Windfall

'Don't bother about convincing Max of what he can see with his eyes,' said Nair acidly. 'How do we get there?'

'The last of them has gone into the trees,' said Chip. He took the glasses from his eyes, withdrew from the top of the ridge and rolled over on to his back, then looked about him. He jerked his thumb. 'We can't follow them that way; they might have someone keeping watch. I know they're undisciplined, but we can't take that chance.'

Nair looked along the ridge. 'That thin line of trees there might be a stream going down to join the Losemai. It could give cover.'

'We'll take a look,' said Chip.

They went along the ridge, keeping below the crest, and found that it was a stream or, rather, it would be when the rains came. Now it was dusty and dry although if one dug deep enough one would find dampness, enough to keep the acacias green in the dry season. The force of rushing water during the rains had carved into the soft soil making a channel which averaged a couple of feet deep. It would provide cover of a minimal kind.

So they went down on their bellies, following the winding of the watercourse. It was something Stafford had not done since his early days in the Army and he was out of practice. Once he jerked his hand up as he was about to put it on something which moved. It scuttled away and he saw it was a scorpion. He sweated and it was not all because of the African heat.

It took a long time but finally they got down to the shelter of the trees which fringed the Losemai and were able to stand up. Chip put his fingers to his lips and cautiously they made their way to the river and lay close to the bank, hidden by tall grass. Stafford parted the stems and looked to the other side.

It was not a big river by any standards; the depth at that time of year was minimal and Stafford supposed one could cross dry shod by jumping from sandbank to sandbank. The flow of water was turgidly slow and muddy brown. In a clearing on the other side a giraffe was at the water's edge, legs astraddle and drinking. Something on a sandbank moved and he saw a crocodile slip into the water with barely a ripple, and changed his mind about jumping from sandbank to sandbank.

Chip said softly, 'I don't think they've crossed; that giraffe wouldn't be there. We'll go up river on this side very slowly.'

They went up river in military formation. Chip, with the sub-machine-gun, was point; behind him Stafford was backup, and Nair was flanker, moving parallel but about fifty yards away and only visible momentarily as he flitted among the trees, his rifle at high port.

It was very slow and very sweaty work. The river bank was full of noises; the croaking of frogs and the chirping of grasshoppers and cicadas. Occasionally Stafford jerked as he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye but always it was the quick flash of a brightly coloured bird crossing the river. Once there was a splash from the water and he saw a small brown animal swimming away because Chip had disturbed it in its waterside home.

Suddenly Chip went down on one knee and held the Uzi over his head with both hands. Stafford stopped and snapped off the safety catch on the rifle. Chip motioned him forward so he went up to him and knelt beside him. There was a distant murmur of voices and a louder burst of laughter. 'Cover me,' said Chip, and went forward on his belly.

For a moment Stafford lost sight of him in the long grass, then he came into view again. Chip beckoned and Stafford dropped flat and went to join him. Chip had parted the grass and was staring at something. 'Take a look,' he said quietly. The voices were louder.

Stafford parted the stems of grass and found that he was looking into a clearing by the river. They were all there, the Tanzanians and the tour group. The Tanzanians wore camouflaged battle fatigues and were all armed with automatic rifles. Two of them wore grenades attached to their belts and one, with sergeant's stripes, had a pistol in a holster.

The tour group was in a bad way. They had been stripped of most of their clothing and Mam'selle and Madame Roche were down to their bras and panties. Madame Roche's face was blotchy as though she had been crying and her husband, a ridiculous figure with his big belly swelling over his underpants, was trying to comfort her. Michele Roche had paled under her tan so that her face was a jaundiced yellow. She looked scared, and young Kosters was talking quietly to her, his hand on her arm.

If Gunnarsson was frightened he did not show it. His face was dark with anger as he stooped to pick up a shoe and as a rifle was nudged into his back he straightened with a quick truculence and shouted, 'Goddamn it, you've gotta leave us shoes.' The answer was a shake of the head and another dig with the rifle. He dropped the shoe and glowered.