Elephant Song

Some nasty rumours flying about, dark deeds. We don't really approve.

Even the PM is a bit browned off with him already, which reminds me, got some news of a pal of yours. A pal of mine? The Lucky Dragon.

Rings a bell, doesn't it? And you'll never guess who they're sending out to run the operation here. Ning Cheng Gong, Daniel said quietly.

It had to be. That was the reason he was here in Ubomo. He had sensed it all along. This was where he would meet Cheng again. You've been reading my mail, Michael accused. Wing Cheng Gong is right. He arrives next week. Taffari is giving another party to welcome him.

Any excuse for a party with our Ephrem, even you. He broke off and stared at Daniel. You all right, dear boy? Taking your anti-malarial, are you?

Gone as white as a sheet. I'm fine. But Daniel's voice was hoarse and scratchy. He had a terrible mental image of the bedroom of the cottage at Chiwewe, and of the desecrated bodies of Mavis Nzou and her daughters. it left him feeling sick and shaken. He wanted to think of something else, anything but Ning Cheng Gong. Tell me everything about Taffari and Ubomo that I need to know, he demanded of Michael Hargreave.

Tall order, dear boy. Can only give you the headlines now, but if you drop in at the embassy, I'll give you a full briefing, and a peep at some of the files. Your eyes only, of course. Even got a couple of bottles of genuine Chivas tucked away. Daniel shook his head. We're going up the lakesbore tomorrow to start filming. Taffari has put the entire navy at our disposal. One clapped-out World War Two gunboat.

But I could drop in at the embassy tomorrow evening. When it was time to go, Daniel looked around for Bonny Mahon but could not find her. He saw Captain Kajo with a group of other officers at the bar and went across to him.

I'm leaving now, Captain Kajo. That's all right, Doctor. President Taffari has left already.

You are free to go. You could only tell that Kajo was drunk by his eyes.

They had that coffee-coloured haze over the whites. In a white man they would have been bloodshot. We will meet tomorrow morning, Captain? What time?

six O'clock at the guest house, Doctor. I will pick you up.

We must not be late. The navy will be waiting for us. Have you seen Miss Mahon? Daniel asked. One of the other Hita officers sniggered drunkenly and Kajo grinned. No, Doctor.

She was here earlier on. But I haven't seen her in the last hour.

She must have left. Yes, come to think of it now, I did see her leave.

He turned away, and Daniel tried not to scowl and look abandoned as he went out to the Landrover in the carpark.

The government guest house was in darkness when he drove up and parked under the verandah. She might be in bed, already asleep with the light out. Despite his altered opinion of her, he felt a stab of disappointment when he switched on the bedroom light and saw that the servants had turned down the beds and rigged the mosquito nets. She had given him the excuse to end it, why was he not more pleased that it was over?

He had drunk just enough of the local gin to have a headache.

He picked up Bonny's bag from the foot of the bed and carried it through to the second bedroom. Then he went into the bathroom and swept her toiletries and cosmetics into her sponge bag and dumped them in the washbasin of the second bathroom down the passage. Then he held his head under the cold tap and took three Anadin tablets. He dropped his clothes on the floor and climbed naked under the mosquito net.

He woke with headlights sweeping the front of the guest house and shining through the curtains on to the wall above his bed. Tyres crunched on the gravel drive. There were voices, and then a car door slammed and the vehicle pulled away. He heard her come up the verandah steps and open the front door.

A minute later the bedroom door opened stealthily and she crept into the room.

He switched on the bedside light and she froze in the middle of the floor. She carried her shoes in one hand and her bag in the other.

Her hair was in a wild tangle, sparkling like copper wire in the light, and her lipstick was smeared over her chin.

She giggled and he realised she was drunk. Have you any idea of the risk you're taking, you silly bitch? he asked bitterly. This is Africa. What you'll get is a four-letter word and it's not the one you're thinking of, sweetheart. It's spell A I D S. Tud Tut! jealous, are we? How do you know what I've been doing, darling? It's no big secret.

Everybody at the party knew.

You've been doing what any good little whore does. She took a wild round-arm swing at his head. He ducked under the blow, and the momentum carried her on to the bed.

She pulled the mosquito net down on top of herself and fell in a tangle of long legs. The mini-skirt pulled up almost as high as her waist, her buttocks were bare and white as ostrich eggs. By the way, he said, you've left your knickers with Ephrem. She crawled up on to her knees and pulled down the green skirt. They are in my handbag, ducky. She got unsteadily to her feet. Where the hell are my things?

In your room, your new room across the passage. She flashed at him.

So that's the way you want it? You didn't really think I'd want to pick up Ephrem's leftovers, did you? Daniel tried to keep his tone reasonable.

Off you go, there's a good little harlot. She picked up her handbag and shoes and marched to the door. There she turned back to him, swaying with a drunkard's dignity. It's all true, what they say, she told him with vindictive relish. They are big. Bigger and better than you'll ever be! She slammed the door behind her.

Daniel was on his second cup of breakfast tea when Bonny came out on to the verandah and, without greeting him, took her place at the breakfast table opposite him.

She wore her usual working uniform of faded blue jeans and denim top, but her eyes were puffy and her expression disgruntled with hangover.

The guest house chef was an anachronism from the colonial era and he served a traditional English breakfast. Neither of them spoke while Bonny demolished her plateful of eggs and bacon. Then she looked up at him.

So what happens now? You make a film, he said. Just the way it's written in your contract. You still want me around? As a cameraman, yes. But from now on it's a business relationship. That suits me just fine, she agreed. It was getting to be a bit of a strain; I'm not good at faking it. Daniel stood up abruptly, and went to fetch his gear from the bedroom. He was still too angry-to risk getting into an argument with her.

Before he was ready, Captain Kajo arrived with three soldiers in the back of his Landrover. They helped carry out the heavy video equipment and load it into the back of the truck. Daniel let Bonny sit up in the cab beside Captain Kajo, while he rode in the back with the heavily armed Hita soldiers.

the town of Kahali was very much as he remembered it from his last visit.

The streets were wide and dusty where the potholes had eaten, cancerlike, through the tarmac. The buildings looked like those from the movie set of an old-fashioned Western.

The main difference that Daniel noticed was the mood of the people.

The Uhali women still wore their colourful ankle-length robes and turbans, the Moslem influence apparent in their demeanour, but the expressions on their faces were guarded and neutral. There were few smiles and no laughter in the open-air market where the women squatted in lines with their wares spread out on sheets of cloth in front of them. There were army patrols in the market-place and on the street corners.

The populace averted their eyes as the Landrover passed.

There were very few tourists, and these were dusty, unshaven and rumpled, probably members of an overland safari making their way down the length of the African continent in a huge communal truck. They were haggling for tomatoes and eggs in the market. Daniel grinned.

They were paying for a glimpse of purgatory. The overland safari meant amoebic dysentery and punctures, five thousand miles of potholes and army roadblocks, probably the only package holiday on the globe with no repeat customers. Once was enough to last a lifetime.

The gunboat was waiting for them at the wharf. Seamen in navy blue uniforms and bare feet carried the video equipment up the gangplank and the captain shook hands with Daniel as he came aboard. Peace be with you, he greeted him in Swahili. I have orders to take you where you want to go. They left the harbour and turned northwards, parallel to theLakeshore. Daniel stood out on the foredeck and his good spirits returned swiftly. The water was a dark and lovely blue, sparkling in the sunlight. There was a single cloud on the northern horizon, as white as a seagull and not much larger. It was the spray column- where the lake spilled over its rocky rim into a deep gorge and became the infant Nile.

The ultimate source of the White Nile had been debated for two thousand years and had still not been entirely agreed upon.

Was it those falls where the Victoria Nile out of Lake Victoria joined the Albert Nile in Lake Albert and spilled over at the beginning of the incredible journey down to Cairo and the Mediterranean Sea? Or was it higher still, as Herodotus had written long before the birth of Christ?

Did it spring from a bottomless lake lying between the two mountains Crophi and Mophi and fed by their eternal snows? With the lake-spray in his face, Daniel turned to look westward, trying to make out the loom of the romantic mountain peaks in the distance, but today, as on most days, it was a diffuse blue cloud mass, blending with the blue of the African sky.

Many of the earlier explorers had passed close by the Mountains of the Moon without ever dreaming of their existence.

Even Henry Morton Stanley, that ruthless, driven, Americanised Welsh bastard, had lived for months in their shadow before the perpetual clouds had opened and astonished him with a vista of snowy peaks and shining glaciers. It gave Daniel a mystic feeling to sail upon these waters that were the lifeblood pumped from the heart mountains of this savage continent.

He turned and glanced up at the open bridge of the gunboat.

Bonny Mahon was filming. She had the Sony camera balanced on her shoulder and pointed towards the shore. He grimaced with reluctant approval. Whatever their personal problems, she was a true professional. At the end she'd probably get a good shot of the devil on her way through hell, and the thought made him grin and took the edge off his antagonism towards her.

He went back to the chartroom below the bridge and spread the survey maps and architect's drawings that BOSS had provided for him on the table.

The site that had been chosen for the hotel and casino was seven miles up the coast from the port of Kahati. Daniel saw that it was a natural bay with an island garding the entrance.

The Ubomo River, pouring down the escarpment of the Rift Valley from the great forests and snowy mountain ranges, debauched into the bay.

On the map it looked an ideal site for the holiday complex that Tug Harrison hoped would make Ubomo one of the more desirable holiday destinations for tourists from southern Europe.

To Daniel there seemed to be only one drawback. There was already a large fishing village sited on the bay. He wondered what Tug Harrison and Ning Cheng Gong planned to do about that. European sunbathers would not want to share the beach with native fishermen and their nets, while the odour of sundried fish on the racks would not encourage the appetite or add much to the romantic attractions of Fish Eagle Bay Lodge, as the project had already been named.

The captain hailed Daniel from above. He left the chart-table and went out to the open deck, just as the gunboat rounded the headland and Fish Eagle Bay opened ahead of them.

Daniel saw at once why the name had been chosen. The island at the mouth of the bay was heavily forested. Nourished by the lake's sweet clear waters, the ficus and wild mahogany trees had grown into giants with branches spreading out high over the rocky shore and the surrounding lake waters. Hundreds of mating pairs of fish eagles had built their nests in the high branches. With russet and chestnut plumage and glistening white heads, these were the most spectacular of all the African . raptors. The great birds sat on every prominent perch, while still others sailed overhead on wide pinions, throwing back their heads in flight to utter the wild yelping chant that is so much a part of the African pageant.

The gunboat anchored and launched an inflatable Zodiac to take Daniel and Bonny to the island. For an hour they filmed the eagle colony.

Captain Kajo threw dead fish off the rocky cliff and Bonny captured exciting sequences of rival eagles contending for the offerings and engaging in ritual aerial combat by hooking each other's talons and spinning and swirting in flight.

Daniel helped her lug the Sony camera up the smooth, massive trunk of a wild fig tree to film the eagle chicks in the nest. The parent birds attacked them both on the exposed branch, coming in on screaming power-dives with talons extended and curved yellow beaks agape, pulling away at the Last possible moment so that the draught of the great wings buffeted them on their exposed perch. By the time Bonny and Daniel reached the ground, their personal antagonism had been shelved and they were operating as a professional film crew again.

They returned to the Zodiac and ran out to the gunboat. As they came aboard, the captain weighed anchor and pushed on slowly into the bay.

It was a spectacular site with volcanic rock cliffs climbing sheer out of the blue water and bright orange sand beaches in between the black rock.

Once again they climbed into the Zodiac and landed on one of the beaches near the mouth of the Ubomo River. Leaving Captain Kajo and the two seamen on the beach with the boat, Daniel and Bonny climbed to the highest point on the cliffs and were rewarded with a panoramic view over the bay and the lake.

They could look down on the large fishing village at the mouth of the Ubomo River. Twenty or so dhow-rigged boats were drawn up on the beach while as many more were dotted out upon the lake waters. On gull-winged sails the fleet was bearing in towards the bay, the night's fishing over, coming in to land the catch.

Along the head of the beach the fishing-nets were spread out in the sunlight to dry and the smell of fish carried up to them, even on the top of the cliff. Naked black children played upon the beach and splashed in the lake. Men worked on the dhows or sat cross-legged with needle and palm to repair the festooned nets. In the village the women moved gracefully in their long skirts as they pounded grain in the tall wooden mortars, swinging rhythmically to the rise and fall of the pestles in their hands, or squatted over the cooking-fires on which stood the black three-legged pots Daniel pointed out the various features which he wanted filmed and Bonny followed his instructions and turned the camera lens to record it all. What will happen to the villagers? she asked, still peering into the viewfinder of the Sony.

They're scheduled to start digging the foundations of the casino in three weeks. . . I expect they'll move them to another site, Daniel told her. In the new Africa people are moved about by their rulers like ches pieces He broke off and shaded his eyes, peering out along the road that led back along the lakeshore towards the capital.

Red dust blew in a slow sullen cloud out across the blue lake waters, carried on the mountain breeze from up-country. Let me have a look through your telephoto lens, he asked Bonny, and she handed him the camera. Swiftly Daniel zoomed the lens to full power and picked up the approaching column of vehicles. Army trucks, he told her. And transporters I'd say those were bulldozers on the transporters. He handed her back the camera, and Bonny studied the approaching column.

Some kind of army exercise? she guessed. Are we allowed to film it?

Anywhere else in Africa I wouldn't take the chance of pointing a camera at anything military, but here we've got President Taffari's personal firman. Shoot away! Quickly Bonny set up the light tripod she used only for longrange telephoto shots and zoomed in on the approaching military convoy.

Meanwhile, Daniel moved to the edge of the cliff and looked down on the beach. Captain Kajo and the sailors from the gunboat were stretched out on the sand. Kajo was probably sleeping off the previous evening's debauch. Where he lay he was out of sight of the village.

Daniel strolled back to watch Bonny at work.

The convoy was already approaching the outskirts of the village. A mob of children and stray dogs ran out to greet it.

The children skipped along beside the trucks, laughing and waving, while the dogs yapped hysterically. The vehicles drew up in the open ground in the centre of the village which was both soccer pitch and village square.

Soldiers in camouflage uniform, armed with AK 47 rifles, jumped down and formed up into their platoons on the soccer ground.

A Hita officer climbed on to the cab of the leading truck and began to harangue the villagers through a bull-horn. The sound of his electronically distorted voice carried intermittently to the crest of the cliff on which Daniel was standing. He lost the sense of some of the Swahili as the breeze rose and fell, but the gist of it was clear.

The officer was accusing the villagers of harbouring political dissidents, obstructing the economic and agricultural reforms of the new government, and engaging in counter-revolutionary activities.

While he was speaking, a squad of soldiers trotted down to the beach and rounded up the children and fishermen there. They herded them back to the village square.

The villagers were becoming agitated. The children hid amongst the skirts of the women and the men were protesting and gesticulating at the officer on the cab of the truck. Now soldiers began moving through the village, ordering people out of the thatched huts. One old man tried to resist being dragged from his home, and a soldier clubbed him with the butt of an AK 47. He fell in a huddle on the dusty earth and they left him there and moved on, kicking open the doors of the huts and shouting at the occupants. On the beach another group of soldiers was meeting the incoming fishing fleet and prodding the fishermen ashore at bayonet point.

Bonny never looked up from the viewfinder of her camera. This is great stuff! God, this is the real thing. This is Emmy Award territory, I kid you nodDaniel did not reply. Her gloating excitement should not have offended him as much as it did. He was " a journalist himself. He understood the need to find fresh and provocative material to stir the jaded emotions of a television audience reared on a diet of turmoil and violence, but what they were witnessing here was as obscene as scenes of SS troopers clearing out the ghettoes of Europe.

The soldiers were beginning to load the fisherfolk on to the waiting trucks, women were screaming and trying to find their own children in the throng. Some villagers had managed to collect a pathetic bundle of possessions, but most of them were empty-handed.

The two yellow bulldozers rolled down off their low trailer beds with engines pulsing and blue diesel smoke blowing from the exhaust stacks.

One of them swung in a tight circle with a track locked, and lowered the massive frontal blade. Gleaming in the afternoon sunlight the blade sliced into the wall of the nearest but and the thatched roof collapsed.

Beauty! Bonny murmured. I couldn't have staged it better.

That was an incredible shot! The women were wailing and ululating, that peculiar chilling sound of African grief. One of the men broke away and ran towards the cover of the nearest field of sorghum. A soldier shouted a warning at him, but he put his head down and ran faster. A short burst of automatic rifle-fire popped like a string of fire-crackers and the man collapsed and rolled in the dust and lay still.

A woman screamed and ran towards the fallen body carrying an infant strapped in a shawl on her back and an older child in her arms. A soldier barred her path with a bayoneted rifle and turned her back towards the truck. I got it!

Bonny exulted. The whole thing. The shooting and all. It's in the can.

Shit, this is great! The soldiers were drilled and ruthless. It all went very quickly. Within half an hour the entire populace of the village had been rounded up, except for the fishermen still out on the lake. The first truck, fully loaded, pulled away, heading back the way it had come.

The huts were collapsing one after the other as the two bulldozers moved down the rows. God, I hope I don't run out of film, Bonny muttered anxiously. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Daniel had not spoken since the operation had begun. He was part of Africa. He had seen other villages wiped out. He remembered the guerrilla camp in Mozambique. Since then he had seen Renamo rebels work over a village, and he had witnessed forced removals by the minions of apartheid in South Africa, but he had never grown hardened to the suffering of the African people. He was sick to his guts as he watched the rest of the little drama unfold.

The remaining fishing-boats ran in unsuspectingly to the beach, where the soldiers were waiting to drag the crews ashore. The last truckload of villagers rolled away in a column of red dust, and as soon as it was out of sight, one of the yellow bulldozers waddled down on to the beach and swept the abandoned fishing-boats into a pile, like firewood kindling.

Four soldiers brought the body of the old man and the one who had tried to escape, carrying them by ankles and wrists, dead heads lolling backwards. They tossed them on to the funeral pyre of shattered hulls and torn sails. One of the soldiers hurled a lighted torch of thatch on to the top of the pile. The flames took hold and burned so fiercely that the soldiers were driven backwards, holding up their hands to protect their faces.

The bulldozers crawled back and forth over the remains of the huts, flattening them under the steel tracks. A whistle shrilled and the soldiers formed up quickly and re-embarked into the waiting troop-carriers. The yellow bulldozers crawled back on to their transporters, and the entire column wound away.

After they had gone, the only sound was the hushed whisper of the evening breeze along the cliff face and the distant crackle of the flames. Well, Daniel tried to keep his tone neutral, the site is clear for the new casino. Taffari's investment in happiness for his people is secure. . . his voice broke. He could not go on. The bastard! he whispered. The murderous bloody bastard. He found that he was shaking with anger and outrage. It required an immense effort of will to bring his emotions under control. He strode to the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach. The gunboat was still anchored out in the deeper water in the middle of the bay and the Zodiac was drawn up on the beach with one of the soldiers guarding it, but Captain Kajo and the other sailor were no longer asleep on the sand. it was obvious that they had been awakened by the sound of gunfire and activity in the destroyed village.

Daniel looked around for Kajo and picked him out at last.

He was climbing the cliff face half a mile away, and it was clear from his manner that he was agitated. He was searching for them, stopping every few minutes to shout through cupped hands and peer about him anxiously.

Daniel ducked back out of sight and snapped at Bonny. Nobody must know that we shot that footage. It's dynamite. Gotcha! she agreed.

Give me the tape. I'll take care of it, in case they want to check what you've filmed.

Bonny ejected the tape from the camera and handed it over.

