by Wilbur Smith
‘That one is the leader.’ Hector nodded in the direction of a tall man with a huge beard descending from the bus tucking something into his waist sash and then turning to wave the driver forward. ‘How much, do you think?’
‘Ten dollars?’ Tariq guessed.
‘That should be enough. Try him with it.’ Tariq nodded and Hector returned to his seat on the floor behind the barrier of luggage. At last they were summoned forward by the jihadists with masterful brandishing of firearms and fearsome shouts. The chief of the search party was once again first on board and he leaned over Tariq. From where he sat Hector could smell the arak on his breath. The passing over of the ten-dollar bill by Tariq was done as neatly as a stage illusion, and the jihadist straightened up and came down to where Hector was blocking the aisle. He pointed his rifle at Hector’s face.
‘Who are you and where are you going?’ he demanded
‘I am Suleiman Baghdadi. I am going to Berbera to catch the ferry to Jeddah to make the pilgrimage to Mecca.’
‘You speak like a Saudi pig.’ The man insulted him gratuitously but without rancour, then he looked beyond him at the fat lady on the back seat. He shook his head and laughed at her for no good reason. Then he turned and marched back along the aisle to the door and jumped down into the road. He shouted at Tariq, who drove on. They were stopped twice more before they covered the fifteen miles to reach a tiny scattering of huts beside the road. On the road verge were a few old women squatting under a thatched lean-to and selling groundnuts and bunches of yams and plantains to the passing travellers. Tariq stopped the bus and most of the passengers climbed down to buy from the old women. Tariq bought a dish of roasted groundnuts and tipped the seller a dollar, which earned him her immediate affection. The two of them chatted animatedly for five minutes before Tariq returned to his seat and Hector made his way forward again and crouched behind him. Tariq proffered the bowl of nuts and Hector took a handful.
‘Yes? What did you find out?’ he asked as he chewed.
‘The old road to the mountains is only a short way ahead, just beyond the first dry wadi we have to cross. The woman said that very few people know that it exists, only the old ones like herself. Nobody uses it any more. She does not even know if it is still passable.’
‘Does she know if there are any more roadblocks ahead?’
‘She does not think so.’ Hector thought about this for only a few minutes and then reached his decision.
‘All right, Tariq. This is where we say farewell to our passengers. You know what to tell them.’ Tariq climbed down onto the road and ordered all his passengers to do the same. Then he gave them the bad news.
‘There is a fuel leak in the engine and a great risk of fire which will burn you to death or at the least will destroy all your possessions. We cannot safely take you further.’ There were cries of alarm and anger from his passengers, then the voice of the fat lady with the fish basket rose above the hubbub.
‘What about the money that we paid you?’ she demanded.
‘I will give you back all the money you paid, and another ten dollars each to buy a seat on another bus.’ The cries of indignation subsided instantly; they chatted delightedly amongst themselves until the fat lady spoke up again.
‘Promises are easy to make. Show us your money or you will not need your fuel leak. We will burn your bus for you.’ She drew back the niqab that covered her face to make her threat more convincing and she glared at him.
‘You shall be the first to be paid, old mother,’ Tariq assured her and counted out the cash into her chubby paw. All the fire went out of her. She cooed like a chubby baby being offered her mother’s teat. The others crowded forward and as soon as they were paid they offloaded all their luggage onto the dusty ground. Then they cheerfully waved goodbye to the much lighter bus as it drove on. The remaining passengers were also in celebratory mood.
‘I don’t think I could have survived that stench much longer,’ said Cayla, removing the hood of her burqa and thrusting her head out of the empty window. She inhaled deeply and fluffed out her sweaty hair to dry in the wind.
‘We call it L’Eau d’Afrique,’ said Hector sympathetically. ‘If you bottled it and sold it in the Rue Faubourg Saint-Honoré it is unlikely you would make your fortune.’ Cayla wrinkled her nose at the thought.
‘I think that is the wadi we are looking for just ahead,’ Tariq said, pointing through the dusty windscreen.
