The Seventh Scroll tes-2

by Wilbur Smith

  She does not have the reflexes of a warrior. She will give me a second

  unhurried shot. At this range there will be no question of a miss. Right

  between those pretty little black tits of hers." He became sexually

  charged by the image of blood and violent death set opposite Tessay's

  loveliness and grace. "I might even have a chance to get one of the

  others. But I can't bank on that. These men are good.

  More likely that they will dive into cover before I have even had time

  to kill the woman."

  He watched the faces of the rear guard as, one at a time, carefully

  spaced, they came into view. Each time he felt his heart trip with

  disappointment. In the end there were three of them on the path, moving

  past him at a steady, businesslike jog-trot. But no sign of Mek and the

  woman. The rear guard disappeared down the path, and the small sounds of

  their progress dwindled into silence. Boris lay alone on the ledge, his

  heart thumping and the sour taste of disappointment in the back of his

  throat.

  "Where are they?" he thought bitterly. "Where the hell is MeV And the

  obvious answer to his own question occurred to him immediately. They had

  taken a different trail. Mek had used this patrol as a decoy to lure him

  away.

  He lay quietly for a measured five minutes by his wristwatch, just in

  case there might be more men coming up the trail. His mind was racing.

  His last definite placin of 9 Tessay had been the glimpse of her

  footprint on the trail at the far bend of the oxbow.

  That was several hours ago, and if she and Mek had given him the slip

  they could be anywhere by now. Mek might have won himself a start of a

  full day or more - it might take Boris that long to work the spoor

  through.

  Feeling waves of anger overwhelm him, he had to close his eyes and fight

  it off in order to keep his sense of reason from being swamped. He had

  to think clearly now, not go rushing at the problem like a wounded

  buffalo. He knew that this was one of his weaknesses: he had to keep

  tight control of himself.

  When he opened his eyes again, his anger had become cold and functional.

  He knew precisely what he had to do and the order in which he must do

  it. The very first task was t& sweep and check the back trail. He had to

  establish the point at which Mek had left the main detachment of shufta.

  He slipped down off the ledge and through the scrub to the open trail.

  Still anti-tracking, but moving swiftly, he made his way upstream, back

  towards the patch of Thorn scrub where the party of shufta had lain up

  in the heat of the day. The first thing he noticed was that the pair of

  kites had gone. But he did not take this as proof that the bush was

  deserted! and began to circle it carefully. First he worked the incoming

  trail on the far side of the patch of bush. Although several hours old

  now, it was still clear enough to read.

  Suddenly he stopped in the centre of the trail and felt the hair rise on

  his forearms and down the back of his neck as he stared at the sign in

  the dust of the path. He realized that he had walked into Mek's trap.

  There lay the distinctive imprint of a Bata tennis shoe.

  Mek and the woman had gone into the patch of scrub and had not come out

  again. They were still in there, and Boris was seized by the strong

  premonition that Mek was watching him even at that moment, over the open

  sights of his AK. While he was out in the open like this, stooped over

  the spoor, Boris was completely vulnerable.

  Hurling himself sideways off the path, he landed like a cat in the wire

  grass beside it, with the rifle at the ready. It took many minutes for

  his heartbeats to return to normal, and then he rose again into a

  stealthy crouch and began circling the patch of scrub very cautiously.

  His nerves were as taut as guitar strings, and his pale eyes darted from

  side to side. His finger lay upon the trigger of the 30/06 and he kept

  the muzzle weaving slowly, like the head of a cobra ready to strike in

  any direction.

  He moved down towards the bank of the river, where A the noise of the

  rapids would mask any sound he might make. But when he had almost

  reached the shelter of the house -sized boulder that he had noticed from

  the mountain crest he froze again. He had heard a sound that carried

  over the sound of Nile waters - a sound so incongnious in this place and

  at this time that for a moment he doubted his own hearing. It was the

  sound of a woman's laughter, sweet and clear as the tinkle of a crystal

  chandelier swinging in the breeze.

  The sound came from below him, from the river bank beyond the tumbled

  boulder. He crept towards the boulder, determined to use it for cover

  and as a vantage point from which he could cover the bank beyond it. But

  before he reached it he heard the splash of some heavy object striking

  the surfac& of the river, and an excited female squeal, both playful and

  provocative.

  Reaching the side of the boulder, and keeping close in under its

  protective bulk, he stole towards the corner, from which he could

  overlook the gravel bank beyond. Then, peeping cautiously around the

  angle of the boulder, he stared in amazement. He could barely believe

  what he was seeing. He could not credit this kind of stupidity from a

  man like Mek Nimmur. This was the hard man, the seasoned warrior and

  survivor of twenty years of bloody bush war acting like a love-sick

  teenage booby.

