The Delta (46 page)

‘What about the dam?' Rickards interrupted.

The general looked annoyed, and flicked his head as if trying to shoo away a wasp. ‘Without revealing the details of Major Steele's plans, an exfiltration helicopter will be in the near vicinity of the dam when the wall is breached. Filming will be possible from the air.'

‘Awesome. Thank you, your generalship,' Rickards said.

‘You now know too much for us to let you leave this place until our offensive begins,' the general continued. ‘You will consider yourselves as our honoured guests. You are free to move about the training area, but you will be escorted at all times; and if you try to leave you will be shot.'

The general had obviously given some thought to the public relations opportunities the attacks provided – right down to camera angles. Everything was in place and they had all agreed upon their parts in this operation. Steele hadn't briefed her, but Sonja assumed that as he hadn't arrived with an army of Corporate Solutions mercenaries – in fact, he had come alone – then she was going to be the one to blow up the dam. Sonja looked around the tent, from man to man.

They were fucking mad. All of them.

*

‘Hello my girl.'

‘Mum? Where
are
you? What's all this about?' Emma said into the phone.

‘I'm not too far from where you are. I'll explain everything when I see you. Are you all right?'

‘'Spose. Uncle Martin was great. At least he treats me like an adult. He met me at the airport at Maun and flew in the light plane with me to Kaka – whatever this place is called.'

‘Xakanaxa. It's where I grew up.'

‘Whatever. Anyway, Uncle Martin organised me this luxury safari tent. You should
see
this place. Oh, right … you lived here. Was it like this in the old days?'

‘I'm sure
Uncle
Martin organised everything just fine. I can't wait to see you again.'

‘Are you working with him? Is he with you now? And why was I virtually abducted from school? Not that I'm complaining.'

She didn't want to start answering any more questions over the phone, no matter how secure it might be. ‘Did you meet Stirling?'

‘Who? Oh, you mean the manager guy?'

‘Yes. What do you think of him?'

‘He's treating me like I've got fucking herpes or something. Can't stand to be around me. He's been quite rude, actually. I told Martin, and—'

‘OK, OK. You can tell me all about it soon.'

‘Is Uncle Martin all right?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean, I know you don't tell me half of what you get up to when you're away working, doing your bodyguarding or whatever, but I assume it's dangerous – like, if people need protecting or whatever. And if Uncle Martin's there, I just want to know if he's safe.'

It might have been nice if she had spared a thought for her mother's safety as well. ‘Whatever.'

Sam stood outside Sonja's tent and heard her on the phone. He wanted to talk to someone, and to get away from Jim Rickards and his incessant enthusiasm for five minutes.

Rickards had convinced their guard, a man who looked to be in his late teens, to pretend to be patrolling through some bushes while Jim filmed him to get some B-roll to go with his report.

‘I'm just going to see Ms Kurtz,' Sam had said to their guard, and pointed to Sonja's tent. The man had smiled and waved, obviously enjoying his new role as a television star.

‘Good luck, soldier,' Rickards had said, before returning his eye to the viewfinder. ‘Take one for the team.'

Sam waited until he heard Sonja finish her phone call. Knocking didn't seem to be the right thing to do on canvas, so he cleared his throat.

‘Who's there?' Sonja appeared at the entrance to her large canvas safari tent and gave him a small smile. ‘Hi.'

‘Hi. I guess you're busy …'

She shrugged. ‘Not really. I was going to wash my hair as soon as I'd finished cleaning my AK.'

‘Oh, right, well I'll come back …'

She laughed. ‘Just kidding. Don't take everything so seriously, Sam. It's not like you're going off to war.'

It was his turn to smile now. He thought again how much her face changed when she was happy. Was she happy now? Was it possible, he wondered, to be relaxed and contented the night before going into battle?

‘I was wondering if you'd like to … actually, what I mean is I'd really like to talk to someone and …'

‘Other than Jim?'

‘You got it.'

She laughed again. ‘I was just talking about you, actually.'

‘Really? I thought no one was supposed to know we're here.'

