Malik lifted his gun and squeezed the trigger.
“Good shooting,” Smernoff said as the child rolled in the sand. “That gun of yours throws a little to the left, doesn’t it?”
“I make allowance for that,” Malik returned and slid the gun back into its holster.
Ivan, smoking gun in hand, ran out and climbed into the Jeep. There was a relaxed, satiated expression on his fat, red face.
The Jeep moved off, gathering speed.
A lone vulture swooped out of the sky and settled its heavy body awkwardly on the branch of a tree. It surveyed the scene with its beady eyes. Other vultures appeared circling in the sky. Then one after the other they dropped to the ground and began to move slowly and awkwardly towards the compound.
Tessa was driving and the going was bad. It needed all her skill and experience to keep the car moving. At her side, Girland stared through the dusty windscreen. From time to time, he glanced at the petrol gauge. The needle kept flickering to ‘Empty’ Any moment he expected to hear the engine cough and stop.
He had no doubt that they were completely lost, but at least, he was sure they weren’t driving in a circle. Although they had changed their direction and were heading east, he was certain they were miles and hopeless miles from Diourbel and safety.
The hawks that floated motionless overhead worried him.
They must know that sooner or later there would be a feast to share with the vultures and they kept circling the car, waiting with sinister patience.
The little car lurched. The rear wheels spun and the engine stopped.
This was the seventh time they had had to lift the car out of the loose sand.
They looked at each other, then wordlessly, they got out of the car and walked around to the back. Girland paused to glance up at the circling hawks, then he caught hold of the rear bumper and with Tessa’s help, heaved the car onto more solid ground.
“Want me to drive?” he asked, trying to moisten his dry lips with an even dryer tongue.
“It’s all right. We’ll be walking soon.”
“How about a drink?”
“I think we should wait. In this heat the water will evaporate. We may need every drop before we are out of this.” He caught a note of despair in her voice and he forced a grin.
“We’ll get out of it.”
“If we could only find a village …” She paused and stared into the distance. “I thought I saw something move out there.”
Girland followed the direction in which she was looking. The flat waste land with its trees and shrubs shimmered in the heat.
“It’s the heat,” he said and opened the car door.
“No! Something moved!” Tessa exclaimed, shading her eyes with her hand. “To the right of that tree.”
Girland stared and this time he caught a glimpse of something white move and then disappear.
“Get behind the car!” he said sharply.
Tessa moved back, putting the body of the car between herself and the distant tree. Girland crouched down so that he could look along the bonnet of the car. He pulled his gun from its holster.
The insufferable heat beat down on them. Again Girland saw the movement. This time he was sure a man had risen up out of the sand, advanced a few quick paces and then dropped down again.
“There’s another to the left,” Tessa said who was peering around the side of the car. “And another further to the left.”
Girland saw the three Arabs now. They were carrying rifles and advancing in small rushes, but covering the ground. They were not more than five hundred metres away.
He took Carey’s gun from his hip pocket.
“Can you use this?” he asked, and moving back, he offered the gun to Tessa.
“Yes. I can handle it.” She took the gun and slid off the safety catch. He was pleased to see her hand was steady and her eyes calm.
He moved back to his original position and in doing so, exposed his head and shoulders above the bonnet of the car.
A rifle shot rang out and Girland felt the bullet fan his cheek. He gave a loud, gasping groan, threw up his hands and dropped out of sight behind the car.
He heard Tessa scream.
“It’s all right,” he hissed. “Don’t move!”
Two of the Arabs stood up. They made perfect targets against the brilliant blue sky.
“The one on the left is yours,” Girland said, paused for a brief moment and fired. A split second later, he heard Tessa’s gun snap spitefully. Both Arabs fell forward as the remaining Arab, hidden behind a shrub, fired.
Girland felt a searing pain in the biceps of his left arm. He moved further back. Blood ran down his arm and onto the sand. He caught a glimpse of white as the Arab began to snake forward. Before he could lift his gun, Tessa’s gun snapped again.
A small, wizened man in dirty white robes sprang up, clutching his shoulder and dropping his rifle. He started a mad rush towards the car as Girland shot hit through the head.