‘Watch out, everybody!’ Hector called out urgently. ‘There are two more militia lorries parked on this side. Get your head in, Cayla, and cover it.’ She obeyed at once and Hazel put her arm around her and they both hunkered down on the seat. The men lifted their headscarves to cover the lower halves of their faces. Tariq drove on at a steady speed.
There were several groups of men in jihadist uniform standing around the two parked trucks but they stopped chatting among themselves and turned their attention to the approaching bus. One of them stepped into the road, unslinging his rifle from his shoulder. He held up his hand and Tariq braked obediently. The man came around to the driver’s window.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Berbera.’
‘Why so few passengers?’
‘We broke down in Lascanood. Most of them would not wait and left us,’ Tariq explained and the man grunted.
‘We are thirsty,’ he said. Tariq reached under the seat and produced a bottle of arak which he had bought in Lascanood for just such a situation as this. The man pulled the cork with his teeth and sniffed the fiery contents of the bottle, then stepped back and waved them on. They all relaxed and Cayla removed the hood of her burqa and stuck her head out of the window again.
The bus ran down the near bank of the wadi, laboured through the loose sand in the dry riverbed and reluctantly climbed the far side. They came out unexpectedly on another vehicle parked on top of the bank. This one was an off-white Toyota Hilux. There was a man behind the wheel and two others standing in the back of the truck bed. They both had binoculars trained on the mountains of the Ethiopian border away to the west. One of the men lowered his binoculars and stared at the bus.
‘Shit!’ Hector said with a hiss. ‘It’s Uthmann Waddah. Keep your faces covered,’ he warned his men. He glanced back at the women. Uthmann had never laid eyes on Daliyah or Cayla. Cayla had pulled her head in as soon as she saw the truck, but her hair and her face were uncovered. Quickly she pulled a fold of her robe over her hair and she turned away to hide her pale complexion. Hazel had not removed her burqa hood. The only ones Uthmann could possibly recognize were Hector or any other of his erstwhile companions in arms. As the bus drew level with the Hilux the second man in the back of it dropped his binoculars and let them dangle on the strap against his chest. He placed his hands on his hips and stared up at the faces in the windows of the bus. He was younger than Uthmann, and strikingly handsome. His features seemed to have been carved in polished ebony. He looked up into Hector’s face. Suddenly Hector recognized him as the central character from the video of Cayla’s violation. Before Hector could give the warning he saw the man’s gaze switch towards the back windows of the bus. His aloof expression changed instantly, becoming wolfish and fierce. Cayla had not been able to resist the temptation to turn her head back for a quick peep. She looked straight into Adam’s eyes.
‘That’s her! That’s the infidel pig-sow whore!’ Adam shouted in Arabic. At the same time Cayla screamed in wild terror.
‘It’s Adam!’ She flung herself down on the floor of the bus, and covered her face with both hands. She was shivering as though with a violent attack of malaria. Hector slapped Tariq on the back.
‘Drive! Go like hell. We have been blown wide open.’ Tariq crashed the gears and pushed the bus to its top speed. Hector ran to the back window and with the butt of his AK smashed out the glass. ‘Take care of Cayla,’ he told Hazel without looking at her. ‘Make her keep down. There is going to be some gun-play.’
Hector was staring out of t
he rear window. He saw that Uthmann remained standing in the back of the Hilux, but Adam had scrambled down into the cab and the truck pulled out into the road and roared in pursuit of the bus. With its flying start the bus had gained at least a hundred yards on the Hilux. But Hector knew the smaller vehicle was much faster than they were. Adam was leaning well out of the side window and levelling his rifle at them. The range was still too long. His first burst of fire flew so wide that Hector could not mark where the bullets had struck. Much more experienced, Uthmann was holding his fire. Even at this distance he and Hector were studying each other. They knew each other so well. Each of them knew that the other had no obvious weaknesses. They were both swift and deadly. With his right hand Uthmann was balancing himself with the grab-handle on the roof of the Toyota. He held his rifle easily in his left hand, but Hector knew that he was ambidextrous and could shoot fast and accurately off either shoulder. Hector saw that Uthmann was still carrying his new Bannock-issue Beretta, the finest infantry weapon ever made. Hector had the ancient and abused AK-47 that he had never fired before. Uthmann had wide-angle optical sights and off a steady platform he could shoot to within a half-inch of his point of aim at a range of two hundred yards. He was certainly one of the finest shots Hector had ever known.
