Juggernaut

Hammond, Thorpe and Kemp remained, as well as McGrath, Zimmerman, Kirilenko and Dufour. Bishop and Bing went with the first shipment. So did Pitman and Athebridge and Proctor, to act as crew and help unload at the far end. Only two need have stayed, to drive on the trucks, but there was some reluctance to leave the rig until necessary.

The bow ramp of the Katie Lou lifted, and we watched as she backed off the causeway, her temporary crewmen warping her out to her stern anchor, aided by a gentle reverse thrust of engines. As the anchor came up the current swung her round and the engines carried on the momentum. She pirouetted lazily to face away from us. Bailey waved from the bridge and the Katie Lou moved steadily into midstream, bearing its cargo of refugees away from us and the danger zone to freedom, we hoped, on the other side.

A burden lifted from us. Whatever happened to us now we were responsible for nobody but ourselves. We gave vent to our feelings with cheers of relief.

And then the air exploded. There was a whistling roar and a missile plummeted into the water well astern of the Katie Lou. A fountain of water jetted high into the air, followed by a second which was no closer. A dull thump followed as another missile slammed into the earth just behind the causeway, flinging debris and dust into the air. There was the staccato rattle of machine-gun fire from behind us, and a scream from the roadway.

'Oh Christ, the ferry!' Thorpe gasped.

'She's clear – she's out of range,' I said sharply.

Soldiers boiled out from behind the rig and ran down the spur road. Others erupted from the bush beyond the buildings much as we ourselves had done earlier. Sadiq's men were fighting against huge odds.

Zimmerman said, The raft. It's our only chance.'

He and Kirilenko hurtled down the causeway. They plunged into the water and vanished under the churned-up wake from the ferry. Hammond dropped into the fringing bushes along the lakeside. McGrath, using the dust cloud from the third explosion to mask his disappearance, slipped behind the garage in which Auntie Bess was parked. Dufour, Kemp, Ritchie Thorpe and I stood our ground. The rebels came running towards us and it took a lot of discipline to stand and face them. In a moment we were surrounded.

CHAPTER 28

They were everywhere, poking into the warehouses and garages, examining the rig and the other vehicles of the convoy, beating the bushes for fugitives. On one side of the yard those of Sadiq's men whom they'd rounded up stood under guard. There were more guards around the four of us. We'd seated ourselves on crates to appear as innocuous as possible. I was grateful that they didn't bring Auntie Bess out of her garage, though there was some interest shown by those who went in to look at it. I guessed that Zimmerman had the keys.

It was satisfying that the ferry had got clean away. Whatever weapons they had didn't reach far over the water, and by now the Katie Lou was out of sight and very likely already at her destination. I hoped Bailey would not bring her back; we had discussed this eventuality and he had reluctantly agreed that if he got wind of trouble he was to stay away.

I felt angry with myself. If I hadn't insisted on a second cargo of trucks going across we'd all be safe by now.

There was no sign of the raft team, nor of McGrath. His disappearance was entirely typical, and I could only wish him luck in whatever he might be planning. That he had deserted us I felt was unlikely, as long as we had the DUKW as a means of escape.

After a nerve-racking wait we had more company. The inevitable staff car came down the spur road with two others trailing it, a motorcycle escort and a truckload of soldiers with a 76 mm gun mounted. We stood up slowly as the leading car stopped short of the causeway.

The man who got out of it was a tall, well-turned out officer with the colonel's insignia that I had come to recognize. Like Sadiq, he had an Arabic cast of feature but in his case it reminded me of the nomadic Tuareg I had seen in North Africa, fine-boned, carrying no spare flesh and insufferably haughty of expression. He wore a side arm and carried a swagger stick in gloved hands. He recalled irresistibly to mind my first senior officer in my army days; I'd hated that bastard too.

'Who are you?' he barked.

I glanced at Kemp and then took the role of spokesman. 'I'm Neil Mannix of British Electric,' I said. I was relieved that he seemed not to have heard of us by name, even if the bush telegraph had passed the word about the rig.

'The others?' he snapped impatiently.

'This is Mister Basil Kemp and this is Mister Thorpe, both of Wyvern Transport. And this is Monsieur Antoine Dufour, a friend. Who are you?'

'What?'

'Now you tell us who you are.'

He glowered at me but I was through with servility. I was going to stand by our rights as civilians, foreigners and employees of his country.