He wrapped it in a jersey and stuffed it into the bottom of his rucksack. All right, let's get out of here before Kajo finds us.

He must never guess that we saw what we saw. Bonny gathered up her equipment swiftly and followed Daniel as he cut inland away from the remains of the village and the lakeshore. Within minutes they were into the tall grass and scrub of the savannah.

Daniel circled back through the elephant grass and scrub until he reached the lakeshore again near the mouth of the bay, opposite Fish Eagle Island. They scrambled down the cliff to the beach and Daniel paused to let Bonny catch her breath. I don't understand how they let a film crew loose in the area on the very day they were going to wipe out the village, she gasped. Typical African screw-up, Daniel told her.

Somebody forgot to tell somebody else. The last coup attempt they made in Zambia, one of the conspirators broke into the radio station and announced the revolution while all his co-conspirators were still in barracks eating breakfast. He had the wrong day.

It was supposed to be the following Sunday. AWA. Are you ready to go on?

Bonny stood up. AWAF she asked. Africa Wins Again, Daniel smiled grimly. Let's go! Assuming a casual manner they set off side by side along the firm damp sand at the edge of the water.

They could see the beached Zodiac in the distance, but the demolished village was still hidden by the bulge of the cliff face.

They had not covered more than two hundred yards before Kajo hailed them from the cliff top. They stopped and looked up at him, waving as though they had only just noticed him for the first time. He's peeing in his pants, Bonny murmured. He doesn't know if we witnessed the raid or not.

Kajo came pelting down the cliff path, slipping and sliding on the steep places. He was out of breath when he reached the beach and confronted them.

Where have you been? he demanded. Out at the point, Daniel told him.

We filmed the casino site. Now we are going down to film the hotel site at the river mouth, where the fishing village is-'No! No! Kajo grabbed Daniel's arm. That is enough. No more filming. We must go back to the boat. it is finished for today. Daniel shrugged off his hand and argued with him for a while. Then finally, with a show of reluctance, he allowed himself to be led towards the Zodiac and ferried aboard the gunboat.

As soon as he reached the bridge, Kajo held a whispered discussion with the ship's captain and they both looked to the head of the bay.

There were still streamers of smoke from the burning fishing boats drifting out over the water. The ship's captain looked worried and gave orders to get under way in unnecessarily loud and agitated tones.

Before Daniel could prevent her, Bonny walked to the stern rail and aimed the Sony camera back towards the shore. Captain Kajo scrambled down the bridge Ladder and ran down the deck shouting. No! Wait! You must not film that! Why not? It's only a bush fire, isn't it? No!

Yes It's a bush fire, but it's classified material. A top secret bush fire? Bonny teased him, but she obediently lowered the camera.

As soon as they were alone Daniel scolded her. Don't get too damned clever. That little joke could have backfired on us. On the contrary, I convinced Kajo that we are innocent, she argued. When are you going to let me have my tape back? I'll keep it, he answered. Kajo's still suspicious. My bet is that when we reach Kahali, he'll check your equipment.

It was after dark when the gunboat tied up at its berth.

During the transfer of Bonny's video equipment from the vessel to the army Landrover on the wharf, the aluminium. case that contained her tapes disappeared. Although she screamed at Kajo, and shook her finger in his face and threatened to report his inefficiency to President Taffari, Kajo just kept on smiling blandly. Don't worry, Miss Mahon.

It will turn up. I give you my personal guarantee. Kajo arrived at the guest house the following morning, all smiles and apologies, carrying the missing case. All present and correct, Miss Mahon. One of those stupid Uhali porters mislaid it. Please accept my heartfelt apologies. You can be damned certain they scanned every tape in the box, Daniel assured her when Kajo had gone. He tapped the buttoned pocket of his bush jacket.

I'm going to get this tape of the raid down to Mike at the British embassy. It's the only safe place for it. Are you coming? I have an engagement. She looked defiant.

If you're going to visit your new boy friend, just be careful.

That's my advice to you. You've seen his style. Ephrem is an honorable guy!

knew anything about that raid. Believe what you want, but don't tell anybody about this tape. Not even Tug Harrison.

Bonny froze and stared at him. She had gone very pale.

What are you talking about? she demanded. Come on, Bonny, give me some credit. I checked that phone call you made from the Norfolk Hotel in Nairobi. Of course you're reporting to Tug Harrison. How much is he paying you to spy on me? You're crazy. She tried to brazen her way out of it.

Yes, I probably am. I fell for you, didn't I? But you'll be crazy if you tell Tug about this tape. He left her staring after him and he drove down the hill towards the British embassy. The grounds of the embassy were walled and the gates were guarded by soldiers of President Taffari's personal bodyguard in camouflage uniforms and maroon berets.

Michael Hargreave came out of his office to greet Daniel. Morning, Sir Mickey.

Danny boy! I spoke to Wendy last night. She sends you her love.

"When is she arriving? Not for another few weeks, more's the pity Her mother is unwell, so Wendy has to go home first instead of coming directly from Lusaka. .

Still chatting, he led Daniel into his office" but as soon as he closed the door his manner changed. News for you, Danny. The Chinaman has arrived. Landed this morning in BOSS's executive jet. My information is he came from Taiwan via Nairobi. Moved into BOSS headquarters in Lake House immediately to take over as head of the syndicate, and Taffari is throwing one of his bashes for him on Friday evening. Expect you'll get an invitation from Government House. That should be interesting. Daniel smiled grimly. I'm looking forward to seeing that gentleman again. That may be sooner than you think.

Michael Hargreave glanced at his wristwatch. Have to leave you, dear boy. Making a luncheon speech to the assembled Rotarians of Ubomo, would you believe?

Those files I promised you are all with my secretary. She'll give you a room to work in. Have a peep at them, then give them back to her. No notes nor photostats, please, Danny. Eyes only.

Thanks, Mike; you're a hero. But one other favour, please? Fire away.

Anything to please. Hargreave family motto, don't you know? Will you keep an envelope in your personal safe for me, Mike? Michael locked the sealed envelope containing the Fish Eagle Bay tape into his strong room, then shook hands and excused himself.

Daniel watched him from the verandah as he was driven away by his uniformed chauffeur in the ambassadorial car.

Despite the Union Jack pennant on the bonnet, it was a ten-year-old Rover in need of a paint job. The ambassador to Ubomo did not rate a RollsRoyce.

Daniel went back to the files that Michael's secretary had laid out for him in a back room. When he left the embassy three hours later, his original impression of Ephrem Taffari had been reinforced a hundredfold.

He's a tough and wily bird, Daniel muttered as he started the Landrover.

He and Bonny Mahon should have fun together. The motorcycle escort, sirens wailing, was forced to moderate its speed by the condition of the road through the new area of squatters slums that had grown up around the capital.

The tarmac was pitted with sharp-edged craters, while chickens and pigs scattered, cackling and grunting, ahead of the outriders.

The presidential car, another recent gift from the same middle eastern oil potentate, was a black Mercedes. It was a mark of his high regard that President Taffari had sent it down to Lake House on the waterfront to fetch his guest to the audience.

Ning Cheng Gong sat behind the chauffeur and studied these first glimpses of Ubomo with interest.

After what he had observed in Asia and the other parts of Africa in which he had served, the poverty and degradation of the slums through which they drove neither repelled nor shocked him. From his father he had learned to look upon swarming humanity as either a source of cheap labour, or a market for the goods and services he had to sell. Without human beings there is no profit, his father had pointed out on numerous occasions. The more people the better. Always when human lives are cheap, there are great fortunes to be made. We, the Lucky Dragon, must resist any effort to limit population growth in the Third World.

People are our basic stock-in-trade. Cheng smiled at his father's wisdom, derived from a study of history. His father's view was that only when human populations had been checked and limited by extraneous factors had the common man regained dignity and a measure of control over his own destiny. The terrible depredations of the great plagues of medieval times had broken the slavery of the feudal system of Europe. They had reduced human populations to the point where men had scarcity value and could bargain for their labour once again.

The great wars of this century had smashed the class system of inherited privilege and fortune, and ushered in this aberrant age of human rights, in which the common men of inferior races were taught that they were the equal of their betters. In Cheng's view, and that of his father, common men had no such divine rights, any more than the antelope in the wild deserved special protection from the lion.

When the mass of humanity reached such proportions that human life was cheap, that was the age of opportunity for the great predators to emerge. Predators like Lucky Dragon. In Africa that time was fast approaching as populations swarmed like hiving bees.

He thought about the little Cambodian boat girl, whose corpse now lay in the dark depths of the China Sea. There were millions and tens of millions more like her, in India and China and Africa and South America, for men like him.

Cheng had recognized in the burgeoning populations of Africa a unique opportunity.

That was the main reason that Lucky Dragon was drawn so irresistibly to this continent. That was why he was going now to a meeting with the president of this country which would soon be made to render up its wealth to him. He would suck the juice from it, throw away the empty skin, and pluck another from the tree. He smiled at the metaphor and raised his eyes to the green hill above the town on which Government House stood.

President Ephrem Taffari had an honour guard in maroon uniforms and white sun-helmets drawn up to welcome him and a red carpet laid across the green lawn. He came down the to meet Ning Cheng Gong personally and to shake his hand. He led him up on to the wide verandah and seated him in one of the carved armchairs under the revolving fan that hung from the ceiling.

An Uhali servant in ankle-length white robes, scarlet sash and to sselled fez offered him a silver tray of frosted glasses.

Cheng refused the champagne and chose a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Ephrem Taffari took the armchair opposite him and crossed one long leg clad in crisp white cotton trousers over the other.

He smiled at Cheng with all his charm. I wanted our first meeting to be informal and relaxed he explained, and made a deprecatory gesture towards his own open-neck sports shirt and sandals. So you will excuse my casual attire and the fact that I have none of my ministers with me.

'Of course, Your Excellency. Cheng sipped the orange juice. I am also delighted by this opportunity to get to know you and to be able to speak freely without the inhibition of having other people present.

Sir Peter Harrison speaks very highly of you, Mr. Ning. He is a man whose opinion I value. I am sure that our relationship will be mutually rewarding. For another ten minutes they traded compliments and ploicstations of friendship and goodwill. Both of them were at ease with this flowery circumlocution; it was part of their separate cultures and they understood instinctively the moves and countermoves as they circled and closed in on the real business of their meeting.

Finally Cheng took a sealed envelope from the inside pocket of his white silk tropical suit. It was a piece of expensive stationery, glossy and cream-coloured with a dragon motif embossed on the back flap. My father and I want you to believe, Mr. President, that our commitment to your country is unswerving. We would like you to accept this as an earnest token of our friendship and concern.

Cheng made his offering seem like a free and unsolicited gift, whereas both of them were aware that it had been the subject of intense and protracted bargaining. There had been other bidders in the market, not least of them the Arab oil sheikh who had provided the gunboat and the presidential Mercedes.

It had taken all Sir Peter Harrison's influence to secure the deal for the BOSS and Lucky Dragon syndicate.

The envelope contained the second instalment due to Ephrem Taffari in his personal capacity. The first instalment had been paid over ten months previously, on signature of the original agreement.

President Taffari picked up the envelope -and turned it over to examine the seal His fingers were long and elegantly shaped, and very dark against the stiff creamy paper.

He split the corner of the envelope with his thumbnail and unfolded the two documents it contained. One was a deposit receipt to a numbered bank account in Switzerland. The amount of the deposit was ten million US dollars. The other was a share transfer document, notarised in Luxembourg. A total of thirty percent of the syndicate's share equity was now registered in the name of Ephrem Taffari. The syndicate's formally registered -name was The Ubomo Development Corporation.

The president returned the documents to the open envelope -and slipped it into the pocket of his flowered sports shirt. Progress has not been as rapid as I had hoped, he said, his tone still courteous but underlaid with steel. I hope that will change with your arrival, Mr.

Ning. I am aware of the delays. As you know, my field-manager has been in Kahali for the last week or so. He has given me a full report of the situation. I believe that some of the blame must attach to the previous management, put in place by BOSS.

There has been some reluctance to exploit all the available assets.

Cheng made a delicately pejorative gesture. Mr. Purvis of BOSS, who is now safely on his way back to London, was a sensitive man. You know how squeamish these Englishmen can be. My field-manager informs me that we are short of labour. I assure you, Mr. Ning, that you will have all the labour you require. Taffari's smile became strained at the thinly veiled complaint. Thirty thousand, Cheng said softly. That was the original estimate approved by you, Your Excellency. So far we have been given fewer than ten thousand. You will have the rest before the beginning of next month.

Taffari was no longer smiling. I have given orders to the army.

All political detainees and dissidents are to be rounded up and sent to the labour camps in the forest. These will be members of the Uhah tribe?

Cheng asked. Of course, Taffari snapped. You didn't think for a moment that I would send you Hita, did you? Cheng smiled at the absurdity of that notion. My fieldmanager tells me that the Uhali are good workers, hardy and intelligent and compliant. We will need most of them in the forest to begin with. it seems that we are experiencing problems there caused by the terrain and the climate. The roads are bad and machinery is bogging down, We will be forced to use More men.

Yes, I warned the BOSS people of that, Taffari agreed. They were reluctant to use what they considered to be. . . He hesitated. That man Purvis referred to our convict labour as slave labour. He looked mildly amused by such pedantic definitions. These Westerners, Clieng sympathized, The English are bad enough, but the Americans are even-worse. They do not understand Africa or the orient. Their minds stop at Suez. .

he broke off. I assure you, Mr. President, that an easterner is now in control of the syndicate's operation. You will find that I do not suffer from these Western scruples. It is a relief to be able to work with somebody who understands the necessities of life, Taffari agreed.

Which brings me to the hotel and casino project at Fish Eagle Bay. I understand from my field-manager that nothing has been done there, apart from the original survey of the area.

He tells me that there is still a fishing village on the hotel site.

Not any longer, Taffari smiled. The area was cleared two days ago, soon after Purvis left for London. The village was a hotbed of counter-revolutionary activity. My soldiers rounded up all the dissidents. Two hundred able-bodied prisoners are already on their way to the concession area in the forest to join Your labour force. The hotel site is ready for construction to begin. Your Excellency, I can see that you and I are going to work well together. May I show you the modifications that I have made to the schedule of works drawn up by Purvis? He opened his briefcase and unfolded a large computer spreadsheet that covered the entire table between them.

Taffari, leaned forward and listened with interest as Cheng pointed out the way in which he had restructured almost the entire syndicate operation.

At the end of the lecture Taffari's admiration was unconcealed. You have accomplished all this in the short time since you arrived in Ubomo? he asked, but Cheng shook his head. Not all of it, Your Excellency. Some of the replanning was done before I left Taipei. I had the benefits of my father's advice and the assistance of his headquarters staff at Lucky Dragon.

Only part of the planning was necessitated after my arrival in Kahali, on the advice of my field-manager, and his report on the conditions and problems we have encountered in the forest. Remarkable!

Taffari shook his head. Sir Peter Harrison's opinion of you seems to be well founded. Planning is one thing, Cheng pointed out modestly.

Execution is another thing entirely. I am sure that you will bring the same energy and drive to that part of the operation. Taffari looked at his wristwatch. I am expecting a guest for lunch. . I am sorry, Your Excellency. I have overstayed my welcome.

Cheng made as if to rise. Not at all, Mr. Ning. I absolutely insist that you join us for lunch. It may amuse you to meet my other guest, a member of the film team which Sir Peter Harrison has hired.

Ah, yes.

Cheng looked dubious. Sir Peter explained to my father and myself why he had invited a film company to Ubomo. I am not certain that I agree with him, however. The English have a saying about sleeping dogs. In my view, it may be better not to draw world attention to our operations. I would like to cancel the project and send the film team out of Ubomo. I am afraid it is too late for that. Taffari shook his head.

We have already- received a great deal of adverse publicity.

There is a woman, a protegee of the previous presidents Omeru. . .

For another ten minutes they discussed Sir Peter's plan to defuse Kelly Kinnear's propaganda campaign by a countercampaign of their own. In any event, Taffari pointed out, we can always suppress anything we don't like about this film production. Sir Peter Harrison has an approval clause written into the contract. We can even suppress the final product completely, and destroy all copies of the film, if we feel that is advisable. of course, you are taking precautions to make certain that these people do not get to see any of our sensitive areas?

The convict labour camps, the main logging operations, and the refill mining? Trust me, Mr. Ning. They will see the pilot scheme only. I have a reliable military officeraccompanying them at all times. He broke off at the sound of an approaching vehicle. Aht That would be the person we are discussing, the cameraman and Captain Kajo.

Cameraman?

Cheng asked, as ihey watched Bonny Mahon and Captain Kajo cross the lawn towards them. Inaccurate, I agree, Taffari chuckled. But is there such a term as camerawoman, I wonder? He stood up and went to meet his guest.

Captain Kajo came to attention and saluted. Taffari ignored him.

Kajo's job was done. He had delivered Bonny. He turned on his heel and returned to wait in the army Landrover. He knew it might be a long wait.

Cheng studied the woman as Taffari led her down the verandah. She was too big and bosomy. She had no delicacy of bone structure nor refinement of feature. Both her nose and mouth were too large for his taste. Her freckled skin and coppery hair repelled him. Her voice and laughter, as she joked with Taffari, were loud and vulgar. Her confident attitude and powerful limbs made Cheng feel threatened as though she were challenging his masculinity. He did not like a woman to be as strong and assertive as a man. He compared her unfavourably with the dainty ivory-skinned women of his own race, with their straight black hair and submissive self-effacing manner.

However, he rose politely and smiled and shook her hand, and saw that Taffari was quite smitten by the woman.

He knew that Taffari had a dozen Hita wives who were amongst the most beautiful of the tribe, but he supposed that the president was attracted by the novelty of this gross creature.

Perhaps he felt that it would add to his status to have a white woman as a plaything. However, Cheng guessed shrewdly that he would tire of her soon enough and discard her as casually as he had taken her up.

Mr. Ning is the chief executive officer of the Ubomo Development Corporation, Taffari told Bonny. Technically he is your boss. Bonny chuckled. Well, I can report that we are doing a hell of a job, boss.

I am delighted to hear that, Miss Mahon! Cheng was unsmiling. It is an important task that you are undertaking.

What have you accomplished so far? We've been working here in Kahali and on the lake. We've already filmed the site of the new hotel and casino.

Both Cheng and Taffari listened seriously to her report. Where are you moving to after this? Cheng wanted to know. After we finish here we are driving up-country to the forest area. A place called Sengi-Sengi. Have I got that right, Your Excellency? She looked at Taffari.

Quite right, my dear Miss Mahon, Taffari assured her. Sengi-Sengi is the corporation's pilot scheme for utilising the forest assets.

Cheng nodded. I will be visiting the project myself at the very first opportunity. Why don't you come up to Sengi-Sengi while we are filming?

Bonny suggested. it would give much more weight to the production to have you in it, Mr. Ning. She paused as another thought struck her, and then with a boyish grin she turned to Ephrem Taffari. But it would really be terrific to have you in the production, Mr. President. We could interview you on the site of the project at Sengi-Sengi. You could explain to us your hopes and dreams for your country. just think of that, Your Excellency.

Ephrem Taffari smiled and shook his head. I'm a busy man.

I don't think I could spare the time. But she could see he was tempted.

He was enough of a politician to relish the prospect of favourable exposure to a wide audience. It would be very valuable, she urged him.

For both Ubomo and your personal image. People out there in the big world have heard about you only vaguely. If they could see you, it would change their whole perception. I assure you from a professional point of view that you would look plain bloody marvelous on the screen.

