'Stores for the convoy, or some of them,' I said rapidly. 'The last of our transport vehicles. We've been waiting for it to arrive.'

'Arrive? Like that?'

'Well, yes, we bought some of them down by water…'

Hammond had come ashore and was tying up the raft calmly as if the presence of armed soldiers were commonplace. Now he chipped in and said easily, To save fuel, Colonel. Two seven horsepower outboard engines use a lot less than one truck over long distances, so we've ferried them down this way. I suppose you'll want it added to the rest of the convoy, Mister Mannix?'

The implication appalled me. He was prepared to drive the gelignite-filled truck up among the troops and, presumably, explode it where it would cause maximum alarm and destruction. Whether it would save our lives was doubtful, but it would certainly end his.

And he was waiting for me to give him the go-ahead.

'Not just for the moment, Ben,' I said. 'Have a word with Mister Kemp first about moving the rig. He… needs your advice.'

Hammond looked at Kemp and at once took in his tense, barely controlled anxiety. He gave a reassuring nod.

'We'll want to plot the mileage charts afresh, Mister Kemp, won't we?' he asked calmly.

Kemp said curtly, 'I've been looking for you. Where are the maps?.'.

They started talking, ignoring the armed men around them. I hoped that Hammond could keep Kemp occupied. He was in a state of dangerous hypertension, and if not controlled he could be as great a threat as the enemy.

Zimmerman and Kirilenko came ashore cautiously, saying nothing. Zimmerman's hands at his side made a curious twisting gesture reminiscent of turning a key, and then he brushed his wristwatch casually. I realized what this implied: he had set a timing mechanism on the lethal truck.

'How long? Harry, how long did the trip take?' I asked loudly.

'Only fifteen minutes, Neil.'

Christ. A quarter of an hour to get us all out of range before Dufour's truck went sky-high; call it ten minutes because no hastily home-made timer could be all that accurate. Or it might never go off at all. Frantically I juggled possibilities while at the same time continuing to face up to Wadzi.

He was disconcerted by my change in attitude. Before I had defied him; now I was cooperating. He said, 'Mister Mannix, are these all your men now?'

'Yes, that's it.' I mentally subtracted McGrath.

'You will all accompany us with your transporter to Fort Pirie. There we will make further arrangements,' he said briskly. 'I understand that you are not one of the drivers. Is that correct?'

I wondered just how much else he knew about us.

'That's right, Colonel. But of course I can drive a truck.'

I glanced round for inspiration. The ferry yard was full of troops and transport. Soldiers surrounded the rig up on the main road and Wadzi had placed guards on our other vehicles. Sadiq still sat in the rear of his own car at the top of the spur road. Auntie Bess crouched hidden in the garage. Of the ferry there was no sign.

Hammond had led Kemp to the far side of the causeway, well clear of the grounded raft, produced a map from his pocket and spread it on the ground so Kemp would have to squat down to study it. It kept his eyes off us, though it meant we would have to manage without Hammond.

Zimmerman stood near the raft-borne truck, hands in his pockets. Kirilenko was behind him, impassive as always. Next to me Thorpe stood rigid and beyond him Dufour, stiff and haggard; his eyes flickered from me to his truck and back, signalling some incomprehensible message.

This is easy, I told myself. You get into the truck, drive it among the soldiers, stall it and fiddle about until the whole damn thing goes sky-high. In the melee, during which with any luck quite a few of the enemy get killed including their gallant leader, your men make a dash for the DUKW and drive it off into the sunset. Nothing to it. The only small problem was that our own gallant leader was most certainly not going to survive the experience either, and I was rooted by something I franti cally hoped wasn't cowardice. Surely it was only sensible to await the play of the card we still had up our sleeve?

Surely McGrath would come up trumps once again?

He had ten minutes at the outside to do so. I swallowed, sucked in my gut and took two steps towards Dufour's truck.

'I'll take it up to join the others, shall I?' I asked Wadzi.

There was a stir among our men. Dufour's gasp was clearly heard and Wadzi reacted instantly. His revolver was out of its holster and held at arm's length pointing straight at me.

'Don't move!' Wadzi snapped.

I didn't.

'Where are the keys to that truck?' he demanded. Zimmerman clenched his fist instinctively and Wadzi saw the movement; his eyes were lynx-sharp. 'I'll have them,' he said, extending a hand with a snap of his fingers.

'Do it,' I said.

Zimmerman put the truck keys into the Colonel's hand and without taking his eyes off me Wadzi flipped them to one of his men. 'Bring that truck ashore,' he said. The words were in Nyalan but the meaning all too clear. The soldier ran down the causeway and swung himself into the cab. I closed my eyes; bad driving might be fatal.

Two soldiers removed the chocks and the truck inched its way onto the causeway, leaving the raft rocking, all but submerged and even closer to disintegration. It was certainly beyond use as an escape device. It was the DUKW or nothing now.

The truck drove slowly up the spur road. Wadzi rammed his revolver back into its holster.

'I advise you to be very careful, Mister Mannix,' he was saying. 'Do nothing without my permission… what is it?'

But none of us were listening to him. He whipped round to see what was holding our enthralled attention.

'Christ, it's Mick!' Thorpe shouted.

From behind one of the buildings a man came running, weaving through the troops. The sub-machine-gun in his hands spouted fire in all directions. McGrath closed rapidly in on the slowly travelling truck, hurtling past men too stunned to react.

There was a crack of gunfire. High up on the spur road Sadiq rose in the back seat of the open staff car, his manacled hands clutching a rifle. One of his guards toppled backwards out of the car. He fired again among the soldiers who were closing in on McGrath and they fell back in disarray. One man fell to the ground.

Zimmerman yelled, 'No, Mick – don't take it!' He straight-armed a soldier and at the same moment Kirilenko whirled on another and floored him with a massive kick to the groin. In horror I stared at Dufour's truck. McGrath stumbled just as he reached it and lost his grip on the sub-machine-gun.

'He's hit!'

McGrath heaved himself up and into the cab and hurled the driver out with a violent effort. The truck picked up speed and raced up the spur road towards the rig.

Beside me Wadzi opened his mouth to shout an order.

I threw myself at him and we went down in a tangle of arms and legs. I clawed for the revolver at his belt as Thorpe threw himself down to pin Wadzi's legs. As I scrambled to my feet with the gun I saw Sadiq arch out of the staff car, the rifle flying from his hands. He crashed in a sprawling mass onto the roadway. Kirilenko used his boot again on Colonel Wadzi's breastbone and the officer subsided, coughing and writhing. His men scattered.

I gasped, 'Harry, does Mick know?'

'Yes. I told him! Oh my God – it'll go any second!'

And then Dufour had hold of my arm, gripping it like a vice and shaking me violently. 'Mannix -I tried to tell you, I tried! It will not explode!'

'Of course it will. I've wired it!' Zimmerman snapped.

Dufour stammered, 'Only four bottles of gelignite… right in front…'

'What?'

As we spoke the truck rocketed up the slope, fired on from all sides. If the timing mechanism failed the bullets would do the job for us. But what in God's name was Dufour trying to say?