Time of the Assassins

TEN

Tambese's arms ached and he was sweating profusely. But at least the goggles stopped the sweat from seeping into his eyes. That would have made the situation even more unbearable. Apart from the goggles, he was also wearing a pair of thick, insulated gloves and the blowpipe in his right hand was attached to the two oxyacetylene tanks strapped to his back. He was anchored to the wall-mounted ladder underneath the manhole cover by the rope which had been looped through his belt and secured to the sides of the ladder. Although uncomfortable, it left his hands free, and that was essential for the job he was doing.

Using the blueprint taken from the city hall, it had taken them almost seventy minutes to negotiate their way through the labyrinth of sewer tunnels to finally reach the manhole that led up directly into the prison grounds. They had decided to go in around two thirty that morning. That had left them a good two hours to devise the best method of cutting through the cover without alerting either the guards manning the watchtowers or their colleagues sleeping in the building which stood only a few yards away from the manhole.

They had found out from the blueprint that the manhole cover was protected by a time lock which they had to assume was regulated from the control room inside the prison compound so that it would be impossible to cut through it without triggering some sort of alarm. That meant they would have to cut a section from within the framework of the cover itself. They knew the guards couldn't see the manhole from the watchtower. Furthermore, it faced onto a windowless wall so the flame wouldn't be the problem. It would be the noise. That had narrowed their options considerably.

It was Graham who had come up with the most viable solution. The cover would have to be removed in segments. That way it would only need one person on the ladder. Tambese had insisted on doing the job. If, by chance, the flame was seen, he would be challenged, giving them time to flee. It was, after all, his friend they were going to spring from jail. Graham had suggested they take it in turns on the ladder but Tambese had refused to back down. They had done more than enough already to help him. He would do it alone.

Tambese shook the sweat from his face and glanced down at Graham and Sabrina who were sitting on the ledge with their backs to him to protect their eyes from the brilliant flame. They each had their Uzis in their laps. He had been tempted to take up Graham's offer of help several times in the past twenty-five minutes but now that he was on the last of the six sections he was just glad it was nearly over. He used his free hand to hold the metal as he cut through the last few inches, then, as it came away in his hand, he reached through z6i the opening and placed the segment with the others that lay in a circle around the manhole.

He switched off the blowpipe then called out softly to Graham who immediately got to his feet and untied the rope from the ladder. Tambese climbed down to the ledge and gratefully unloaded the tanks from his back. He put the apparatus in the holdall and tossed the goggles and gloves in after it. Graham used the canister of carbon dioxide to cool the rim of the cover then replaced it in the holdall. He waited until Tambese and Sabrina had climbed out of the sewer before passing the holdall up to them. He climbed up the ladder then hauled himself through the opening and joined the others who were standing with their backs to the wall. Tambese peered cautiously around the side of the building at the two tall, forbidding watchtowers on either side of the main gate two hundred yards away from the barracks. He could make out the silhouettes of the two armed guards in the reflection of the spotlight mounted above the gate. He dropped to his haunches and took the De Lisle carbine from the holdall.

'Give me the rifle,' Sabrina whispered.

'No, I'll do it. I have done this kind of thing before, you know.'

'Let Sabrina do it,' Graham said softly behind Tambese. 'She's the best sniper I've ever seen. And that's not something I'd say lightly.'

'This is my operation,' Tambese retorted. 'I call the shots.'

'It might be your operation, but it's my ass on the line,' Graham hissed. 'Let Sabrina do it.'

'I wouldn't have offered to do it if I thought I'd screw up,' Sabrina said to Tambese, trying to diffuse the sudden tension between the two men. 'Trust me, David.'

Tambese was caught off guard by her use of his first name. He sighed deeply then stood up and shrugged helplessly. 'It seems I'm outvoted here.'

Sabrina took the rifle from Tambese, attached the suppressor to the end of the barrel, then moved to the edge of the building and looked up at the watchtowers. It was a heavy responsibility on her shoulders but she was confident she could take them out silently. She wrapped the strap tightly around her arm then raised the butt to her shoulder and trained the barrel on the guard furthest away from her. She curled her finger around the trigger. The guard suddenly turned away from the railing and walked to the front of the watchtower. Now he was partially hidden behind one of the wooden struts. She couldn't risk the shot. She lowered the rifle fractionally and eased her finger off the trigger. Tambese noticed the gesture but Graham grabbed his arm and shook his head before Tambese could say anything.

