The Delta (55 page)

‘I can't say.'

‘Bloody hell. Give up the spook routine and give me a straight answer.'

He looked out the windscreen. The armoured car was nearly out of earshot, but from the hill where the site office was perched they could see it trundling cautiously along the dam wall, its light sweeping left and right. He said nothing.

‘You still haven't told me. Who do you work for? MI6? The Germans? South Africans? CIA?'

He shook his head. ‘All of those governments have one thing in common – the desire for peace, democracy, stability and development in Africa. Namibia and Botswana were the closest things to showpieces for all those and now you and Steele and co have started a war here.'

‘Schwarz and Steele wanted to ensure
stability
by drawing my father and his men, and me, to our deaths. Is that the kind of peaceful development you and your masters are protecting?'

‘No.' Chipchase banged a fist on the dashboard of the Land Cruiser. ‘Damn it, Sonja, no one wants to see Schwarz and Steele get away with murder, but Africa needs this dam and the electricity, irrigation and development it'll bring. The Caprivians would have led this part of the continent back into civil war, one way or another.'

‘So they had to be killed.' She felt her anger rise and knew she should contain it. Maybe he was trying to goad her into a rage so he could make a move on her. She forced the calmness into her mouth. ‘What about solar power and boreholes? There's water and power if a government cares enough about its people to provide it. This dam's a quick fix for big business, and you know it. I'm not going to let Schwarz and his cronies win. Get out of the car.'

Chipchase opened his door and climbed out. Sonja kept the pistol trained on him as she did the same. ‘Turn around.'

‘Can't look me in the eyes, eh? Are you going to kill me now?'

She probably should, she thought. Chipchase, who used his cover as a missionary to get where he wanted in order to lead his flock to the slaughter, was as bad as Steele – or her, for that matter. If she somehow managed to get out of the Caprivi Strip alive he would be able to identify her to whoever was paying him. She held her hand out and pressed the barrel of the pistol into the soft skin at the base of Chipchase's skull. Her finger curled around the trigger. He didn't flinch or say a word.

‘You don't care about dying, do you?'

He shrugged. ‘My job was to infiltrate the CLA posing as a mercenary trainer and gather intelligence on their numbers, bases and weapons. It became very clear they were being funded by wealthy outsiders – a group of safari lodge owners in the Okavango Delta, the same people who are paying you and Steele to blow up the dam.'

‘You lived with them, Sydney,' she said, shaking her head. ‘You befriended them – my father included – and you sold them out. You're no better than Steele, no matter who you're working for.'

He clenched his fists. ‘I reported what I learned, that a raid on the dam was imminent. I disappeared to maintain my cover. I thought the Namibians would tip off the Botswana authorities and the rebel training camp would be busted by the local police. Instead, I think Steele and Schwarz found out about the plan and encouraged the Namibians to stay quiet and suck the Caprivians into an ambush. It was a dirty business.'

Sonja wondered if Chipchase was telling the truth. She didn't have time to find out and it didn't really matter to her. Chipchase had sold out the Caprivians because he thought it was the right thing to do to maintain stability in the region. Steele had sold the same people out for money, from Schwarz. Martin was also double-dipping, continuing to play both sides
and taking money from Trench. Martin had decided to use this operation to get rid of her, as well. It was all clear to her now. Steele had set her up to fail in Zimbabwe and had assumed she would be killed by the CIO man, Sibanda. When she had survived he had conspired with his other employer, Schwarz, to allow Sonja to be drawn in with the CLA, who would have been walking into an ambush at the dam if Martin had had his way.

All that had been missing was the ‘why', but she knew now it was all about the money. Her money. Martin, the compulsive gambler, was probably not only broke, but also owed money to people. It must have been a lot, she imagined, for him to go to such extreme lengths. He had made a big song and dance about saying he had already paid her share of the down payment for the Zimbabwean job into her account, just as he had with the up-front payment from Trench and the other landholders. He was adding to her nest egg, which he wanted for himself.

She turned her attention back to her hostage. At least Sydney was working to his own code of honour. Too bad she couldn't buy him, as the job would be harder by herself, but he clearly wasn't for sale. She raised the pistol and brought the butt of it hard down on the back of his head. The Irishman crumpled to the ground, and when she checked his eyes she saw he was unconscious.