You are tall and handsome and your voice is sensational. I swear I'd make you look like a film star. He liked the idea. He liked the flattery. Well, perhaps. . . They both realised that he wanted to be persuaded just a little longer. You could fly up to Sengi-Sengi by helicopter, Bonny pointed out. It would take half a day, no more. . .

She paused and pouted suggestively and touched his arm. Unless, of course, you decided to stay over for a day or two. That would be okay by me, also. Daniel and Bonny, accompanied as always by Captain Kajo, drove up from Kahah. Although it was only a little over two hundred miles it took them two full days, for much of that time was spent not in travelling but in filming the changing countryside and the rural tribes in their traditional manyattas that they found along the way.

Captain Kajo was able to smooth the way and negotiate with the tribal elders. For a few Ubomo shillings he arranged that they had the run of any of the Hita villages that they passed.

They filmed the young girls at the water-holes, clad only in tiny beaded skirts as they bathed and plaited each other's hair. The unmarried girls dressed their coiffures with a mixture of cow dung and red clay until it was an intricate sculpture on top of their heads, adding inches to their already impressive height.

They filmed the married -women as they returned to the village in long files clad in flowing red matronly togas, swaying gracefully under brimming calabashes of water drawn from the spring.

They filmed the herds of dappled, multi-coloured cattle with their wide horns and humped backs against 4 background of flat-topped acacia and golden savanna grasslands.

They filmed the herdboys bleeding a great black bull, twisting a leather thong around its neck to raise the congested vein beneath the skin, then piercing it with the point of an arrow and capturing the scarier stream of blood in a bottle-shaped calabash. When the gourd was half filled they sealed the wound in the bull's neck with a handful of clay, and topped up the calabash with milk stripped directly from the udder. Then they added a dash of cow's urine to curdle the mixture into thick cheesy curds. Low cholesterol, Daniel pointed out when Bonny gagged theatrically. And look at those Hita figures. I'm looking, Bonny assured him. Oh, hallelujah, I'm looking-" The men wore only a red blanket over one shoulder, held with a belt at the waist.

They allowed the skirts to flap open casually in the breeze, especially when Bonny was nearby. They let her film as much as she wished of everything they possessed, staring into the lens with masculine arrogance, the elongated loops of their earlobes stopped with bone and ivory earrings.

On the main road their Landrover passed ore trucks and logging trailers coming in the opposite direction. The weight of these massive vehicles, even though spread over a dozen axles and banks of massive tyres, rutted the road deeply and raised a fog of dust that covered the trees for a mile on both sides of the roadway with a thick coating of dark red talcum. Bonny gloried in the effect of the sunlight through the dust cloud and the shapes of the trucks lumbering out of it like prehistoric monsters.

When at last, on the second day, they crossed the river on the ferry and reached the edge of the great forests, even Bonny was awed by the height and girth of the trees. They're like pillars holding up the sky, she breathed as she turned her camera upon them. The quality of the air and light changed as they left the dry savannah behind them and entered this humid and lush forest world.

At first they followed the main highway with its milewic open verges.

Then, after fifty miles, they turned off on to one of the new development roads, freshly cut into the virgin forest.

The deeper they journeyed into the forest, the closer the trees crowded the roadway, until at last their high branches met overhead and they were in a tunnel filled with dappled and greenish light.

Even the bellow of the truck engines that passed them seemed muted, as though the trees were blanketing and absorbing the alien and offensive sound. The surface of the road had been corduroyed with logs laid side by side, and over this was spread a layer of flinty gravel to give the great trucks footing. The returning ore trucks bring the gravel back from the quarries near the lakeshore, Captain Kajo explained. If they did not, the road would become a bottomless swamp of mud. It rains almost every day here. Every mile or so there were gangs of hundreds of men and women working on the road, spreading gravel and laying new logs to hold the surface together.

Who are they? Daniel asked. Convicts, Kajo dismissed them lightly.

Instead of spending money keeping them locked up and fed, we let them work off their debt to society. A lot of convicts for such a small country, Daniel pointed out. You must have a lot of crime in Ubomo.

The Uhali are a bunch of rogues, thieves and troublemakers, Kajo explained and then shuddered as he looked beyond the toiling lines of prisoners to the impenetrable forest behind them.

Kajo was standing in front of Daniel, obscuring him for the moment with his six foot six height. Now he moved aside, and Daniel and the field-manager confronted each other. Mr. Chetti Singh, Daniel said softly. I never expected to see you again. What a great pleasure this is. The bearded Sikh stopped as though he had walked into a glass wall and stared at Daniel. You know each other? Captain Kajo asked. What a happy coincidence. We are old friends, Daniel replied. We share a common interest in wildlife, especially elephants and leopards. He was smiling as he extended his hand to Chetti Singh. How are you, Mr.

Singh?

Last time we met you had suffered a little accident, hadn't you?

Chetti Singh had turned a ghastly ashen colour beneath his dark complexion, but with an obvious effort he rallied from the shock. For a moment his eyes blazed and Daniel thought he might attack him. Then he accepted Daniel's pretence of friendliness, and tried to smile, but it was like an animal baring its teeth.

He reached out to accept Daniel's proffered handshake, but he used his left hand. His right sleeve was empty, folded back and pinned upon itself. The blunt outline of the stump showed through the striped cotton. Daniel saw that the amputation was below the elbow. It was a typical mauling injury. The leopard would have chewed the bone into fragments that no surgeon could knit together again. Although there were no scars or other injuries apparent at a glance, Chetti Singh's once portly body had been stripped of every ounce of superfluous fat and flesh. He was thin as an AIDS victim, and the white of his eyes had an unhealthy yellowish tinge. It was obvious that he had been through a bad time, and that he was not yet fully recovered.

His beard was still thick and glossy, curled up under his chin, the ends tucked into his spotless white turban. Indeed, what an absolute pleasure to see you again, Doctor. His eyes gave the lie to the words.

Thank you for your kind sympathy, but happily I am fully recovered, except for my missing appendage. He wiggled the stump. It's-a nuisance, but I expect to receive full compensation for my loss from those responsible, never mind. His touch was cool as a lizard's skin, but he withdrew his hand from Daniel's and turned to Bonny and Kajo.

His smile became more natural and he greeted them cordially. When he turned back to Daniel he was no longer smiling. And so, Doctor, you have come to make us all famous with your television show. We shall all be film stars. . . He was watching Daniel's face with a strange greedy expression, like a python looking at a hare.

The shock of the meeting had been almost as great to Daniel as it had obviously been to the Sikh. Of course, Mike Hargreave had told him that Chetti Singh had survived the leopard attack, but that had been months ago and he had never expected Chetti Singh to turn up here in Ubomo, thousands of miles from where he had last seen him. Then, when he thought about it, he realised that he should really have been prepared for this.

There was a strong link between Ning Cheng Gong and the Sikh. If Ning were placed in charge in Ubomo, he would naturally appoint as his assistant somebody who knew every wrinkle of the local terrain, and who had his networks securely in place.

In retrospect, it was obvious that Chetti Singh had been the perfect choice for Ning. The Sikh's Organisation had infiltrated every country in central Africa. He had agents in the field. He knew whom to bribe and whom to intimidate. But most of all, he was totally unscrupulous and bound toNing Cheng Gong in loyalty and fear and greed.

Daniel should have expected Chetti Singh to be lurking inNings shadow, should have been prepared to face his vengeance. It did not need the expression in Chetti Singh's eyes to warn him that he was in mortal danger.

The only escape from Sengi-Sengi was along the single roadway through the forest, every mile of which was controlled by company guards and numerous military road-blocks.

Chetti Singh was going to try to kill him. There could not be a single doubt of that. He had no weapon nor any other form of defence.

Chetti Singh commanded the ground and could choose the time and the place to do it.

Chetti Singh had turned back and was chatting to Captain Kajo and Bonny.

It is too late already for me to offer to show you around. It will be dark in a short while. You will want to move into the quarters we have prepared for you He paused and beamed at them genially. Besides which, I have exciting news for you. I have just this minute received a fax from Government House in Kahali. President Taffari, in the very flesh, is coming to Sengi-Sengi by helicopter. He will arrive tomorrow morning and he has most graciously consented to a film interview on the site of our operation here. It is a great.

honour, I assure you. President Taffari is not a man to be taken lightly, and he will be accompanied by the chief executive officer of UDC, none other than our own Mr. Ning Cheng Gong. He is another eminently important personage. Perhaps he will also consent to play a part in your production. .

It was raining again as Chetti Singh's secretary showed them to the quarters that had been set aside for them. The rain rattled like birdshot on the roofs of the buildings and the already saturated earth steamed with a mist that was blue as smoke in the twilight beneath the forest canopy.

Wooden catwalks had been laid between the buildings and the secretary provided them with cheap plastic umbrellas gaudily emblazoned with the slogan: UDC means a better life for all.

The guest quarters were a row of small rooms like stables in a long Nissen hut. Each room contained rudimentary furniture bed, chair, cupboard and desk. There was a communal washroom and lavatory in the centre of the long hut.

Daniel checked his own room carefully. The door had a lock that was so flimsy that it would yield to any determined pressure, besides which Chetti Singh certainly had a duplicate key. The window was covered by a mosquito screen and there was a mosquito net hanging above the bed, none of which was any protection. The walls were so thin that he could hear Kajo moving around in the room beside his.

It was going to be a pleasant stay.

Okay, folks, we'll have a competition, he grinned ruefully to himself.

Guess when Chetti Singh will make his first attempt to bump us off.

First prize is a week's holiday at Sengi-Sengi.

Second prize is two weeks holiday at Sengi-Sengi.

Dinner was served in the mess for senior staff. It was another Nissen hut comfortably furnished as a bar and canteen. When Daniel and Bonny entered there was a mixed bag of Taiwanese and British engineers and technicians filling the mess with cigarette smoke and noisy chatter.

Nobody took much notice of him, but Bonny caused a mild sensation, as usual, especially with the group of Brits playing darts and drinking lager at the bar.

The Taiwanese seemed to be keeping to themselves and Daniel sensed a tension between the two groups. This was confirmed when one of the British engineers told Daniel that since Ning had taken over UDC, he had been ousting the British engineers and managers and replacing them with his own Taiwanese.

Bonny was instantly adopted by the British contingent and after dinner Daniel left her playing darts with a couple of beefy mining engineers.

She intercepted Daniel heading for the door and she grinned at him maliciously as she whispered, Enjoy your lonely bed, lover. He grinned back at her as icily. I never did like a crowd. As he made his way through the darkness along the slippery mud-caked catwalk, a spot in the centre of his back itched. It was the spot into which somebody sneaking up behind him might stick a knife. He quickened his pace.

When he reached the door of his room in the Nissen hut, he pushed it open but hung back for a minute. There could be somebody waiting for him in the darkened room. He gave them a chance to move before he slipped his arm around the door frame and switched on the overhead light. Only then did he venture in cautiously. He locked the flimsy door and drew the curtains and sat on the bed to unlace his boots.

There were just too many ways that Chetti Singh could choose to do it. He knew he couldn't guard against them all. At that moment he felt something move under the bedclothes on which he was sitting. It was a slow, stealthy, reptilian sliding movement beneath the thin sheet and it touched his thigh. An icy dart of fear shot up his spine, stiffening every muscle in his body.

He had always had an unreasoning fear of snakes. One of his earliest memories was of a cobra in his nursery. It had only been a few months after his fourth birthday, but he vividly remembered the grotesque shadow that the reptile's extended hood had thrown upon the nursery wall as it reared in the diffuse beam of the nightlight that his mother had placed beside his bed. He remembered the explosive hisses with which the snake had challenged his own wild and terrified screams, before his father had burst into the nursery in his pyjamas.

Now he knew with the utmost certainty that the thing beneath the sheet was a snake. He knew that Chetti Singh or one of his men had placed it there. It must be one of the more deadly species, one of the mambas, slim and glittering with their thin grinning lips, or a forest cobra, black as death, or one of the thick repulsive gaboon adders.

Daniel sprang from the bed and spun around to face it. His heart hammered wildly as he looked around for a weapon. He snatched up the flimsy chair, and with the strength of his fear tore off one of the legs.

With this weapon in his hand he regained control of himself. He was still breathing rapidly and he experienced a quick rush of shame. As a game ranger he had stood down the determined charges of buffalo and elephant and the great killer cats. As a soldier he had parachuted into enemy territory and fought it out in hand-to-hand combat, but now he was panting and shaking at a phantom of his imagination.

He steeled himself to go back to the bed. With his left hand he took the corner of the sheet, raised the chair leg with the other hand and flung back the bedclothes.

A striped forest mouse was in the centre of the white sheet. It had long white whiskers and its bright inquisitive button eyes blinked rapidly in the sudden light.

Daniel was barely able to arrest the blow that he had already launched at it, and he and the tiny creature stared at each other in astonishment. Then his shoulders sagged and shook with nervous laughter. The mouse squeaked and leapt off the bed. It darted across the floor and vanished into a hole in the wainscoting and Daniel collapsed on to the bed and doubled up with laughter. My God, Chetti Singh, he gasped. You won't stop at anything, will you? What other nefarious tricks have you got up your sleeve? The helicopter came in from the east. They heard the whoppity-wop of its rotors long before it appeared in the hole in the forest canopy high above. It descended into the clearing with all the grace of a fat lady lowering herself on to a lavatory seat.

The helicopter was a French-built Puma and it was obvious that it had seen many years of hard service, probably with a few other airforces, before it had reached Ubomo.

The pilot cut the motors and the rotors slowed and stopped.

President Taffari vaulted down from the main hatch. He was lithe and vitally handsome in combat fatigues and parachutist's boots. Bonny moved in with the camera and he flashed a smile as bright and almost as wide as the medal ribbons on his chest, and stepped forward to greet the reception committee headed by Chetti Singh.

Behind him Ning Cheng Gong used the boarding ladder to descend from the Puma. He was dressed in a cream-coloured tropical suit. His skin was almost a matching creamy yellow that contrasted strongly with his eyes, dark and bright as polished onyx.

He looked around quickly, searching for somebody or something; and he saw Daniel standing back, out of camera shot.

Ning Cheng Gong's eyes licked Daniel's face for only an instant, like the black tongue of an adder, and then were past.

His expression did not change. There was not the least sign of recognition, but Daniel knew with certainty that Chetti Singh had managed to get a message to his master, to warn him of Daniel's presence in Ubomo. Daniel was startled by his own reaction. He had known that Cheng would be on the helicopter.

He had steeled himself for the first sight of him, but still it was as much of a physical shock as a punch under the ribs. It required an effort to respond normally to President Taffari's handshake and greeting.

Ah, Doctor; as you see, Mohammed has come to the mountain. I have set aside the afternoon to cooperate with your filming. What do you want me to do? I am yours to command. I am very grateful, Mr.

President. I have drawn up a shooting schedule. In all, I will need about five hours of your time, that includes make-up and rehearsal.

. Daniel resisted the temptation to glance in Cheng's direction, until Chetti Singh intervened. Doctor Armstrong, I'd like you to meet the managing director, head of UDC, Mr. Ning. Daniel was almost overcome by a strange sense of unreality as he shook Ning's hand and smiled and said. We know each other. We met briefly in Zimbabwe, when you were ambassador there.

I don't suppose you recall? Forgive me. Cheng shook his head.

I met so many people in the course of my official duties. He pretended not to remember and Daniel forced himself to keep smiling.

It seemed incredible that the last time he had seen this man was on the escarpment of the Zambezi valley, only hours before he discovered the mutilated and abused corpses of Johnny and his family. It was as though all the sorrow and anger in him had grown stronger and more bitter for being bottled up all this time. He wanted to shout out his rage, You filthy, greedy butcher! He wanted to clench his fists and attack that smooth bland face, to batter it into pulp and feel the bones break under his knuckles.

He wanted to gouge out those implacable shark's eyes and pop them between his fingers. He wanted to wash his hands inNing Cheng Gong's blood.

He turned away as soon as he could. He could trust himself no longer.

For the first time, he faced -what he had to do. He had to kill Ning Cheng Gong, or be killed in the attempt.

He expected no personal gratification from it. It was the fulfilment of the oath he had sworn over the body of his friend.

It was a simple duty and a debt to the memory of Johnny Nzou. You may think that I am standing on the bridge of a battleship. . . Ephrem Taffari smiled into the lens of Bonny's camera, but I assure you that I am not. This is in fact the command platform of Mobile Mining Unit Number One, known here by the affectionate acronym MOMU. Although Taffari was the only person in camera-shot, the rest of the platform was crowded with company personnel. The chief engineer and the geologist had briefed the president on his spiel, making certain that he had a grasp of all the technical details. The crew of the unit were still at the command console of MOMU. The operation of the complex machine could not be interrupted even for such an important visitor as the state president.

Daniel was directing the sequence, and both Chetti Singh and Cheng were spectators, although they kept in the background.

Bonny had seen to Taffari's make-up herself. She was as good as any specialist make-up artist that Daniel had worked with. I am standing seventy feet above the ground, Taffari went on. And I am racing forward at the breathless speed of a hundred yards an hour. He smiled at his own burnout.

Daniel had to admit that he was a natural actor, completely at ease in front of the camera. With those look$ and with that voice he could grab the complete attention of any female audience anywhere in the world. The vehicle on which I am riding weighs one thousand tons. . .

Daniel was making editing notes on his schedule as Taffari spoke. At this point he would cut away to a full shot of the gigantic MOMU vehicle riding on its banks of tracks. There were twelve separate sets of steel tracks each of them ten feet wide to give it stability over the most uneven terrain.

Steel hydraulic rams automatically adjusted the trim of the main platform keeping it on an even keel, tilting and dipping to counterbalance the ponderous wallowing, pitching movements of the tracks as they climbed and fell over the contours of the forest floor.

The size of the machine was not much less than the battleship that Taffari had suggested in his opening remarks. It was over one hundred and fifty yards long and forty wide.

Taffari turned and pointed forward over the railing.

Down there, he said, are the jaws and fangs of the monster.

Let's go down and take a look. It was easily said on camera, but it meant moving down to a new vantage point and setting up the angles, then rehearsing the new shot. However, Taffari was a joy to work with, Daniel admitted. He needed only one walk-through and he knew his lines. He delivered them with natural timing and without fluffing once, even though he was forced to raise his voice to a shout to compete with the noise of the machinery.

This shot was good cinema. The excavators were on long gantries.

Like the necks of a herd of steel giraffe drinking at a water-hole, they moved independently, rising and falling. The excavator blades rotated ferociously, slicing out the earth and throwing it back on to the conveyor belts. These excavators can reach down thirty yards below the surface. They are cutting a trench sixty yards wide and digging out over ten thousand tons of ore an hour. They never stop.

Day and night they keep on burrowing away. Daniel looked down into the cavernous trench that the MOMU was opening into the red earth. It would be a good place to dispose of a corpse, his corpse. He glanced up without warning; both Ning Cheng Gong and Chetti Singh were watching him intently. They were still standing on the command platform seventy feet above him. Their heads were close together, almost touching, and they were talking, their voices wiped out by the roar of the great spinning excavator heads and the thunder of the conveyor belts. From their expressions Daniel was left with no doubt about the subject of their discussion. For an instant he caught their eyes and then they both looked away and moved back from the rail. After that it was difficult for Daniel to concentrate on the work in hand, yet he had to take advantage of every minute that Ephrem Taffari was available to him.

Once again the camera crew climbed the steel ladder up to the central platform of the MOMU. Chetti Singh and Ning Cheng Gong had disappeared, and that made Daniel even more uneasy. From the height of the platform they could look down on to the tube mills. These were four massive steel drums, lying horizontally on the deck of the MOMU, and revolving like the spin-dryer in a domestic washing-machine. However, these drums were forty yards long, and each one was loaded with one hundred tons of cast-iron cannonballs. The red earth coming up from the excavated trench on the conveyor belts was

continually being dumped into the open mouths of the drums.

