I complimented Bailey on Katie Lou's performance and he beamed.

'She's a bit rusty but by God she can do the job,' he said. 'I knew we were on to a good thing from the start.'

'How the hell did she come to be here anyway?' I asked.

'Luigi and I used to run the old ferry. We've been in this trade for donkey's years, the two of us. The old ferry was a cow to handle and very limiting; only deck cargo and passengers and not too many of them. I saw that cars and trucks would want to cross as trade improved and the oilfields opened up. Manzu hasn't got any oil itself but it's got a damn sight better port for off-loading heavy gear.'

I made a mental note to remember this for later, assuming there would be a later.

'The two countries negotiated a traffic agreement. At a price, of course. We started to look for something better, and I'd always had these old bow loaders in mind. Saw them in action on D-Day and never forgot them. Remember, I've been in this trade all my life. Started in Southampton docks as a nipper.'

'Me too, I sail with my father from a boy,' Sperrini put in.

'Don't ask us how we got her down to Nyala, laddie. It's a long tale and I'll tell it one day over a cold beer. But the long and short of it is that I got wind of this old LCM lying beached up on the North African coast and bought her for a song. Well, a whole damn opera really. Then we sailed her down the coast to Manzu and arranged to bring her overland to Lake Pirie.'

I whistled. With the first-hand knowledge of large rig transport that I'd gained lately I knew this to be possible, but a hell of a job all the same. I said as much and he swelled with pride.

'A lovely operation, I tell you. Not a scratch on her – well, not too many. And has she ever paid off! Luigi and me, we're doing just fine.' He became pensive. 'Or we were. But when things get back to normal we might go looking for something bigger.'

Sandy Bing was prowling back and forth from the ferry yards up to the main road. His failure to get the radio going had niggled him and he was restless and anxious. Suddenly he ran towards us, interrupting Bailey's story with news of his own. The convoy was on the way.

I said to Bailey, 'We'll start to load invalids onto the ferry at once, plus any other Nyalans who want to go. I'd like one vehicle on board. The Land Rover, say.'

'No problem there.'

'How long will it take to unload and return? On the second run we'll want a couple of trucks. The more transport we have the better. Would there be time for a third trip?'

He said, 'I usually cross twice a day but that's not pushing it. With luck I can be back in two hours. I doubt if there'll be anybody to help at the other side, it'll take time to get your sick folk unloaded. But we'll be back as soon as we can make it.'

Sperrini pushed himself up.

'Me, I come too,' he announced firmly. 'I maybe not work so good, but I watch out for you.'

Bailey said, 'Of course you'll come, mate. Couldn't do it without you. We'll need some of your lads, Neil.'

'You'll have them.'

He said, 'If there's trouble before I get back, what will you do?'

'We've got the transport we came here with. And by God, Pete, that's something you'd have to see to believe!' But I had my doubts about the 'B'-gon. It was moored too far away to be of use in a crisis. Bailey gave me one of his great smiles.

'Well, I've got the very thing if you need it. In fact I'd appreciate it if you'd bring it across anyway. You can use Auntie Bess.' 'Just what is Auntie Bess' 'A duck,' he said, and laughed at my expression.

'A duck?' I had a sudden vision of Lohengrin's swan boat. 'We're going to float across the lake on a giant mutant muscovy, is that it?'

'Come and see,' he said. 'You'll love this.'

Zimmerman, Kirilenko and I followed him to the garage. We pulled the double doors wide and stared into the gloom. A long low shape sat there, puzzling for a moment and then marvellously, excitingly explicit.

'A DUKW!'

Bailey patted its hood lovingly.

'Meet Auntie Bess. Named for the most adaptable lady I've ever known. Nothing ever stopped her. I've found the keys and she's ready to go.'

We gathered round the thing, fascinated and intrigued. It was a low-profiled, topless vehicle some thirty feet in length, one set of tyres in front and two more pairs not quite at the rear, where dropping curved metal plates protected a propeller. It had a protruding, faintly boat-shaped front and was hung about with tyres lashed around what in a boat would be called the gunwale. The body was made of tough, reinforced metal, flanged down the sides, and the headlamps were set behind heavy mesh grilles. An old-fashioned windscreen provided all the cover the driver would get on land or water, though there were points along the sides where a framework could be inserted to carry a canvas awning.

Odds and ends of equipment for both elements on which it could travel were strapped about it; an anchor and line, a life belt, a couple of fuel cans, a tyre jack, shovel and spare tyres. Like the Katie Lou it was rusty but seemed in good repair.

Bailey swung himself in and the engine came to life with a healthy rattle as it slid into the sunlight. He slapped its side with heavy-handed self-approval.

'I did think of calling her Molly Brown,' he said, 'but after all she might sink one of these days. She's got a tendency to ship a little water. But she's crossed this pond often enough and she'll do it once more for you, I promise.'

It could carry so many men that to bring off a dozen or so would be no problem. 'How hard is she to drive?' I asked.

Zimmerman said, 'I handled one on land once. Nothing to it. Don't know about the performance on water, though.'

Bailey said, 'Come on, let's go for a swim. I'll show you.'

Zimmerman swung himself on board and in front of an admiring audience the DUKW pounded down the causeway into the water. Pete Bailey was careful with Katie Lou but with his DUKW he was a bit of a cowboy. It chugged away throwing up an erratic bow wave to make a big circle on the lake.

The rig was arriving as we walked up the curving spur road from the ferry yard. Kemp and Hammond brought it to a stop on the main road that overlooked Kanjali. We got busy transferring the invalids into trucks to take them on board the ferry. Bailey and Sperrini came to see the rig and get medical attention.

The rig was as impressive as ever, its massive cargo still hulking down between the two trailers. The tractors coupled up fore and aft added power to its bulk. The modifications we had imposed made it look quite outlandish. By now the thatching had been blown away and renovated so often that it appeared piebald as the palm fronds weathered. A workmanlike canvas wall framed the operating theatre but the canvas itself was mildewed so that it looked like the camouflaging used during war to disguise gun emplacements. Sturdy rope ladders hung from every level and the faces of the patients peered out from their straw beds.

'Well, I'll be damned,' Bailey marvelled. 'Worth going a mile to see, that is – good as a circus any day. Hello, who's this?'

'This' was the Nyalan escort still following their fetish, overflowing the road and looked down at the ferry yard with curiosity. Sperrini put into words what we had been feeling about this strange parade for so long.

'It is a processions sacra,' he said solemnly. 'As is done to honour a saint.'

I told Kemp and Hammond about Auntie Bess. Hammond was delighted and regretted that he would probably have no time to play with the DUKW himself.

'We may have to use it as a getaway craft,' I said.

'What about the raft and Dufour's truck?'

'We might need it yet, if there's trouble,' I said. 'Ben, you and Harry and Kirilenko could slope off and bring the raft downriver closer to Kanjali. Still out of sight but where we can fetch it up bloody fast if we have to. This is strictly a volunteer assignment, though – what do you think?'