“I’ve a feeling that wherever they went can’t be far. They were expecting to be back pretty soon. We should not overstay our welcome,” Peace said.
Cherry agreed. “Whatever, let’s bloody eat first.”
Soon the aromatic smell of curry permeated the kitchen and when they thought the curry and rice were sufficiently warmed, they got stuck in with two spoons, eating from the same pot. They didn’t speak for a few minutes, both relishing the meal. With a mouth full of curry, she looked up from the table and smiled. “Bloody hell!” she said, the sorrow and pain missing from her eyes for the first time.
He had to agree, the food was delicious. He also felt better, it was the first time she had given him a smile in a while. He finished the last of his coffee and rose from the kitchen table.
“That certainly feels better. I’d like to have stayed to catch some sleep, but I don’t think it wise to stick around here. Come, it’s time we left,” he said and then added. “Get hold of some bread and cut it up and stick it into your pockets.” His attitude softened. “Cherry, I know I’ve driven you hard and I believe you’re an exemplary agent, other than being smart and beautiful. You know I wasn’t happy when you were assigned to this caper. But I don’t regret you joining me now, although I fear for you. And you know why. This is going to be over soon and we’ll be the ones who walk away from this. Trust me.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
They stepped outside into the cold. The clouds were returning, although the sun was still visible in places. Hopefully, it would warm up during the day.
The motorcycles were propped up against the wall of the house. They were both identical. He recognised them as Spanish Montesa Cappra semi-trail bikes, ideal for this mountainous and rough terrain. The engines were large — 340cc two-strokes. He then realised that in the rarefied air at this altitude, the engines would not perform that well and therefore size and power would count. He had slung the LAW over his shoulder, but it was cumbersome. The carbine hung from his neck, resting on the motorcycle’s slim petrol tank. He turned to look at her. After days of imprisonment and roughing it, Peace could see the traces of exhaustion on Cherry’s face. But even though a lack of a comb and makeup had taken its toll on her appearance, he could still see the strength and sheer determination she displayed. He was sure he too had to be a sorry sight.
Cherry straddled the bike. “Gosh, I’ve not ridden one of these for a while,” she said. She closed the choke, placed her foot on the kick-starter and then stomped on it with her full weight, expertly forcing the lever down. The engine immediately sprung to life, but with the two-stroke engine cold and it running rough, the exhaust spewed blue-smoke. She had the carbine in front of her hanging tight on its strap across her shoulders and resting on the motorcycle’s fuel tank.
Peace’s bike also started promptly.
They rode towards the track that the Unimog had taken. This was strewn with stones of all sizes, forcing them to proceed slowly in a low gear, but it was certainly a lot better and more comfortable than walking. After fifteen minutes and having travelled a little less than a mile, they began to handle the machines with more confidence. The gloves they’d removed from their black jumpsuits protected their hands against the biting cold, and the anoraks they had found helped ward off the chill. However, the sun now progressively broke through the clouds, and they began riding through intermittent patches of sunshine.
They had covered about five miles when Peace, who was leading, crested a slight rise and suddenly came across a massive expanse of water below. He immediately stopped, forcing Cherry to brake violently.
He cut the engine and pulled a hand across his throat in a cutting motion, indicating that she should do the same. They backed down the slope where they left the bikes on their side-stands. They once more approached the rise and slowly peered over the top, hoping that only their heads were visible from below and took in the scene that lay before them.
The expanse of water was enormous, at least a mile or more wide. The lake was in a steep-sided valley between the mountains and had clearly once been a gorge. The water had to be deep, a good few hundred feet at its deepest. Surprisingly, there was no vegetation around the edges of the lake.
“I reckon this must be one of the dams the South Africans built as part of the Highlands Water Project,” said Cherry. “If I’m not mistaken, I think we’re definitely in Lesotho. This is the main dam, but is only one of a few still to be built. I read this all somewhere. I think this could be the Katse Dam that Janet was referring to.”