As the earth passed down the length of the drum, the clods and rocks were pounded to fine talcum by the tumbling iron balls.

The red powder that poured from the far end of the tube mills went directly into the separator tanks.

The film team moved down the steel catwalks until they were above the separators, and here Taffari continued his explanation for the benefit of Bonny's camera. The two valuable minerals that we are after are either very heavy or magnetic. The rare earth monazite is collected by powerful electromagnets. His voice was almost drowned by the roar of the machinery. That didn't worry Daniel. Later he would have Taffari make another clear recording of his speech and in the studio be would dub the tape to give it good sound. Once we have taken out the monazite, the remainder goes into the separator tanks in which we float out the light material and capture the heavy ore of platinum. Taffari went on, This is a very sensitive part of the operation. If we were to use chemical catalysts and reagents in the separator tanks we would be able to recover over ninety percent of the platinum. However, the chemical effluent from the tanks would be poisonous.

It would be absorbed into the earth and washed by rain into the rivers to kill everything that came in contact with it animals, birds, insects, fish and plant life. As president of the Democratic People's Republic of Ubomo, I have given an inviolable instruction that no chemical reagents of any kind are to be used during platinum mining operations in this country. Taffari paused and stared into the camera levelly. You have my absolute assurance on that point. Without using reagents, our recovery of ore drops to sixty-five percent. That means tens of millions of dollars are lost from the process. However, my government and I are determined to accept that loss, rather than to run any risk of chemical pollution of our environment.

We are determined to do all in our power to make this a safe and happy world for our children, and your children, to enjoy. He was utterly convincing. When you listened to that deep reassuring voice and looked at that noble face, you could not possibly doubt his sincerity. Even Daniel was moved, and his critical faculties were suspended for the moment. This bastard could sell pork pies in a synagogue. He tried to get his cynical professional judgement functioning again. Cut, he snapped. That's a wrap. That was marvelous, Mr. President. Thank you very much. If you'd like to go back to the mess for lunch, we'll finish up here. Then this afternoon we'll film the final sequences with the maps and models. Chetti Singh reappeared, like a turbaned genie from a lamp, to usher Taffari down from the MOMU and to drive him back to the base camp where Daniel knew a sumptuous buffet lunch was awaiting him.

The food and liquor had been flown up from Kahali in the Puma helicopter.

Once the others had left, Daniel and Bonny captured the last sequences on the MOMU which didn't require Taffari to be present. They filmed the heavy platinum concentrates pouring into the ore bins in a fine dark stream. Each bin had a capacity of a hundred tons and when it was full it dropped automatically on to the bed of a waiting trailer and was towed away.

It was three o'clock before they had wrapped up all the shots that Daniel wanted on the MOMU and by the time they got back to the base camp at Sengi-Sengi, the presidential lunch was just ending.

In the centre of the conference room of the headquarters hut was an elaborate scale model of a typical mining scenario, employing the MOMU unit. It was designed to illustrate the entire procedure. The model had been built by BOSS technicians in London. It was an impressive piece of work, complete in detail, authentic in scale.

Daniel planned to alternate between shots of the model and helicopter shots from the Puma of the actual forest terrain with the real MOMU in action. He believed that on the screen it would be difficult to tell the difference between them.

The scale model showed the mining track, sixty yards wide, cut and cleared through the forest by the team of loggers and bulldozers working ahead of the MOMU. Daniel planned to devote a few days filming to the logging operation itself. The felling of the tall trees would yield riveting footage. The ponderous arabesques of the yellow bulldozers dragging the logs out of the jungle, the gangs loading them on to the logging trucks, would all be good cinema.

In the meantime Daniel must take full advantage of the day's filming in which Taffari had agreed to participate. He watched Bonny fussing over him, whispering and giggling as she powdered his face. She was making it very obvious to anyone watching that they were lovers.

Taffari had drunk enough to lower his inhibitions and he caressed her openly, staring at the big breasts that she thrust only inches from his nose.

She really sees herself as First Lady of Ubomo, Daniel marveled.

She hasn't the least idea how the Hita treat their wives.

I'd love it to happen. She deserves anything that comes her way.

He stood up and interrupted the flagrant display. If you're ready, Mr.

President, I'd like you standing here, beside the table. Bonny, I want the shot from this side. Try to get both General Taffari and the model in focus.

Taffari moved to his mark and they rehearsed the shot. He got it right at the first attempt. Very good, sir. We'll go for it now. Are you ready, Bonny? Taffari's military swagger-stick was of polished ivory and rhino horn, the shaft topped by a miniature carving of an elephant. It looked more like a field marshal's baton than that of a general officer.

Perhaps he was anticipating the day when he would promote himself, Daniel thought wryly.

Now Taffari used the baton to point out the features of the model on the table in front of him. As you can see, the mining track is a narrow pathway through the forest, only sixty yards wide. It is true that along that track we are felling all the trees and removing the undergrowth for the MOMU to follow. He paused seriously, and looked up at the camera. This is not wanton destruction but a prudent harvest, like that of a farmer husbanding his fields. Less than one percent of the forest is affected by this narrow strip of activity, and behind the MOMU comes a span of bulldozers to refill the mining trench and to compact and consolidate the soil. The trench itself is painstakingly following the land contours to avoid soil erosion.

As soon as the trench is refilled, a team of botanists follows up to replant the open ground with seeds and saplings. These plants have been carefully selected. Some of them are quickgrowing to act as a ground cover; others are slower growing, but in fifty years from now will be fully mature and ready to be harvested. I will not be there when this happens, but my grandchildren will. The way that this operation has been planned, we will never harvest more than one single percent of the forest each year. You don't have to be a mathematician to realise that it will be the year AD 2090 before we have worked it all, and by that time the trees that we plant now, in 1990, will be a hundred years old and we can safely begin the whole cycle over again.

He smiled reassuringly into the lens, handsome and debonair. A thousand years from now the forests of Ubomo will still be yielding up their largesse to generations yet unborn, and offering a haven for the same living creatures that they do now. It all made sense, Daniel decided. He had seen the proof of it in operation. That narrow track through the forest could not seriously threaten any species with extinction. Taffari was proposing exactly the same philosophy in which Daniel himself believed so implicitly, the philosophy of sustained yield, the disciplined and planned utilisation of the earth's resources, so that they were always renewing themselves.

For the moment, his animosity towards Ephrem Taffari was forgotten.

He felt like applauding him.

Instead he cleared his throat and said, Mr. President, that was an extraordinary performance. It was inspirational. Thank you, sir.

Sitting on the tailboard of the Landrover, Chetti Singh smoothed the document over his own thigh. He had developed a remarkable dexterity with his left hand.

This scrap of paper takes all the fun out of it, he remarked. It is not meant to be fun, Ning Cheng Gong said flatly. It is meant to be a present for my honourable father. It is meant to be work. Chetti Singh glanced up at him and smiled blandly and insincerely. He did not like the change that was so apparent since Ning had returned from Taipei.

There was a new force and strength in him now, a new confidence and determination.

For the first time Chetti Singh found that he was afraid of him.

He did not enjoy the sensation. Still, work goes better when it is fun, Chetti Singh argued to bolster himself, but found he could not meet Ning's dark implacable stare. He dropped his eyes to the document and read, PEOPLE's DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF Ubomo Special Presidential Game Licence The bearer, Mr. Ning Cheng Gong, or his authorised agent, is hereby empowered by special presidential decree to hunt, trap or kill the following protected species of wild game anywhere in the Republic of Ubomo. To wit, five specimens of Elephant (Loxodonta Africana).

He is further empowered for reasons of scientific research to collect and have in his possession, to export or sell, any part of the aforesaid specimens including the skins, bones, meat and, or ivory tusks thereof.

Signed, Ephrem Taffari President of the Republic.

The licence was a rush job. There was no precedent for the form or wording of it and at Cheng's request the president had scribbled it out on a scrap of notepaper and the government printer had set it up under the coat of arms of the Republic of Ubomo, and delivered it within twelve hours for President Taffari to sign.

I am a poacher, Chetti Singh explained, the best in Africa.

This piece of paper turns me into a mere agent, an underling, a butcher's apprentice. . .

Cheng turned away impatiently. The Sikh was annoying him.

There were things other than this petty carping to occupy him.

He paced the forest clearing, lost in thought. The ground was muddy and rutted underfoot and the humidity steamed up the lenses of his sunglasses. He removed them and slipped them into the breast-pocket of his open-neck shirt. He glanced around him at the solid green wall of jungle that hemmed in the clearing. It was dark and menacing and he suppressed the sense of unease that it evoked and instead glanced at his wristwatch. He is late, he said sharply. When will he come?

Chetti Singh shrugged and folded the game licence with one hand. He does not have the same sense of time that we do. He is a pygmy. He will come when it suits him. Perhaps he is already here, watching us.

Perhaps he will come tomorrow or next week. I cannot waste any more time, Cheng snapped. There is other important work to do. More important than your honourable father's gift? Chetti Singh asked, and his smile was ironical. Damn these black people.

Cheng turned away again. They are so unreliable. They are monkeys, Chetti Singh agreed, but useful little monkeys. Cheng made another turn around the clearing, his feet squelching in the red mud, and then stopped in front of Chetti Singh again. What about Armstrong? he asked.

We have to deal with him. Ah, yes! Chetti Singh grinned. That will be fun, indeed. He massaged the stump of his missing arm. I have dreamed about Doctor Armstrong every night for nearly a year. And yet I never thought to have him delivered so neatly to Sengi-Sengi.

Like a trussed chicken, never mind. You will have to deal with him while he is still here, Cheng insisted. You can't allow him to leave here alive. Perish the thought, Chetti Singh agreed. I have been devoting much contemplation to the problem. I wish the good doctor's demise to be suitably symbolic and painful, and yet to be adequately explainable as a most unfortunate accident of fate. Don't wait too long, Cheng warned!

I have five more days, Chetti Singh pointed out complacently. I have seen the filming schedule. He cannot finish his work at Sengi-Sengi before that-Cheng cut in impatiently, What about the red-haired woman, his assistant? At the moment President Taffari is having some honking fun with her, but nevertheless I think it might be prudent to arrange for her to accompany Doctor Armstrong on the long journey- Chetti Singh broke off abruptly and stood up. He peered into the forest and when Cheng opened his mouth to speak he silenced him with an imperative gesture. For another minute he stood listening with his head cocked before he spoke again. I think he is here. How do you know?

Despite himself Cheng's voice was a cautious whisper and he cleared his throat nervously as he peered into the jungle. Listen, said Chetti Singh. The birds. I hear nothing. Precisely. Chetti Singh nodded.

They have fallen silent.

He stepped towards the green wall and raised his voice, calling in Swahili. Peace be with you, son of the forest. Come forward, so that we may greet each other as friends. The pygmy appeared like a trick of the light in a hole in the wall of vegetation. He was framed in a wreath of shining green leaves, and a ray of sunshine through the top branches that surrounded the clearing danced upon his glossy skin and threw each muscle of his powerful little body into high relief. His head was small and neat. His nose was broad and flat and he wore a goatee beard of soft curling black wool, laced with silvery grey. I see you, Pirri, the great hunter, Chetti Singh greeted him with flattery and the little man came into the clearing with a lithe and graceful step. Did you bring tobacco?

he asked in Swahili, with a childlike directness, and Chetti Singh chuckled and handed him a-tin of Uphill Rhodesian.

Pirri unscrewed the lid. He scooped out a loose ball of yellow tobacco and wadded it under his top lip and hummed with pleasure. He is not as small as I thought he would be, Cheng remarked as he studied him. Or as dark. He is not a full-blooded Bambuti, Chetti Singh explained. His father was a Hita, or so it is said. Can he hunt?

Cheng asked dubiously. Can he kill an elephant? Chetti Singh laughed.

He is the greatest hunter of all his tribe, but that is not all. He has other virtues, not possessed by his brethren, by reason of his mixed blood.

What are they? Cheng wanted to know.

He understands the value of money, Chetti Singh explained. Wealth and property mean nothing to the other Bambuti, but Pirri is different. He is civilised enough to know the meaning of greed. Pirri was listening to them. Not understanding the English words, his head turned to each of them as they spoke, and he sucked his wad of tobacco.

He was dressed only in a brief loincloth of bark cloth, his bow standing up behind his shoulder and his machete in a wooden scabbard at his waist. Abruptly he interrupted their discussion of him. Who is this wazungu? he asked in Swahili, indicating Cheng with his woolly bearded chin. He is a famous chief, and rich, Chetti Singh assured him, and Pirri strode across the clearing on muscular legs with bulging calves and looked up at Cheng curiously. His skin has the malaria colour and his eyes are the eyes of the mamba, he announced without guile. Cheng understood just enough Swahili to bristle. He may know greed, but he does not know respect. It is the Bambuti way, Chetti Singh tried to placate him. They are like children; they say whatever comes into their heads. Ask him about the elephant, Cheng instructed, and Chetti Singh changed his tone of voice and smiled ingratiatingly at Pirri. I have come to ask you about elephant, he said, and Pirri scratched his crotch, taking a large handful of the contents of his loin-cloth and joggling it thoughtfully.

Ah, elephant he said vaguely. What do I know about elephant? You are the greatest hunter of all the Bambuti, Chetti Singh pointed out.

Nothing moves in the forest but Pirri knows of it. That is true, Pirri agreed, and studied Cheng reflectively. I like the bracelet on this rich wazungu's wrist, he said. Before we talk of elephant he should give me a gift. He wants your watch, Chetti Singh told Cheng.

I understood! Cheng snapped. He is impertinent. What would a savage do with a gold Rolex? He would probably sell it to one of the truck-drivers for one hundredth of its value, Chetti Singh replied, enjoying Cheng's anger and frustration. Tell him I will not be blackmailed. I will not give him my watch, Cheng stated flatly, and Chetti Singh shrugged. I will tell him, he agreed, but that will mean no gift for your honourable father. Cheng hesitated and then unclipped the gold bracelet from his wrist and handed it to the pygmy. Pirri cooed with pleasure and held the wristwatch in both hands, turning it so that the small diamonds around the dial sparkled. It is pretty, he giggled.

So pretty that suddenly I remember about the elephant in the forest.

Tell me about the elephant, Chetti Singh invited. There were thirty elephant cows and calves in the forest near Gondola, Pirri said. And two large bulls with long white teeth. How long? Chetti Singh demanded, and Cheng who had followed the conversation thus far leaned forward eagerly.

One elephant is larger than the other. His teeth are this long, said Pirri, and unslung his bow from his shoulder and held it above his head and stood on tiptoe. This long, he repeated. As high as I can reach with my bow, from the tip of the tooth to the lip, but not counting the part concealed in the skull. How thick? Cheng asked in atrocious Swahili, his voice coarse with lust, and Pirri turned to him and halfcircled his own waist with his dainty childlike hands. This thick, he said. As thick as I am. That is a great elephant, Chetti Singh murmured with disbelief, and Pirri bridled. He is the greatest of all elephants and I have seen him with my own eyes. I, Pirri, say this thing and it is true. I want you to kill this elephant and bring me his tusks, Chetti Singh said softly, and Pirri shook his head. This elephant is no longer at Gondola. When the machines of yellow iron came into the forest, he ran from their smoke and noise. He has gone into the sacred heartland where no man may hunt. It is decreed by the Mother and the Father. I cannot kill this elephant in the heartland.

I will pay you a great deal for the teeth of this elephant, Chetti Singh whispered seductively, but Pirri shook his head firmly. Offer him a thousand dollars, Cheng said in English, but Chetti Singh frowned at him.

Leave this to me, he cautioned. We don't want to ruin the trade with impatience. He turned back to Pirri and said in Swahili, I will give you ten bolts of pretty cloth which the women love, and fifty handfuls of glass beads, enough to make a thousand virgins spread their thighs for you. Pirri shook his head. It is the sacred heartland, he said.

The Mother and the Father will be angry if I hunt there. in addition to the cloth and beads, I will give you twenty iron axe-heads and ten fine knives with blades as long as your hand. Pirri wriggled his whole body like a puppy. It is against law and custom. My tribe will hate me and drive me out. I will give you twenty bottles of gin, Chetti Singh said.

And as much tobacco as you can lift from the ground. Pirri massaged his crotch frantically and rolled his eyes. As much tobacco as I can carry!

His voice was hoarse. I cannot do it. They will call out the Molimo.

They will bring down the curse of the Mother and Father. And I will give you a hundred silver Maria Theresa dollars. Chetti Singh reached into the pocket of his bush jacket and brought out a handful of silver coins. He juggled them in one hand, jingling them together and making them sparkle in the sunlight.

For a long moment Pirri stared at them hungrily. Then he let out a shrill yelp and sprang in the air and drew his machete.

Chetti Singh and Cheng stepped back nervously, expecting him to attack them, but instead, Pirri whirled and, with the blade held high above his head, rushed at the wall of the forest and swung a hissing stroke at the first bush. Shouting with anger and temptation, he hacked and slashed at the forest growth.

Leaves and twigs flew, and branches were sliced through. Slabs of bark and white wood rained down from the bleeding trunks under his onslaught.

At last Pirri stopped and rested on his blade, his muscular chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face and dripping into his beard, sobbing with exertion and self-loathing. Then he straightened up and came back to where Chetti Singh stood and said, I will kill this elephant for you, and bring you his teeth. then you will give me all those things you promised me, not forgetting the tobacco. Chetti Singh drove the Landrover back along the rudimentary forest track. it took almost an hour for them to reach the main corduroy roadway on which the convict gangs were working, and over which the great ore-carriers and the logging trucks rumbled and roared.

As they left the overgrown logging track and joined the heavy flow of traffic towards Sengi-Sengi, Chetti Singh turned to grin at the man beside him. That takes care of the gift for your father. Now we must apply all our ingenuity and brains to a little gift for me, the head of Doctor Daniel Armstrong on a silver platter, with an apple in his mouth.

Daniel had been waiting for this moment, praying for it.

He was high on the command deck of the MOMU and it was raining. The air was blue and thick with falling rain, and visibility was down to fifty feet or less. Bonny was sheltering in the command cabin at the end of the platform, keeping her precious video equipment out of the rain. The two Hita guards had gone down to the lower deck and for a moment Daniel was alone on the upper deck.

Daniel had become hardened to the rain. Since arriving at Sengi-Sengi he seemed always to be wearing wet clothing. He was standing now in the angle of the steel wall of the command cabin and the flying bridge, only partially shielded from the driving rain.

Every now and then a harder gust would throw heavy drops into his face and force him to slit his eyes.

Suddenly the door to the command cabin opened and Ning Cheng Gong came out on to the flying bridge. He had not seen Daniel and he crossed to the forward rail under cover of the canvas sun awning and leaned on the rail, peering down at the great shining excavator blades that were tearing into the earth seventy feet below his perch.

It was Daniel's moment. For the first time they were alone and Cheng was vulnerable. This one is for Johnny, he whispered, and crossed the steel plates of the bridge on silent rubber soles. He came up behind Cheng.

All he had to do was stoop and seize his ankles. A quick lift and shove, and Cheng would be hurled over the rail and dropped into the deadly blades. It would be instantaneous and the chopped and dismembered corpse would be fed into the tube mills and pounded to paste and mixed with hundreds of tons of powdered earth.

Daniel reached out to do it, but before he could touch him he hesitated involuntarily, suddenly appalled at what he was about to do.

It was cold-blooded, calculated murder. He had killed before as a soldier, but never like this, and for a moment he was sick with self-loathing. For Johnny, he tried to convince himself, but it Was too late. Cheng whirled to face him.