‘You're right. It was my daughter. I've just had her taken out of school and flown halfway around the world to be with me. I mentioned you were here in Botswana and it turns out she's a fan of your programs. It's possibly the longest conversation I've had with her in months – it lasted all of three minutes and most of it was about you. She wants an autograph.'

He smiled. ‘I'd like to meet her some day. Anyway, what I really wanted to ask is whether you have any tips for … well, to be quite honest, for surviving.'

She looked at him and he could tell she saw the fear in his heart. ‘Well, the first thing I'd suggest is you stay as far away from Jim as possible.'

‘That's going to be a little hard, since he's my cameraman. Do you want to come outside … maybe get some fresh air?'

She poked her head out of the tent a little further and saw Rickards directing the young soldier. ‘Pretend you're fighting. Guns up!' they heard the Australian say.

She shook her head. ‘Come in here, if you like. I don't want to get shot by Rickards.'

She moved a stack of magazines about guns and four-by-fours off one of the two military stretchers in the tent and motioned for him to sit down.

‘I don't trust him, Sam, and neither should you. I'm not saying he's dishonest, but I've seen a thousand guys like him. He's a glory hound. He's not afraid to die to get the best possible shot and he's going to take you down with him if you're not careful.'

‘Aw, c'mon Sonja. He's mostly talk. You heard him say he'd covered plenty of wars in the past.'

She shook her head again. ‘I heard him and read between the
words. He's shown up late, after the massacres and the shooting were all over. He's never been in a real fire fight, apart from what happened at Divundu, and his first battle is probably going to be his last. He can't wait to get in among the bullets.'

Sam thought about it and realised he probably had the same opinion of Rickards. The cameraman had been foolish to go off after Sonja, and Sam was a fool to have followed him, even though he'd done it for different reasons.

‘Did you come here for me?' she asked him.

He looked at the pile of magazines on the floor of the tent. ‘You read this stuff?'

‘
Ja
, my subscription to
Cosmo
ran out last month.'

He laughed.

‘Well?' she asked.

‘I was worried about you … after those men tried to kill you – tried to kill us.'

‘You killed a man, Sam. You and I both know the smartest thing for you to do would have been to get on the first plane home to the States.'

He picked up a copy of
Magnum
magazine, which seemed to be about handguns, and flicked the pages, though he wasn't at all interested in the merits of the .357 versus the .44. ‘Why do you do what you do, Sonja?'

She leaned back on her stretcher, placing her palms behind her on the canvas. ‘Because I hate typing and I was a lousy waitress. Why do you make TV shows instead of camping out on the prairies researching coyotes?'

He shrugged. ‘This way I can get messages about conservation and endangered species out to a much wider audience than if I was just doing my research. And the money is good, too.'

She gave a small smile and nodded. ‘I'd be lying if I said it was just for the money.'

‘Don't you ever want to stop?'

‘Don't you? We both whore ourselves, you and me, but we both secretly enjoy it. Are you
judging
me, Sam?'

‘No. No, no, not at all. It's just that …'

‘What? You don't think a
woman
can be a mercenary? You don't think a woman can kill for a living?'

‘No. It's just that I don't want to think of you maybe not being around any more the day after tomorrow.'

She was ready with another retort, another salvo of the same old ammunition she'd had to use every time some damned man tried to tell her she had no place being where she was. His words, however, were like hearing your firing pin click on an empty chamber. It was chilling – terrifying. You were supposed to count your bullets and never be caught off guard. She didn't know what to say. She liked him … really liked him, and she didn't want him to come into her world and get hurt.

Sam stood, stooping a little in the confines of the tent, and took the space that divided the two stretchers to sit down beside her. The springs squeaked and the canvas creaked. Sam picked up the AK-47, gingerly, in case the thing accidentally went off.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out as she watched him move the rifle to the other cot. ‘You should go.'

‘Deal.' The stretcher sagged beside her and he felt her roll, slightly, involuntarily, closer to him. ‘But only if you come with me.'

She looked at the nylon mosquito mesh of the tent flap, as if worried someone might come barging in any second. Or was she, Sam wondered, looking for an escape route? Maybe a little of both. He moved an arm around her and placed his hand down on hers, on the canvas, behind her. She didn't move her hand.