“It’s certainly big enough. What the hell is Van Rhyn doing in Lesotho?” He knew that Lesotho, a small mountainous kingdom, was an independent state surrounded by South Africa but contained the largest rain catchment area in southern Africa. South Africa’s water supply was largely dependent on the dams of its rivers.
“I don’t know, but whatever it is, the bastard is ingenious. Who would come here looking for a bomb? Where on earth will he hide it? There’s nothing here!”
Peace had to concede that she had a point. A WMD in Lesotho? Nobody would believe that. Did the man really want to hide the bomb in the dam?
The Unimog had stopped at the water’s edge and stood on the bare rock and shale of the track, leaning over slightly towards the water due to the incline. The arroyo they had driven down continued until it disappeared into the water — it was deep-sided due to water that had eroded it as it coursed down over aeons. Surely, it had to have been quite a feat to drive the Unimog down to the water’s edge. What was the man up to? Clearly, the bomb was still on the vehicle, as the shape was still covered by a tarpaulin. He saw that the dry streambed, which the vehicle had followed, disappeared into the water. At some stage, this track must have led to the bottom of the gorge. He knew that the dam had only recently started to fill some months back and was still filling. Janet had mentioned that it was still incomplete. Every week it gained a percent or so. What this equated to in terms of water-level rises per inch, he had no idea.
They saw the Aerospatiale Puma perched on a large relatively flat rock ledge that stuck out like a small plateau from the side of the valley not far from where the Unimog had stopped.
“We should have rather stolen the Hughes and flown here,” she said.
This momentarily irritated him — ‘we should’ve done this or that’ — so typical of a woman.
“And where would I’ve put it down? There isn’t anywhere that I can see, and stuck up in the air, there is no chance of a surprise attack. They’d just shoot us out of the sky,” he said savagely. “They knew that the ledge could only accommodate the one helicopter.”
“I suppose they are the only people who know where the bomb is.” She looked up and down the gorge, but there was no sign of any habitation.
There was suddenly a distinct tremor beneath their feet, which lasted about ten seconds. Peace gave her a concerned look.
She grinned wearily. “There’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s seismicity.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Seismicity? Jesus, that’s a new one. Where did you learn that?”
“Your girlfriend of course.”
He furrowed his brow but did not respond and his expression of capitulation was not lost on her. She rolled her eyes mockingly.
“For Chrissake, I read it!” she exploded. “Don’t look so surprised — I’m well read, you know. The sheer weight of the water as its volume increases with the filling of the dam induces it, and that’s what we felt. There have been tremors that registered 4.5 on the Richter scale.” She went back to looking at the truck. “Anyway, how’s he going to get the bomb off the truck? I mean, what the hell is he going to do with it here?” she added.
“Oh, the man’s clever,” Peace murmured, shaking his head. “He’s going to hide the bomb in the dam, and as you said, they’re the only ones who know where to look for it.”
“But how?”
Peace snorted. “Probably just roll the truck into the wate
r. The dam’s still filling; it’ll be well hidden below the surface. If we hadn’t been here, nobody would’ve ever found it. However, we’re not going to let him do that. Follow me, we have to get closer.”
They abandoned the motorcycles on the track and skirted to the left, looking for cover on the sides of the gully that led to the water’s edge. The slope of the arroyo was broken rock, and in places washed smooth by the flow of water over the years. It was easy to keep out of the sight of those below. Eventually, they were no more than a hundred yards or so from the Unimog.
“What are we going to do?”
He grinned, trying to conceal his concern. “You, my dear, will fire the carbine, but like a sniper, a single shot at a time. I need you to take out as many as you can. You won’t get them all, they’ll find cover soon enough. Van Rhyn is your prime target, but only shoot at those who give you a clear shot. We don’t have much ammunition.”
He handed her the carbine, which he’d unslung from round his neck. Crouched below a boulder, he lifted the LAW to his shoulder, flipped up the gun-sights, and prepared to fire.