He was quick as a mongoose confronted by a cobra. His hands came up, the stiff-fingered blades of the martial arts expert, and his eyes were dark and ferocious as he stared into Daniel's face.

For a moment they were poised on the edge of violence, then Cheng whispered, You missed your chance, Doctor. There will not be another.

Daniel backed away. He had let Johnny down with such weakness. In the old days it would not have happened. He would have taken Cheng out swiftly and competently and rejoiced at the kill. Now the Taiwanese was alerted and even more dangerous.

Daniel turned away, sickened by his failure, and then he started.

One of the Hita guards had come up the steel ladder silently as a leopard. He was leaning against the rear rail of the bridge with his maroon beret cocked over one eye and the Uzi submachine-gun on his hip pointed at Daniel's belly. He had been watching it all.

That night Daniel lay awake until after midnight, unnerved by the narrowness of his escape and sickened by the savage streak in himself that allowed him to pursue such a brutal vengeance. Yet even this attack of conscience did not shake his determination to act as the vehicle of justice and in the morning he awoke to find his lust for revenge undiminished, and only his temper and his nerves shaky and uncertain.

This led directly to his final bust-up with Bonny Mahon. It began when she was late to start the day's assignment, and kept him waiting in the teeming rain for almost forty minutes before she finally sauntered out to meet him. When I said five o'clock, I didn't mean in the afternoon, he snarled at her, and she grinned at him, all rosy and smug. What do you want me to do, commit hara-kiri, Master? she asked. He was about to let fly a verbal broadside, when he realised that she must have come directly from Taffari's bed without bathing, for he caught a whiff of the musky odour of their lovemaking on her, and had to turn away. He felt so furious that he could not trust himself not to strike her.

For Chrissake, Armstrong, get a hold on yourself, he cautioned himself silently, you're going to pieces.

They worked in brittle antagonism for the rest of the morning, filming the bulldozers and chainsaws as they cleared the mining track for the monstrous MOMU to waddle down.

It was heavy going in the mud and rain, and dangerous with falling tree trunks and powerful machinery working all around them. This did nothing to improve his mood but Daniel managed to keep a check on his tongue until just before noon when Bonny announced that she had run out of tape and had to break off to return to the main camp to fetch new stock from the cold rooms. What kind of half-baked cameraman runs out of stock in the middle of a shoot? Daniel wanted to know, and she rounded on him. I know what's eating you up, lover boy. It's not shortage of film, it's shortage of good rich fruitcake. You hate me for what Ephrem is getting and you're not. It's the old green-eyed monster.

You've got an inflated idea of the value of what you sit on, Daniel came back as angrily.

It escalated rapidly from there until Bonny yelled into his face, Nobody talks to me like that, Buster. You can stick your job and your insults up your left earhole, or in any other convenient orifice. And she sloshed and slipped in the red mud back to where the Landrover was parked. Leave the camera in the Landrover, Daniel shouted after her.

it was all hired video equipment. You've got your return ticket to London and I'll send you a cheque for what I owe you.

You're fired. No, I'm not, lover boy. You're way too late. I resigned! And don't you forget it. She slammed the door of the Landrover and raced the engine. All four wheels spinning wildly and throwing up sheets and clods of red mud, Bonny tore up the track and left him glaring after her. His had temper increased as he belatedly thought of a dozen other clever retorts that he should have thrown at her while he had the chance.

Bonny was as angry, but her mood was longer-lasting and more vindictive.

She racked her imagination for the cruellest revenge she could conjure up, and just before she reached the main camp at Sengi-Sengi it came to her in a creative flash. You are going to regret every single lousy thing you said to me, Danny boy, she promised aloud, grinning mercilessly. You aren't going to shoot another tape in Ubomo, not you, nor any other cameraman that you hire to replace me. I'm going to make damned double sure of that. His body was long and supple. In the dim light beneath the mosquito-net his skin shone like washed coal, still damp with the sweat of love.

Ephrem Taffari lay on his back on the rumpled White sheet and she thought he was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

Slowly she lowered her head and laid her cheek against his naked chest.

it was smooth and hairless, and his dark skin felt cool. She blew softly on his nipple and watched it pucker and harden in response. She smiled.

She felt aglow with well-being.

He was a wonderful lover, better than any white man she had ever had.

There had never been anyone else like him. She wanted to do something for him. There is something I must tell you, she whispered against his chest, and with one lazy hand he stroked the thick glistening coppery bush of hair back off her face. What is it? he asked, is voice so and deep and replete, almost uninterested.

She knew she would have his complete attention again with her next statement, and she delayed the moment. It was too sweet to waste. She wanted to draw every last possible enjoyment from it. it was double pleasure, her revenge on Daniel Armstrong and her offering to Ephrem Taffari which would prove to him her loyalty and her worth. What is it?

he repeated. He took a handful of her hair and twisted it just hard enough to hurt. He was a master in inflictin pain, and her breath caught with masochistic pleasure. I'm telling you this to show you how completely I am yours, how much I love you, she whispered. After tonight you'll never be able to doubt where my loyalties lie. He chuckled and shook her head gently from side to side, his fingers still locked in her hair, still hurting exquisitely. Let me judge that, my little red lily. Tell me this terrible thing. It is a Terrible thing, Ephrem. On the instructions of Daniel Armstrong I filmed the forced removal of the villagers from Fish Eagle Bay to make way for the new casino. Ephrem Taffari stopped breathing. For twenty beats of his heart under her ear he held his breath. Then he let it out softly, and his pulse rate was slightly elevated as he said quietly, I don't know what you arc talking about. Explain this to me. Daniel and I were on top of the cliff when the soldiers came to the village. Daniel ordered me to film them. What did you see? We saw them bulldoze the village and burn the boats. We saw them load the people into the trucks and take them away . She hesitated. Go on, he ordered. What else did you see? We saw them kill two people. They clubbed an old man to death and they shot another when he tried to escape. They threw their bodies on the fire.

You filmed all that? Ephrem asked, and there was something in his tone that made her suddenly uncertain and afraid. Daniel forced me to film it. I do not know anything about these events, this atrocity. I gave no orders, he said, and with a surge of relief she believed him.

I was sure you didn't know about it. I must see this film. It is evidence against those who perpetrated this atrocity. Where is the film? I gave it to Daniel. What did he do with it? Ephrem demanded, and now his voice was terrible.

He said that he had lodged it with the British Embassy in Kahali.

The ambassador, Sir Michael Hargreave, is an old friend of his. Did he show the film to the ambassador? Ephrem wanted to know. I don't think so. He said that it was dynamite, that he wouldn't use it until the time was ripe. you and Armstrong are-the only ones who know about it, who know that the film exists? She hadn't thought of it that way, and now it gave her an uneasy feeling. Yes, I suppose so. Unless Daniel has told anybody. I haven't. Good. Ephrem released her hair and stroked her cheek. You are a good girl. I am grateful to you.

You have proved your friendship to me. It is more than friendship, Ephrem. I have never felt about another man the way I feel for-you. I know, he whispered, and lifted her head and kissed her on the lips.

You are a wonderful woman.

My own feelings for you grow stronger all the time. Gratefully she pressed her own full body to his sleek feline length. We must get that film back from Sir Michael. It could do untold damage to this country and to me as the president. I should have told you sooner, she said.

But only now I realise how much I love you. It is still not too late, he assured her.

I will speak to Armstrong in the morning. I will give him my word that the guilty persons will be brought to justice. He must give me the film to be used in evidence. I don't think he will do that, she said.

That tape is too sensational. It is worth a million to him. He won't want to give it up. Then you will have to help me get it back.

After all, it is your film. Will you help me, my beautiful red and white lily?

You know I will, Ephrem. I'll do anything for you, she murmured, and without another word he made love to her, that beautiful devastating love of which only he was capable.

Afterwards she slept. When she awoke it was raining again. It always seemed to be raining in this terrible green hell of jungle. The rain clattered and drummed on the roof of the VIP guest bungalow, and the darkness was complete.

She groped instinctively for Ephrem but the bed beside her was empty.

The sheets on which he had lain were already cool.

He must have left her some time ago. She thought he might have gone to the bathroom, and felt the pressure in her own bladder which had woken her.

She lay and listened for him to return, but after five minutes when he had not come, she crept out from under the mosquito net and groped her way through the darkness to the bathroom door. She bumped into a chair and stubbed her bare toe before she reached it. She found the light switch and blinked in the sudden glare of white tiles.

The bathroom was empty, but the toilet seat was raised to prove he had been there before her. She flapped it down and perched naked upon it, still groggy with sleep, her red hair tangled over her eyes.

Outside the rain battered down and a sudden flare of lightning hit the window. Bonny reached across to the side wall for the roll of toilet paper in its holder and her ear was inches from the thin prefabricated partition wall of the bungalow. She heard voices, indistinct but masculine, from the room beyond.

She was slowly coming fully awake, and her interest was aroused. She pressed her ear to the wall and she recognized Ephrem's voice. It was crisp and commanding. Somebody answered him but the sound of the rain intruded and she could not recognize the speaker. No, Ephrem replied.

Tonight. I want it done immediately. Bonny was fully alert now, and at that moment the rain stopped with dramatic suddenness. In the silence she heard the reply and recognized the speaker.

Will you sign a warrant, Mr. President? It was Chetti Singh.

His accent was unmistakable. Your soldiers could carry out the execution. Don't be a fool, man. I want it done quietly. Get rid of him.

You can get Kajo to help you, but do it. No questions, no written records. just get rid of him. All, yes. I understand. We will say that he went to film in the jungle. Later we can send a search party to find no trace of him. A great pity. But what about the woman? She is also a witness to our arrangements at Fish Eagle Bay. Do you want me to take care of her at the same time? No, don't be an idiot! I will need her to recover the tape from the embassy. Afterwards, when the tape is safely in my hands, I will reconsider the problem of the woman. In the meantime just take Armstrong out into the jungle and get rid of him. I assure you, Mr. President, that nothing would give me more pleasure. it will take me an hour or so to make the arrangements with Kajo, but it will be all over before daylight.

I give you my solemn promise. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and heavy footsteps, then a door slammed and there was silence from the sitting-room of the bungalow.

Bonny sat frozen for a moment, chilled by what she had heard. Then she sprang to her feet and darted across the floor to the light switch and plunged the bathroom into darkness.

Swiftly she groped her way to the bed and crept under the mosquito net.

She lay rigid under the sheet, expecting Ephrem Taffari to return at any moment.

Her mind was racing. She was frightened and confused. She had not expected any of this.

She had thought that Ephrem might seize the videotape and arrest Daniel, then deport him immediately and declare him an undesirable alien, or something like that. She hadn't been too clear as to what Ephrem would do to Daniel, but she had never dreamed for a moment that he would have him killed, squashed like an insect without pity or remorse. With a jolt she realised just how naive she had been.

The shock was almost too much to bear. She had never hated Daniel.

Far from it, she had been as fond of him as she was capable of, until he had begun to bore and irritate her. Of course, after Ephrem had taken over Daniel had insulted and fired her, but she had given him some reason for that and she didn't hate him, not to the point of wanting him killed.

Keep out of it, she warned herself. It's too late now. Danny has to take his own chances. She lay waiting for Ephrem to come back to bed, but he did not come and she thought of Daniel again. He was one of the few men she had ever genuinely admired and liked. He was decent and good and funny and handsome . . . She broke that chain of thought.

Don't be a bleeding heart, she thought. It didn't turn out the way you expected but that's tough on Danny. And yet there had been a veiled threat to her in what Ephrem had said. When the tape is safely in my hands I will reconsider the problem of the woman. Ephrem still hadn't come. She sat up in bed and listened. The rain had stopped completely.

Reluctantly she slipped out from under the mosquito-net and picked her robe from the foot of the bed. She crossed to the door that opened on to the verandah of the bungalow and opened it quietly.

She crept down the verandah. The light from the sittingroom windows beamed out on to the verandah floor. She moved into a position from where she could see into the sittingroom while remaining in shadow.

Ephrem Taffari sat at the desk against the far wall. His back was to her. He was dressed in a khaki T-shirt and camouflage trousers. He was smoking a cigarette and studying the papers that were strewn across the desk-top. He seemed to be settled to his work.

It would take her less than ten minutes to reach the row of guest bungalows at the east side of the compound and get back to the bedroom.

The wooden catwalks were wet and red with mud. She was barefoot.

Daniel might not be in his room. She thought of every excuse for not going to warn him.

I owe him nothing, she thought, and heard Ephrem's voice again in her imagination: Just take Armstrong out into the jungle and get rid of him.

She backed away from the lighted window, not yet certain what she would do until she found herself running along the catwalk beneath the dark trees that dripped with rain. She slipped and fell on her knees but jumped up and kept running.

There was red mud on the front of her robe.

She saw through the trees that there was one light on in the row of guest rooms. The rest of them were in darkness. As she came closer she saw with relief that the light was in Daniel's room.

She did not go up on to the verandah of the guest house, but jumped down off the catwalk and made her way round the back of the building.

Daniel's window was curtained. She scratched softly on the mosquito-mesh screen that covered it, and at once heard a chair scrape back on the wooden floor.

She scratched again and Daniel's voice asked softly, Who is it? For God's sake, Danny, it's me. I have to talk to you. Come inside. I'll open the door. No, no. Come out here. It's desperate.

They mustn't see me.

Hurry, man, hurry. Half a minute later his broad-shouldered form loomed out of the darkness, backlit by the lighted bungalow window.

Danny, Ephrem knows about the Fish Eagle Bay tape. How did he find out? That doesn't matter. You told him, didn't you? Damn you to hell, I have come to warn you. He's issued orders for your immediate execution. Chetti Singh and Kajo are coming for you. They're going to take you into the jungle.

They don't want any evidence. How do you know this? Don't ask bloody fool questions. Believe me, I know. I can't waste another minute. I've got to get back. He'll find I'm gone.

She turned away, but he seized her arm. Thanks, Bonny, he said.

You're a better person than you think you are. Do you want to make a break for it with me? She shook her head. I'll be all right, she said.

Just get out of here. You've got an hour, tops. Get going! She pulled out of his grip and hurried away through the trees. He caught one last glimpse of her: the lights from the bungalow transformed her tumbled hair into a roseate halo and the long white robe made her look like an angel.

Some angel, Daniel muttered, and stood for a full minute in the darkness deciding what he could do.

While there had been only Chetti Singh and Ning Cheng Gong to deal with he had stood a chance. Like him, they had been constrained by the necessity of working in secrecy. None of them had been able to attack the other openly, but now Chetti Singh had open sanction to kill him, a special presidential licence. Daniel grinned as mirthlessly as a wolf.

He could expect the Sikh to act swiftly and ruthlessly. Bonny was right.

He had to get out of Sengi-Sengi within the next few minutes, before the executioners arrived.

From the angle of the building he threw a quick glance down the verandah and around the compound. All was quiet and dark. He slipped back into his room, and lifted his small travel bag down from the cupboard. It contained all his personal documents, passport, airline tickets, credit cards and travellers cheques. Apart from his clothing and toilet bag there was nothing else of value in the room.

He pulled on a light wind-cheater and checked that the key of the Landrover was in his pocket. He extinguished the lights and went out.

The Landrover was parked at the far end of the verandah. He opened the door quietly and threw his bag on to the passenger seat. All the hired VTR equipment was packed into the rear compartment and there was a selection of basic camping and first-aid equipment in the lockers, but there was no weapon of any kind, apart from his old hunting-knife.

He started the Landrover. The engine noise seemed excessively loud in the darkness. He did not switch on the headlights and he let in the clutch gently, keeping the engine revs down.

He drove slowly through the darkened compound towards the main gates.

He knew that the gates were never closed at night, and that a single guard was on duty there.

Daniel was under no illusion as to just how far he was going to get in the Landrover. There was only one road from SengiSengi to the Ubomo river ferry, and there was a road-block every five miles.

A radio call from Sengi-Sengi would alert every one of them.

The guards would be waiting for him with their fingers on the triggers of their AK 47s. No, he would be lucky to make it through the first block, and then he would have to take to the jungle. He didn't relish that prospect. He had been trained for survival and warfare in the drier bushveld of Rhodesia, a long way further south. He would not be nearly as adept in the rain forest, but there was no other way open to him.

The first thing was to get clear of Sengi-Sengi. After that he would face each problem as it arose.

And this is number one, he thought grimly as suddenly the floodlights at the main gates switched on in a bright halogen dawn. The entire compound was brightly lit.

There were half a dozen figures running from the barrack area where guards were quartered. It was obvious they had dressed hastily; some were in undervests and shorts. Daniel recognized both Captain Kajo and Chetti Singh.

Kajo was brandishing an automatic pistol and Chetti Singh was trotting along behind him, shouting and waving at the approaching Landrover, his white turban very visible in the glare of the floodlights. One of the guards was trying to shut the gates. He already had one wing of the steel-framed mesh gate half across the roadway.

Daniel switched on his headlights, put his hand flat on the horn and drove hard at him, the hooter blaring. The guard dived nimbly aside, and the Landrover slammed into the unlocked leaf of the gate and whipped it aside. He roared through.

Behind him he heard the rattling clamour of automatic riflefire. He felt half a dozen bullets slam into the aluminium bodywork of the Landrover, but he crouched low over the wheel and kept his foot hard down on the accelerator.

The first bend in the roadway rushed towards him in the headlights.

Another burst of automatic fire splattered against the rear of the vehicle. The rear window exploded in a storm of glass splinters and something struck him high in the back within an inch of his spine. He had been hit by a bullet before, in that long-ago war, and he recognized the sensation. From the position of the wound, high and close to the spine, it had to be a lung shot, a mortal wound. He expected to feel the choking flood of arterial blood into his lungs.

Keep going as long as you can, he thought, and swung the Landrover into the bend at full throttle. She went up on two wheels but didn't roll.

When he glanced in the rear-view mirror the camp lights were obscured by forest trails, a dwindling glow in the darkness behind.

He could feel hot blood, running down his back, but there was no choking, no weakness, not yet anyway. The wound was numb. He could think clearly, He could keep going.

He knew exactly where the first road-block was situated.

Approximately five miles ahead, he reminded himself. On the first river crossing. He tried to remember how the road ran to reach it. He had driven over it half a dozen times during the last three days filming.

He could remember almost every twist, every track that led off it.

He made his decision. He leaned back against the seat. The wound stabbed him like a knife in the back, but he wasn't losing much blood.

Internal bleeding, he thought. You aren't going to walk away from this one, Danny boy. But he kept going, waiting for the weakness to overcome him.

There were five logging roads branching off from the main highway before it reached the first road-block. Some of them were disused and overgrown, but at least two were still being subjected to heavy daily traffic. He chose the first of these, two miles from Sengi-Sengi and turned on to it, heading westwards.

The Zaire border was ninety miles in that direction, but the logging track only ran five miles through the forest before it intersected the MOMU excavation.

He would have to dump the Landrover and try to make the remaining eighty miles on foot through uncharted forest. The last part of the journey would be over high mountains, glaciers and alpine snowfields.

Then he thought about the bullet wound in his back and knew he was dreaming. He wasn't going to get that far.

The logging track he was on had been deeply rutted and chopped up by the gigantic treaded tyres of the trucks and heavy trailers. It was a morass of mud the consistency and colour of faeces, and the Landrover churned through it in fourwheel drive, pounding through the knee-deep ruts.

Flying mud stuck to the glass of the headlights and dimmed the beams to a murky glow that barely lit the roadway twenty paces ahead.

The wound in his back was beginning to ache, but his head was still clear. He touched the end of his own nose with his forefinger to check his coordination. No sign of losing it yet.

