Connor staggered to his feet, seizing their opportunity to escape.
‘Aidez-moi!’ cried the boy soldier, his attack on the hyena weakening as the animal gnawed on his arm. ‘Help! Please!’
Despite Amber being his number-one priority, Connor couldn’t leave the boy to be ripped to shreds. It was too horrific a death, even for someone who’d just tried to kill him. The boy’s AK47 lay in the dirt beside Connor. Snatching up the assault rifle, its weight even heavier than he’d anticipated, he lined up the sights and pulled the trigger. The AK47 roared, its butt hammering into his shoulder, the recoil of automatic fire almost knocking him over. Bullets ripped up the ground as he battled to keep control of the powerful weapon. The hyena, its jaws still clenched round the mauled arm, let out a pained whimper then went limp. Dredd collapsed back on to the earth, groaning in pain but alive.
‘Let’s go,’ said Connor, running over to Amber. He could hear the other rebels, alerted by the gunfire, crashing through the bush towards them.
‘But what about Henri?’ she asked as he dragged her into the long grass.
‘We’ll never find him if we’re dead.’
Barely knowing in which direction they were headed, Connor’s only goal was to evade the gunmen. Keeping a firm grasp of Amber’s hand, he weaved a path through the disorientating clumps of bushes and trees. As he ran, the AK47 thumped painfully against his hip. Cumbersome and heavy, the weapon was slowing him down. But he rejected the idea of discarding it. The rifle was their only serious means of defence.
The shouts of the rebel soldiers continued to pursue them through the bush, drawing ever closer. Connor stopped, shouldered the rifle and fired several warning shots into the trees.
Clamping her hands over her ears to muffle the gun’s thunderous blasts, Amber cried, ‘You’ve just given our position away!’
Connor nodded. ‘But now they know we have a weapon too. That should make them more cautious about following us. And hopefully slow them down.’
Avoiding the obvious trail that lay before them, Connor checked his compass watch and altered direction, heading at right angles through the bush. The sun was glaringly hot and his throat felt parched and clogged with dust. Amber was also panting hard, but he dared not stop again, however much a drink might revive them. As they negotiated a steep rocky slope, Amber stumbled and Connor had to drag her upright. The constant running was beginning to take its toll on both of them. Their meagre breakfast of berries had been barely enough to satisfy their hunger, let alone sustain them. Now they were running on empty, only adrenalin and fear fuelling their flight.
They burst through a copse of trees and disturbed a group of dik-diks feeding on the brush. The tiny fawn-coloured antelopes bounded away, whistling a high-pitched zick-zick in alarm. Connor knew the soldiers would be on to them again. To make matters worse, the ridge had flattened out into a grassy plateau, leaving them dangerously exposed. As they raced across the open ground, Connor heard the sound of rushing water. It grew louder with every step until it became a mighty roar. All of a sudden they found themselves teetering on the brink of a barren rock ledge. A billowing curtain of white water cascaded some thirty metres straight down to form one of the primary tributaries that fed the Ruvubu River. A fine mist hung in the air, catching rainbows of glistening sunlight.
Connor cursed their bad luck. The overhang was little more than a picturesque dead end for them. They’d have to double back and find an alternative route to the plain.
‘We could climb down,’ suggested Amber, peering over the ledge at the sheer rock face. Connor took one glance at the dizzying drop and the slick, treacherous stone and felt his stomach lurch.
‘Not if I were you,’ said a rough voice. ‘This is Dead Woman’s Fall.’
The two of them spun round to find Blaze standing behind them, his shaven head glistening with sweat from the chase. A moment later the boy soldier with the red beret appeared, breathing hard, gun in hand. Connor immediately levelled his own AK47 at Blaze.
‘The Batwa tribe used to throw women suspected of witchcraft from this ledge,’ the rebel explained, unperturbed by the gun pointing at his chest. ‘Any woman who survived the fall was declared a witch and put to death.’ He thumbed the handle of his machete on his hip as he slowly advanced on them. ‘But most didn’t survive, and the few who did were almost always eaten alive by the crocodiles waiting at the bottom.’
