas bag.
He stood up, opened the mouth of the bag and stirred the diamonds with
his forefinger. Satisfied, he jerked the drawstring closed and dropped
them into his own pocket.
In death he is even more repulsive than he was alive, thought
Bruce without regret as he looked down at the corpse.
The flies were crawling into the bloody nostrils and clustering round
the eyes.
Then he spoke aloud.
"So Mike Haig was right and I was wrong - you can destroy it."
Without looking back he walked away. The tiredness left him.
Carl Engelbrecht came through the doorway from the cockpit into the main
cabin of the Dakota.
"Are you two happy?" he asked above the deep drone of the engines, and
then gri
gri
"Go away! Can't you see we're busy?"
"You've got lots of cheek for a hitch-hiker - bloody good mind to make
you get out and walk," he grumbled as he sat down beside them on the
bench that ran the full length of the fuselage. "I've brought you some
coffee and sandwiches."
"Good. Good. I'm starving." Shermaine sat up and reached for the thermos
flask and the greaseproof paper packet. The bruise on her cheek had
faded to a shadow with yellow edges - it was almost ten days old. With
his mouth full of chicken sandwich Bruce kicked one of the wooden cases
that were roped securely to the floor of the aircraft.
"What have you got in these, Carl?" "Du
into the three plastic mugs. "In this game you don't ask questions. You
fly out, take your money, and let it go." He drained his mug and stood
up. "Well, I'll leave you two alone now. We'll be in Nairobi in a couple
of hours, so you can sleep or something!" He winked. "You'll have to
stay aboard while we refuel. But we'll be airborne again in an hour or
so, and the day after tomorrow, God and the weather permitting, we'll
set you down in Zurich."
"Thanks, old cock."
"Think nothing of it - all in the day's work." He went forward
and disappeared into the cockpit, closing the door behind him.
Shermaine turned back to Bruce, studied him for a moment and then
laughed.
"You look so different - now you look like a lawyer!"
Self-consciously Bruce tightened the knot of his Old Michaelhouse tie.
"I must admit it feels strange to wear a suit and tie again." He looked
down at the well-cut blue suit - the only one he had left - and then up
again at Shermaine.
"And in a dress I hardly recognize you either." She was wearing a
lime-green cotton frock, cool and crisp looking, white high-heel shoes
and just a little make-up to cover the bruise. A damn fine woman, Bruce
decided with pleasure.
"How does your thumb feel? she asked, and Bruce held up the stump with
its neat little turban of adhesive tape.
"I had almost forgotten about it." Suddenly Shermaine's expression
changed, and she pointed excitedly out of the perspex window behind
Bruce's shoulder.
"Look, there's the sea!" It lay far below them, shaded from blue to pale
green in the shallows, with a round of white beach and the wave
formation moving across it like ripples on a pond.
"That's Lake Tanganyika." Bruce laughed. "We've left the Congo behind."
"Forever?" she asked.
"Forever!" he assured her.
The aircraft banked slightly, throwing them closer together, as
Carl picked out his landmarks and altered cours towards the north-east.
Four thousand feet below them the dark insect that was their shadow
flitted and hopped across the surface of the water.