Suddenly he-was aware of lights far ahead of him on the track. One of the logging trucks was coming towards him, and instantly he realised the possibility it offered. He slowed the Landrover and searched the verge of unbroken jungle that pressed in upon the track. He sensed rather than saw a break in the foliage and swung the Landrover boldly into-it.

For fifty paces or so he forced his way through almost impenetrable undergrowth. It scraped along both sides of the bodywork, and small trees and branches thumped along beneath the chassis. The soft forest floor sucked at the wheels and the Landrover's speed bled off until at last she was high-centred and stranded.

Daniel cut the engine and switched off the headlights. He sat in the darkness and listened to the logging truck rumble past, headed eastwards towards Sengi-Sengi along the road he had come. When the sound of the huge diesel engine had dwindled into silence, he leaned forward in the seat and steeled himself to examine the bullet wound in his back.

Reluctantly he twisted one arm up behind him and groped towards the centre of pain.

Suddenly he exclaimed and jerked his hand away. He switched on the interior lights and examined the razor scratch on his forefinger. Then quickly he reached behind himself again, and cautiously fingered the wound. He laughed aloud with relief. A shard of flying glass from the rear window had sliced open his back, and lodged against his ribs. It was a long superficial wound with the sharp glass still buried in it.

He worked it loose and examined it in the overhead light. It was bloody and jagged, and the bleeding had started again. But you aren't going to die from it, he reassured himself, and tossed the splinter out of the side window and reached for the first-aid kit which was under the VTR equipment in the back of the vehicle.

It was difficult to treat the wound in his own back, but he managed to smear it liberally with Betadine ointment and strap an untidy dressing over it and knot the ends of the bandage in front of his chest. All the time he was listening for other vehicles on the logging road, but he heard only the small jungle sounds of bird and insect and beast.

He found the Maglite in his kit and went back on foot to the road.

From the verge he examined the muddy rutted tracks. As he had hoped, the logging truck had completely obliterated the Landrover's tracks with its own massive multiple wheels. Only the spot where he had driven over the verge still carried the Landrover's prints. He picked up a dead branch and swept them away carefully. Then he turned his attention to the foliage that the Landrover had damaged as it crashed into the forest.

He rearranged it as naturally as possible and smeared mud on the raw broken ends of branches and twigs so they would not catch the eye.

After half an hour's work he was certain that nobody would suspect that a vehicle had left the road here and was hidden only fifty feet away in the dense undergrowth.

Almost immediately his work was put to the test. He saw headlights approaching from the direction of Sengi-Sengi. He drew back a little way into the forest and dropped flat. He smeared his face with a handful of mud and then covered the backs of his hands. His wind-cheater was dark forest green in colour; it would not show up in the lights.

He watched the vehicle approaching along the logging track.

It was moving slowly an as it drew level with his hiding-place he saw that it was an army transport painted in brown and green camouflage.

The rear was crowded with Hita. soldiers and he thought he glimpsed Chetti Singh's white turban in the driver's cab, but he couldn't be certain. One of the soldiers in the rear was flashing a spotlight along the verges of the road.

They were obviously searching for him.

Daniel dropped his face into the crook of his arm as the beam of the spotlight played over where he lay. The truck passed on without slowing and was soon out of sight.

Daniel stood up and hurried back to the stranded Landrover.

Swiftly he made a selection of items from the lockers, most importantly the hand-bearing compass. He packed them into the small day pack. From the first-aid kit he took field dressings and antiseptic and anti-malarial tablets. There was no food in the truck.

He'd have to live off the forest. He could not carry the pack the normal way without restarting the bleeding so he slung it over the other shoulder. He guessed that the wound really required stitching, but there was no way in which he could even attempt that.

I have to get across the MOMU track before first light, he thought.

That's the one place I'll be in the open and vulnerable.

He left the Landrover and struck out westwards. It was difficult to orientate in darkness and the dense forest. He was forced to flash the torch and study the compass every few hundred yards. The going was soft and uneven and his progress was slow as he found his way between the trees. When he reached the MOMU excavation the open sky above it was flushing with dawn's first light.

He could make out the trees on the far side of the clearing, but the MOMU itself had passed on weeks before and was already working six or seven miles further north. This part of the forest should be deserted, unless Kajo and Chetti Singh had sent a patrol down the strip to cut him off.

It was a chance he had to take. He left the shelter of the forest and started across. He sank to his ankles in the red mud and it sucked at his boots. Every second he expected to hear a shout or a shot, and he was panting with exertion when at last he reached the far tree-line.

He kept going for another hour before he took his first rest.

Already it was hot and the humidity was like a Turkish bath.

He stripped off all his clothing, except for shorts and boots, rolled it into a ball and buried it in the thick soft loam of the forest floor. His skin was toughened by sun and weather and he had a natural resistance to insect stings. In the Zambezi valley he had been able to tolerate even the bite of the swarming tsetse fly. As long as he kept the wound on his back covered he should be all right, he decided.

He stood up and went on. He navigated by compass and wristwatch, timing his average stride to give him an estimate of distance covered.

Every two hours he rested for ten minutes. By nightfall he calculated he had covered ten miles. At that rate it would take eight days to.

reach the Zaire border but, of course, he wouldn't be able to keep it up. There were mountains ahead, and glaciers and snowfields, and he had abandoned most of his clothing. it was going to be interesting out on the glaciers in his present attire, he decided, as he made a nest in the moist leaf mould and composed himself for sleep.

When he woke it was just light enough to see his hand in front of his face. He was hungry and the wound in his back was stiff and painful.

When he reached to touch it he found it was swollen and the flesh hot.

All we need is a nice little infection, he thought, and renewed the dressing as best he could.

By noon he was ravenously hungry. He found a nest of fat white grubs under the bark of a dead tree. They tasted like raw egg yolks. What doesn't kill you, makes you fat, he assured himself, and kept on towards the west, the compass in his hand. in the early afternoon he thought he recognized a type of edible fungus and nibbled a small piece as a trial.

In the late afternoon he reached the bank of a small clear stream, and as he was drinking he noticed a dark cigar shape lying at the bottom of the pool. He cut a stake and sharpened one end, carving a crude set of barbs above the point. Then he cut down one of the hanging ant's nests from the branches of a silk-cotton tree and sprinkled the big red ants on the surface of the pool, taking care to stand well back from the edge with the crude spear in his right hand.

Almost immediately the fish rose from the bottom and began to gulp down the struggling insects trapped in the surface film.

Daniel drove the point of his fish spear into its gils and brought it out flapping and kicking on to the bank. It was a barbeled catfish, as long as his arm. He ate his fill of the fatty yellow flesh and the rest of the carcass he smoked over a fire of green leaves. it should keep him going for a couple more days, he decided. He wrapped it in a package of leaves and put it in his pack.

However, when he woke the next morning his back was excruciatingly painful, and his stomach was swollen with gas and dysentery. He couldn't tell whether it was the insect grubs, the fungus or the stream water that had caused it, but by noon he was very weak. his diarrhea was almost unremitting, and the wound felt like a red-hot coal between his shoulder-blades.

It was about that time that Daniel had the first sensation that he was being followed. It was an instinct that he had realised he possessed when he was a patrol leader with the Scouts in the valley.

Johnny Nzou had trusted this sixth sense of his implicitly and it had never let them down. It was almost as though Daniel was able to pick up the malevolent concentration of the hunter following on his tracks.

Even in his pain and weakness Daniel looked back and felt a presence.

He knew that he was out there, the hunter.

Anti-tracking, he told himself, knowing that it would slow his progress, but it would almost certainly throw off his real or imaginary pursuer, unless he was very good indeed, or unless Daniel's anti-tracking skills had atrophied.

At the next river-crossing he took to the water, and from then on he used every ruse and subterfuge to cover his tracks and throw off the pursuit.

Every mile he grew slower and weaker. The diarrhea never let up, his wound was beginning to stink, and he knew with clairvoyant certainty that the unseen hunter was still after him, and drawing closer every hour.

Over the years Chetti Singh, the master poacher, had developed various systems of contacting his hunters. In some areas it was easier than others.

In Zambia or Mozambique he had only to drive out to a remote village and talk to a wife or brother, and rely on them to pass the message.

In Botswana or Zimbabwe he could even rely on the local postal authority to deliver a letter or telegram, but contacting a wild pygmy in the Ubomo rain forest was the most uncertain and time-consuming of all.

The only way to do it was to drive down the main highway and stop at every duka or trading-store, to accost every halftame Bambuti that he met upon the roadside and bribe them to get a message to Pirri in the forest.

It was amazing how the wild pygmies maintained a network of communication over those vast and secret areas of the rain forest, but then they were garrulous and sociable people.

A honey-seeker from one tribe would meet a woman from another tribe who was gathering medicine plants far from her camp, and the word would be passed on, shouted from a forested hilltop in a high penetrating sing-song to another wanderer across the valley, or carried by canoe, along the big rivers, until at last it reached the man for whom it was intended. Sometimes it took weeks, sometimes, if the sender was fortunate, it might take only a few days.

This time Chetti Singh was extremely lucky. Two days after he had given the message to a straggling group of pygmy women at one of the river crossings, Pirri came to the rendezvous in the forest. As always he appeared with the dramatic suddenness of a forest sprite and asked for tobacco and gifts. Have you killed my elephant? Chetti Singh asked pointedly, and Pirri picked his nose and scratched himself between the legs with embarrassment. If you had not sent for me, the elephant would by now be dead. But he is not dead, Chetti Singh pointed out. And thus you have not earned those marvelous gifts I promised you. Just a little tobacco? Pirri pleaded. For I am your faithful slave, and my heart is full of love for you. just a small handful of tobacco? Chetti Singh gave him half what he asked for and while Pirri squatted down to suck and enjoy it, he went on, All I have promised you, I will give you that much again if you kill another creature for me, and bring me its head. What creature is this?

Pirri asked guardedly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Is it another elephant? No, said Chetti Singh. It is a man. You want me to kill a man! Pirri stood up with alarm. if I do that the wazungu will come and take me and put a rope around my neck. No, said Chetti Singh.

The wazungu will reward you as richly as I will. And be turned to Captain Kajo. Is that not so? It is so, Kajo confirmed. The man we wish you to kill is a white man. He is an evil man who has escaped into the forest.

We, the men of the government, will reward you for hunting him.

Pirri looked at Kajo, at his uniform and gun and dark glasses and knew he was a powerful government wazungu, so he thought about it carefully.

He had killed white wazungu before in the Zaire war when he was a young man. The government had paid him for it then and it had been easy. The white wazungu were stupid and clumsy in the forest. They were easy to follow and easy to kill. They never even knew he was there until they were dead.

How much tobacco? he asked. From me, as much tobacco as you can carry, said Chetti Singh. From me also, as much tobacco as you can carry, said Captain Kajo. Where will I find him? asked Pirri, and Chetti Singh told him where to begin his search, and where he thought the man was heading.

You want only his head? Pirri asked. To eat? No.

Chetti Singh was not offended. So that I know you have killed the right man. First I will bring you this man's head, said Pirri happily.

Then I will bring you the teeth of the elephant and I will have more tobacco than any man in the world. And like a little brown ghost he disappeared into the forest.

In the early morning, before the heat built up, Kelly Kinnear was working in the Gondola clinic. She had more patients than usual, most of them suffering from in tious tropical yaws, those great suppurating ulcers that would eat down to the bone unless they were treated.

Others were malarial or had swollen eyes running with flyborne or hthalmia. There were also two new cases of AIDS. She didn't need blood slides to recognize the symptoms, the swelling of the lymph glands and the thick white thrush that coated their tongues and throats like cream cheese.

She consulted Victor Omeru and he agreed that they should try the new treatment on them, the herbal extract of the selepi tree bark that was looking so promising. He helped her prepare the dose. The amount was necessarily an arbitrary decision, and they were discussing it when there was a sudden commotion outside the clinic front door.

Victor glanced out of the window and smiled. Your little friends have arrived, he told Kelly, and she laughed with pleasure and went out into the sunshine.

Sepoo and his wife Pamba were squatting below the verandah, chatting and laughing with the other waiting patients.

When they saw her they both squealed with delight and came running, competing with each other to take her hands and tell her all the news since their last meeting, trying to shout each other down to be the first to impart the choicest morsels of scandal and sensation from the tribe.

One on each hand they led her to her usual seat on the top step of the verandah and sat beside her, still chattering in unison. Swilli has had a baby. It is a boy and she says she will bring it to show you at the next full moon, said Pamba. There will be a great net hunt soon, and all the tribes will join. . . said Sepoo.

I have brought you a bundle of the special roots I told you about last time we met, shrilled Pamba, not to be outdone by her husband.

Her bright eyes were almost hidden in a cobweb of wrinkles and half her teeth were missing. I shot two colobus monkeys, boasted Sepoo. And I have brought you one of the skins to make a beautiful hat, Kara-Ki.

You are kind, Sepoo, Kelly thanked him. But what news from Sengi-Sengi? What about the yellow machines that eat the earth and obble up the forest?

What news of the big white man with curly hair and the woman with hair like fire who looks into the little black box all the time?

Strange, said Sepoo importantly. There is strange news.

The big man with curly hair has run away from Sengi-Sengi.

He has run into the forest to hide. Sepoo was gabbling it out to prevent Pamba from getting in before him. And the government wazungu at Sengi-Sengi have offered Pirri my brother, vast treasure and reward to hunt the man and kill him.

Kelly stared at him in horror. Kill him? she blurted. They want Pirri to kill him? And cut off his head, Sepoo confirmed with relish.

Is it not strange and exciting? You have to stop him! Kelly sprang to her feet, dragging Sepoo up with her. You must not let Pirri kill him.

You must rescue the white man and bring him here to Gondola. -Do you hear me, Sepoo? Go, now! Go swiftly! You must stop Pirri. I will go with him to see that he does what you tell him, Kara-Ki, Pamba announced. For he is 2 stupid old man, and if he hears the honey chameleon whistle or meets one of his cronies in the forest, he will forget everything you have told him. She turned to her husband.

Come on, old man. She prodded him with her thumb. Let us go and find this white wazungu and bring him back to Kara-Ki. Let us go before Pirri kills him and takes his head to Sengi-Sengi. Pirri the hunter went down on one knee in the forest and examined the tracks. He adjusted the hang of the bow on his shoulder and shook his head with reluctant admiration. He knows that I am here, close behind him, he whispered. How does he know that? Unless of course he is one of the fundis.

He touched the spoor where the wazungu had left the water.

He had done it with great skill, leaving only traces that someone as good as Pirri could detect. Yes, you know I am following you, Pirri nodded.

But where did you learn to move and cover your tracks almost as well as a Bambuti? he muttered.

He had picked up the wazungu's tracks where he had crossed the broad road that the big yellow earth-eating tree-gobbling machine had left through the forest. The earth there was soft and the wazungu had left tracks that a blind man could follow on a dark night. He was heading westwards towards the mountains, as Chetti Singh had said he would.

Pirri thought immediately that it would be an easy hunt and a quick kill, especially when he had found where the wazungu had broken off a piece of poisonous fungus from a dead tree and eaten a little of it.

He found the man's teeth marks in the piece of fungus that he had discarded, and Pirri laughed. Your bowels will turn to water and run like the great river, O stupid wazungu. And I will kill you while you squat to shit. Sure enough, he had found the place where the wazungu had slept the previous night and close by where he had voided his bowels for the first time. You will not go far now, he chuckled, before I catch you and kill you. Pirri glided onwards, softly as a wisp of dark smoke blending with the gloom and shadows and sombre colours of the deep forest, following the easy trail at twice the speed of the man who had laid it. At intervals he found dribbles of his poisoned yellow dung, and then the trail reached the bank of a small stream and went into the water and vanished.

Pirri worked for almost half a day, casting both banks for a mile both upstream and down before he found where the wazungu had left the water again. You are clever, he conceded. But not as clever as Pirri.

And he took the spoor again, going slowly now, for the man he was following was good. He laid back trails and false sign and used the water, and Pirri had to unravel each of his tricks, frowning while he worked it out and then grinning with approbation. Ah yes, you will be a worthy one to kill. You would long ago have got clean away from a lesser hunter. But I am Pirri. In the late afternoon of the second day he had reached a clearing and he caught his first glimpse of the wazungu. At first he thought it was one of the rare forest antelope on the opposite hillside.

He caught just a tiny flicker of movement in one of the forest glades, almost a mile distant across the valley.

For an instant even Pirri's phenomenal eyesight was cheated. It did not seem to be a man, certainly not a white man, and then as he disappeared into the tall trees at the edge of the forest he realised that the man had covered himself with mud from head to foot and wore a hat of bark and leaves which distorted the outline of his head and made it difficult to make out his human shape. Ha! Pirri rubbed his belly with delight and granted himself another small pinch of tobacco under his upper lip to reward himself for the sighting. Yes, you are good, my wazungu. Even I will not be able to catch you before darkness falls, but in the morning your head will be mine. That night Pirri Slept without a fire at the edge of the clearing where last he had seen the white man, and was moving again just as soon as it was light enough to make out the sign.

In the middle of the morning he found the wazungu. He was lying at the foot of one of the towering African mahogany trees and at first Pirri thought he was already dead. He had tried to cover himself with dead leaves, a pathetic last effort to thwart the remorseless little hunter.

Pirri moved in very slowly, taking every precaution, trusting nothing. He carried his broad-bladed machete ready in his right hand, and the weapon was honed to a razor edge.

When at last he stood over Daniel Armstrong he realised that although he was sick and wasted, he was not yet dead. He was unconscious, breathing with a soft bubbling sound in the back of his throat, curled like a sick dog under the blanket of leaf trash. His head was tilted at an angle, and the sweat had washed away the mud camouflage below his jaw line, leaving a white line. A perfect aiming mark for the decapitating stroke.

Pirri tested the edge of the blade of the machete with his thumb. It was sharp enough to shave his beard. He lifted it high above his head with both hands. The man's neck was no thicker than that of one of the forest duikers which were Pirri's usual prey. The machete would hack through meat and bone just as readily, and the head would spring away from the trunk with the same startling alacrity. He would hang it by its thick curly hair from a branch for an hour or so, to allow the blood to drain from the severed neck, then he would smoke it over a slow fire of green leaves and herbs to preserve it, before slinging it in a small carrying net of bark string and bearing it back to his poaching master, Chetti Singh, to collect his reward.

Pirri felt a little cold gust of regret as he paused at the top of his stroke before sending the blade hissing down. Because he was a true hunter he always experienced this sadness for his quarry at the moment of the kill, the creed of his tribe was to respect and honour the animals he killed, especially when the quarry had been cunning and brave and worthy.

Die swiftly, he made his silent entreaty.

He was on the point of slashing downwards when a voice said quietly behind him, Hold your blade, my brother, or I will put this poison arrow through your liver. Pirri was so startled that he leapt in the air and whirled to face about.

Sepoo was five paces behind him. His bow was arched and the arrow was drawn to his cheek, the poison on the tip of the arrow was black and sticky as toffee and it was pointed unwaveringly at Pirri's chest.

You are my own brother! Pirri gasped with the shock. You are the fruit of my own mother's womb. You would not let your arrow fly? If you believe that, Pirri, my brother, you are even more stupid than I believe you to be. Kara-Ki wants this white wazungu alive. If you tap a single drop of his blood, I will put this arrow through you, from brisket to backbone. And I, said Pamba his wife from the forest shadows behind him, I will sing and dance around you as you lie writhing on the ground.

Pirri backed away sharply. He knew he could talk Sepoo into or out of almost anything, but not Pamba. He had a vast respect for and healthy fear of his sister-in-law. They have offered me great treasure to kill this wazungu: His voice was shrill. I will share it equally with you. As much tobacco as you can carry! I will give it to you.

