Ben blinked as his brain struggled to decode his father's scientific language; but then Russell made himself plain.

'They bleed to death from inside and out. It's a terrible way to go.'

Ben felt his blood run cold. What his dad was saying vaguely rang bells with him: he had seen pictures in a Sunday newspaper supplement of people suffering from something similar. They'd had blood streaming from their nose and even seeping into their eyes; their skin had been covered with huge, weeping sores and welts. It was horror-movie stuff, but it was very, very real. 'Is that what you think this is?'

'No, Ben. No, I don't. Ebola only rarely transmits itself between humans. But it's not the only virus of its type out there, you can be sure of that. There's a similar strain of Ebola called Marburg that causes the same kind of symptoms; but the chances are that there are thousands of others, undocumented by humans, that have lain dormant for millennia.'

Russell paused to catch his breath. 'When I was in the mine yesterday, I kept seeing dead bats.'

'I don't understand, Dad. Why's that important?'

'Viruses lie dormant in what's called a reservoir.'

'Water, you mean?'

'No, Ben. Listen to me. Not that sort of reservoir. A virus reservoir is an organism that plays host to the virus. It could be a plant, it could be an animal or a bird. Nobody knows what the Ebola reservoir is, but there is some evidence that it might be fruit bats…'

'… and you think the dead bats you saw in the mine were the reservoir for this virus?'

'No. The reservoir remains unharmed by the virus. I think these bats have disturbed something down there that is hosting the virus, and that they're now passing it on to humans. It's not Ebola, but if what you're telling me is correct, it is a viral infection of some sort; and if it's as contagious as it seems to be, it could be a hundred times worse than Ebola. We have to do something about it.'

'What can we do?' Ben's voice faltered as he spoke.

'This village is done for, Ben. Most probably I'm done for too. But if the virus is allowed to spread beyond here, there's no knowing what devastation it could cause. Millions of people could die. It can't be allowed to leave the village.'

Ben looked at his father in awed shock. He simply couldn't believe what he was hearing, couldn't believe that they had found themselves in this desperate situation. Then, in a flash, another thought struck him. 'They know,' he whispered.

Russell breathed out with a desperate shudder. 'Who knows, Ben? What do you mean?'

'The mine-owners,' Ben told him. 'They've shut down the village. They won't even allow letters to leave – Halima tried to write to her sister to tell her that their parents were dead, but she didn't receive it.'

Russell said nothing.

'Don't you understand, Dad? If these people know about the virus, it means they're sending the villagers down there knowing full well what's going to happen to them. And if they don't want anyone to leave the village, that includes…'

Father and son looked at each other, waiting for Ben to finish his sentence.

'… that includes us.'

'Listen to me, Ben.' Russell's voice was getting fainter from the exertion of the conversation. 'Some people have an inbuilt immunity to certain viruses. That would explain why not everybody contracts the illness. Suliman and the other mine managers – my guess would be that they're immune. As for you…'

They looked at each other.

'… it's too early to say. You've been living in the same room as me for the last twelve hours. Even so, you should avoid contact with anyone else. And Ben.'

'Yes, Dad.'

'Promise me you won't try to leave the village. We need to get in touch with the authorities, warn them what is going on. If we don't, this could result in a natural disaster the like of which Africa has never seen. Do you understand?'

Ben nodded mutely, and his father collapsed once more in a paroxysm of coughing. When he had finished, he lay there in sheer exhaustion, his chest rattling, his breathing increasingly laboured.

He looked like a dying man.

Ben felt tears of frustration and despair welling up in his eyes, but he checked them almost immediately. There would be time for tears later; now he knew he had a job to do. Abele had told him that there was only one telephone in the village – a satellite phone in Suliman's office. He had to get there without being seen, and fast.

As if reading his son's thoughts, Russell spoke again. 'Take my business card from my wallet,' he panted. Ben turned and rummaged in his dad's bag until he found the wallet and removed it. On the business card was Russell's name and the number of the company in Macclesfield for which he worked. He hurried back to his father's bedside. 'There's a man there called Sam Garner. He's a friend of mine, an expert in infectious diseases. Speak to him. Tell him… tell him it's a Code Red. He'll understand. He'll know what to do.'

'All right, Dad,' Ben whispered. 'And then I'm going to find you a doctor.'

'No,' Russell said. 'Haven't you listened to what I've said? Nobody can come in or out of the village, not until the authorities get this thing under control.'

'But Dad, that could mean…' Ben couldn't bring himself to say it.

'I know, Ben.' Russell tried his best to smile encouragingly at his son. 'I'm just going to have to take my chances. We all are.'

Ben felt sick to his stomach. It pained him to admit it, but he would never have expected such bravery from his father. But then, what had happened to him in London and Adelaide had taught him that you never know quite what you're made of until you've got your back against the wall. He also realized implicitly that, even without the risk of contracting this dreadful virus, he was in a grave situation. If Suliman, Kruger and the rest of the mine-owners knew what was going on here, it meant they were willing to sacrifice scores of innocent lives to get their greedy hands on the Coltan down there. He had no doubt that their murderous ambitions meant they would not hesitate to silence Ben and his father permanently.

It was probably what they'd had in mind all the time.

And if that was the case, they wouldn't hesitate to stop anyone who got in their way.

Ben jumped up, motivated into action by a sudden thought. 'Halima…' he muttered to himself. He grabbed the gun from the table, checked the safety catch and slung it into his shoulder bag; he quickly pulled on the clothes that were lying in a heap by his bed, and placed the business card in the back of his combat trousers.

'I'll be back as quickly as I can,' he told his father directly, but his father said nothing.

Ben wasn't even sure if he'd heard him.

CHAPTER NINE

Ben sprinted across the main square to the top of Halima's street, but he was too late.

He could hear her screams even before he saw her. Staying out of sight with his back pressed up against the wall of another hut, he saw Halima being dragged out of her front door. Suliman was there, watching over three men whom Ben did not recognize – one of them had Halima's hair firmly clenched in his fist, the others were roughly jostling her. Even from this distance, Ben could recognize the weapons each of them had slung over their shoulders: AK-47 assault rifles, complete with fully loaded ammunition belts. Beyond them, parked at an angle across the dusty street, was an old beige Land Rover. The men started pulling the screaming Halima towards it.

Ben felt his hand reaching instinctively towards his shoulder bag and the gun that it concealed. The steel felt cold to the touch. Whenever he had held it before, he'd had no real intention of using it; the same could not be said now, and somehow that made the weapon feel heavier in his hand than it ever had done. He flicked off the safety catch and held it up. Suddenly his mouth was dry; he licked his lips to moisten them, then prepared to make his attack.