Tessa came around the car. She was white and shaky, but she quickly pulled herself together at the sight of Girland’s injured arm.
“Is it bad?”
He shook his head
“It’s nothing … just a scratch.”
“I’ll fix it.” She ran back to the car and came back carrying a First Aid kit. Quickly she washed the wound, using a little water from the water skin, then strapped up the cut the bullet had made.
Girland walked over to the dead Arabs and picked up their rifles. Each man had a cartridge belt around his waist. Tessa helped him collect the three belts.
“Now we can hit back,” Girland said grimly. “Come on, let’s get moving.”
They climbed back into the car and drove forward once again into the burning heat.
“I wonder how many more of them are ahead of us,” Girland said. He looked at his watch. The time was twenty minutes past three. He realised neither of them had eaten since daybreak, but he wasn’t hungry. His throat and mouth were dry and he longed for an ice cold drink. “The gas must be nearly used up,” he went on, looking at the gauge.
“Is your arm all right?”
“Getting stiff, but it’s all right. You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re quite a girl. When we get out of this, we’ll celebrate. I’d like to get to know you a lot better.”
“Do you think we’re going to get out of this?”
“We can but hope.”
She was silent for a long moment, then she said, “How will we celebrate, Mark?”
“We’ll start the evening in the Plaza Athene bar. Vodka martinis, very dry and very, very cold. Then we will take a taxi to the Grand Vefour and we will eat oysters and partridges with a 1949 Claret. We will then go to my apartment where I will show you my collection of Abstracts.”
“I’ve been to your apartment. You haven’t any Abstracts.”
“I know but it won’t matter. If you can’t admire my Abstracts, at least, I will be able to admire you. It could be quite an evening.”
“But we have to get out of this first.”
“Yes.” He leaned forward to peer through the windscreen.
“Look what we are running into.”
They found themselves facing an endless waste of hard sand that seemed to stretch with the flatness of a yellowing, tightly stretched bed sheet to the distant horizon. It was as if the trees and the shrubs had abruptly lost courage and had refused to advance any further.
“It looks like a dead sea,” Girland said. “We’ll never get across that.”
“I remember Momar telling me about this place,” Tessa said, her voice excited. “On the far side is a watering place for cattle.
If we can get across, we’re certain to find a guide.”
“We haven’t the gas.”
“We must try, even if we have to walk.”
Girland hesitated, then headed the car onto the hard solid plane of sand. The little car surged forward as its tyres found at last something concrete to bite on. They were no longer bumping and banging about in their seats. The ride had become miraculously smooth.
“You have no idea how far across it is?” Girland said. “It could go on forever by the look of it.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t know. I do know there is a water hole the other side.”
Girland again looked at the motionless needle of the petrol gauge. How accurate was it? Did they have enough gas to get across? The heat of this exposed plane was scorching and relentless. A spark of panic began to grow in his mind. To be stranded in this shadeless death-trap could only end in one way. Again he looked up at the metallic blue sky where the hawks circled above him.
He increased the speed of the car.
“Don’t drive so fast.” Tessa said sharply. “The faster we go the more gas …” She stopped as the engine began to splutter.
Girland pushed the gas pedal to the boards, but there was no response. The engine spluttered again and then died. The car slowly rolled over the sand for a few metres and then stopped.
The hawks overhead hung motionless. Their shadows made large black splashes on the white sand.
With forced casualness, Girland patted the hot steering wheel.
“Well, that’s it. We have three hours to sunset. We’ll stay right here until the sun goes down, and then we’ll walk.”
Tessa stared at the black shadows on the sand.
“I’m glad you are with me,” she said huskily. “I couldn’t face this alone.”
“That makes two of us” Girland said, and put his hand on hers.
Smernoff had been fiddling with the dial of the walkie-talkie for some minutes. Watching him, Malik saw his impatient tension gradually mounting.
“I’m getting no reply from Post Three,” Smernoff said finally. “Something’s wrong.”
“Try Post Four.”
“They’re too far to the north to know anything. Post Three said they were driving straight towards them. They must have intercepted them by now.”