“Now!”
They rose in unison and she immediately found a target, the sharp crack of the carbine loud in his ear. Holding the LAW rock steady, he drew a bead on the Unimog and squeezed the trigger. The rocket projectile erupted from the launch tube, the escaping gas enveloping him in a cloud of grey smoke which was blown back by the wind, but then immediately whipped away. The rocket flew true, hitting the Unimog just above the side fuel tank. The truck exploded and a huge fireball simultaneously rose into the sky, black smoke billowing and contorting above it. The echoes of the explosion rumbled up and down the valley’s sides. Clearly, the truck’s fuel tanks had exploded. The two men who had stood next to the vehicle disappeared in the wall of flame that had leapt outwards from the truck. They never stood a chance. Others, further away, had fallen to the ground.
In seconds, it was over. Those who had not succumbed to the explosion or to Cherry’s accurate rifle fire had found cover behind the many boulders. The truck had fallen over, the bomb still secured to the load-bed but partially submerged in the water. There was no sound other than the crackle and roar of the burning vehicle. None had returned fire.
“How many did you get?” he asked.
“A definite three.”
“That makes five. I’m guessing there were no more than nine in total.”
Shots were fired at them, the bullets hitting the boulders and sending rock splinters flying in all directions, while the ricochets buzzed around them.
“Don’t return fire, let’s conserve our ammunition.”
He realised that it would be pointless for the men below to stay there — the truck itself was gone; no more than a burning pyre. Their attack had been devastating and those below surely had no other option other than to flee. After all, Peace and Cherry held the high ground. Anyone coming their way could easily be picked off. They would most likely make for the Aerospatiale Puma. It still stood on the ledge unattended, about equal distance between them and the men below.
“If they make a rush to the chopper, we’ll let them have it.”
She nodded her head knowingly.
Other than one or two shots fired by both parties to encourage all to keep their heads down, no further firing occurred. Considering that the only knowledge of the whereabouts of the bomb rested with those below, Peace resolved that no one would be left alive to try to salvage it.
From the rocks below, a figure dressed in light-blue coveralls made a dash from behind the boulders in the general director of the helicopter. The distance was at the limit of the Heckler and Koch machine pistol range, but Peace still fired a pattern of shots in front of the running man, the bullets eventually cutting him down like a scythe. He lay still.
“That should dissuade them from any other adventurous attempts,” he said with a grim expression of satisfaction.
Chapter Thirty
Two hours passed. They removed what food they had in their pockets and ate a few mouthfuls, keeping a careful watch on those below.
They seemed to have arrived at a stalemate, and no one wanted to make the next move. Of course, Peace and Cherry could retreat along the gully, but this would serve no purpose. Peace was adamant that this had to end now — no one would be allowed to escape.
“Damn!” Cherry exclaimed.
“What is it?”
“I just saw Van Rhyn,” she said, unable to conceal the fear in her voice.
Peace wasn’t entirely surprised; the man seemed to have more lives than a cat.
“Where?” he asked.
“Shhh, just listen,” she said. “I think I can hear an aircraft or helicopter approaching.”
He listened intently. Something was certainly approaching, but he didn’t think it was a helicopter, as the drone was steady without the deep throb of helicopter rotor blades. It sounded like a single-engine aircraft, and approaching from the west. Holding up a hand to shade his eyes from the sun, he soon saw the approaching dot which grew larger and recognised it to be a de Havilland Beaver, complete with floats in which small wheels could be seen. It was an amphibian.
Of course! The plane had obviously been summoned by radio, and this meant Van Rhyn had contact with the outside world. This was a blow.