He could smell her now. No perfumes or body lotions, just the cheap soap and damp hair from an outdoor shower. She was a
wild thing – a predator as at home in this hostile environment of men, animals and guns as a lioness, and just as dangerous. He didn't want to tame her – he'd die trying – but he wanted to be with her. She reminded him of what he could have been. Honest.

She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. No gloss. No need. ‘I want to go, Sam, but I can't.' Her voice was hoarse.

He leaned closer. ‘You don't have to do this for money. If you're in trouble I've got plenty …'

She widened her eyes and shifted away a little, maintaining the distance.

Shit, he thought. ‘That came out wrong. It's just that … it's not worth …'

She reached up and smiled as he recoiled. He thought she might be about to slap him, but instead she placed the tip of her right index finger on his lips. ‘Hush,' she whispered, ‘I know what you mean, and I'm touched, but I take hand-outs from no man.' She licked her lips again; left them parted ever so slightly.

‘Sonja?' said a voice from outside.

She unzipped the tent and exhaled noisily. She ran a hand through her damp hair and hoped her cheeks weren't as flushed as they felt, or that her scent wasn't as strong as she imagined. She felt the trickle and the warmth, and the ache.

‘Oh, hello,' Martin said when Sam followed her out of the tent.

Martin wasn't crass enough to say he hoped he hadn't interrupted anything, but his raised eyebrow did the job anyway. ‘Do you have a minute?'

‘Of course,' she said to him. ‘Sam, perhaps we could finish our chat later?'

He nodded, turned on his heel and walked over to where Rickards was filming a line of CLA rebels queued outside the open-sided mess tent.

‘Let's walk.'

She fell into step beside him.

‘Chatting? Is that what they call it these days?'

‘It was nothing, Martin, and none of your business anyway.'

He nodded. He carried an AK-47, and she wondered if it was to compensate for the fact her father had been armed during the briefing. ‘I thought I'd better brief you on the dam job.'

‘It might be a good idea,' she said, ‘since I've never blown up a dam before. It had better be a good plan or I'm walking away.'

They moved out of earshot of the camp, down a narrow path between stands of reeds and papyrus, towards where the boats had landed. She forced the image of Sam's handsome face from her mind. The temptation to make a run for it with him had been almost overpowering, despite what she'd said. What was he suggesting, she wondered, with the crack about money? He didn't seem the sort who would have a kept woman on tap. Was he talking something more? He knew about Emma, and that, in her experience, was normally enough to kill a first date. ‘I take it there's no one else from CS about to show up?'

‘No. It's just you and me. Bigger share of the loot that way. I've already had your share wired to your account.'

‘Thanks, but do you expect me to carry ten tonnes of explosives in a backpack as I climb over the razor wire around the construction site and sneak past the Namibian Army, or will you be coming along to help me carry it?'

‘Very funny. I'll take questions after the briefing.'

She stayed silent. It was the army way.

‘There's a mobile HIV-AIDS testing clinic that visits the dam construction site once a month. It's a converted truck with an airconditioned cab on the back. There are two people on board – a registered nurse and a driver who is qualified as an ambulance
paramedic. Because of other stops it makes on the way, the truck normally arrives at the dam at last light – sometimes after dark. The clinic's only been going to the dam for the past three months – it's a relatively new initiative and a bit of PR window-dressing funded by the German partner in the dam project, Grow-something or other.'

‘GrowPower,' she corrected him. ‘Their PR person's pretty sharp.'

He frowned at the interruption, but nodded. ‘Whatever. I don't know anything about her or them. Doesn't matter. The point is that it hasn't been the same two people driving the van onto the site more than once, so the gate guards, while accustomed to the visits, don't know who will be driving it. As long as their credentials are in order they'll be let through. The next visit is due tomorrow night. The van is going to arrive at the front gate, at 1900 hours local time, but it's not going to be the same nurse and driver who set off from the last stop. It's going to be you and the CLA's RSM-type, Gideon. You'll intercept them at a bogus checkpoint on the B8.'