“We can’t be more than ten kilometres from them,” Malik said, after studying the map. “Drive quicker,” he went on to Dieng.
The Jeep increased speed and the four men had to cling to their seats. Daouda, on the roof, was nearly thrown off. He wailed his alarm as he clung to the roof support.
They drove like that for ten minutes, then Ivan said sharply, “Something over there … to your right.”
Dieng reduced speed. Malik peered out of the Jeep. He saw something white in the sand. At his order, the Jeep headed towards it and pulled up.
They all scrambled out of the Jeep and went over to the three dead bodies lying in a little group in the sand.
There was a long pregnant silence, then Smernoff said, “I warned you Girland was dangerous.”
“He’s got their rifles,” Ivan said.
Malik turned away and stared across the waste land. Faintly in the soft sand he could make out the tracks of a car.
“They went that way,” he said and walked back to the Jeep. He picked up the map and studied it. His green eyes were unnaturally bright: the only sign of his rage and disappointment.
Smernoff joined him.
“Post Four is here. Is that right?” Malik asked, pointing to the map.
“Yes.”
“Then they have broken through the circle. We’ll have to go after them. They are heading into the bush and not out of it, but none of the Posts can intercept them now. We’ll have to keep after them until they run out of petrol. How is our petrol?”
“We have half a tank full and two spare Jerry cans. We have plenty,” Ivan said.
“And water?”
Ivan grimaced.
“Not as much as we should have. It keeps evaporating in this damned heat. We’ll have to watch it.”
Malik looked at his watch.
“It’ll be dark in about four hours. We will have to catch them before then. We’ll have to be careful how we approach them. Ivan, you’d better have the rifle. You’re the best shot.”
Ivan turned to Daouda.
“Give me the rifle.”
The tall scarred African shuffled his feet in the sand. He giggled with embarrassment, covering his gold filled teeth with his hand.
“It fell off the roof when we went so fast,” he said. “I would have fallen too if I hadn’t been so strong.” Ivan’s fiery face turned purple.
“You mean you’ve lost the rifle?” he said, his voice rising to a shout.
“It fell off the roof.”
Malik came up and caught Ivan’s arm as he was about to strike the African.
“Wait. How far back did you drop it?”
Daouda shrugged his shoulders.
“Back there,” and he pointed.
‘We’d better go back for it,” Smernoff said in Russian.
‘We’ll never find it,” Malik said also in Russian. “We could pass within a metre of it and not see it.” He paused, then went on, “Every minute we waste gives them a chance of getting away.” He turned to Daouda. “Go back and get it. We will wait here.”
Daouda shook his head.
“It is too far, monsieur. I would get lost.”
“Go and get it!” Malik said, pulling his gun.
Dieng came up.
“Excuse me, monsieur, but this man is my friend. If he goes he will get lost and he will die.”
“Then go with him,” Malik said, and the gun swung towards Dieng. “Go!”
Dieng stared into the green glittering eyes and sweat sprang out on his black face.
“I have said nothing, monsieur. I will stay. He will go.”
“You both go!” Malik said, and he thumbed back the safety catch on the gun.
The two Africans turned and began to run back the way they had come. Malik sent a shot above their heads and they increased speed, stumbling in the loose sand, their arms waving frantically.
“As we are running short of water,” Malik said, walking back to the Jeep, “the less mouths to drink it the better.”
The three men got in and Malik, taking the wheel, sent the Jeep once more moving through the loose sand.
“I don’t like this,” Ivan said uneasily. “Now Girland has a rifle, we are in a bad position. He’ll have the range of us.”
“There are three of us,” Malik said. “One of us will draw his fire while the other two circle him and get within range.”
Smernoff stared ahead at the monotonous scene.
“We could miss him. The wind’s getting up and it’s wiping out his tracks.”
“We won’t miss him.” There was a grim note in Malik’s voice. “Look up in the sky. He’s where the hawks are hovering.”
Both Ivan and Smernoff stared into the yellowing sky. In the distance they could make out a few black dots that swooped and hovered and swooped again.