So a whole platoon of Sadiq's men was possibly wiped out. I asked if he knew how far off they were.

'Six miles, maybe. They could be here in half an hour or less.'

This could be a nasty mess. With the Nyalan civilians strung out all the way to the bridge, with our sick and wounded, and with a small bunch of virtually unarmed white rig-pushers, there could be a massacre. And to prevent it a handful of soldiers armed with rifles and one or two light mounted guns.

Sadiq said, 'If we stand and fight it will be useless. We couldn't combat a company, let alone this strength. Sergeant! Get the men ready to pull out. There must be no shooting under any circumstances. We'll be moving that way.' He pointed away from Makara. This had been in English and was clearly for my benefit, but he carried on in Nyalan. The sergeant went off at a run.

I said, 'So you're pulling out – leaving us? What the hell are we supposed to do on our own?'

He raised a hand to silence me. Danger had increased his authority and he knew it. 'No, Mister Mannix. There are tracks beyond the warehouses which lead into the bush. I'm going to hide my men there. If I am to be of any Use it can only be from a position of surprise. I suggest that you make your camp look as peaceful as possible. And that means hiding all weapons, including your shotgun. And anything that Mister McGrath may have.'

'You know about him?'

'I am not a fool, Mister Mannix. You took a pistol from him, but he may have some other weapon. When the soldiers come act peacefully. As soon as possible give me a signal. If they are loyal troops you fire this.'

He handed me a Very pistol and a couple of cartridges.

The white star will signal no danger. If there is trouble, fire the red. Try not to provoke them.'

Sadiq could simply vanish into the bush and desert us but I felt that he would do no such thing. I said, 'Thank you, Captain. And good luck.'

He saluted me, jumped into his car, and was gone into the night.

'Remarkable,' said a voice behind me. Wingstead had been listening. I nodded briefly, then called Bing. 'Get back to the rig, Sandy. Tell the men to gather round quietly and wait for us. And take the guards off the trucks. Tell Mister Hammond I said so.' I debated giving instructions to immobilize the transports but reflected that it might do us as much harm as our enemy., Zimmerman was beside me. I said to him, 'Please go fetch Mister Kemp. He'll be at the rig. And get Doctor Kat as well. Tell him he must leave his patients for a few minutes.'

Wingstead said, 'I gather we aren't sure if it's the goodies or the baddies who are coming along, right?'

'Exactly right. So we play it as cool as we can. What's happened with Otterman?'

'He was having some sort of convulsion. God knows what it is; the medics have nothing left to sedate him with. I feel responsible but I can't do him one bit of good. I've never had a man working for me die before.'

'Well, he's not dead yet. They'll pull him through if they can,' I said, but it was hollow comfort. We hurried back to the rig, and I noticed that the Nyalan refugees had vanished; like the soldiers, they had dissolved back into the land. It had needed no bush telegraph to pass the word. They had heard and recognized the gunfire.

Back at the rig Hammond had got my message and gathered the men together. The army's pulling out,' someone said.

'Who's doing the shooting?'

'Hold it! Just shut up and listen. Harry, you translate for our Russian friends, please. This is the position as far as we know. There's a force coming down from Kodowa. They ran into one of Sadiq's patrols and we think they shot them up, so it's likely that they're rebels. But we can't be sure yet. Mistakes happen in the dark.'

And in broad daylight too, I thought, remembering the bombing raid on Kodowa.

'If they are rebels they'll be too much for Sadiq to handle, so he's done a little disappearing act with his men. We'll signal to let him know if the new arrivals are friendly or otherwise. If they want to know where Sadiq is, he's gone off with his men. It's important that everybody tells the same story. He left us as soon as we got here. Right?'

Kemp asked, 'Why this flimflam? He's supposed to stay and guard the rig, isn't he?'

Not for the first time I despaired of Kemp's singlemindedness. I said, 'I'll explain later,' and turned back to the men.

'When they get here I want the camp to look normal. Remember, we know nothing about their politics and care less. We're paid to push the rig, that's all. We're a crowd of foreigners in the middle of a shooting war, trying to keep our noses clean, and we're scared.'

'None of us will have to be Laurence Olivier to act that part,' someone said.

'Let Mister Wingstead or me answer any questions. And no rough stuff, no opposition, no matter what.' This wouldn't be easy. Men like this wouldn't willingly allow themselves to be pushed around. But it was essential. Opposition could only bring reprisal.

A voice said, 'Why stay here? Why don't we scarper and hide out in the bush till they've gone, same as the army?'

Dr Kat said sharply, 'I am not leaving my patients.'

'I don't think it'd wash, or I'd be the first to go,' Wingstead put in. 'If there's no-one here they'll get suspicious and come looking for us.'

His calm decisiveness was what was needed. There wasn't a man amongst them who didn't respect him.

I said, 'Right, let's get this camp looking peaceful.'

I left Wingstead to organize things and went to the Land Rover to get the shotgun and its shells. I took them into the warehouse and hid them deep inside a bale of cotton, hoping that nobody had seen me do it. Then I went back to rejoin Wingstead at the rig.

He had persuaded the doctors and Sister Ursula to accept our need for deception, and to brief the nurses. I had a quick Took at Otterman and was not reassured. He looked desperately ill.

Geoff and I made a quick tour of the camp, checking to make sure that everything looked reasonably normal. Of the Nyalans there was no sign whatsoever, and Sadiq had taken off his platoon complete with all their transport. Camp fires had been extinguished and there was nothing to show that his departure had been anything other than orderly.

We settled down around the rig, tense and nervous, to wait for our visitors. They took about an hour to reach us, and it was probably the longest wait of our lives.

CHAPTER 19

We heard them before we saw them.

Bert Proctor cocked his head at the distant rumble, then settled at the table and picked up his cards. 'Just go on with the game,' he said quietly.

Ron Jones got up. 'Count me out, Bert. I'm too nervous,' he said.

I took his place. 'Deal me in. Just take it easy, Ron. No sweat.'

As Proctor dealt I noticed that Russ Burns was one of my fellow players. To my surprise he spoke to me directly.

'You play goddamn rough, Mannix,' he said. The 'Mister' had disappeared. 'Where did you get that goon you set on me?'

'I didn't get him. I inherited him. He's one of Wyvern's best rig hands,' I said. I didn't expect friendship from Burns but he sounded easy enough.

'I really thought he was going to cut my throat. He's pretty dangerous,' Burns said.

'I'll try to keep him on a leash,' I said casually. 'By the way, anyone seen Mick lately?'

There were headshakes all round.

Burns looked at his cards and cursed them. 'We've got a few things to sort out, you and me, after this is over,' he said, 'but if there's trouble in the meantime, I'm with you. What say?'

'Suits me.' We played a round or two with less than full attention. The engine noises were louder and there were voices shouting. Soon we put our cards down to watch the arrival of the army.