Except for yours truly, of course, and the back of a racing truck is not a steady platform even for Uthmann, Hector consoled himself. The steel of this old TATA should be able to turn the light 5.56mm NATO bullets. On the other hand Hector had crude and heavy iron sights. The bore of his AK was badly worn and the bullets would probably rattle through the barrel when it was fired. The Good Lord alone knew where they would strike.
Better try it, he decided and aimed out of the window at the front tyre of the Toyota, so that he had a background on which to mark the strike of his bullets. He fired a three-round burst and saw his bullets kick dust from the surface of the road six feet left of the tyre he was aiming at. He imagined the smirk on Uthmann’s face at the quality of this shooting. He looked back quickly and shouted at Hazel, ‘Get up to the front and lie flat on the floor. We are going to be under fire any moment now.’ She obeyed at once, dragging Cayla with her, and Daliyah followed them. His other four men crawled back and crouched on each side of Hector with their weapons ready.
‘Don’t shoot for the men,’ he commanded them, ‘shoot for the front tyres. They are the easiest target. Are you ready? A quick burst and then down again. You all know Uthmann. Don’t give him a clean shot. He does not miss.’ They clutched their weapons, still crouching below the sill of the rear window.
‘Up and fire!’ Hector shouted. They all jumped up and opened up with automatic fire. Bullets sprayed all over the road but he saw none of them hit either of the front wheels. In the back of the Toyota Uthmann brought up his Beretta in a relaxed and easy motion. He fired two single shots in such swift succession that the reports blended in a single blast of sound. His first bullet hit the man standing beside Hector in the head, killing him instantly. He cartwheeled over the back of the seat. Uthmann’s second bullet jerked at the fold of Hector’s turban and he felt the sting of it as it nicked his right earlobe. He ducked down and clapped his hand to his ear. When he saw the blood on his palm it made him very, very angry.
‘Bastard!’ he exclaimed. ‘Treacherous bastard!’ However, even in his anger he acknowledged that it was magical marksmanship. Two head shots with two shots. He popped his head up again and saw that the Toyota was much closer. He ducked down instantly and Uthmann’s bullet fluted over his head. He had only just been quick enough. He changed position and came up again fast, fired a burst of three shots and went down an instant before Uthmann answered with a shot that was only a fraction right. The Toyota was now so close that he could clearly hear the sound of its racing engine over that of the TATA. The Cross Bow man standing furthest from Hector jumped up with his AK poised but Uthmann killed him before he could loose a single shot.
Using the brief window of time that he knew it would take Uthmann to realign himself after the kill, Hector sprang up again. He found the Toyota had raced up to within forty yards of the rear of the bus, point-blank range even for the lousy old AK. Hector fired again at the front wheel, allowing for the left deflection in the AK’s iron sights. He knew it was a lucky fluke when he saw the front tyre explode. Out of control, the Toyota swung wildly across the road and crashed into the drainage ditch beside it. Uthmann had fired an instant after Hector but he had been thrown off by the skidding truck under him, and his bullet flew wide. The Toyota cartwheeled in a cloud of dust and pebbles. Hector could not see what had happened to any of the occupants, and he thought for a moment this was his one chance to turn back and kill Uthmann while he was still dazed or incapacitated. Then he saw the dust from the other two jihadist trucks coming up the road at high speed behind the wreck of the Toyota. They must have heard the gunfire and were rushing to join the fray.
‘Don’t stop!’ Hector yelled at Tariq. ‘Drive on as fast as you can.’ He started back down the length of the bus, but paused beside Hazel and Cayla. Cayla was in a desperate state. She was deadly pale, shaking, shivering and weeping. She looked up at him.
‘Did you kill him, Heck?’
‘I am sorry, darling. But I don’t think I did. I’ll get him for you next time.’
Cayla burst into heartbroken sobs and buried her face against her mother’s shoulder. She had been so strong and so convincingly brave and cheerful up until this time that Hector had believed, or rather he wanted to believe, that she had come through her ordeal with little psychological damage. But now he knew it was an illusion. The damage was so deep that it had shattered the very foundations of Cayla’s being. It was going to be a long hard fight back. He knew that she would need all the love and care that he and Hazel were capable of giving her.