Her eyes flickered to the second guard. He was still leaning on the railing, with his back to her. She willed him to stay where he was. Then the other guard suddenly turned around and walked to a chair in the corner of the watchtower. He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, then sat down and propped his AK-47 against the side of the chair. Sabrina immediately tightened her grip on the rifle then lined up the side of the guard's head in the sights. She squeezed the trigger. The bullet took the guard through the side of the head, punching him off the chair. Sabrina had already fed another bullet into the chamber by the time the second guard turned towards his fallen colleague. He had no chance to raise the alarm before she shot him through the head. The force of impact knocked him backwards and she bit her lip anxiously as he teetered precariously close to the railing. If he fell the sound of his body hitting the ground could wake a light sleeper. After what seemed like an eternity the guard fell face forward onto the floor. The AK-47 skidded across the floor and tumbled off the watchtower. She winced as it hit the ground with a muffled thud. Then there was only silence. She exhaled deeply and slumped back against the wall.

'Where did you learn to shoot like that?' Tambese asked in amazement.

She shrugged modestly as she replaced the rifle and suppressor in the holdall. 'You'd better lead the way to the cell block,' she said to Tambese.

He nodded and looked around the side of the building at the cell block three hundred yards away. A single light shone above the main entrance, otherwise it looked deserted. At least, it did from the outside. Tambese disappeared around the side of the building. Sabrina followed. Graham picked up the holdall and went after them. They ducked low as they passed the windows of the barracks and only straightened up when they were clear of the building.

When Tambese reached the cell block he ignored the double doors and went directly to a window at the side of the building. He wasn't surprised to find it ajar, not on such a humid night. He pressed himself against the wall and peered cautiously into the room. There was a guard on duty. He sat with his back to the window, his feet propped up on a table, reading a newspaper. A radio was playing in the corner of the room. But there was no way of getting in without first cutting through the bars that protected the window. Tambese unslung his Uzi then dropped to one knee and eased the barrel through the opening, lining up the back of the guard's head in the sights. Sabrina looked away as he pulled the trigger. The guard was punched forward by the momentum of the bullet but as he landed heavily on the floor his foot caught the chair leg, knocking it over. Graham and Sabrina immediately took up positions on either side of the window. Tambese remained on one knee, his Uzi trained on the corridor which led off from the reception area. He doubted the noise would have carried above the music on the radio but they couldn't afford to take any chances, not when they were so close to their objective.

He waited a couple of minutes then, satisfied the noise hadn't alerted any of the other guards in the building, he propped his Uzi against the wall and removed the oxyacetylene equipment from the holdall. Graham and Sabrina took up positions on opposite sides of the cell block as Tambese went to work, cutting through the iron bars across the window. It only took him a few minutes to complete the job then, after replacing the equipment in the holdall, he recalled the others to the window. He clambered through the opening first then took the holdall from Graham and dumped it on the floor. Graham and Sabrina climbed in after him and as they hid the body under the reception desk Tambese righted the chair and used a cloth he found under the desk to mop up the bloodstains. At least it wouldn't look suspicious if anyone happened to pass. They would just assume the guard had left the room.

After pulling the blind down over the window, Tambese led the way to a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor. He gestured for them to wait then tiptoed silently to the foot of the stairs and peered cautiously around the side of the wall. The corridor was lined with rows of cell doors. He could see the table and two chairs at the end of the corridor where the guards would have sat. But there were no guards on duty, which he automatically assumed meant there were no prisoners being held on that floor. He beckoned Graham and Sabrina towards him and told them to cover him while he checked the cells. He moved quickly and silently down the corridor, looking into every cell. He was right. They were all empty. He returned to the others and pointed to a second flight of stairs leading down to another floor.

'How many floors in all?' Graham whispered.

Tambese held up three fingers then moved stealthily down the stairs, pausing again at the bottom to peer carefully into the corridor. It, too, was deserted. He gestured for Graham and Sabrina to follow him then descended the third flight of stairs and held up a hand as he reached the bottom. He wiped his sweating forehead then pressed himself against the wall, his Uzi held upwards inches from his face, and looked warily round the side of the wall. The two guards sitting at the end of the corridor were engrossed in a game of cards. Tambese glanced at Graham and Sabrina and gave them a thumbs-up sign. They tiptoed down to where he was standing, waiting for his signal. The signal never came. Tambese suddenly stepped out into the corridor and opened fire. Neither guard had a chance to reach for the AK-475 against the wall before the fusillade of bullets cut them down where they sat. Tambese ejected the empty clip and slotted a new one into place before sprinting down the corridor to where the guards lay sprawled beside the overturned table and chairs. Both of them were dead.

'David, over here,' said Graham.

Tambese hurried across to where Graham was shining the torch into one of the cells. Remy Mobuto lay motionless on a palliasse in the corner of the cell.

'Remy?' Tambese called through the bars. 'Remy, it's David. David Tambese.' He glanced anxiously at Graham when Mobuto remained silent. 'Remy, can you hear me?'

