He felt a warm stream of fluid splashing the back of his neck. The vervet had returned, armed, and was deliberately pissing on him. He wanted to shout at it, deflate the tension but didn’t want to draw any attention from the locals. So he mouthed some obscenities and wiped the back of his neck with a handkerchief. The vervet chatted happily back at him. Graham closed his eyes in resignation and hoping the monkey’s ammunition had run out, lay back on his stomach and readied himself.
The first outrider appeared from the direction of the airport; a pathfinder making sure the road was clear. Graham tracked a couple of feet in front and mentally fired. Bang … Bang … Bang … After the first shot he’d have to be patient, not fire too quickly, not pull at the trigger. The motorbike stopped five hundred yards up the road and its rider turned on the saddle and waited for the Daimler to appear. Graham knew where he would fire, just as it passed a tree on the other side.
With the telescopic site he could see Ngai half a mile away, sitting on David’s left. He took off the safety catch.
Squeeze the trigger … kill! Ngai’s mother had loved him as a child … kill! Brother Sebastian had loved him as he grew older … kill. Kill the foul construction of atoms, of experience, of knowledge that was Ngai. The taste of adrenaline in his mouth and a tremor through his body. He gritted his teeth, tensed his muscles then relaxed, unwound the knot and focused. With the angle and speed the car was moving a foot in front would be about right. Concentrate, aim at the driver and by the time the bullet arrived it would hit Ngai behind him. Squeeze the trigger, pull back the bolt, squeeze the trigger … Amani, Amani and all those kids. Small boy shot in the head, Rachel killing her parents, Amani blown up, Jonathan and Amani in pieces in front of the house. The beatings he’d given and taken. Destroy them … David and Ngai … evil, rotting fruit in a bowl to be thrown away as decaying rubbish. Squeeze the trigger. Ngai then David … kill!
The car passed in front of the tree and he fired.
Dirt puffed up on the other side of the road. He pulled back the bolt and fired again, impatiently. The bullet was high. He forced himself to slow down, deep breath, hold the butt hard into his shoulder, eliminate the tremor then breathe out. David had grabbed Ngai and pushed him onto the car floor but from the top of the mound it didn’t matter. Graham tracked Ngai, lowering his aim a little, less of a lead and slowly, deliberately, squeezed the trigger as he panned.
Ngai jolted as a bullet struck him but not from Graham’s rifle. The bullet was one of a burst of automatic fire to his left, a shower of bullets hitting the Daimler. Graham lowered the Lee Enfield, confused, watched the car speeding away. David in the back, holding Ngai. He brought the rifle back up again, saw David’s head above the back of the car and fired. The bullet hit the the car boot. He pulled the bolt back, fired and missed again.
‘We knew you’d never hit him. It was fortunate that I was here to help you.’
Startled, Graham turned around. Abdul was standing behind him, smiling.
‘The Colonel sent you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well give him my regards.’
Abdul smiled and pointed a Sterling submachine gun at him.
‘And now you’re going to kill me?’
Abdul lowered it a little, still smiling, still pointing it at Graham. ‘Are you not happy that I have killed those men for you?’
‘I’m not happy you’re pointing that thing at me.’
‘The Colonel likes things to be tidy; you running around would not be tidy. Think, your enemy is dead, you can die happy and you will still take the credit for doing it.’
‘You missed, or haven’t you being paying attention? You just caught an arm, maybe a shoulder. I don’t think you hit David at all.’
‘Throw your rifle towards me.’ Graham did as he was told. Abdul picked it up and looked through the telescopic sight.
Further down the road, the car had stopped. David had got out of the back and was arguing with the driver. He pulled out a gun and the driver stepped away from the car, his hands in the air. He fell backwards and half a second later they heard the gunshot. David turned the gun on the two outriders who went down with their bikes then got into the driving seat and headed off. Ngai’s head appeared over the back seat, staring back at the mound.
Abdul fired a couple of rounds but missed, too far away.
‘I do not understand. That car, it should be in pieces, I fired half a clip into it.’
