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Daniel warned, as the road gradient altered and thick dark riverine bush pressed in close on each side of the narrow track. Get your life-jacket on. I can't stand another one like the last. Jock turned to him, pale-faced in the glow of the instrument panel. I promise ten "Hail Mary's" and fifty "Our Father's" . The price is right, it'll be a breeze, Daniel assured him as the headlights lit the ford.
In Africa a flash flood drops almost as abruptly as it rises.
The rain had stopped almost two hours earlier, and the slope of the valley was by now almost drained. There was a high-water mark on the far bank of the river almost six feet above the present surface of the shrunken waters, to show how swiftly they had subsided. This time the Landcruiser made light of the crossing. The waters did not even cover the headlights before she triumphantly climbed the far bank.
The power of prayer, Daniel grunted. Keep it up, Jock. We'll make a believer of you yet. so The next river had fallen even lower, to the level of the tops of the wheels, and Daniel did not bother to change gear ratios as they splashed through. Forty minutes later, Daniel parked the truck at the front door of the warden's bungalow at Mana Pools Camp.
While Jock leaned on the horn button and sounded a long urgent peal, Daniel pounded with both fists on the warden's door.
The warden came stumbling out onto the screened verandah, dressed only in a pair of underpants. Who is it? he called in Shana. What the hell is going on? He was a lean, muscled forty-year-old named Isaac Mtwetwe.
Isaac? It's me, Daniel called.
There's big trouble, man. Get your arse into gear. You've got work to do. Da
However, Daniel shook his head.
"I am going on after the trucks, and that Mercedes. I don't understand.
Isaac looked up from lacing his boots and his tone was puzzled.
'I can't explain now, but it's all part of Joh
Trust me. Daniel couldn't tell Isaac about the ivory and Ambassador Ning, not until he had proof. Trust me, he repeated, and Isaac nodded.
Okay, Da
Do what you have to do. Daniel left Isaac on the Zambezi bank, assembling his strike force of anti-poacher rangers and embarking them into the twenty-foot fast assault craft. There was a big ninety horsepower Yamaha onboard on the stern. Like the rest of them, the boat was a veteran of the bush war.
Daniel drove on westwards into the night, following the track that ran parallel to the Zambezi. Now the tyre tracks of the convoy were even more deeply ploughed into the muddy earth. In the headlights they looked as fresh as if they had been laid only minutes before.
Certainly they had been made since the last downpour of rain. The pattern of the treads was clearly moulded in black cotton clay of the roadway.
Obviously one of the trucks was still towing the Mercedes.
Daniel could pick out the scuff-marks where the tow rope had touched the earth at intervals. The tow would slow them down considerably, Daniel thought with satisfaction. He must be gaining on them rapidly now. He peered ahead eagerly, half expecting to see the red glow of the Metcedes's tail-lights appear out of the darkness, and he reached out to touch the AK 47 rifle propped between the seats.
Jock noticed the gesture and warned him softly, Don't do anything stupid, Da
Cool it, man. It seemed that they were further behind the convoy than Daniel had hoped. It was after midnight when they intersected the Great North Road, the metalled highway that crossed the Chirundu bridge over the Zambezi to the north, and to the south climbed the escarpment of the valley on its serpentine route to Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe.
Daniel pulled the Landcruiser into the verge at the road junction.
He jumped out with the Maglite in his hand.
In all probability the convoy would have turned south towards Harare.
They couldn't have hoped to get two huge government trucks loaded with fresh game meat and ivory through both the Zimbabwean and Zambian customs posts, not even with the dispensation of the most princely bribes.
Daniel found confirmation of his deduction almost immediately. The tires of the trucks and the Mercedes had been caked with clinging black clay.
They left clear tracks on the tarmac of the highway. The tracks gradually faded out as the last vestiges of clay were spun off the tires, but for almost a mile further the moulded bars of mud from between the treads of the tires, littered the tarmac like squares of chocolate. South, said Daniel, as he climbed back behind the drivingwheel. They're heading south, and we're catching up with them every minute. He pushed the Landcruiser hard and kicked in the Fairey overdrive. The speedometer needle touched 90 miles per hour and the heavy tires whined shrilly on the black tarmac surface of the highway.
They can't be much further ahead, Daniel muttered. As he said it he saw the glow of headlights in front of them.
He touched the stock of the AK rifle again, and Jock glanced at him nervously. For Chrissake, Da
He had expected to see the distinctive hull of the refrigerator truck standing up tall and polar white in the beam of the spotlight. Instead he found a vehicle that he had never seen before. It was a gigantic MAC truck, a twenty-to