Silence.

Sabrina appeared behind them. 'All the other cells are empty.' Then she noticed the concern on their faces.'What is it?'

'He's been drugged,' Graham said grimly, strapping the oxy-acetylene tanks onto his back.

'You say there are no prisoners in any of the other cells?' Tambese asked, turning to Sabrina.

She nodded.

'Which means they're moving out,' Tambese concluded. 'It looks like we got here just in time.'

Graham switched on the blowpipe then dropped to one knee and began cutting through the lock.

'Moving out?' Sabrina repeated. 'You mean they're preparing to march on Habane?'

'That's how I'd interpret it,' Tambese answered. 'Why else would they clear the cell block? We had it on good authority that they were holding at least twenty prisoners here yesterday morning.'

'Where will they have been taken? The garrison you spoke about earlier?'

'They won't have been taken anywhere,' Tambese said, shaking his head.

'You mean they've been executed?'

'More than likely,' Tambese replied matter-of-factly. 'The Security Police will only spare your life if they think you'll be of some use to them. And when you've outlived that usefulness, then they'll kill you. That's the way they've worked for the last forty-five years, why change now?'

'I've got the lock,' Graham called out before Sabrina could reply.

Tambese hurried into the cell and checked Mobuto's pulse.

'Well?' Graham asked behind him.

'It's steady,' Tambese replied. Til carry him. Mike, you take my Uzi.'

Graham shouldered Tambese's Uzi. Sabrina replaced the oxyacetylene equipment in the holdall then picked it up and moved back towards the stairs. Graham helped to get Mobuto to his feet then

Tambese bent down and draped him over his shoulders. He nodded to Graham then emerged from the cell and followed Sabrina to the stairs. Graham brought up the rear, his Uzi at the ready. When they reached the reception area Tambese gratefully offloaded Mobuto and eased him carefully onto the floor.

'I'll take him for a bit,' Graham offered.

'No,' Tambese retorted sharply. He smiled quickly to atone for his outburst. 'Thanks anyway, Mike, but Remy's my friend. If anything does happen out there, I'll be responsible for his safety. I'm sure you understand.'

'Yeah, sure,' Graham replied then gestured towards the double doors. 'Can we get through there?'

'I certainly hope so,' Tambese replied. 'It'll save a lot of time if we can avoid using the window. Getting him down the manhole is going to be hard enough.'

Sabrina tried the door. It was locked. Graham searched in vain through the dead guard's pockets for the key. Then he looked through the drawers under the counter. It wasn't there either. He sighed deeply and shook his head.

'We'll have to use the window,' Sabrina said. 'We can't risk shooting off the lock. Even with a silenced weapon, it would still make a lot of noise.'

'I'll go out first then you can — ' Graham stopped abruptly when someone rapped sharply on the door.

They exchanged anxious glances then Sabrina stepped back and trained her Uzi on the door. Graham took up a position by the window. A voice called out through the door. Graham and Sabrina looked to Tambese for an interpretation.

'They were names,' Tambese whispered. 'Whoever it is probably saw that the two guards weren't in the watchtower and thinks they might be in here with the guard.'

'I'm going outside,' Graham said softly, placing Tambese's Uzi on the table. 'We'll be trapped in here if he raises the alarm.'

Both Tambese and Sabrina nodded their agreement. Graham pulled the blind up carefully then eased himself gingerly through the window and landed silently on the ground outside. His breathing was shallow and ragged as he moved cautiously towards the edge of the building. There was another knock at the door, this time louder, and the voice called out again in Swahili. He wiped his sweating face as he reached the end of the wall. He gripped the Uzi tightly in his hands then swivelled round to challenge the guard. The man, who was dressed in a pair of shorts and a vest, looked round sharply at Graham, his eyes narrowed in surprise and amazement. He held an AK-47 at his side. Graham indicated for him to drop it. The man swallowed nervously then jerked the barrel up towards Graham who shot him in the chest with a burst from his silenced Uzi. The man stumbled backwards, lost his footing on the steps, and as he fell his finger squeezed the trigger and a row of bullets ripped into the wall several feet above Graham's head. The noise echoed around the delicate silence. Graham cursed loudly. It would only be a matter of seconds before the whole compound converged on them. He shot off the lock and kicked the door in. Tambese, who already had Mobuto in a fireman's lift on his shoulders, hurried down the stairs and lumbered laboriously towards the manhole. He could already see several lights on in the barracks.

