Dictator

97

Carver was working out the odds. They were not far from the border now, as little as half a mile, maybe. All three of them were armed: Carver and Justus with their M4s and Zalika with Carver’s pistol, which he had reloaded with a fresh magazine. But the going was getting tougher and their pace was slowed by the injury to Justus’s ankle. He had found a sturdy length of fallen branch to use as an impromptu crutch and was not making the slightest sound of complaint. But Carver only had to look at the sweat bathing his face and the silent gasps and screwed-up eyes when he took an especially agonizing step to know that Justus was in trouble. The helicopter had landed barely three minutes after they had left the Land Rover. It would take Mabeki a while, a very short while, to work out what had happened and pick up their trail. But after that, he and his men would surely be moving at a faster pace. Somehow, Carver had to buy them some time.

They had been walking through a thicket of trees and bushes. At its far end, they emerged into a small open space, perhaps thirty feet across, that stood at the foot of a low cliff. Straight ahead of them, the cliff was bisected by a narrow gully that cut into the rock, rising as it went. At the base of the cliff, by the mouth of the gully, lay a scattered pile of large boulders – the result, presumably, of some long-ago rock fall. They made a perfect defensive position. This, Carver decided, was where he would make his stand.

He stopped and turned to face Justus and Zalika. ‘I’m staying here,’ he said. ‘You two go on to the border. It’s only a few hundred yards now, just the far side of this hill. All you have to do is keep going, and no matter what happens, or what you hear, don’t turn back.’

‘No!’ cried Zalika. ‘You can’t do that. Come with us.’

‘No point. They’ll just get all of us.’

‘Then leave me behind,’ said Justus. ‘I am the one slowing you down. I should stay.’

‘No,’ said Carver firmly. ‘I promised I’d get you back to your kids. I’m not breaking that promise. Just give me your spare magazines and I’ll be fine. Mabeki can’t have many men with him. The chopper wasn’t big enough. But they’re coming this way. So go. Go now. And don’t look back.’

Zalika stepped forward, as if to embrace him, but Carver pushed her away. ‘No time for goodbyes. Just go.’

The two hesitated for a moment, then left.

Carver settled down behind one of the rocks. He wasn’t too concerned. He had a decent amount of ammunition. His position offered him plenty of cover and would force his enemies to come at him across an open, moonlit clearing. Unless Mabeki had suddenly rustled up an entire platoon in the middle of the African bush it shouldn’t be too hard to hold them off for long enough to let Zalika and Justus escape. After that he just had to find a way to disengage from the firefight and sneak away before anyone noticed he was gone. It was tricky, but not impossible. First, though, he had to cover the others’ retreat. He reckoned he still had two or three minutes before Mabeki and his men arrived.

The first shots came much sooner than that. Two rounds, pistol fire, reverberating around the rocks – from behind his position. Christ, had they got behind him? Were the other two under attack?

Carver twisted round and peered back down the gully. There was something moving there, a deeper shadow in the darkness. It grew bigger and more defined until Carver could make out a figure carrying a handgun with arms extended, ready to fire, walking towards him. His finger tightened on the trigger.

And then he realized it was Zalika. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a second as he contemplated how close he had come to shooting her. As he lowered the M4, he took his left hand off the forward grip and made a downward, pressing gesture with it, indicating that she should get down, under cover of the rock.

She kept walking.

‘Zalika!’ he hissed. ‘What are you doing? Where’s Justus?’

She did not bother to whisper, but in a calm, steady voice said, ‘Put your gun down. Put it down, or I shoot.’