‘Armour-plated, Abdul. You should have aimed for the occupants not the car. Didn’t Harding tell you?’
‘The Colonel will have to deal with them when they arrive in town but you will take the credit.’
‘You’re still not paying attention.’
Abdul followed Graham’s gaze; the Daimler had cut off the road down a dirt track.
‘They’ll be heading North and back to Ngai’s Army in the nice comfortable car the Colonel’s just provided. Congratulations Abdul, you’ve just restarted the war.’
‘Well that’s something you will not be able to put in your newspaper.’ Abdul replied, dropping the Lee Enfield and pointing the Sterling back at Graham.
Bollocks, Graham thought. He wasn’t ready to die and really didn’t fancy the sensation of a dozen bullets tearing into his stomach. He thought about running, get shot in the back. Diving at Abdul, get shot in the front. ‘Well get it over with you fucker.’
He closed his eyes and grimaced as the gun went off. He tensed his stomach muscles and wondered that he didn’t feel any pain then opened his eyes. In front of him Abdul was staring at his chest. He looked up at Graham, puzzled and hesitant, as a dark stain spread across the front of his tunic. The gun fired again and caught him on the shoulder, knocking him sideways and he fell, twisting and firing the Sterling, trashing the branches above.
Graham jolted himself into action and ran at him, kicking the Sterling away from the body. He picked up the Lee Enfield and dropped to the ground.
He couldn’t see anyone, couldn’t hear anyone. Over the road, the locals had done the sensible thing and disappeared but they hadn’t looked like sharpshooters.
He checked Abdul for a pulse, he didn’t have one, and then crawled over the dirt, picking up the spent cartridge shells from his Lee Enfield and stuffing them into his pocket. He thought about taking the Sterling and decided against it. Leave it for evidence … What the hell was going on? Who had killed Abdul? Were they going to kill him as well? He ran down to his car, threw the Lee Enfield onto the passenger seat and started the engine as a small sports car came around the back of the mound and blocked his escape. A man jumped over the door holding a handgun.
‘Is he dead?’
‘Paul, mate! What are you doing here?’
‘Is he dead?’
‘He’s dead. Harding set me up, you knew he set me up?’
Paul put the handgun back in its shoulder holster. ’I saw Abdul scampering off this morning, looking as if he was was off to rob a bank. I followed him and saw your old Ford. They’ll be here soon wondering where Ngai’s got to; we need to be somewhere else.’ He went back to the car. ‘Follow me, we’ll take a back route back into town.’
‘I’m going after them.’
‘You’re what!’
‘I know where they’re going.’
‘Back to their army I should think. With Ngai dead, David will take over.’
‘He’s not dead but he was badly hurt. I think he’ll go home.’
‘His army is his home.’
‘I’ve spent a couple of months inside Ngai’s head,’ Graham said. ‘The only people he really cares about are his mother and Brother Sebastian. He’ll be heading for the mission. Can I borrow the MG? I don’t have enough fuel.’
‘No you can’t; you’ll wreck it and my brother will kill me. I’ll go with you. We’ll need to move your Ford, follow me for twenty miles or so and we’ll dump it.’
*****
They left Graham’s car by a roadside duka, with instruc
tions to its owner to keep an eye on it, a ten-shilling note and the promise of another on return.
In the MG, top down and close to the road the world smelt fresh, new, green from the recent rains. By now, the adrenaline had left Graham’s body and he relaxed. ‘You know mate, I don’t think I’ve ever thought as clearly as I did back there. It was as if everything happened at half speed. Never have thought in a million years I’d have had time to let off three shots.’
Paul glanced at him and laughed. ‘Your newly found superhuman state didn’t improve your aim.’
‘And now I see the world as a beautiful place. I’m not joking, must be the near death thing. Look at those giraffe, fantastic.’
‘They must have found things simpler before we came down from the trees. Hopefully they’ll still be munching away at the tops of acacias long after we’ve stopped driving cars all over the place.’