Sabrina threw Tambese's Uzi to Graham and they ran ahead, waiting for the first of the rebels to appear. They were still a good sixty yards away from the manhole. A window pane was smashed in the barracks and the barrel of an AK-47 pushed through the aperture. Graham, holding an Uzi in each hand, raked all four of the windows facing out towards them, spraying glass across the floor of the barracks. The AK-47 disappeared. The door was flung open and a rebel darted through but was cut down by Graham before he could fire. The momentum of his body cartwheeled him across the ground and he came to rest in a crumpled heap several yards from where he had been shot. Graham and Sabrina stood their ground and raked the windows and door of the barracks, giving Tambese precious seconds to get closer to the manhole. Graham tossed one of the Uzis away when the magazine was spent then snapped a fresh clip into the other Uzi and shouted to Sabrina to keep up with Tambese in case any of the rebels were waiting behind the building for them. She nodded then sprinted after Tambese as Graham raked the side of the barracks again.

He continued until the clip was finished. He ejected it, pushed his last clip into place, then ran towards the manhole. The clip ran out as he reached the end of the building. He darted round the side and stopped abruptly as he found himself facing half-a-dozen rebels, all armed with AK-47S. He could see two of their dead colleagues sprawled close to the manhole. And there was no sign of the others. He grinned. They'd made it. A man who had been standing beside the manhole turned round and looked at Graham. He was dressed in a grey tracksuit. Graham immediately recognized him as Tito Ngune. His face still bore the bruises from the lynching he'd received several days earlier in Habane.

'That was quite a show, Mr Graham,' Ngune said. 'Don't worry, though, we'll catch your companions before very long. They can't travel very fast under those conditions.'

'You speak good English for a barbarian,' Graham retorted, eyeing Ngune contemptuously."

Ngune smiled. 'Drop the gun, please.'

Graham tossed it onto the ground. He heard the footsteps behind him and was still turning when the butt of an AK-47 crashed against the back of his head. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

'We can't leave Mike back there,' Sabrina snapped.

'We'll have to, at least for the moment,' Tambese replied through gritted teeth as he struggled to get a better grip on Mobuto.

Sabrina felt gutted. What would happen to Graham? She refused to even think about it. But she knew Tambese was right. There was nothing they could do for him, not without getting caught themselves. They had only managed to get out with seconds to spare before the rebels had descended on the manhole like a plague of rats. She knew she had shot three of them from inside the sewer. One had fallen through the opening and landed in the water. She also knew it would only be a matter of time before a team would be sent after them.

'There's a cover about five hundred yards from here. We can get out there.'

'That's crazy,' Sabrina shot back. 'The rebels will have found the holdall by now. And that means they'll have the blueprint. They're sure to have men waiting at all the manholes by now.'

'Trust me, Sabrina.'

She didn't pursue the matter. It could wait. She had to concentrate fully on keeping them alive until they reached safety, wherever that may be. After all, she was the only one who was armed. Then she heard it- footsteps. It couldn't have been an echo of their own footsteps. They were both wearing rubber-soled shoes. These were boots. And there were more than one pair.

She peered into the gloom behind them, not that she could see much further than a few yards in front of her. The lights, which were mounted on the opposite wall at intervals of forty yards, were weak and several of them had fused and never been replaced. If her friends could see her now. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips and helped to calm the sudden burst of anxiety that had swept over her. Had Tambese heard the footsteps as well? If he had, he wasn't saying anything.

Then she saw a movement in the shadows thirty yards behind them. She was about to fire then she eased her finger off the trigger. Conserve your ammo, girl, she said to herself. She was down to her last clip and she didn't know how many bullets were left in it. She flicked the fire selector from automatic to single fire. Another silhouette flitted across the shadows. Again she held back.

But why hadn't they opened fire? Unless they had instructions to bring them back alive? Possibly. The thought was still lingering when a figure appeared momentarily in a shaft of light behind her. She fired. There was an anguished cry followed a moment later by a loud splash.

'What was that?' Tambese called out over his shoulder.

'That was one of the rebels,' Sabrina replied.

'Why didn't you say we were being followed?'

'I thought you'd have heard the footsteps.'

'No, I didn't hear anything,' Tambese replied guiltily.

'Don't worry about it, you just keep moving. How far's this manhole now?'

'A hundred yards or so,' Tambese replied.

'Thank God for that,' she muttered.

A bullet cracked against the roof of the sewer above them. Sabrina cursed under her breath. If only she had the torch. Then she saw another movement and she fired again. But there wasn't any anguished cry this time. This time she cursed herself for firing blindly. The footsteps suddenly grew louder. Bullets began chipping against the walls around them, but they were still only warning shots. Even so, Sabrina found herself doubled over as she moved backwards, her eyes continually darting behind her to make sure she didn't get too close to the edge of the path. Then they came into view. She counted at least seven of them, and they were closing in fast, their AK~4ys held in front of them.

'How far to the manhole?' she shouted.

'Thirty yards," Tambese called back.