  Mek Nimmur had sent his men away so that he could be alone to frolic

  with his new paramour. Boris took time to make absolutely certain that

  this was not some elaborate trap that had been set for him. It seemed

  too fortuitous, too heaven-sent to be really true. He searched every

  inch of the bank in both directions for hidden gunmen before he smiled

  his cold little smile.

  "Of course they are alone. Mek would never let one of his men see Tessay

  naked like this." His smile grew broader as he recognized the full

  extent of his luck. "He must have gone crazy. Did he not realize that I

  would follow him? Did he think he was far enough ahead to be able to

  indulge tu himself like this? Is there anything in this world as pid and

  as shortsighted as a standing prick?" Boris was gloating delightedly

  now.

  uple had stripped off their clothes and left them The coin a pile on the

  beach of grey basalt gravel in the shade of AL

  the tall boulder. They were splashing together in the slack water of the

  river at the edge of the main current. Both Of them were stark

  mother-naked. Mek Nimmur was broadshouldered, with a heavily muscled

  back and hard, tight buttocks. Beside him Tessay was slim as a river

  reed, her waist tiny and her hips narrow. Her skin was the colour of

  wild honey. They were completely absorbed in each other, without eyes or

  ears for anything else in this world.

  "He must have left men guarding his back trail." Boris gave Mek the

  benefit of some sense. "He never expected me to be ahead of him on the

  trail. He thinks they are completely secure. Look at the fool," he

 
gloated, as Mek chased the girl and she let herself be caught. They fell

  into the shallow water locked in each other's embrace, mouths seeking

  each other as they surfaced again, laughing as the water streamed down

  their darkly beautiful faces, the epitome of handsome masculinity and

  lovely womanhood, the image of an African Adam and Eve captured for a

  moment in their own little carefree paradise.

  Boris tore his eyes from them, and looked to where their clothing had

  been abandoned on the gravel bar.

  Mek's AK rifle lay carelessly on top of his camouflage jacket, within a

  few paces of where Boris stood. He crossed the open gravel bar with a

  few quick strides, picked up the AK, unclipped the curved magazine and

  dropped it into his pocket, ejected the round from the chamber and let

  it fly away into the gravel, replaced the unloaded rifle on the jacket,

  and rapidly returned to the tee of the boulder. Both Mek and Tessay

  remained utterly oblivious to what had happened.

  Boris stood there quietly in the shadow of the rock, watching them at

  play in the river. They were almost childlike in their love and their

  complete preoccupation with each other.

  Tessay at last broke from Mek's embrace and left the water. She came up

  the gravel bar, running long-legged and coltish, her wet silken breasts

  swinging and jostling each other at each stride as she looked back at

  him over her shoulder in open invitation. Mek followed her out, the

  water glistening in the dense curls of his barrel chest, his genitals

  weighty and puissant.

  He caught her before she could reach her clothing and she struggled

  playfully for a while in his arms, until his mouth clamped down over

  hers. Then she gave herself up to him completely. While he kissed her

  his hands ran down her back and over her wet glistening buttocks.

  Pressing herself against him she moved her feet apart and spread her

  thighs, inviting him to explore the secrets of her body. She groaned

  with desire as his hand cupped her sex gently.

  Boris felt his anger mingle with the perverse voyeuristic thrill of

  watching his own wife being taken by another man. A devil's brew of

  emotions bubbled up inside him.

  He felt his loins engorging and stiffening almost painfully with

  excitement, but at the same time his rage shook him like the branch of a

  tree in a gale of wind.

  The lovers sank down on to their knees. Still locked together, Tessay

  fell backwards and pulled him over on top of herself.

  Boris called out loudly, "By God, Mek Nimmur, you will never know how

  ridiculous you look with your bare backside in the air like that."

  Mek reacted as swiftly as a leopard surprised on his kill. With a blur

  of movement he flipped over and reached for the AK-47. Although Boris

  was ready for him, covering him with the 30/06, aiming at the back of

  his neck when he shouted to him, Mek was so quick that he had swept up

  the AK from where it lay and had it pointed at Boris's belly before he

  could move. Mek pressed the trigger in the same instant as the muzzle

  came to bear.

  The firing-pin fell on the empty chamber with a futile click, and the

  two men stared at each other across the gravel beach, both with their

  weapons levelled. Tessay was curled naked where Mek had left her, her

  dark eyes liquid with pain and horror as she watched her husband and

  realized that Mek was about to die.

  Boris chuckled softly, throatily. "Where do you want it, Mek? How about

  I shoot the head off that filthy black tool of yours, while it is still

  standing up in the air like that?"

  Mek Nimmur's eyes darted away from his adversary's face, back towards

  the mountain, and Boris realized that his guess had been correct. Mek

  had some of his men up there, but they were keeping out of view of the

  beach while their commander indulged himself.