Blaze smirked at their horrified expressions as they were forced to retreat to the very lip of the precipitous drop. Connor thrust the AK47’s barrel at the rebel. ‘Stay back!’
Blaze held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Whatever you say, chief.’
‘What have you done with Henri?’ demanded Amber.
Blaze’s eyes raked over her. ‘That little red-headed kid? I’m afraid a hyena got its teeth into him. He was screaming like a stuck pig so I put the boy out of his misery.’ The rebel patted the machete, its metal blade smeared with fresh blood.
‘NO!’ gasped Amber, her legs giving way beneath her.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Blaze with false sincerity as he edged closer. ‘I can understand how upsetting this m–’
‘This is your last warning,’ cut in Connor. ‘One more step and you’re a dead man.’
Blaze cocked his head to one side and studied Connor’s face intently. ‘Unlike No Mercy here –’ his eyes flicked to the boy soldier – ‘you’re no killer.’
‘You want to test that theory?’ said Connor, his finger primed on the trigger. But deep down he too questioned his ability to shoot a man at point-blank range.
Blaze shrugged indifferently. ‘Well, if you had the killer instinct, you’d have let Dredd die. I certainly would have.’
The rebel took another brazen step forward.
Connor pulled the trigger.
There was just a dry click. He squeezed again. Nothing. The AK47 had jammed.
Laughing, Blaze unsheathed his machete and pointed its tip at Connor. ‘Nowhere to run now, chief!’
Connor hurled the useless rifle at the rebel. Then, grabbing hold of Amber, he jumped off the ledge.
‘Connor is probably enjoying himself too much to reply,’ said Jason, his feet propped up on the desk in Alpha team’s operations room as Charley attempted to call Connor’s mobile for the third time that morning. ‘If I were him, I’d be relaxing in a private plunge pool with that French girl.’
Charley bristled at the suggestion and Ling flung a pen at Jason’s head.
‘I was only joking!’ cried Jason, ducking just in time. ‘I wouldn’t cheat on you, Ling.’
Ling shot him a furious glare, then turned to Charley. ‘Remember, communication’s pretty non-existent within the park. He possibly doesn’t have a signal.’
‘I know, but it’s not like Connor to miss an evening and a morning report-in. I can’t contact him on his phone or get through to the lodge. I can’t even locate his mobile using the GPS app,’ she explained, pointing to the digital map of Burundi displayed on her computer screen. ‘That’s over twelve hours without official contact. It’s time we raised the alert.’
‘Aren’t you being a little hasty?’ said Richie, munching on a bowl of cornflakes. ‘He’ll have been asleep most of that time. And it’s not as if they’re in the middle of a war zone. He’s on a safari holiday, for heaven’s sake!’
Jason nodded in agreement. ‘Connor would use the SOS app if he was in real trouble.’
‘If he’s in real trouble, he might not be able to use the SOS app,’ Charley argued.
‘Try the lodge one more time,’ suggested Ling. ‘Then we’ll go to the colonel.’
Charley picked up the phone and dialled. The connection failed as before. She tried again. There was a distant echoing ring. Her hand clasped the receiver tighter. After eight rings, the call was picked up.
‘Bonjour, Ruvubu Safari Lodge. C’est Yasmina qui parle. Comment puis-je vous aider?’
The line was poor, but the voice clear enoug
h to make out.
‘Parlez-vous anglais?’ asked Charley, switching to speakerphone so the others could hear.
After a slight delay, the voice answered, ‘Of course. How can I help?’
‘I’m wanting to speak to one of your guests. Connor Reeves? He’s staying with the Barbier family.’
There was a longer pause. ‘I’m sorry. They’re currently on a bush safari. Would you like to leave a message?’
‘Yes, please tell him his sister Charley called and to get in touch as soon as possible.’
‘Certainly. Have a good day.’ The line went dead.
‘See!’ said Jason, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head. ‘Told you there was nothing to worry about.’
The lodge receptionist put down the telephone with a trembling hand.