Shoot him in the belly, ordered Pamba cheerfully, and Sepoo's arm trembled with the strain of his draw as he closed one eye to correct his aim. Wait, shrieked Pirri. I love you, my dear sister; you would not allow this old idiot to kill me. I am going to take a little snuff, said Pamba coldly. If you are still here when I finish sneezing.

I am going, howled Pirri, and took another dozen paces backwards. I am going. He ducked into the undergrowth and the instant he was out of the line of fire he screamed, You foul old monkey woman. . . They could hear him slashing out with his machete at the bushes around him in fury and frustration.

Only a decrepit venereal baboon like Sepoo would marry a drooling old hag.

The sounds of his ranting fury gradually diminished as he retreated into the forest and Sepoo lowered his bow and turned to his wife. I haven't enjoyed myself so much since the day Pirri fell into his own trap on top of the buffalo that was already in the pit! he guffawed.

But he described you well, my lovely wife. Pamba ignored him and went to where Daniel Armstrong lay unconscious, half buried in dirt and dead leaves.

She knelt beside him and examined him quickly but thoroughly, plucking the ants from the corners of his eyes and his nostrils. I will have to work hard to save him for Karl-Ki, she said as she reached into her medicine bag.

If I lose this one, I don't know where I will find another one for her.

While Pamba ministered to Daniel, Sepoo built a hut over him where he lay and then lit a little fire to disperse the mosquitoes and the humidity.

He squatted in the doorway and watched his wife work.

She was the most skilled medicine woman of all the Bambuti, and her fingers were swift and dextrous as she cleaned the wound in the wazungu's back and applied a poultice of mashed and boiled roots and leaves. Then she forced him to drink copious quantities of a hot infusion of herbs that would bind his bowels and replace the fluid that his body had shed.

She crooned and muttered encouragement to the unconscious man as she worked, her bare dugs swinging wrinkled and empty as a pair of leather tobacco pouches from her bony chest and her necklace of ivory and beads clicking each time she moved.

Within three hours Daniel had regained consciousness. He looked up dazedly at the two little old people crouched over him in the smoky hut and asked in Swahili, Who are you? I am Sepoo, said the man. A famous hunter and a renowned sage of the Bambuti. And I am Pamba, the wife of the greatest liar in all the forest of Ubomo, said the woman, and cackled with laughter.

By the next morning Daniel's diarrhea had dried up and he could eat a little of the stew of monkey meat and herbs that Pamba had prepared for him. By the following morning the infection of the wound in his back had abated and he was strong enough to begin the journey to Gondola.

Daniel went slowly at first, using a staff to steady himself, for his legs were still wobbly and his head seemed to be filled with wool and floating clear of his shoulders. Pamba kept him company, leading him at a gentle pace through the forest and keeping up a constant chattering punctuated with shrieks of merry laughter, Sepoo ranged afar hunting and scavenging in the usual Bambuti manner.

Daniel had already guessed the identity of the mysterious Kara-Ki who had sent the pygmies to rescue him, but as soon as Pamba gave him an opportunity he questioned her further trying to get her to describe her patron in detail. Kara-Ki is very tall, Pamba told him, and Daniel realised that to a Bambuti everybody else in the world is very tall.

And she has a long pointed nose. All Bambuti noses were flat and broad.

Pamba's description could apply to any wazungu, so Daniel gave up and hobbled on after the little woman.

Towards dusk Sepoo suddenly appeared again from the forest with the carcass of a duiker he had killed hanging over his shoulder. That night they feasted on grilled liver and fillets.

The next morning Daniel was strong enough to discard his staff and Pamba increased the pace of the march.

They reached Gondola the following afternoon. The pygmies had given Daniel no warning that they had arrived, and as he stepped out of the forest he was presented with the dramatic view of the little community.

Its open gardens and streams, and the high snow-capped mountains forming a grand backdrop to the scene. Daniel, Kelly Kinnear greeted him as he climbed the verandah steps, and even though he had half expected it, Daniel was unprepared for his own pleasure at meeting her again. She looked fresh and vital and attractive, but he sensed a reserve in her as she came to him and shook his hand. I was so worried that Sepoo might not get to you in time. . . Then she broke off and stood back. God, you look awful. What on earth happened to you?

Thanks for the compliment, he grinned ruefully. But to answer your question, a great deal has happened to me since we last met. Come into the surgery. Let's have a look at you, before we do anything else.

Couldn't I have a bath first? I find it difficult even being near myself. She laughed. You are rather strong on the nose, but so are most of my patients. I'm used to it. She took him into the surgery and laid him on the examination table.

After she had gone over him thoroughly and inspected the wound on his back, she remarked, Pamba has done a pretty good job. I'll give you a shot of antibiotic and I'll put a fresh dressing on your back after your bath. It should have had stitches but it's too late for that now.

You'll have a new interesting scar to add to all the others. As she washed her hands in the basin, she smiled at him over her shoulder.

You look as though you've been in a fight or two. Always the other guy's fault, he assured her. Talking about fights, you never let me explain myself at our last meeting. You jumped on your motorbike before I had a chance. I know. It's my Irish blood. Can I explain now? How about a bath first?

The bathroom was a thatched hut, and the bath was a galvanised iron tub just large enough to contain him if he kept his knees up under his chin. The camp servants filled it with buckets of steaming water heated on the fire outside. There was clothing laid out for him: khaki shorts and shirt, faded and worn but clean and crisply ironed, together with a pair of rawhide sandals. one of the servants took away his stinking blood-stained shorts and muddy boots.

Kelly was waiting for him in her surgery when he had dressed. What a transformation, she greeted him. Let's fix that back. He sat on the single chair and she stood behind him. Her fingers were cool and light and quick on his skin. When she spoke he could feel her breath on the back of his neck and smell her. He liked the feel of her hands and the sweet clean smell of her breath. I didn't thank you for sending your pygmies to save my life, he said. All in the day's work. Think nothing of it. I owe you one.

I'll call on you. You were the very last person I'd have expected to find here, Daniel told her. But when Pamba described you I began to suspect who you were. How did you get into the country?

And what the hell are you doing here? If Taffari gets hold of you it will be a shooting party on the beach or a head-dress of hornets. Oh, so you're beginning to find out the truth about Ephrem Taffari, that he's not the saint and saviour you thought he was? Don't let's fight again, he pleaded. I'm still too weak to defend myself. You're as weak as a bull. Look at all that muscle.

Okay, now it's time for your shot. Lie on the bed and drop your shorts.

Hey! Can't I have it in the arm? You haven't got anything I haven't seen before. Get on the table.

Grumbling he lay face down, and lowered his shorts halfway. Nothing to be ashamed of, in fact, not bad at all, she assured him, and slid the needle home. Okay, that does it. Get dressed and come to dinner.

I've got another surprise for you.

A dinner guest, somebody you haven't seen for years. In the sunset they crossed from the clinic to Kelly's living quarters at the end of the clearing. On the way they stopped for a minute to watch the sunset turn the Mountains of the Moon to a splendour of gold and flames. I carry the memory of this beauty wherever I travel in the world, Kelly whispered. It's one of the things that draws me back. And Daniel was moved as much by her reaction to it as by the grandeur of the scene itself. To express his accord with her he wanted to take her arm and squeeze it, but he kept his distance and after a while they moved on.

There was a dinner-table laid on the verandah of Kelly's bungalow and a solitary figure seated at it, who rose as they approached. Doctor Armstrong. How good to see you again. Daniel stared at him in astonishment and then hurried forward. I heard that you were dead, Mr.

President, that you had died of a heart-attack or been shot by Taffari.

The news of my death was slightly exaggerated. Victor Omeru chuckled and took Daniel's hand.

I found a flask of whisky in my medical chest, Kelly said. Tonight seems like an auspicious occasion to administer it. She poured a little of the golden liquid into each of their glasses and offered them the toast. To Ubomo! May it soon be released from the tyrant. Dinner was a simple meat of fish from the river and vegetables from the gardens of Gondola, but there was plenty of it and the conversation at the table never slackened or palled.

Victor Omeru explained to Danny the circumstances of the revolution and his overthrow, his escape into the forest and his activities since then.

With Kelly's help, I have been able to turn Gondola into the headquarters of the resistance to Taffari's brutal dictatorship, he ended, but Kelly pressed him eagerly. Victor, tell Daniel what Taffari has done to the country and its people since he seized power. Daniel has been duped into believing that Taffari is a black Christ figure.

In fact, Daniel is here to shoot a production that was to extol Taffari's virtues. . .

No, Kelly, Daniel interrupted her. That's not the way it was. It's far more complicated than that. Originally I accepted the commission to make the film for personal and private reasons. He went on to explain the murder of Johnny Nzou and his family. He told them of Ning Cheng Gong's involvement and how he had traced the Lucky Dragon to Ubomo. He told them about Chetti Singh. I'll be frank with you both, he said at last.

I wasn't concerned with Taffari and Ubomo's real problems when I came here. I wanted my revenge and the film contract was only a means to that end. Then, after my arrival, I began to find out more about what was really going on in the country.

He told them about the atrocity at Fish Eagle Bay and the forced labour he had witnessed and filmed. Victor Omeru and Kelly exchanged glances, and then Victor nodded and turned back to Daniel. Taffari has seized at least thirty thousand of the Uhali people to work in the mines and the logging camps. They are slaves, kept in the most appalling conditions.

They are dying like flies in the camps, starved, beaten, shot. I cannot begin to describe to you the horror of it. And he is devastating the forest, Kelly cut in. He is destroying millions of acres of the rain forest. I saw the mining unit at work, Daniel said.

Actually, what he is doing there at least is in line with my own convictions on controlled use of a country's natural assets on a renewable and sustainable yield basis. Both Kelly and Victor stared at him in disbelief, and then Kelly blurted out angrily, You approve of what he is doing to the forest? Are you out of your mind? It's rape and pillage.

I was right about you the first time! You are one of the plunderers!

Hold it, Kelly. Victor held up his hands. Don't use inflammatory language. Let Daniel tell us what he saw and what he filmed. With an obvious effort Kelly brought herself under control, but she was still pale with anger and her eyes blazed. All right, Daniel Armstrong, tell us what Taffari showed you and let you film. He showed me the MOMU unit at work. . . The MOMU, Kelly interjected. MOMU singular- Kelly, please. Victor stopped her again. Let Daniel finish before you interrupt. She was breathing heavily, but she nodded and sat back as Daniel went on. Bonny and I filmed the MOMU and Taffari explained how the track of the vehicle would be replanted after it had passed.

Replanted! Kelly snapped, and Victor shrugged helplessly and let her continue. My God! Did he tell you about the chemical reagents they've started using in the past few weeks to refine the platinum as it passes through the tube mills of the MOMU. Daniel shook his head. He told us of his determination that no reagents nor catalysts were to be used during the mining process. Even though it meant a forty percent drop in the production of platinum and monazite. And you believed him?

Kelly demanded. I saw it with my own eyes, Daniel told her. He was starting to get angry. I filmed it. of course I believed him. Kelly jumped up from the table and fetched a map of Ubomo from the next room.

She spread it in front of Daniel.

Show me where you saw the MOMU in action, she ordered.

Daniel considered the map and then placed his finger on a spot just north of Sengi-Sengi. Hereabouts, he said. A few miles north of the camp.

Sucker! Kelly blazed at him. Taffari set you up. He showed you the pilot scheme. It was a little show for your benefit. The main mining operation is here. She placed her fist over an area fifty miles further north. Here at Wengu. And it's a damned sight different from what Taffari showed you. How is it different?

Daniel demanded. And by the way, I don't like being called a sucker.

You let yourself be conned. Kelly moderated her tone. But I'll tell you how the main operation is different from the pilot.

First of all, it is - Hold on, Kelly, Victor Omeru intervened gently.

Don't tell him about it. it would be much more impressive, and he'd be more likely to believe you if you showed him.

For a moment Kelly stared at Victor and then she nodded.

You're right, Victor. I'll take him up to Wengu and show him.

And while we are there, you can film just what that bastard is doing to the forest, and show it to your great pal Sir Tug Bloody Harrison, if he doesn't know already. I'm not a cameraman, Daniel objected. If you don't know how to use a VTR after being around them for so many years, then you aren't very bright, Doctor Daniel. All right, I could use a camera. Not very artistically but adequately, if only I had one.

Where do you suggest I find a VTR in the middle of the forest? What happened to the one your red-haired girlfriend had?

Kelly demanded. Bonny isn't my girlfriend. You're a great one for hurling accusations, he began, and then broke off and stared at Kelly.

Damn it he said. You're right. I left the VTR in the Landrover.

If Taffari's lads haven't found it yet, then it's still there. Why don't you go back and fetch it? Kelly enquired sweetly.

I'll send Sepoo with you.

I have brought you the head of the white wazungu, Pirri, the hunter, announced dramatically and unslung the net bag of plaited bark fibre from his shoulder and dropped it in front of Chetti Singh.

The head rolled out of the bag and Chetti Singh jumped back and exclaimed with revulsion. There was no skin left on the head. The raw meat was putrefying and the stench was fierce enough to make him gag.

How do I know that this is the head of the white wazungu?

Chetti Singh demanded. Because I, Pirri the hunter, say it is so.

That's not the highest recommendation, never mind, Chetti Singh said in English, and then reverted to Swahili. This man has been dead a long time; the ants and the worms have half eaten him. You did not kill him, Pirri. No, Pirri admitted. This stupid wazungu had eaten a poison mushroom and died in the forest before I could find him and kill him. The ants had eaten him, as you say, but I have brought you his head, and that was our bargain. Pirri mustered all his dignity and drew himself up to his full four foot six inches. Now you must give me what you promised me, especially the tobacco. It was a long and forlorn hope. Even Pirri realised that.

To obtain this head Pirri had exhumed one of the mass graves that the Hita guards had dug in the forest for the corpses of the slave labourers who died in the camps. You are certain that this is the head of the white wazungu? Chetti Singh demanded. He did not believe the pygmy, but on the other hand he had to placate both Ning Cheng Gong and President Taffari. He dared not admit to them that there was a possibility that Armstrong had escaped. Pirri was offering him an easy exit from his dilemma. It is the wazungu, Pirri affirmed, and Chetti Singh thought about it for a while. Take this he touched the reeking head with his toe, take it back into the forest and bury it. What about my reward?

Especially the tobacco? Pirri's tone became an ingratiating whine.

You did not bring me the whole head.

The skin and hair were missing. Therefore I cannot give you the whole reward.

And I will give it to you only when you bring me the teeth of the elephant, as we agreed.

Pirri let out a shout of anger and drew his machete. Put that knife away, said Chetti Singh reasonably. Or I will shoot your head off with this. He showed the pygmy the Tokarev pistol concealed in the pocket of his bush jacket.

Pirri's scowl became a beatific smile. It was only a little joke, O master. I am your slave. And he sheathed the machete. I will go and fetch the teeth of the elephant as you command. He picked up the severed head. But as he skipped away into the forest Pirri's guts and chest were filled with so much anger that he thought they might burst.

Nobody cheats Pirri, he whispered, and slashed at a treetrunk with the machete as he ran. Pirri will kill the man who cheats him, he promised.

You want a head, O one-armed and greasy man. I will give you a head.

Your own. Daniel Armstrong is dead, Chetti Singh told them. The Bambuti brought me his head He died in the forest. There can be no doubt? President Taffari demanded. None at all, Chetti Singh affirmed.

I saw the head with my personal eyes. That means the woman is the only living witness. Ning Cheng Gong looked relieved. You should get rid of her immediately, Your Excellency. She should disappear in the forest, just the way that Armstrong did. Ephrem Taffari picked up his empty glass and rattled the ice cubes. Captain Kajo hurried across the room and took the glass from his hand. At the small bar in the corner of the president's office he Poured gin and tonic. Aren't you forgetting the videotape?

Taffari asked, as Kajo respectfully handed him the drink. Of course not, Cheng said. But once she has recovered the tape from the embassy we must get rid of her. He hesitated. I could arrange that personally. Ephrem Taffari smiled at him over the rim of the glass.

Ah, yes. He nodded. I have heard that you have a rather unusual hobby, Mr. Ning. I am not quite sure what you are implying, Mr.

President, he answered stiffly. I was merely offering to make certain that the job was done properly. We don't want any more loose ends.

Quite right, Mr. Ning, Taffari agreed.

The woman is becoming a bore.

I have lost interest in her. Once we have recovered the tape, she is yours. just make certain that there are no mistakes.

Trust me, Mr. President. Oh yes, Mr. Ning, I trust you just as completely as you trust Me. After all, we are partners, are we not?

My arrangement with Danny was that he would pick it up personally. Sir Michael Hargreave inspected his fingernails with some interest and then placed his hand in his pocket and went to the window of his office in the British embassy. He looked out over the lake. Daniel didn't say anything about handing it over to a third party. You must understand my position, Miss, A, Miss Mahon. The punkah fan on the ceiling squeaked and whirled and Bonny thought quickly. She knew that she must not appear too eager, even though she was acutely aware of what the consequences might be if she returned to Ephrem empty-handed. I didn't realise it would be a problem. She stood up. Danny asked me to pick it up. He'll probably be bitter with me for not bringing it back, but I don't imagine the tape is of any real importance. I'm sorry I didn't think to ask Danny for a note.

Anyway, thank you for your time and I'll explain to Danny that you couldn't see your way clear to handing the tape to me. She held out her hand and gave him her sexiest smile, thrusting out her bosom. Sir Michael's gaze wavered from her eyes, and then he seemed to make up his mind. Look here, I suppose it will be all right. I mean, you are Danny's assistant. Not as though you were a total stranger. .

He hesitated. I don't want you to do anything you feel is not right, Bonny told him. I'm sure Danny will understand that you didn't trust me.

Good Lord, my dear young lady, it. isn't a case of not trusting you.

Oh, that's what I thought it was. She fluttered her eyelids at him.

Would you mind signing a receipt? Sorry to be so awkward, but I must cover myself with Danny. I understand, Sir Michael. He scribbled out a receipt on a sheet of the embassy stationery and she signed it and wrote out her full name and passport number at the foot of the page.

Sir Michael went into the adjoining room and she heard him put a key into a lock and then the metallic sound of the door lugs of a steel safe opening and closing. A few minutes later he returned and handed her a bulky manila envelope with Daniel's name printed on it. She tried not to make her relief apparent, but her hand shook as he handed it to her.

Please give Danny my best salaams. Sir Michael walked her to the front door of the embassy. When is he coming back from Sengi-Sengi?

I'm flying up to join him this afternoon.

Bonny had her nerves under control and chatted easily. They shook hands at the door. Having one of our regular cocktail parties next Saturday, Sir Michael said. if you and Danny are back in town by then, you must come along. I'll have Miss Rogers send you an invitation to the guest house. The news of Daniel Armstrong's disappearance had not yet been reported to the embassy. Ephrem Taffari wanted all the loose ends tidied up before the alarm was raised.

Bonny went out to where Captain Kajo was waiting at the wheel of an army Landrover. She clutched the envelope in her lap, but managed another smile and wave for Sir Michael as they pulled out of the embassy gates.

Then she let out a deep breath and fell back against the seat.

President Taffari is waiting for you on his yacht, Miss Mahon, Captain Kajo told her, and took the lakeside road down to the harbour.

The yacht was moored at the naval jetty beyond the fish factory. The vessel had been the toy of a wealthy Asian businessman, one of those whom Taffari had deported and seneback to the United Kingdom when he came to power. of course, he had confiscated all the Asian's property, and this vessel was now the presidential yacht.