  "Don't worry about them. You will both be dead long before your chimps

  can get down here to save you." Boris chuckled again. "I am enjoying

  this. You and I had an appointment once before, but you broke it. Never

  mind this is going to be even more fun." He knew that it was not wise to

  delay with a man like this. Mek had made one mistake, and it was highly

  unlikely that he would make another. He should blow his head off now,

  and that would give him a few minutes more to deal with Tessay. But the

  temptation to gloat over him was too strong.

  "I have good news for you, Mek. You will live a few seconds longer. I am

  going to kill the whore first, and I am going to let you watch. I hope

  you enjoy it as much as I am going to." He sidled away from the shelter

  of the boulder, edging towards where Tessay lay curled on the gravel

  beach. She was turned half away from him, trying to cover her breasts

  and her pubic area with hands too small and delicate for the job. Even

  as he approached the woman, Boris was watching Mek with his full

  attention. Mek was the danger, and he never took his eyes off him. It

  was a mistake. He had underestimated the woman.

  While pretending to turn away from him modestly, Tessay had reached down

  between her thighs and found a round, water-worn stone that fitted

  neatly into her small fist. Suddenly she uncoiled her lithe body and

  used all the strength of it to hurl the stone at his head. Boris caught

  the movement from the corner of his eye and flung up his arm to shield

  his head.

  The stone, flying with surprising force at close range, never struck its

  target. Instead it caught the point of Boris's upraised elbow. His

  sleeves were rolled up high around his biceps, and there was no padding

  to cushion the impact of the stone; his arm was bent and flexed, the

  thin covering of skin drawn tightly over the bone of the joint. The head

  of the ulna cracked like glass, and Boris howled at the excruciating

  agony. His hand opened involuntarily, and his forefinger jerked away

  from the trigger without the strength to fire the shot he was aiming at

  Mek's belly.

  Mek rolled to his feet, and before Boris could change the rifle to his

  other hand he disappeared behind the angle of the giant boulder.

  With his left hand Boris swung the butt of the rifle at Tessay's head,

  knocking her backwards into the sand. Then he thrust the muzzle into her

  throat, pinning her there while he shouted angrily. "I am going to kill

  her, you black bastard! If you want your whore, you' better come fetch

  her!" The pain of the shattered elbow rendered his voice hoarse and

  brutish.

  From somewhere behind the boulder Mek Nimmur's voice fang out strongly

  and clearly, calling a single word in Amharic that echoed along the

  cliffs. Then he spoke in English, "My men will be here in a moment.

  Leave the woman and I will spare you. Harm her and I will make you plead

  for death."

  Boris stooped over Tessay and dragged her to her feet with his good arm

  locked around her throat. He held the rifle in the same hand, pointing

  it over her shoulder. The hand of his injured arm had recovered

  sufficiently from the first shock to be able to hold the pistol grip and

&nbs
p; to manipulate the trigger.

  "She will be dead long before your men get here," he shouted back as he

  started to drag her away from the boulder. "Come and get her yourself,

  Mek. She is here if you want her."

  He tightened his lock around her throat, choking her until she struggled

  and gasped, tearing at his arm with her nails and leaving long red welts

  across the tanned skin.

  "Listen to her! I am crushing this pretty neck. Listen to her choking."

  He tightened his grip, forcing the sounds of distress out of her.

  Boris was watching the corner of the boulder where Mek had disappeared.

  At the same time he was backing away from it, giving himself space in

  which to work. His mind was racing, for he knew that he could not

  escape. His right arm was barely usable, and there were too many of

  Mek's shufta companions. He had the woman, but he wanted the man as

  well. That was the best trade that he could hope for - both of them, he

  had to have both of them.

  He heard a shout, a strange voice from higher up the slope. Mek's men

  were on their way. He was desperate now. Mek was not going to be drawn;

  he had not heard him speak or move for almost two minutes. He had lost

  him - by this time he could be anywhere.

  "Too late," Boris realized. "I am not going to get him.

  Only the woman. But I must do it now." He forced her to her knees and

  stooped over her, shifting the lock of his arm around her throat.

  "Goodbye, Tessay," he grated in her ear. He tightened his arm muscles

  and felt the vertebrae in her neck arched to breaking point. It needed

  only an ounce more pressure.

  "It's all over for you," he whispered, and began the final pressure. He

  knew from long experience the sound, that the vertebrae would make as

  they gave, and he tensed himself for it, poised for that crackle like

  the breaking of a green branch, and the stack weight of her corpse in

  his grip.

  Then something crashed into his back with a force that seemed to drive

  in his backbone and crush his ribs.

  Both the strength and the direction were entirely unexpected. It did not

  seem possible that Mek Nimmur could have moved so far and so swiftly. He

  must have left the shelter of the boulder and circled out through the

  scrub.

  Now he had come at Boris from behind.

  His attack was so savage that the arm that Boris had wound around