The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 80

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am not sure. Probably nothing," he replied, without lowering the

binoculars. It may have been a reflection from a polished metal surface,

or from the lens of another pair of binoculars, or from the barrel of a

sniper's rifle, he thought. On the other hand, a chip of mica or a

pebble of rock crystal could reflect sunlight the same way, and even

some of the aloes and other succulent plants have shiny leaves. He

watched the spot carefully for a few more minutes, and then Aly's voice

floated up to them again.

"Hurry, effendi. The mule-drivers will not wait!

He stood up. "All right. Nothing. Let's go." He took Royan's arm to help

her over the rough footing, and they started down. At that moment he

heard the rattle of stones from further up the slope, and he stopped her

and held her arm to keep her quiet. They waited, watching the skyline.

Abruptly a pair of long curling horns appeared over the crest, and under

them the head of an old kudu bull, his trumpet-shaped ears pricked

forward and the fringe of his dewlap blowing in the hot, light breeze.

He stopped on the edge of the cliff just above where they crouched, but

he had not seen them. The kudu turned his head and stared back in the

direction from which he had come. The sunlight glinted in his nearest

eye, and the set of his head and the alert, tense stance made it clear

that something had disturbed him.

For a long moment he stood poised like that, and then, still without

being aware of the presence of Nicholas and Royan, he snorted and

abruptly leaped away in full flight.

He vanished from their sight behind the ridge and the sound of his run

dwindled into silence.

"Something scared the living daylights out of him."

"What?" enquired Royan.

"Could have been anything - a leopard, perhaps," he replied, and he

hesitated as he looked down the slope. The caravan of mules and monks

had set off already and was following the trail Up along the river bank.

"What should we do?" Royan asked.

"We should reconnoitre the ground ahead - that is if we had the time,

which we haven't." The caravan was pulling away swiftly. Unless they

went down immediately they would be left behind alone, unarmed. He had

nothing concrete to act upon, and yet he had to make an immediate

decision.

"Come on!" He took her hand again, and they slid and scrambled down the

slope. Once they reached the trail they had to break into a run to catch

up with the tail of the caravan.

Now that they were again part of the column, Nicholas could turn his

attention to searching the skyline above them more thoroughly. The

cliffs loomed over them, blocking out half the sky. The river on their

left hand washed out any other sounds with its noisy, burbling current.

Nicholas was not really alarmed. He prided himself on being able to

sense trouble in advance, a sixth sense that had saved his life more

than once before. He thought of it as his early-warning system, but now

it was sending no messages. There were any number of possible

explanations for the reflection he had picked up from the crest of the

cliff, and for the behaviour of the bull kudu.

However, he was still a little on edge, and he was giving the high

ground above them all his attention. He saw a speck flick over the top

of the cliff, twisting and falling - a dead leaf -on the warm, wayward

breeze. It was too small and insignificant to be of any danger, but

nevertheless he followed the movement with his eye, his interest idle.

The brown leaf spiralled and looped, and finally touched lightly against

his cheek. He lifted his hand as a reflex, and caught it. He rubbed the

brown scrap between his fingers, expecting it to crackle and crumble.

Instead it was soft and supple, with a fine, almost greasy texture.

He opened his hand and studied it more closely. It was no leaf, he saw

at once, but a torn scrap of greased paper, brown and translucent,

Suddenly all his early'warning bells jangled. It was not just the

incongruity of manufactured paper suddenly materializing in this remote

setting. He recognized the quality and texture of that particular type

of paper. He lifted it to his nose and sniffed it. The sharp, nitrous

odour prickled the back of his throat.

"Gelly!" he exclaimed aloud. He knew the smell instantly.

Blasting gelignite was seldom employed for military purposes in this age

of Semtex and plastic explosives, bu was still widely used in the mining

industry and in mineral exploration. Usually the sticks of nitrogelatine

in a wood Pulp and sodium nitrate base was wrapped in that distinct tive

brown greased paper. Before the detonator was placed in the head of the

stick, it was common practice to tear off the corner of the paper

wrapper to expose the treacle brown explosive beneath. He had used it

often enough in the old days never to forget the odour of it.

His mind was racing now. If somebody was expecting them and had mined

the cliff with gelignite, then the reflection he had picked up could

have been from the coils of copper wiring strung between the explosive

in the rock, or it could have been from some other item of equipment.

If that was so, then the operator might even at this moment be lying

concealed up there, ready to press the plunger on the circuit box. The

kudu bull might have been fleeing from the concealed human presence.

"Aly!" he bellowed down to the head of the caravan, "Stop them! Turn

them back!'

He started to run forward towards the head of the caravan, but in his

heart he knew it was already too late. If there was somebody up there on

the cliff, he was watching every move that Nicholas made. Nicholas could

never hope to reach the head of the column and turn the mules around on

the narrow trail, and get them back to safety before ... He came up

short and looked back at Royan.

Her safety was his main concern. He turned and ran back to grab her arm.

"Come on! We have to get off the track."

"What is it, Nicky? What are you doing?" She was resisting him, pulling

back against his grip on her arm.

"I'll explain later," he snapped at her brusquely. "Just trust me now."

He dragged her a couple of paces before she gave in and began to run

with him, back in the direction from which they had come.

They had notcovered fifty yards before the cliff face blew. A vast

disruption of air swept over them with a force that made them stagger.

It clapped painfully in their skulls and threatened to implode the

delicate membranes of their eardrums. Then the main force of the blast

swept over them, not a single blast but a long, rolling detonation like

thunder breaking directly overhead. It stunned and battered them so that

they reeled into each other and lost the direction of their flight.

Nicholas seized her in a steadying embrace, and looked back. He saw a

series of explosions leap from the crest of the cliff. Tall, dancing

fountains of dirt and dust and rubble, pirouetting one after the other

in strict choreography, like a chorus-line of hellish ballerinas.

Even in the terror of the moment he could appreciate the expertise with

which the gelignite had been laid. This was a master bomber at work. The

leaping columns of rubble subsided upon themselves, leaving the fine,

tawny mist of dust drifting and spiralling against the clear blue of the

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