To hell with it, she thought, and flicked the Uzi back onto automatic fire. She fired a burst at the approaching men. Two fell and a third tripped over one of them and tumbled headlong into the water. Still they came. They had to be a suicide squad. There were probably another eight men behind them waiting to take over from their fallen colleagues. And all because Ngune wanted them alive. They would continue coming until she ran out of bullets. That had to be their strategy otherwise the three of them would be dead by now. How many bullets left? She fired again. Another man stumbled and fell.

'We're almost there,' Tambese shouted to her.

She fired again. Another fell. Two left. She pulled the trigger. Click. The magazine was empty. And they were closing in fast. Were there others behind them? She couldn't see any. She was confident she could disarm them when they came into range. She discarded the Uzi and stood her ground, her hands held up protectively in front of her. A sudden burst of gunfire behind her scythed over her head, cutting them down when they were less than fifteen yards away from her. She dropped to the ground and looked round in horror at how close the bullets had passed over her head. Tambese stood on the ladder leading up to the manhole, an Uzi in his hand.

'Are you OK?' he asked.

'Just. Where did you get that from?' she asked incredulously, gesturing to the Uzi.

'Come up, I'll show you.'

She pulled the woollen hat from her head and followed him up the ladder. A hand was held out towards her but after a sharp word from Tambese it was quickly withdrawn. She climbed out of the manhole and looked around her slowly, her eyes narrowed in uncertainty. The man standing next to Tambese was dressed in army fatigues and wore the rank of captain. An army jeep was parked at the side of the road behind them. Another eight soldiers stood beside the giant Challenger tank which was guarding the end of the street. The hatch was open and she could see the tank commander, his arms resting on the turret, goggles pulled up onto his forehead. He was smoking a cigarette.

'What's going on?' she finally asked, looking round at Tambese. 'And where's Remy Mobuto?'

'I've had him taken to hospital. These are some of my men. The others have been deployed throughout the city. Kondese is no longer in the hands of the rebels. It's all gone according to plan — '

'What plan?' she demanded. 'Why weren't we told about it?'

'It was top security. Jamel and I were the only two who knew about it. We couldn't afford to take any chances, not with so much at stake. There's a lot of sympathy for Ngune within the army. That's why I had to handpick these men personally for the operation. And they were only given their orders before I left the house.' Tambese held up his hand before she could speak. 'I know, I owe you an explanation. Later. First we've got to get Mike out of Branco.'

'How?'

'You'll see.' Tambese smiled at her bewildered expression. 'It'll be quite a show, that I can promise you.'

When Graham came round he found himself lying on a carpeted floor. He rubbed the back of his head gingerly then, after struggling to sit up, he looked slowly around him. It was an office. Then he saw the portrait of Alphonse Mobuto on the wall. Beside it was a framed photograph of Mobuto and Ngune shaking hands at some formal function. Both men were wearing tuxedos. There was also a picture of Ngune on the desk. It wasn't difficult to work out where he was. Then he noticed the armed guard standing by the door. The AK-47 was pointing straight at him. Graham continued to massage his neck until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The door opened and Ngune entered, still dressed in the grey tracksuit. He nodded to the guard who had snapped to attention then told him to stand easy and keep the AK-47 on Graham.

'Please, take a seat,' Ngune said, indicating the armchair in front of the desk. He stepped behind the desk and eased himself onto his padded leather chair.

Graham pulled himself to his feet and slumped into the chair, his hand still rubbing the nape of his neck.

'Cigarette?' Ngune said, extending the silver box towards Graham.

Graham glared back at Ngune.

'As you wish,' Ngune said then took one out for himself and lit it. He exhaled the smoke then sat back and studied Graham before smiling faintly at him. 'As

I said earlier, you certainly put on quite a show here tonight. Eight dead at the last count. There may be more.'

'I certainly hope so,' Graham retorted.

'They can be replaced,' Ngune replied with a dismissive shrug, 'unlike a wife and son.'

'You son-of-a-bitch,' Graham screamed and lunged at Ngune.

The guard slammed the AK-47'$ butt down onto Graham's shoulder, knocking him to the floor. Graham swung round on the guard but he was already out of striking range. The AK-47 was again aimed at his head. He pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. His breathing was shallow and ragged as he glared down the barrel of the Walther?5 Ngune had taken from one of the desk drawers.

'Sit down, Mr Graham, before you do yourself an injury.'

The intercom buzzed on the desk. Ngune waited until Graham had sat down again before answering it.

'It's the control room here, sir,' an anxious voice said in Swahili. 'We can't get through to any of the patrols. They're not answering their radios.'

Ngune wiped away a drop of sweat that trickled down his forehead. 'Send out a patrol to reconnoitre the area. And keep trying to contact the other patrols.'

