The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 69

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away.

He lay quietly for a measured five minutes by his wristwatch, just in

case there might be more men coming up the trail. His mind was racing.

His last definite placin of 9 Tessay had been the glimpse of her

footprint on the trail at the far bend of the oxbow.

That was several hours ago, and if she and Mek had given him the slip

they could be anywhere by now. Mek might have won himself a start of a

full day or more - it might take Boris that long to work the spoor

through.

Feeling waves of anger overwhelm him, he had to close his eyes and fight

it off in order to keep his sense of reason from being swamped. He had

to think clearly now, not go rushing at the problem like a wounded

buffalo. He knew that this was one of his weaknesses: he had to keep

tight control of himself.

When he opened his eyes again, his anger had become cold and functional.

He knew precisely what he had to do and the order in which he must do

it. The very first task was t& sweep and check the back trail. He had to

establish the point at which Mek had left the main detachment of shufta.

He slipped down off the ledge and through the scrub to the open trail.

Still anti-tracking, but moving swiftly, he made his way upstream, back

towards the patch of Thorn  scrub where the party of shufta had lain up

in the heat of the day. The first thing he noticed was that the pair of

kites had gone. But he did not take this as proof that the bush was

deserted! and began to circle it carefully. First he worked the incoming

trail on the far side of the patch of bush. Although several hours old

now, it was still clear enough to read.

Suddenly he stopped in the centre of the trail and felt the hair rise on

his forearms and down the back of his neck as he stared at the sign in

the dust of the path. He realized that he had walked into Mek's trap.

There lay the distinctive imprint of a Bata tennis shoe.

Mek and the woman had gone into the patch of scrub and had not come out

again. They were still in there, and Boris was seized by the strong

premonition that Mek was watching him even at that moment, over the open

sights of his AK. While he was out in the open like this, stooped over

the spoor, Boris was completely vulnerable.

Hurling himself sideways off the path, he landed like a cat in the wire

grass beside it, with the rifle at the ready. It took many minutes for

his heartbeats to return to normal, and then he rose again into a

stealthy crouch and began circling the patch of scrub very cautiously.

His nerves were as taut as guitar strings, and his pale eyes darted from

side to side. His finger lay upon the trigger of the 30/06 and he kept

the muzzle weaving slowly, like the head of a cobra ready to strike in

any direction.

He moved down towards the bank of the river, where A the noise of the

rapids would mask any sound he might make. But when he had almost

reached the shelter of the house -sized boulder that he had noticed from

the mountain crest he froze again. He had heard a sound that carried

over the sound of Nile waters - a sound so incongnious in this place and

at this time that for a moment he doubted his own hearing. It was the

sound of a woman's laughter, sweet and clear as the tinkle of a crystal

chandelier swinging in the breeze.

The sound came from below him, from the river bank beyond the tumbled

boulder. He crept towards the boulder, determined to use it for cover

and as a vantage point from which he could cover the bank beyond it. But

before he reached it he heard the splash of some heavy object striking

the surfac& of the river, and an excited female squeal, both playful and

provocative.

Reaching the side of the boulder, and keeping close in under its

protective bulk, he stole towards the corner, from which he could

overlook the gravel bank beyond. Then, peeping cautiously around the

angle of the boulder, he stared in amazement. He could barely believe

what he was seeing. He could not credit this kind of stupidity from a

man like Mek Nimmur. This was the hard man, the seasoned warrior and

survivor of twenty years of bloody bush war acting like a love-sick

teenage booby.

Mek Nimmur had sent his men away so that he could be alone to frolic

with his new paramour. Boris took time to make absolutely certain that

this was not some elaborate trap that had been set for him. It seemed

too fortuitous, too heaven-sent to be really true. He searched every

inch of the bank in both directions for hidden gunmen before he smiled

his cold little smile.

"Of course they are alone. Mek would never let one of his men see Tessay

naked like this." His smile grew broader as he recognized the full

extent of his luck. "He must have gone crazy. Did he not realize that I

would follow him? Did he think he was far enough ahead to be able to

indulge tu himself like this? Is there anything in this world as pid and

as shortsighted as a standing prick?" Boris was gloating delightedly

now.

uple had stripped off their clothes and left them The coin a pile on the

beach of grey basalt gravel in the shade of AL

the tall boulder. They were splashing together in the slack water of the

river at the edge of the main current. Both Of them were stark

mother-naked. Mek Nimmur was broadshouldered, with a heavily muscled

back and hard, tight buttocks. Beside him Tessay was slim as a river

reed, her waist tiny and her hips narrow. Her skin was the colour of

wild honey. They were completely absorbed in each other, without eyes or

ears for anything else in this world.

"He must have left men guarding his back trail." Boris gave Mek the

benefit of some sense. "He never expected me to be ahead of him on the

trail. He thinks they are completely secure. Look at the fool," he

gloated, as Mek chased the girl and she let herself be caught. They fell

into the shallow water locked in each other's embrace, mouths seeking

each other as they surfaced again, laughing as the water streamed down

their darkly beautiful faces, the epitome of handsome masculinity and

lovely womanhood, the image of an African Adam and Eve captured for a

moment in their own little carefree paradise.

Boris tore his eyes from them, and looked to where their clothing had

been abandoned on the gravel bar.

Mek's AK rifle lay carelessly on top of his camouflage jacket, within a

few paces of where Boris stood. He crossed the open gravel bar with a

few quick strides, picked up the AK, unclipped the curved magazine and

dropped it into his pocket, ejected the round from the chamber and let

it fly away into the gravel, replaced the unloaded rifle on the jacket,

and rapidly returned to the tee of the boulder. Both Mek and Tessay

remained utterly oblivious to what had happened.

Boris stood there quietly in the shadow of the rock, watching them at

play in the river. They were almost childlike in their love and their

complete preoccupation with each other.

Tessay at last broke from Mek's embrace and left the water. She came up

the gravel bar, running long-legged and coltish, her wet silken breasts

swinging and jostling each other at each stride as she looked back at

him over her shoulder in open invitation. Mek followed her out, the

water glistening in the dense curls of his barrel chest, his genitals

weighty and puissant.

He caught her before she could reach her clothing and she struggled

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