‘Well done, Yasmina,’ said General Pascal, stroking the young lady’s cheek with the barrel of his Glock 17. She shuddered as he then traced a line down her slender neck. ‘Now get me a drink,’ he ordered, waving the pistol towards the lounge area. ‘Whisky. The finest.’
The receptionist hurried to the bar as the general strolled in after her.
‘My apologies for keeping you waiting,’ he said. ‘But we need to keep up appearances to the outside world. At least for the time being.’
Mr Grey turned from studying the leopard-skin shield and spears on the wall to face the general. ‘By all accounts you’re ahead of schedule. I must confess even I was surprised at the swiftness of your coup.’
‘You have to seize life before it seizes you!’ General Pascal told him, laughing. ‘But there’s more work to be done. The head may have been cut off the chicken, but the body still runs around.’
‘Is that why you need the heavy artillery so quickly?’
The general nodded as the receptionist gingerly stepped over the dead body of the barman, the victim’s blood still pooling on the parquet floor, and brought over his whisky. ‘Would you like a drink, Mr Grey?’ asked the general.
‘Sparkling water. No ice.’
General Pascal frowned. ‘I’d have thought a man in your line of work would drink something stronger.’
‘And I’d have thought a man of your strength wouldn’t need to drink anything stronger,’ Mr Grey replied coolly.
Their eyes locked and the receptionist took a nervous step back, sensing a change in atmosphere, as if two prowling lions were in the room. Then the general broke into an affable grin at his guest’s sharp retort. He waved the receptionist away.
‘Unfortunately, we still have the army to fight before we can take control of this country. But I’m confident of victory. An army of sheep –’ he glanced in the direction of a boy soldier standing guard on the open-air veranda – ‘led by a lion can defeat an army of lions led by a sheep. And, I can assure you, the commander-in-chief of the Burundian army is but a lamb compared to me.’
The receptionist served the sparkling water and Mr Grey took a measured sip. ‘Equilibrium can supply the weapons you require at short notice,’ he said. ‘But we’ll need payment upfront.’
‘No problem,’ replied the general, downing his whisky in one swift gulp. ‘Come with me to the mine and take your pick of the diamonds. But first I must introduce you to the man who helped arrange President Bagaza’s sudden demise.’
Whistling past the rock face, Connor and Amber barely had time to contemplate the drop before they plunged into the bottom of Dead Woman’s Fall three seconds later. Hitting the river’s surface at over fifty miles an hour, Amber was torn from Connor’s grip and lost amid the churning waters.
The swirling current pinned Connor beneath its surface, where he was spun, twisted and battered against submerged rocks, knocking the wind out of him. He kicked wildly with his legs, desperate for air, but the white water blinded him and he was deafened by its thunderous roar. Totally disorientated, Connor soon gave up all hope of escaping the watery clutches of Dead Woman’s Fall. Blaze hadn’t been lying when he’d said that few people survived the Batwa tribe’s ordeal.
With his lungs burning for oxygen, Connor felt his body involuntarily start to suck in water. As he fought the overwhelming urge, his feet briefly touched down on the riverbed. Calling on the last of his strength, he thrust himself upwards. A moment later he broke the surface and snatched a lungful of glorious air … before being swamped by another rush of water and forced under again.
The torrent roiled and seethed around him, but glimmers of sunlight guided him back to the surface now. Coughing and spluttering, Connor swam with the current, struggling to get his breath back and control his panic. The river’s rapids blasted him like fire hoses from all directions, mere seconds before another wall of white water engulfed him. Then he was spat out again, bounced off a rock and borne relentlessly through the next series of rapids.
Weakening with every wave and collision, Connor was on the point of drowning when the torrent suddenly eased and the rumble of Dead Woman’s Fall began to recede into the distance. He floated limply on his back, slowly recovering his breath and strength. His body felt battered, bone-tired and bruised, but he was alive. I must be a witch, he thought, managing a weak laugh at his miraculous survival. Then his thoughts immediately turned to Amber.