The aircraft circled, losing height. He saw it extend its flaps and turn into the wind for its landing approach. It continued to lose altitude until the floats kissed the top of the wavelets on the dam, then settled, throwing up more spray. It neared the shore where Van Rhyn and his men were hidden. When about fifty yards from the shore it swung, beam on, revealing the rear double-hatch in the fuselage. They did not miss the threatening machine-gun barrel that poked through the opening. This immediately began to chatter, the shots bouncing off the rocks that sheltered them, a definite message to keep their heads down. There was no doubt they had radio contact with Van Rhyn, who must have revealed their position.
Already the survivors of the explosion were entering the water and swimming the short distance towards the floatplane. Peace wondered why. Surely, the Aerospatiale Puma would have been the best means of escape? Or had they thought it too dangerous to approach? Something didn’t make sense. Four men were in the water swimming to the floatplane with two hyenas amongst them. Van Rhyn was in the lead.
When the machine-gun fire stitched its way past them, he stood and shouted, “Fire!”
The machine pistol jumped in his hands, waterspouts appearing on the water as he worked the shots towards the swimmers. Next to him, the carbine fired shot after shot. He saw a swimmer throw up an arm and roll over, then had to duck for shelter as the machine-gun’s deadly track of fire again sought them out. Both hunkered down behind the rocks. The firing continued intermittently for a minute or so, but not long enough for them to rise and return fire.
The firing stopped. They looked over the boulder and saw that those who remained were already clambering aboard the floatplane. The floatplane’s pilot was applying power, the aircraft turning to face into the wind. Peace saw no sign of the hyenas. Were they dead or were they already on board? The amphibian’s engine was responding to the throttle and now ran at full power, the aircraft starting to surge forward.
“Run, run!” he shouted, heading towards the Aerospatiale Puma with Cherry close behind him.
He was a qualified helicopter pilot and had time on RAF Lynx helicopters. The Aerospatiale Puma’s flight controls and specs were unknown to him, but comparatively speaking, its sheer size had to make it an ungainly beast. Like flying a DC3 as opposed to a Cessna Skylane or Piper Cherokee. He guessed the Beaver had to block at about a 140–150 m.p.h. indicated airspeed and the floats surely cut into her speed. The Puma was faster by a fair margin. What was the problem? Why hadn’t they used it?
He pushed open the cargo door and climbed into the Puma. He heard Cherry running up behind him, grabbed her hand and pulled her aboard, both of them gasping for breath. He rushed forward and u
p the step into the cockpit and flung himself into the left-hand seat, his eyes simultaneously sweeping over the instruments and the controls. Basic controls were the same in all helicopters. Starting the damn thing was the problem. He needed to find the right switches! He forced himself to calm down and concentrate, and soon found the master switches, the starter controls, and fuel controls. The electric current surged through the instruments as the master switches engaged. He groaned. He realised why they hadn’t used the Puma. It was virtually empty, the gauges only registering a few hundred pounds of fuel. The turbine helicopter with its two engines had a prodigious appetite; the damn thing wouldn’t fly far! Certainly not to any major city.
Cherry had taken the right-hand seat. “Do you know how to fly this thing?” she asked breathlessly.
“A helicopter is a helicopter is a helicopter.”
“Don’t give me that Richard Burton crap! This is not a hole and you can’t compare the two. Don’t spout movie quotes at me, for Chrissake,” she retorted angrily.
“We’ll soon find out, won’t we?”
He didn’t mention the acute lack of fuel and pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn’t let them escape. If she did read the instruments and brought up the question of fuel, he’d deal with it.
Rapidly, he went through the basic start-up procedure and soon the super large blades began to turn as power was fed to them. A minute later the helicopter lifted from the ledge, the nose pitching slightly forward as it gained momentum and speed in pursuit of the Beaver. It was a little sluggish and less responsive than the helicopters he’d previously flown. Quickly, it reached its maximum cruising speed, at least twenty to thirty miles an hour faster than a Beaver with floats. He switched on the forward-seeking radar. There were few clouds in the sky and he soon found the Beaver on the screen and turned in pursuit.
Per Fine Ounce Page 27