Everything in it’s right place, thought Graham: alive, growing, vibrant. Nature wasn’t interested in armies, civil wars or democratic elections. Seasons came and went as nature got on with its daily chores, at least it would once they’d dealt with Ngai. ‘Ngai reckons Eve was to blame.’
‘More of the nonsense you wrote for him?’
‘I don’t think you can hold me responsible for Genesis, mate. Do you know if any of my press releases made the papers?’
‘You had quite a following, didn’t Bradley tell you?’
‘No, probably thought I’d ask to be paid for them. So people took Ngai as seriously as he took himself?’
‘People were buying The Standard just to find out if you could out-bizarre the previous release. I read one where wearing underwear would be banned; apparently we were all to wear robes to let the air flow freely.’
‘I remember thinking that was a good idea, they’re very comfortable. Did they realise who was writing them?’
‘Had your style all over it old chap. Then there was a lengthy essay on the role of women, cross-referenced with the teaching of St Paul. Deference to the menfolk in all things and no more bangles and baubles.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that would go down well with the electorate.’
‘You’re in Africa dear boy, none of that emancipation rubbish hereabouts, though the local bead industry would have been somewhat upset. Harding has a complete set; he showed me a few of them. Ask Bradley, I’m sure he’ll let you have back-copies.’
‘I don’t think we’re on talking terms anymore.’
‘Ngai appeared to think that we should be celebrating our forthcoming return to the Middle Ages.’
‘He might have succeeded. He was planning to kick out all the foreigners, ban imports and destroy any local industry by sending everyone out of the city and into the countryside. Can you imagine office workers toddling about on high heels, planting maize? That’s what he wanted. A series of model villages, full of happy proletariat, tilling the fields and praising The Lord. He wanted to destroy present society then build it up again, feeding them a soup of Afro-socialism and the Old Testament. I think he quite fancied himself as the heir to Solomon. What happened to the rest of his entourage? Bit odd having him drive from the airport alone, I’d have thought he’d have been met there; brass bands and waving flags.’
‘You really haven’t worked it out? Harding provided a plane that could only hold two passengers then told him that when the Queen came, she rode from the airport in an open top Daimler, followed by a drive through town past cheering crowds to a rapturous reception at the Governor’s house. Apparently Ngai loved the idea. Unfortunately, Harding forgot to mention that the Queen had a fleet of armed outriders and cars escorting her from the airport and waving flags all the way.’
‘So Harding cleared the way for me to take a potshot at him?’
‘I think he originally had Abdul lined up for the job, but explaining the assassination would have been trickier. Then you turn up with murderous intent, the perfect scapegoat. A Mzungo bent on revenge, his corpse and weapon presented as evidence.’
‘And now?’
‘And now Harding has a problem. Didn’t you wonder why it was so easy to get the sniper’s rifle?’
‘Harding set it up with Jean Vert?’
‘He even provided the rifle.’
‘So what happens to me if they question Jean?’
‘They’ll have to find him first. He left the country as soon as he realised what was going on; anyway, unless they look hard, they’re unlikely to find the rounds you fired and I don’t think they’ll be looking hard. There are shells and cases from the Sterling all over the place. Harding’s best option is probably to keep it simple and blame a renegade soldier; better still, a Somali then everyone can hate him. He may even get away without mentioning who he worked for and just pretend he’s an anonymous malcontent.’
‘And that would suit you?’
‘It’s going to be a mess whatever happens but had either you or Abdul been a better shot; the Army of Christ’s Inquisition would be headless and fragmented. With a little assistance from the British Army, it would have fallen apart.’
‘Sorry about that, never liked guns anyway. Who tipped off Jean Vert?’
‘I might have dropped a hint or two over a beer but anyway, with the civil war abandoned his business here was finished.’
‘And how’s Harding going to explain the Sterling?’
‘If anyone makes a noise about Abdul being his driver, he has a problem but under the circumstances, I don’t suppose anyone will be looking too hard.
‘And the gun Abdul was killed with?’
‘A Beretta I bought from the Seychellois before he left. I didn’t ask where he got it from and I suspect it will shortly disappear for ever.’