'That's not all, sir. We can't get through to garrison either.'

'Have you checked that there isn't something wrong with our radio?'

'Yes, sir. It's working.'

'Keep trying. And keep me advised.'

'Yes, sir.'

Ngune switched off the intercom and looked across at Graham. 'We know you were working with your partner tonight. Who was the third member of your team?'

'Mickey Mouse,' Graham replied contemptuously.

'Who was it?' Ngune shouted, aiming the Walther at Graham's head.

'Got some trouble, have we?' Graham said, glancing at the intercom.

Ngune lowered the gun. 'Killing you would be stupid. Either you answer my questions here in the comfort of my office or I will have you taken down to one of the interrogation rooms and tortured until you tell me what I want to know. The choice is yours, Graham.'

'A choice?' Graham said in mock surprise. 'And I thought you abhorred democracy. Perhaps I've been underestimating you all along.'

'I will ask you for the last time. Who was the third member of your team?'

'I told you, Mickey Mouse.'

Ngune sat back and stared at Graham. 'I have come across your kind before. You think you can unnerve me by pretending to show no fear at the thought of being tortured, but it never works. I have never failed to get the answers I want from a prisoner, never. You will not be the exception, Graham, no matter what you may think. I will break you.'

'Torture me as much as you want,' Graham replied, holding Ngune's stare. 'But you tell me this, how can you break a man who's already immune to pain?'

Ngune's eyes narrowed fractionally as he waited for Graham to continue.

'Do you honestly believe that whatever machinery you've got waiting for me down in your interrogation room can possibly match the pain I went through when I lost my family?' Graham shook his head. 'Hell, you do what you want, Ngune. You can't hurt me, not any more.'

'We will see,' Ngune replied, but the intercom buzzed again before he could arrange to have Graham taken down to one of the interrogation rooms. He activated the switch. 'Yes?'

'It's the control room here again, sir.'

'Have you managed to re-establish contact with the outside yet?'

'No, sir.' There was a nervous pause. 'We've just picked up two aircraft on the radar scanner. They're headed this way. And judging by their speed, they have to be fighter jets.'

'That doesn't make any sense,' Ngune said suspiciously. 'I haven't authorized the scrambling of any of our jets from the airbase in Chad. And we'd have been told by one of our informers if the air force had scrambled any of their jets from Habane.'

'They don't originate from Habane, sir. They've come from one of the neighbouring states in the south.'

'Chad?'

'I can't say, sir.'

'Have you tried to establish radio contact with them?'

'Yes, sir, but so far they're both maintaining complete radio silence.'

'Range?'

'Forty miles, sir, and closing fast.'

'Put out an alert but tell the men to hold their fire until we know the identity of the planes. They could be ours. And keep trying to get them on the radio.'

'Yes, sir.'

Ngune switched off the intercom and sat back in the chair. What was going on? First they lose contact with the patrols, then they lose contact with the garrison, and now two unidentified fighter jets were closing in on them. It had already crossed his mind that the government forces could have already recaptured Kondese. But there had been no gunfire. Well, no more than usual. And if the city had been taken, surely at least one patrol would have contacted the base? Then there was the mystery of the garrison on the Chad-Zimbalan border. If they had come under attack from government troops, they too, would have radioed through to the base. But nothing. Absolute silence. It was as if they had been isolated. The thought lingered in his mind. But how?

He pushed the thought from his mind and ordered the guard to take Graham to one of the interrogation rooms. He would join them presently. The guard prodded Graham in the back with the AK-47 and indicated for him to walk to the door. Ngune waited until the two men had left the room then removed a pair of powerful night-vision binoculars from the desk and moved to the window. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon. Nothing. Then, a moment later, he saw the lights. At first they were hazy and distorted in the distance but as they grew nearer he z8i could make out the silhouettes of two jets. He immediately recognized them as Dornier Alpha jets but he couldn't see the markings. Then the lead jet peeled away to the right and Ngune was able to see the markings of the Zimbalan Air Force on the underside of the wings. He lowered the binoculars and wiped his hand across his clammy forehead. It was impossible. How could two fighter planes have been smuggled off the airbase in Habane without at least one of his informers knowing about it? Dammit, they lived on the airbase. How could it have happened? He switched on the intercom and gave the order to open fire as soon as the jets came into range.

He returned to the window and instinctively ducked as one of the jets buzzed overhead. The first missile exploded several yards short of the fence but the men still had to take cover as a shower of rocks and stones rained down onto the yard. The second missile ripped through the fence and detonated underneath one of the watchtowers. Ngune stared, transfixed, as the watchtower buckled under the impact of the explosion before toppling over and crashing down onto the barracks where many of his men had taken cover seconds earlier. A handful of men tried to break cover from behind the barracks but were cut down by the concentrated gunfire that strafed across the yard. The third missile hit the main gate, ripping it off its hinges as though it were made of papier mache.