He spun round in the murky water, looking for her. The torrent had by now calmed into a wide river bounded by steep banks of red earth, green bushes and tall trees. But there was no sign of her in the water or along the banks. Connor began to despair. He’d failed to protect Henri and now Amber. He knew his snap decision to jump off the ledge had been risky. However, faced with certain death at the hands of the rebels or a slim chance of survival in the waterfall, he’d chosen the latter.
And now he was paying for that decision – with Amber’s life.
Wearily, he began to swim for the bank, then out of the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of red hair trailing in the water and spotted an inert body floating downstream from him.
‘Amber!’ he shouted, paddling frantically in her direction.
There was no response. He kept going, despite the gnawing exhaustion in his limbs. Seeing a log drifting along with the current, several metres ahead of him, he thought about using it for a float. Then the log swished its long scaly tail, propelling itself towards Amber’s body. With primal horror Connor realized it was a crocodile.
‘Amber!’ he screamed as another croc slid from the bank into the river’s murky waters.
She weakly lifted her head, smiling when she saw Connor waving at her.
‘Crocodile!’ he cried in warning.
Her smile evaporated as soon as she spotted the ominous snout and pair of slit-eyes gliding towards her. With furious strokes, she made for the bank. But the crocodile was closing in fast.
Connor swam for all he was worth. His daily pool training with Charley, which he’d begun in preparation for his previous assignment, was once again paying off as he cut through the water like a fish. He dug deep, calling upon hidden reserves of energy.
Amber was only a few metres from the bank when the crocodile shot forward with a final burst of speed. Connor plunged on, determined to protect her however impossible the odds.
Focused on its immediate prey, the crocodile didn’t notice Connor’s approach from upstream. As it opened its jaws to sink its teeth into Amber’s trailing legs, Connor dived forward and wrapped his arms round the crocodile’s snout. Praying Gunner was right about the weakness of their opening jaw muscles, Connor clung on with all his might, his legs wrapped round its body.
Unfamiliar with being the victim of an attack itself, the crocodile momentarily froze and Connor found himself eye-to-eye with the prehistoric beast. It studied him with cold carnivorous intent. Then the crocodile wrenched its head away, its unimaginable brute strength trawling Connor through the water as it attempted to shake him off. But Connor refused to let go – he had to give Amber enough time to escape the river.
Besides, once he released the crocodile, he would become the prey.
Enraged, the crocodile dived beneath the surface. Connor barely managed to snatch a breath before he was dragged under with it. The crocodile rolled him, its tail whipping, its body writhing. Connor lost all sense of orientation. His arms became numb as he clung on for dear life. But it was no use. He was weakening with every passing second and his lungs screamed for air. Forced to let go, Connor kicked himself away from the crocodile’s jaws and came up gasping.
The crocodile vanished.
‘Where’s it gone?’ he yelled, looking wildly around him.
Amber, who’d managed to crawl up on to the safety of the bank, scanned the river. Then she spotted a ripple on the surface moving towards him at high speed. ‘There!’ she cried.
The water being shallow enough for him to touch the muddy riverbed, Connor half-swam, half-ran for the bank. He was waist-deep when the crocodile burst out of the water, its ferocious jaws open wide. It clamped down hard on Connor’s back.
‘NO! Connor!’ Amber screamed as he was dragged back into the river and disappeared beneath the surface.
Water engulfed him once more and Connor felt himself being tugged deeper and deeper. The sunlight faded to a murky twilight and all sounds became a dull wash in his ears. Having seized its prey, the crocodile intended to drown him before devouring him. But its teeth had failed to sink into Connor’s flesh. Instead all it had managed to gain was a mouthful of his Go-bag.
Connor fought to free himself, but the straps were being pulled taut around his shoulders. He was entangled like a fish in a net. The crocodile settled on the riverbed and waited it out.
With every passing second, the urge to open his mouth and take a breath increased for Connor. The compulsion built like a wave until it threatened to overpower him. Connor judged he had less than a minute before his willpower gave out and his body’s natural yet fatal reflexes took over.
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 17