‘So, if not in the clear, there’s light at the end of the woods.’
‘That will depend on what happens when we get to Brother Sebastian’s mission.’
*****
‘We’re here. So how do you want to play it? We can’t just drive in and park.’ Graham said.
‘Why not?’ Paul asked.
‘David’s armed, you might recently have noticed him murdering a couple of motorcyclists and a driver.’
‘He won’t kill us; he doesn’t know what happened to us.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’ll be ready for him.’ Paul said, patting the gun in it’s shoulder holster.
Brother Sebastian, scampering across the square, hesitated on seeing them but without giving a greeting continued to the refectory. They parked the car and went to the room he’d just left. Ngai was lying on the bed, David sitting by him, holding his hand.
David got up with a start as they entered and took a gun from his belt. Behind him, Graham could hear a slight rustle as Paul’s hand went inside his jacket.
‘No David, not here,’ Ngai ordered.
‘Prophet, they’re …’ David put the gun back in his belt.
‘It’s Kitafe, David, don’t you recognise him? He’s here to help me, to hear my final thoughts, aren’t you Kitafe?’
‘Yes Master,’ responded Graham. He hesitated then got out a notebook and sat at the end of the bed. If nothing else, he’d get grist for any future writing.
‘I’m dying Kitafe; Jesus will soon be here to gather me and you’ve brought Paul with you. Paul, is there anything you need to tell me, anything you need to confess?’
Paul didn’t move or reply.
‘It is of no matter, The Lord knows all our thoughts and desires,’ continued Ngai. ‘I thought you were lost, Kitafe. After the attack on the camp, I thought you were lost but like the good disciple you have found me. We don’t have much time and I want to talk to you about death. It is something that has become very clear to me. It will be the final chapter of my life on earth.’
He moved himself up onto one elbow, wincing as he did so.
‘Thomas Aquinas is very clear about death being a necessity, because of our sins and because of the natural condition of our body. Having a bul
let in me has just speeded up this process and I rejoice that it has happened. I bless and forgive the man who fired the shot, for he will make me a martyr, an example of sacrifice. We are more than just a natural construction, Kitafe, we also have reason. Reason has no place in nature and is therefore no part of the body. Reason belongs to the soul, reason is why I know I have a soul, reason is why I long to be free from my mortal body.’
‘Yes Master,’ Graham said. ‘Will your soul be going straight to heaven?’
‘If the Lord considers me a martyr then my beatification is without doubt. If not, there will be purgatory but I am not afraid of the flames. Aquinas says that those in purgatory are happy, because although bathed in the most painful of fires, they know they are going to Heaven. It will help my suffering if you pray for me when I leave you. Will you join David in praying for me?’
‘I’ll pray for all those that have suffered in this war. Has Brother Sebastian given you the last rights?’
‘He doesn’t think my time has come but we know he’s wrong, don’t we?’
Graham wondered if Ngai was reading his mind. ‘There are none of us who know when our time has come, Master.’ How easy it is, thought Graham to fall back into their old relationship, almost comfortable. ‘If you will permit, Master, we need to inform Brother Sebastian of our arrival.’
Ngai nodded his head feebly. ‘Don’t be long, there is so much I need to tell you.’
‘I have to admit to being a little confused,’ Paul said as they headed towards the refectory. ‘I thought we were here to kill him, not take down dictation.’
‘No point mate, not if he’s going to die anyway.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I’m a writer first and executioner second. He’s not going anywhere for a while.’
They found Brother Sebastian sitting at a long wooden table, a glass in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.
‘I’m sorry we didn’t bring anything to add to your supply,’ Graham said, sitting opposite him.
Brother Sebastian looked up and tossed back the contents of the glass.
‘So you’re going to give him absolution; forgiveness for all he’s done. That’s a bit of a cop out.’ Graham continued.
‘I can’t forgive him his sins, only God can. All I can do is pave the way. He’s mad, you know he is. Do you think I should withhold the chance of forgiveness because of that?’