CHAPTER 20

Horror gave way to anger. The men started to voice their outrage. I looked down at Burns' body. Nine one third inch lead slugs, together weighing over an ounce, driven with explosive force from close range had pretty well demolished him. It was the quickest of deaths and quite painless for him; but we felt it, the bowel-loosening pain of fear that sudden death brings.

Maksa's voice rose over the babble.

'Be silent!' he said. He hefted the shotgun and his eyes raked us. 'Who owns this?'

Nobody spoke.

'Who owns this shotgun?' he demanded again.

I was debating what to do when Maksa forced my hand. He stepped forward, scanning us, and then pointed. 'You – come here.' The person he had indicated was Helen Chula. After a moment's hesitation she walked slowly towards him, and he grabbed her by the arm, swung her round to face us and jammed the shotgun against her back. 'I ask for the third time, and there will not be a fourth. Who owns this gun?'

I had never found violence of much use in solving my problems, but it seemed to work for Maksa. He1 could give McGrath pointers in terrorism. I said, 'It's mine,' and stepped forward.

Maksa thrust Helen away. I heard her sobbing but could see nothing but the muzzle of the shotgun as it pointed at my belly. It loomed as large as a fifteen inch navy gun.

'So,' said Maksa. 'We have an American civilian, wandering around with a weapon during an armed conflict. A dangerous thing to do, would you not agree?'

'It's a sporting gun,' I said with a dry mouth.

'Can you produce your licence?'

I swallowed. 'No.'

'And I suppose you will also tell me that you do not work for your

CIA.'

'I don't. I work for a British firm, and no-one else.'

'Backing the corruption of our so-called Government?'

'Not at all.'

'A man can have two masters,' he said thoughtfully. 'You Americans and the British have always worked in double harness. You imperialists stick together, don't you? You give up your colonies and tell the United Nations that now Nyala is self-governing. But you don't leave my country alone after that.'

I kept silent.

He went on, 'You say we are independent, but you keep the money strings tight. You choke us with loans and reap the profits yourselves; you corrupt our politicians; you plunder us of raw material and sell us the so-called benefits of Western civilization in return, to take back the money you gave us. And now you have been joined by the dogs of Moscow: the old Czarist imperialists ally themselves with you to loot our oil and ruin our country.'

He drew a long breath, controlling himself, and then changed tack.

'Now, about Captain Sadiq. Where is he and what are his plans?'

I said, 'Colonel Maksa, the Captain pulled his men out early today and went away. We know no more than that.'

He said, 'I have talked enough to you. You weary me. I can get more from the others.'

I stood frozen. The Colonel slid his hand down the gun barrel, and then a new voice cut in from high up and behind me. It wasn't very loud but it was very firm.

'If you lift that shotgun I'll cut you in half, colonel.'

Maksa glared over my shoulder. I spun round to see a big black-faced man aiming a sub-machine gun at the Colonel: I turned swiftly and took Maksa's gun away from him.

The man on the cotton stack swung the machine gun in a slow arc to point it at the Nyalan sergeant. Without a word the soldier put his gun down and backed away. Hammond picked it up and we held both men under guard. The man with the black face and McGrath's voice swung himself down to the floor. Voices murmured in recognition and relief, and then fell silent again. The atmosphere had changed dramatically, despite Russ Burns' body sprawling at our feet.

I said, 'Maksa, you've seen what this gun can do. One twitch from you and I'll blow your backbone out.'

'If you shoot me you'll bring. the soldiers in. They'll kill you all.'

'No they won't,' Hammond said. They didn't come in when you shot Russ there.'

McGrath, his face and arms covered with blacking, slung the gun over his shoulder. 'Raise your hands and turn round, Maksa,' he said. Trembling with anger, the Colonel turned as McGrath's hand came out of his pocket holding the cosh. He hit Maksa behind the ear and the Colonel dropped solidly.

McGrath turned to the sergeant. 'Now you, son. Turn round.'

He obeyed unwillingly. Again there was a surge of movement and McGrath said, 'Keep it down, you flaming fools. We'll have the guards in if they hear that going on. Just you keep quiet now.'

Relief made my tone edgy. 'Where the hell have you been, McGrath?'

'Out and about.' He began to strip off the colonel's uniform jacket with its red brassard on one sleeve. 'Give me a hand. Tie him up and dump him back there in the cotton. Same with his sergeant.'

'Goddamnit, we're taking one hell of a risk, McGrath. We might have been able to talk our way out of that jam, but there's no chance now.'

'You weren't going to be given much more time to talk, Mr Mannix,' he said mildly. He was right but I hated to admit it; to be that close to death was hard to accept.

McGrath went on, tugging on a pair of trousers. 'Do you know what they're doing out there? They're piling up petrol drums. They were going to burn down the warehouse.'

'With us in it?' Kemp asked in horror.

Someone said, 'For God's sake, we've got to get out of here.'

'Take it easy,' said McGrath. They won't strike a match before the Colonel's out.' He was dressing in the Colonel's uniform. 'Who's for the other outfit? Who fits?'

As we considered this he went on, 'I'm sorry, but I've got a bit more bad news for you.'

'What now?'

'Max Otterman's dead.'

Dr Kat said, 'I should have been with him.'

McGrath said gently, 'He was murdered.'

We stood rigid with shock.

'I saw the soldiers going over the rig after they brought you in here. They were pretty rough on everybody, even their own sick people. Then Max started convulsing and calling out, the way he's been doing, and they… Well, they booted him off the rig. I think his neck's broken.'

'Oh my God!' Wingstead whispered.

'I think the fall may have killed him. But one of the troops put a bullet in him as well. I'm sorry to have to tell you.'

The change in everyone's attitude was almost tangible. Neither the war, the bombing in Kodowa, our own capture, nor the death of Russ Burns had had this effect. It had come closer with the news of the intended burning of our prison. But the callous murder of our pilot had done the trick; it had roused them to fighting pitch.

Wingstead said, 'You've got a plan, McGrath, haven't you?'

'Carry on as though the Colonel were still here.' McGrath adjusted his uniform. Sam Wilson was getting into the other. Dr Kat bent over Burn's body.

McGrath said, 'Leave Russ where he is. He's evidence if anyone comes in. They know there was a shooting.' He picked up the sergeant's Uzi. 'Anyone know how to use this?'

'I do,' Wilson and Zimmerman both said. McGrath tossed it to Wilson. That's fine. It fits your image. Here, add this.' He tossed Wilson a small pot of blacking. 'It stinks but it'll do.' Wilson started to smear the stuff on his face and hands.

I held on to the shotgun, and Wingstead took the Colonel's pistol. That made four guns plus McGrath's cosh and God knows what else he had in the way of knives or other lethal instruments. It wasn't much to start a war with.

Wingstead said, 'Mick, how did you get in here?'

He pointed upwards. 'Easy. Through the roof. It's corrugated iron but some of it's so old it's soft as butter. But we're not going out that way. There's a door at the back of this shed. I couldn't open it from the outside, it's bolted. And from the inside it's hidden behind the cotton. But we can leave that way.'