It was a forty-five-footer Camper and Nicholson with lovely lines, equipped with every luxury, although most of the electronic equipment had long ago failed and had not been replaced, and the paintwork and sails were no longer pristine. However, the bar was well stocked and since the yacht very seldom left its berth, the lack of navigational and sailing gear was not critical.

There were two men in the main cabin, seated at the red teak saloon table facing each other.

President Taffari was perusing the monthly operating report and profit-and-loss accounts of UDC, smiling and nodding as he did so.

Ning; Cheng Gong was watching him expectantly.

When Taffari lowered the document and looked up, Cheng answered his smile. I am impressed, Mr. Ning. It is only a very short time since you arrived in Ubomo to take control of the company, but the results are really quite spectacular. You are very gracious, Your Excellency.

Cheng bowed slightly. But I can truthfully say that I expect an even greater improvement in the months ahead. There were many problems that my English predecessor left for me, but these are being resolved. What about the vehicle maintenance depot? This is one of my major areas of concern. Taffari's smile faded. And rightly so, Mr. President. We have over a thousand heavy vehicles in service, not counting the actual MOMU installations. Our maintenance costs were running at over three million dollars a month when I took over. As you can see, I have managed to reduce these by almost forty percent.

Their discussion lasted another hour before there were footsteps on the deck outside and a polite knock on the cabin door.

Who is it? Taffari called. Captain Kajo, Mr. President, and Miss Mahon.

Taffari glanced at Cheng significantly and the Chinaman nodded. This was the reason that the meeting was being held on board the yacht, rather than in the boardroom at Lake House. Come in! Taffari ordered, and the door slid aside. Kajo stooped his long frame into the cabin and saluted awkwardly. I have Miss Mahon waiting in the Landrover on the dock, he reported.

Did she pick up the packet? Taffari asked anxiously. Yes, sir. She has it with her. Again Taffari and Cheng exchanged glances, but now both of them were smiling again. All right, Captain. Taffari nodded.

You have your orders. Yes, Mr. President. I am to accompany Mr.

Ning and Miss Mahon on the expedition to Lamu Island and I am to - No need to repeat them, Captain, Taffari interrupted. Just carry them out to the letter.

Now you may bring Miss Mahon aboard. She burst into the cabin and went directly to Ephrem Taffari, ignoring the other man at the table.

I've got it, Ephrem, she gloated.

Here it is. She laid the envelope in front of him and he picked it up, tore it open and shook out the video cassette. Are you sure this is the one? Yes, that's my notation on the label. My handwriting.

It's the one, all right. Well done. I am extremely pleased with you, Taffari told her. Come and sit beside me, my dear. She accepted the offer with alacrity and Taffari laid his hand on her thigh below the table-top.

Captain Kajo, Taffari ordered.

There is a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator. This calls for a celebration. Kajo went to the bar and busied himself with the bottle.

The cork popped and a little froth gushed on to the carpet. It was Australian rather than French, but none of them complained.

Kajo turned back to the bar, screening the row of glasses on the bar while he poured the wine. He gave Bonny her glass firsttand then served the others in order of their seniority.

Taffari lifted his glass towards Bonny. To you, my dear.

You have saved me and my country from a potentially damaging situation.

Thank you, Mr. President. Bonny took a mouthful of the champagne.

She noticed but did not remark on the slightly bitter aftertaste, for she had learned not to give him the least pretext for offence. And when Kajo refilled her glass, she drank it without question. The unpleasant taste was less noticeable now. I thought we might go for a sunset cruise on the lake, Taffari told her, and Bonny smiled at him but her cheeks felt strangely numb. That would be fun, she tried to say, but it came out slurred and jumbled. Bonny broke off and stared at them. Their faces were receding and there was a ringing sound in her head. It became louder and her vision was darkening. There was only a tiny hole in the centre of the blackness in which she could see Ephrem's face, as though through the reverse end of a telescope, small and remote.

His voice boomed and echoed in her drugged brain. Goodbye, my dear, he said, and her head dropped forward on to the table-top.

There was silence in the cabin for a full minute after Bonny Mahon had collapsed. Then President Taffari gathered his papers and placed them in his briefcase. He stood up and Kajo hurried to open the door for him.

Taffari paused in the doorway and looked back. Ning Cheng Gong was still seated opposite the unconscious girl. He was watching her with a strange pale intensity.

At the head of the gangplank Taffari paused to talk to Captain Kajo.

Make sure the yacht is washed thoroughly before you bring her back to port.

You know how to use the pressure hose? I do, Your Excellency.

Taffari went down the gangplank to his Mercedes and Kajo stood to attention and saluted as he drove away.

The yacht's diesel engine was already running, the exhausts bubbling softly under the stern. Kajo cast off the lines and went to the wheel.

He eased the yacht away from the jetty and turned her bows towards the harbour entrance.

It was a two-hour run out to Lamu Island, and the sun had already set when he dropped anchor in the lee of the uninhabited horseshoe-shaped rock.

We have arrived, Mr. Ning, he said into the voice tube. Help me, please, Captain. Kajo went down into the cabin. Bonny Mahon was lying, still unconscious, on the carpeted deck. Between them they carried her up into the open cockpit and while Kajo held her upright Ning strapped her wrists and ankles to the stainless steel railings.

He spread a nylon sheet under her with the end hanging over the stern, to make it easier to hose down the deck later. I don't need any further assistance, he told Kajo.

Take the rubber dinghy and go ashore on the island. Stay there until I call you. No matter what you may hear you will remain ashore.

Do you understand? Yes, Mr. Ning. Cheng stood by the stern rail and watched Kajo in the stern of the dinghy disappear into the darkness. The little three hp outboard puttered softly, and the beam of Kajo's flashlight threw an erratic beam in the darkness. At last he reached the island and the outboard motor cut out into silence. The flashlight was extinguished.

Cheng turned back to the girl. She sagged against her bonds.

She looked very pale in the cockpit lights and her hair was an untidy copper bush.

Cheng took a few moments longer to savour the moment.

Physically the woman was unattractive to him, and she was much older than he liked, but none the less he felt his excitement mounting. Soon he would, be so absorbed and transported that such small adverse considerations would be of no account.

He looked around him carefully, taking his time, considering the circumstances. Lamu Island was twelve miles from the mainland and the lake crocodiles infested the waters around it.

They would immediately devour any offal that was dropped overboard.

On top of which he was under the protection of President Taffari.

He went back to the girl and adjusted the tourniquet around her upper arm, massaging the veins in the inside of her elbow until they stood out thick and blue in the cockpit lights. He had used the drug on many previous occasions, and he kept the antidote and disposable syringe available at all times.

Only seconds after he injected the antidote, Bonny Mahon opened her eyes and peered at him groggily. Good evening, Miss Mahon.

Cheng's voice was throaty with excitement. You and I are going to have a little fun together.

There had been an almost immediate rapart between Daniel and Sepoo.

It was strange for in every way they were completely different: in size and colour and shape and mentality there was no similarity whatsoever.

It had to be a thing of the spirit, Daniel decided as he followed Sepoo through the forest. They were children of Africa, its pulse beat in both of them, its soul was their soul. They understood and loved this land's beauty and savagery and treasured its bounty. They understood and loved its creatures and counted themselves merely one amongst this multitude of species.

When they camped that night they sat close to each other beside the fire and talked quietly. Sepoo spoke to him of the secrets and the mystery of the forest and the deeply felt beliefs of his people, and Daniel understood. In some measure they were his beliefs too and he accepted the reasons for the customs of these people as Sepoo explained them, and admired the wisdom and virtue of their lore. Sepoo called him Kuokoa, which meant The one I rescued. Daniel accepted the name, even though he knew it was meant as a monument to Sepoo's deed and a reminder of his debt to the old man.

They came to the MOMU track through the forest near SengiSengi in the late afternoon and lay up at the forest edge until it was dark. Then they crossed the open groun in the night.

Sepoo led Daniel to the logging road where he had abandoned the Landrover almost ten days previously but even Sepoo could not lead him directly to the stranded vehicle. It was only the following day that they at last found the Landrover exactly as Daniel had left it behind its screen of dense undergrowth, sunk to its axles in the soft forest floor.

There were no fresh human tracks around it and the video equipment was still in its aluminum carrying cases. Daniel laid it out on the tailboard of the vehicle and checked it quickly.

The camera was not working. Either the batteries were flat after standing so long, or else the moisture had penetrated the mechanism.

Daniel noticed droplets behind the glass of the lens and condensation beaded the casing.

It was a bitter- disappointment, but Danny could only hope that the batteries could still be recharged or that a rudimentary cleaning and drying, once he reached Gondola, would get the camera serviceable again.

He gave Sepoo the case of cassettes to carry while he took for himself the camera, the lens and the spare battery packs, a burden of almost seventy pounds to lug through the steaming forest.

Heavily laden as he was, the return took almost twice as long as the outward march and it rained most of the time. As soon as he reached Gondola, Daniel recruited Victor Omeru's assistance.

He knew that Victor was a qualified electrical engineer.

Victor had built and installed a turbine generator beneath the waterfall at the head of the Gondola glade. It generated 220 volts and almost ten kilowatts of power, sufficient to supply the community with lighting and to operate Kelly's laboratory equipment.

So Victor was able to place the battery packs for the video on charge and found only one of them was defective. The camera and the lens were a different problem altogether. Daniel would not have known where to begin to look for the fault, but Victor stripped the camera and cleaned the condensed moisture.

He checked the circuits and found one of the transistors was blown.

He replaced it with one that he cannibalised from Kelly's gas spectroscope.

Within twenty-four hours he had the VTR functioning again, then he took down the lenses and cleaned and dried them out and reassembled them.

Daniel realised just what a difficult task the old man had undertaken in such primitive conditions. If you never get your country back, I've always got a job for you, sir, he told Victor. That's not such a good idea, Kelly warned him. You'd probably end up working for him.

All right, Daniel said. I've got a camera. Now what do you want me to film? We leave tomorrow morning at first light, Kelly told him.

I'm coming along, Kelly, Victor Omeru told her.

I don't think that is very wise, Victor. She looked dubious. You're much too valuable. After all my hard work, I deserve a little reward, don't you think? He turned to Daniel. Besides which, you might have another breakdown in the equipment. Come on, Doctor Armstrong, put in a good word for me. Chauvinists, both of you, Kelly protested. You're ganging up on me just because I am a female. I'll have to call Pamba to my aid. Hell no! Daniel shook his head. That is using too much gun!

But he shared Kelly's misgivings. Victor Omeru was over seventy years of age and the going would be tough. It was almost fifty miles to Wengu.

He was about to say so when Victor intervened quietly.

Seriously, Ubomo is my country. I cannot rely on second-hand reports. I have to see for myself what Taffari is doing to my people and my land.

Neither of them could argue with that, and when the safari started out from Gondola the following morning, Victor Omeru was with them.

Sepoo had recruited eight men from his clan to act as porters and Pamba appointed herself as caravan manager to make certain that they applied themselves and did not lose interest in the typical Bambuti fashion, dropping their bundles to wander off fishing or honey hunting.

Every man in the clan stood in awe of Pamba's tongue.

On the third day they reached the first of the bleeding rivers and the Bambuti men lowered their loads to the ground and huddled on the bank.

There was no laughter nor banter. Even Pamba was silent and subdued.

Daniel climbed down into the stinking morass of red mud, dead animals and poisoned vegetation, and scooped a handful of it. He sniffed it and then threw it from him and tried to wipe the filth from his hands.

What is it, Kelly? He looked up at her on the bank above him. What caused this?

It's the reagent that Taffari swore to you that he would never use.

She was dressed only in a cotton T-shirt and shorts with a coloured headband around her brow, and her small neat body seemed to quiver with outrage. Victor and I have been monitoring the effluent from the mining operation. At first it was pure mud. That was bad enough.

Then recently, in the last few weeks, there's been a change. They have begun using a reagent. You see, the platinum molecules are coated with sulphides. The sulphides reduce the efficiency of the recovery process by forty percent. They are using a reagent to dissolve the sulphide coating and to free the platinum. What does the reagent consist of? Daniel demanded. Arsenic. She spat the word like an angry cat. They are using a two percent solution of white arsenic to break down the sulphide coating. He stared at her in disbelief. But that's crazy. You said it, Kelly agreed. These aren't sane or responsible people. They are poisoning the forest in a murderous orgy of greed.

He climbed up out of the dead river and stood beside her.

Slowly he felt her outrage seep into his own conscience. The bastards, he whispered. It was as though she realised the moment of his total commitment to her cause, for she reached out and took his hand. It was not a gentle or an affectionate gesture. Her grip was fierce and compelling. You haven't seen it all yet. This is just the beginning. The real horror lies ahead at Wengu. She shook his arm demandingly. Come!

she ordered. Come and look at it. I challenge you to remain on the sidelines after you have seen it. The little column moved on, but after another five hoursmarch the Bambuti porters abruptly halted and dropped their packs and whispered together. Now what is the trouble?

Victor wanted to know, and Kelly explained. We have reached the boundary of the clan hunting area. She pointed ahead. From here onwards we will be entering the sacred heartland of the Bambuti. They are deeply troubled and perplexed. So far only Sepoo has seen what is happening at Wengu.

The others are reluctant to go on. They are afraid of the wrath of the forest god, the Mother and Father of the forest. They understand that a terrible sacrilege has been committed and they are terrified.

What can we do to persuade them? Daniel asked, but Kelly shook her head. We must keep out of it. It is clan business. We must leave it to Pamba to convince them. The old lady was at her best now. She spoke to them, sometimes haranguing them shrilly, at others dropping her voice to a dovelike cooing and taking one of their faces in her cupped hands to whisper into an ear. She sang a little hymn to the forest and smeared ointment on each of their bare chests to absolve them. Then she performed a solitary dance, shuffling and leaping as she circled. Her withered breasts bounced against her belly and her skirt of bark cloth flipped up at the back to expose her surprisingly neat and glossy little buttocks as she cavorted.

After an hour one of the porters suddenly picked up his load and started along the path. The others, grinning sheepishly, followed his example and the safari went forward into the sacred heartland.

They heard the machines at dawn the next morning and as they went on the sound became louder. The rivers they crossed were waist-deep and thick as honey with the fearful red poisoned mud.

Apart from the distant growl and roar of the machines, the forest was silent. They saw no birds or monkeys or antelope, and the Bambuti were silent also. They kept close together and they were afraid, darting anxious glances into the forest around them as they scurried forward.

At noon Sepoo halted the column and conferred with Kelly in a whisper. He pointed towards the east and Kelly nodded and beckoned Daniel and Victor to her. Sepoo says we are very close now. Sounds in the forest are very deceptive. The machines are working not more than a few miles ahead. We dare not approach closer for there are company guards at the forest edge.

What are you going to do? Victor asked.

Sepoo says there's a line of hills to the east. From there we'll be able to overlook the mining and logging area. Pamba will stay here with the porters. just the four of us, Sepoo and i, you, Daniel, and Victor, will go up on to the hills.

Daniel unpacked the VTR and he and Victor checked it. Come on, Kelly ordered, before the light goes or it begins to rain again.

They climbed the hills in Indian file with Sepoo leading.

However, even when they came out on the top they were still hemmed in by the forest. The great trees soared high overhead and the undergrowth pressed in closely about them, limiting visibility to twenty or thirty feet. They could hear the bellow of diesels below them, closer and clearer than before. What now? Daniel wanted to know. Can't see a damned thing from here. Sepoo will give us a grandstand view, Kelly promised, and almost as she said it, they reached the base of a tree that was a giant amongst a forest of great trees. Twenty pygmies holding hands can't encircle this tree, Kelly murmured. We've tried it.

It's the sacred honey tree of the tribe.

She pointed at the primitive ladder that scaled the massive trunk.

The pygmies had driven wooden pegs into the smooth bark to reach the lowest branches and from there they had strung liana ropes and lashed wooden steps that ascended until they passed out of sight into the forest galleries a hundred feet above where they stood. This is a Bambuti temple, Kelly explained. Up there in the high branches they pray and leave offerings to the forest god. Sepoo went first for he was the lightest and some of the pegs and steps were rotten. He cut new ones and hammered them into place with the blade of his machete, and then signaled the others to follow him. Kelly went next and reached down to give Victor a hand when he faltered. Daniel came last, carrying the VTR slung over his shoulder and reaching up to place Victor's feet on the ladder rungs when he could not find them for himself.

It was slow progress, but they helped the old man up and reached the upper gallery of the forest safely.

This was like the land at the top of Jack's beanstalk, an aerial platform formed by interlinked branches and fallen debris. New plants had taken root in the suspended leaf mould and trash and formed a marvelous hanging garden where strange and beautiful flowers bloomed and a whole new spectrum of life flourished closer to the sun. Daniel saw butterflies with wings spread as wide as his hands, and flying insects that sparkled like emeralds and princely rubies. There were even lilies and wild gardenias growing in this fairyland. Daniel caught the flash of a bird so jewelled and splendid that he doubted his own eyes as it vanished like a puff of brilliant smoke amongst the foliage.

Sepoo barely allowed them to rest before he began to climb again.

The trunk of the tree was half as thick at this level, but still as huge as its neighbours had been at their bases. As they went higher so the light changed. It was like coming up from the depths of the ocean.

The green submarine glow brightened until abruptly they burst out into the sunlight and exclaimed with wonder.

They were on the top branches of the sacred honey tree.

They looked down upon the carpet of the forest roof. It spread away, undulating like the billows of the ocean, green and unbroken on every side, except in the north. All their eyes turned in that direction and their cries of wonder faded and they stared in horror and disbelief.

In the north the forest was gone. From the base of the green hill below them, as far as they could see to the north, to the very foothills of the nowclad mountains the forest had been erased. A red plain(of desolation lay where once the tall trees had stood.

None of them could speak or move. They clung to their lofty perch and stared speechlessly, turning their heads slowly from side to side to encompass the enormity of the bare devastated expanse.

The earth seemed to have been raked by the claws of some rapacious beast, for it had been scoured by the torrential rain waters. The topsoils had been torn away, leaving stark canyons of erosion; the fine red mud had been washed down to clog and choke the rivers through the forest. It was a desolate lunar landscape. Merciful God! Victor Omeru was the first to speak. It is an abomination. How much land has he defiled? What is the full extent of this destruction? It's impossible to calculate, Kelly whispered. Even though she had seen it before, she was still stunned by the horror of it.

Half a million, a million acres, I don't know. But remember, they've been at work here for less than a year. Think of the destruction in another year from now. If those monsters she pointed at the line of MOMU vehicles that were strung along the edge of the forest at the foot of the hill, if those monsters are allowed to continue. It was an effort for Daniel to drag his eyes from the wide vista of destruction and to concentrate on the line of yellow machines.

From their high vantage point they seemed as tiny and innocuous as a small boy's toys left in the sandbox. The MOMU were in a staggered formation, like a line of combine-harvesters reaping one of those endless wheat fields on the Canadian prairie. They were moving so slowly that they appeared to be standing still. How many? Daniel asked, and counted them aloud. Eight, nine, ten" he exclaimed.

Running side by side that gives them a cudine almost four hundred yards wide. It doesn't seem possible that just ten machines have been able to inflict such terrible damage. Victor's voice shook uncertainly.

They are like giant locusts, remorseless, insensate, terrible. The caterpillar tractors were working ahead of the line of MOMUs, scything the forest to make way for the monstrous earth-eating machines to follow.

Even as they watched, one of the tall trees quivered and swayed.

Then it began to move, swinging ponderously as the steel blades ate through the base of its trunk. Even at this distance they heard the scream of living timber rending. It sounded like the death throes of a wounded animal.