Craig paddled to the side and steadied himself with a iandhold on the primitive wooden ladder while he ass em led his thoughts and figured out the lay of the shaft and its probable shape. He realized that by returning to water level, he must have ascended forty feet after his access through the wall. He must have travelled an approximately U-shaped journey the first leg was down the grand gallery, the bottom of the U was along the shaft to the wall, and the last leg was up the steeper branch of the shaft to return to water level again.

He tested the timber ladder work and though it creaked and sagged a little, it bore his weight. He would have to jettison the diving-gear and leave it floating in the shaft while he climbed up the rickety ladder, but first he must rest and regain full control of himself. He put both hands to his head and squeezed his temples, the pain was scarcely bearable.

At that moment, the rope at his waist jerked taut three tugs, repeated. The urgent recall the signal for mortal danger something was desperately wrong, and Tungata was sending a warning and a plea for help.

Craig crammed the mask back onto his face and signalled, "Pull me up!" The rope came taut and he was drawn swiftly below the surface.

he young Matabele mother was allowed to keep her infant strapped to her back, but she was manacled by her wrist to the wrist of the Third Brigade sergeant.

Peter Fungabera was tempted to use the helicopter to speed the pursuit and recapture of the fugitives, but finally he made the decision to go in on foot, silently. He knew the quality of the men he was hunting. The beat of a helicopter would alert them and give them a chance to slip away into the bush once again. For the same reasons of stealth, he kept the advance party small and manageable twenty picked men, and he briefed each of them individually.

"We must take this -Matabele alive. Even if your own life is the exchange, I want him alive!" The helicopter would be called in by radio as soon as they had good contact, and another three hundred men could be rushed up to seal off the area.

The small force moved swiftly. The girl was dragged along by the big Shana Argeant, and, weeping with shame at her own treachelryloshe pointed out the twists and forks of the barely distinguishable path.

"The villagers have been feeding and supplying them," Peter murmured to the Russian. "This path has been used regularly."

"Bad place for an ambush." Bukharin glanced up at the slopes of the valley that overlooked the path. "They may have elements of the escapees with them."

"An ambush will mean a contact I pray for it," Peter told him softly. And once again the Russian felt satisfaction at his choice of man. This one had the heart for the task. Now it needed only a small change in the fortunes of war and his masters in Moscow would have their foothold in central Africa.

Once they had it, of course, this man Fungabera would need careful watching. He was not just another gorilla to be manipulated with a heavy pressure on the puppet strings. This one had depths which had not yet been fathomed, and it would be Bukharin's task to undertake this exploration. It would require subtlety and finesse. He looked forward to the work, he would enjoy it just as he was enjoying the present chase.

He swung easily along the track behind Peter Fungabera, pacing him without having to exert himself fully, and there was that delicious tightness in his guts and the stretching of the nerves, the heightening of all the senses that special rapture of the manhunt.

Only he knew that the hunt would not end with the taking of the Matabele. After that there would be other quarry, as elusive and as prized. He studied the back of the man who strode ahead of him, delighting in the way he moved, in the long elastic strides, in the way he held his head upon the corded neck, in the staining of sweat through the camouflage cloth yes, even in the odour of him, the feral smell of Africa.

Bukharin smiled. What a set of trophies to crown his long and distinguished career, the Matabele, the Shana and the land.

These mental preoccupations had in no way distracted Bukharin's physical senses. He was fully aware that the valley was narrowing down upon them, of the increased steepness of the slopes above and the peculiar stunted and deformed nature of the forest. He reached forward to touch Peter's shoulder, to draw his attention to the change in the geological formation of the cliff beside them, the contact of dolomite on country rock, when abruptly the Matabele woman began to shriek. Her voice echoed shrilly off the cliffs and repeated through the surrounding forest, shattering the hot and brooding silences of this strangely haunted valley. Her screams were unintelligible, but the warning they carried was unmistakable.

Peter Fungabera. took two swift strides up behind her, reached over her shoulder and cupped his hand under her chin; he placed his other forearm at the base of her neck and with a clean jerk pulled her head back against it. The girl's neck broke with an audible snap, and her screams were cut off as abruptly as they had begun.

As her lifeless body dropped, Peter spun and urgently signalled his troopers. "They reacted instantly, diving off the path and circling swiftly out ahead in the hooking MOvement of encirclement.

When they were in position, Peter glanced back at the Russian and nodded. Bukharin moved up silently beside him, and they went forward together, weapons held ready, quickly and warily.

The faint track led them to the base of the Cliff, and then disappeared into a narrow vertical cleft in the rock.

Peter and Bukharin darted forward and flattened themselves against the cliff on each side of the opening.

"The burrow of the Matabele fox," Peter gloated quietly.

"I have him now!" he Shana are here!" The scream came from the entrance of the cavern, muted by the fold of the rock and the screening brush. "The Shana have come for you! Run! The Shana-" a woman's voice cut off suddenly.

Sarah sprang up from the fire, overturning the three legged iron cooking-pot, and she fled across the cavern, snatching up the lantern as she went, racing into the maze of passages.