Then the first of the army's Challenger tanks rumbled into the compound, its barrel already trained on the barracks where a handful of his men were making one last, determined stand. Machine-pistols against tanks, but he knew they would fight to the last man. It was a question of honour. Now suddenly it all made sense. They hadn't been able to get through to the garrison because it had already been destroyed by the jets. The garrison had no radar so the jets could have approached completely unnoticed. He had always anticipated an attack from Habane. And to get to the garrison from Habane, the air force would have had to bypass Kondese. But the whole plan had backfired. Badly. He had been outmanoeuvred by Jamel Mobuto, the man he had despised for so many years. And without men he couldn't mount a challenge on Habane. The dream was finally over. Now all that concerned him was staying alive, self-preservation. And the longer his men held out, the better his chances were of escaping. He opened the wall safe and stuffed his pockets full of bank notes. Then, unlocking the bottom drawer, he removed a miniature transmitter but the door burst open before he could use it to make good his escape. He put the transmitter down on the desk.

Graham entered and levelled the A K-47 at Ngune's chest. 'You should have trained your men to expect the unexpected. It wasn't very difficult to disarm him.'

Ngune swallowed nervously. 'We can make a deal, Graham. Take the money from the safe. Take it.'

'In return for letting you go?'

'Yes.' Ngune gestured towards the safe. 'It's all in pounds and dollars. Take it, all of it.'

'Oh, I intend to-all of it-and I'll hand it over to the authorities when I hand you over.' Graham moved forward and peered into the safe. He whistled softly.

'Christ, there's enough in there to wipe out the trade, deficit back home. You'll be crucified when you go on trial, Ngune. I only wish I could stay around to watch it.'

Ngune's eyes flickered towards the Walther on the desk. Could he reach it before Graham shot him? He doubted it. But what other option did he have? He would be crucified at his trial. He had to take the chance and go for the gun. Then the moment was gone. Graham stepped forward and picked up the Walther. He ejected the clip and tossed the gun back onto the table.

'Empty your pockets,' Graham snapped.

Ngune pulled the bundles of bank notes from his pockets and tossed them reluctantly onto the desk.

'All of it!' Graham said, pointing to the breast pocket on Ngune's tracksuit top.

Ngune pulled another bundle of notes from his breast pocket and dropped them onto the table.

'Let's go,' Graham said, indicating the door.

Ngune had already moved round from behind the desk when the shell hit the side of the building. The window shattered and plaster showered the room.

I Ngune lashed out with his fist, catching Graham on the side of the head. Graham fell back heavily against the wall and the AK-47 slipped from his hands.

Ngune kicked Graham viciously in the stomach then grabbed the transmitter and used it to activate the door behind the desk. A panel, hidden in the wall, slid back, revealing a set of concrete steps leading down to a tunnel. Ngune darted through the opening and immediately activated the panel behind him. Graham hauled himself to his feet and lunged at the door, hooking his fingers around it when it was only inches away from resealing itself. He gritted his teeth as he began to slowly, painfully ease it open again. After what seemed an age he managed to open it enough to be able to slip through. The panel immediately closed behind him.

The tunnel was over three hundred yards in length, and Ngune had already covered half the distance. Graham bounded down the stairs and sprinted after him. He was surprised by Ngune's pace. He was certainly fit for a man of his age. Although Graham was able to close the gap considerably he still couldn't catch up with Ngune before he reached another flight of steps at the other end of the tunnel. Ngune paused at the foot of the steps, his face now bathed in sweat, and ripped the chain off from around his neck. From it hung a key. He scrambled to the top of the steps and unlocked the door. He pulled it open but made no attempt to retrieve the key from the lock. That would just waste valuable time — and yardage. He disappeared through the doorway. ®

Graham reached the foot of the steps a few seconds later. He took them two at a time but paused at the door and peered cautiously into the room which was lit by a single naked bulb hanging from a frayed length of flex in the centre of the roof. It was a lock-up garage. Ngune had ignored the battered green Ford station wagon and continued instead on foot. The side door was ajar. Graham pulled open the door and cursed angrily to himself. It led out onto a street where a group of locals were dancing and singing to celebrate the liberation of their city. If Ngune could blend in with the locals Graham knew he would never find him. He looked the length of the street but couldn't see any sign of him. He couldn't have gone far, Graham said to himself, not after that run. Even he felt exhausted.