There will be a time for that, he told himself. But my first duty is to get them out of the jaws of the Beast. He left them and ran forward to Tariq.
‘We must not miss the turn-off to the old road,’ he said quietly but urgently.
‘The old woman told me that the sign was gone, but that there was still the pole on which it had once hung. That must be it there.’ He pointed at the piece of steel water pipe reddened with rust, sticking up out of a patch of weeds on the lefthand side of the road ahead of them. He hit the brakes and slowed for the turn. ‘I can’t see any road.’
‘There! Between the two rocks. Those must be the original markers.’ The bus bounced over the verge of the highway and tore on between the two large rocks with barely a check.
‘There! Now you can see the old road tracks.’ Hector guided Tariq into them and once they were clear of the roadside weeds the track became even clearer. Hector was keeping a look out for the dust of the pursuing trucks, but at the same time he directed Tariq towards a cluster of large rocks a short way ahead. Obviously, the jihadist trucks had stopped to give assistance to the overturned Toyota, for they were no longer in sight. It took a while longer for them to come roaring down the main highway. By that time Hector had the bus concealed behind the rocks. The pursuers raced past the turn-off and went on along the highway without any check or hesitation. Hector watched them through the binoculars and he recognized both Adam and Uthmann in the back of the leading vehicle. They had survived the crash, more was the pity.
As soon as they disappeared into the dust and distance Hector told Tariq, ‘That’s not going to fool them for too long. Get moving again quickly.’
They pulled back onto the rudimentary path and accelerated along it. In places the summer thunderstorms and flash floods had washed the tracks out dangerously and Tariq had to bounce over the rough ground and low scrub to get around the worst spots. The land rose gently under them and there was very little cover. Hector looked back anxiously. He knew that when Uthmann realized they had been side-stepped he would come racing back to find where the TATA had left the road. They would immediately spot the bus on the open hillside. Laboriously the bus climbed towar
ds the crest of the rise and the blue mountains of Ethiopia lay directly ahead. As they neared the crest Hector ran back the length of the bus and peered through the rear window.
‘Damn it to hell,’ he muttered. He could make out the dust of the jihadist vehicles coming back along the highway from the north. He looked ahead and saw that they were still out on the open hillside and well short of the crest of the hill.
‘We’re not going to make it!’ he muttered under his breath. There was no purpose in urging Tariq on; he was making the best possible speed over the broken ground. The pursuing trucks were now in full view. Suddenly the leading truck came to a halt. It was still too far for Hector to recognize the men on the back of it, but he had a mental image of Uthmann standing up and training his binoculars on the TATA. Then as abruptly as they had stopped the two trucks sped forward again. They reached the point where the TATA had left the main road and they slowed down to almost a walking speed and then both trucks turned onto the old road behind them.
‘Here they come!’ Hector lamented. ‘And we have gained less than a mile.’ He watched them climbing the hillside behind them. However, they were forced to negotiate the same dangerously rugged road as the bus. Their superior speed was no longer affording them much advantage. The TATA reached the top of the hill. Ahead the track dropped down into another shallow valley a mile or so across to where the route began the final climb up towards the foothills of the mountain range. The bus rattled down into the valley, losing sight of the pursuers. The ground was smoother across the valley bottom and they made better speed.
Hector peered over Tariq’s shoulder at the lie of the land ahead. The solid bulwark of foothills that confronted them seemed impassable until he made out the mouth of the narrow pass between their frowning cliffs. He leaned out of the side window and looked back just in time to see the first enemy truck appear on the skyline behind them. It paused only briefly while Uthmann found his bearings and then started down into the valley after them. The second truck followed closely behind the first. Hector knew that they were now in a position to take greater advantage of the smooth ground of the valley bottom than they themselves could in the old bus. The odds had swung heavily back in Uthmann’s favour. Hector looked ahead to the mouth of the pass. It was going to be a near-run thing to reach it before the two trucks could catch them. Hazel and Cayla were watching him, and he smiled reassuringly.