Then he noticed a movement in a doorway on the opposite side of the street. He waited until the locals had passed then ran across the road and moved slowly towards the doorway. A stray light swept across the street and for a split second Ngune's face was illuminated in the darkness. Graham broke into a run. Then Ngune saw him. He darted out of the doorway but his legs wouldn't carry him any further and Graham was quick to grab him from behind and slam him up against the wall. Ngune's body sagged and Graham made the mistake of loosening his grip on the front of the tracksuit. Ngune caught Graham with a hammering punch to the side of the face then hit him again as he stumbled off balance. The second punch dropped Graham to the pavement. Ngune ran towards the end of the street. Graham scrambled to his feet and sprinted after him. He was quick to close the gap and felled Ngune with a bruising football tackle. Both men landed heavily on the pavement but Graham was the first to react and brought his elbow up sharply into Ngune's midriff. Ngune slumped back against the wall, temporarily winded. Graham stood up then hauled Ngune to his feet and shoved him face first against the wall.

It was then he noticed the mob standing on the corner of the street. He counted about a dozen of them, mostly men. And they were armed with sticks and chains. One had a machete. Ngune also saw them and started shouting to them in Swahili as he struggled to break free of Graham's vice-like grip.

The mob moved towards them. Graham was caught in a dilemma. He may need to defend himself, but that would mean releasing Ngune. One of the men suddenly broke free from the others and ran towards the two men. He caught Graham painfully on the shoulder with his stick. Graham stumbled back and Ngune began gesticulating wildly in his direction while continuing to incite the mob in Swahili. The men moved tdwards Graham. Ngune sensed his chance and began to move away from the mob. They had now surrounded Graham and were shouting at him in Swahili. Another blow was aimed at him but this time he was able to block it with his forearm. He couldn't hold out like this for long. But what could he do? He couldn't communicate with them. But you don't need to speak Swahili, he suddenly chided himself. Of course not.

'Tito Ngune!' Graham shouted and pointed an accusing finger towards the retreating figure. 'Tito Ngune. Tito Ngune.'

The name caused an immediate response. All heads turned towards Ngune who immediately tried to bluff his way out of trouble. A fat woman grabbed his arm and pulled him round to face her. She stared at his bowed head for several seconds then looked across at Graham and nodded in agreement. She pushed Ngune towards the men who shoved him roughly to the ground before beating him with their sticks.

Graham was about to try and intervene when an army jeep appeared at the end of the street. It pulled up beside the men and two soldiers jumped out and forced their way through to where Ngune lay huddled against the wall, his arms wrapped over his head. An officer, wearing the rank of lieutenant, climbed out of the passenger seat and stopped in front of Graham who estimated him to be no more than twenty-five.

Graham asked him if he could speak English. The lieutenant said nothing then turned and walked over to where Ngune was slumped against the wall, his tracksuit now matted with blood. The fat woman pushed through the crowd and spoke to the lieutenant. Graham thought he heard Ngune's name mentioned. The lieutenant barked out an order and the two soldiers hauled Ngune to his feet. The lieutenant looked carefully at Ngune's bloodied face then took a pair of handcuffs from his belt and manacled Ngune's hands behind his back. The two soldiers pushed Ngune to his knees then stepped back to allow the lieutenant to approach him.

Graham watched, unsure what was going to happen next. Ngune had been handcuffed. That implied arrest. But why hadn't he been taken to the jeep? Then the lieutenant took his RF83 revolver from the holster on his belt and pressed it against the back of Ngune's head. Graham stepped forward, horrified at what he was witnessing. It was barbaric. Ngune's guilt wasn't in doubt. But he still had the right of a fair trial. That was the law, a universal law.

The lieutenant looked across at Graham and said something to him in Swahili. Graham shrugged helplessly but when he tried to get closer his path was blocked by the two soldiers, their Mi6 rifles aimed at his stomach. The lieutenant looked down at Ngune who was babbling incoherently as he pleaded pitifully for his life. Once the second-most powerful man in the country, Ngune was now nothing more than a sad, pathetic old man on the brink of death. The lieutenant pulled the trigger. Ngune's body jerked grotesquely as the back of his head disintegrated in a spray of blood and bone.

The mob cheered triumphantly when he slumped forward onto the pavement. The lieutenant bolstered his revolver then snapped an order at the two soldiers who quickly shouldered their rifles and returned to the jeep. This time the lieutenant ignored Graham as he walked back to the jeep. The driver started the engine and drove away. Graham stared at the body, still struggling to come to terms with the savage justice that had been meted out seconds earlier. But then this was Africa, a continent where mercy was so often regarded as a sign of weakness and where brutality and violent death had become just another acceptable everyday occurrence.

He shook his head sadly as he watched the mob singing and dancing only a few feet away from Ngune's crumpled body then turned away and walked off slowly down the street.