Sonja opened the rear door of the Land Cruiser and climbed in. On the floor, under a blanket, was her pack containing the two-stage high explosive charge. She unzipped the bag and when she was satisfied the explosives were ready she pulled the satellite phone from the pouch on her combat vest and dialled her father's number.

‘
Vis arend
,' he answered. ‘Are you … are you all right?'

She'd only intended to say one word in reply to his use of the Afrikaans for fish eagle, which told her he was at Kongola and
that the rebels held the bridge crossing, but his wheezy question worried her. ‘
Bateleur
,' she said, giving him the code that told him she was safe and in position inside the compound, and ready to set the charge. ‘I'm fine, but how are you? Are you hurt?'

He coughed. ‘Nothing, nothing … just a scratch. Your
Engelsman
, you were right about him. He's been killing people back at the camp.'

‘How is …' She stopped herself from saying Sam's name, just in case someone in the region was monitoring satellite calls. ‘How is the American? Please tell me he's safe.'

‘
Ja
, he is, and on his way to your location. His
boet
wasn't so lucky. They'll be with you soon. You don't have to go through with this plan now. You realise that? Don't do it for that … that bastard.'

‘No,' she said firmly. She wasn't doing it for Steele. ‘I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do, for the delta and for your people.'

‘
Ag
, follow your head. You'll do the right thing.
My
people are a bunch of superstitious natives, but I love them. They say the water belongs to them, but they also need electricity. That's Africa for you, hey? I don't know how I ended up here.'

‘You could leave them to it,' she said.

She heard another ragged cough on the end of the line and her level of concern for him went up a couple of notches. ‘No, I'm like you. I'm too stubborn to walk away from a fight.'

Sonja swallowed hard and felt her eyes start to sting. This was crazy. She needed to stop talking and get to work. ‘I …'

‘I love you,' he said.

She paused for a moment. ‘Me too, Papa. See you soon.'

‘God and Mikhail Kalashnikov willing.'

Sonja hung up the phone. It seemed their lives had always been ruled by the gun and the bullet. She hoped the future
would be better for Emma, but she didn't have time to spare to call her now.

Sonja got into the driver's seat of the Land Cruiser and turned the key. The engine started first time. She put it into gear and drove out of the administrative compound, down the hill towards the workers' huts and the vehicle park where the truck full of Nitropril waited. Sonja drove slowly, so as not to arouse undue attention. She knew that the military garrison would be awake and on full alert.

Sydney Chipchase sat up and groaned. The egg at the base of his skull hurt like hell when he touched it, so he stopped touching it. He felt dizzy as he got to his knees, but forced himself to stand.

He couldn't have been out for long. He had to stop her. Sydney looked around him and was surprised to see his black plastic toolbox sitting in the dust. It was still open from when he'd found the screwdriver for her. He rummaged through the tools inside and grabbed the handle attached to a tray near the bottom of the box. He pulled it up, accessing a hidden compartment at the bottom, which held a Browning nine-millimetre pistol. ‘Not as clever as you think, are you Sonja.' He picked up the weapon and worked the slide.

Pain stabbed him in the back of the head with each pace as he ran down the hill. He had a good view of the whole construction camp and military tent lines. Sydney stopped and raised a hand to his eyes when an explosion erupted below him, in one of the demountable buildings where the workers lived. He blinked and saw an orange-black ball of burning petrol twisting and rolling into the air. The building was on fire and men ran from it, screaming.

‘Diversion,' he muttered to himself. He started jogging again. She was a long way from the dam wall, so she had to be after
something down there, near the workmen's quarters. He could hear panicked yells and confused orders being relayed as soldiers and hardhats tried to work out what was going on. He shifted his gaze to the vehicle park and saw his Land Cruiser parked inside the gate. ‘Bloody hell.'

The noise of the big diesel engine starting and being revved carried across the beaten earth of the building site. A horn blasted and Sydney saw the antlike security guard scuttle out of the way as the truck rolled out of the gates of the compound. Even though it was dark Sydney recognised the vehicle. It looked like a water tanker, but the large red diamond on its side, visible even from this distance thanks to the flames from the burning building, told him it wasn't carrying anything so innocuous as water.

The truck slowed as it came to a T-junction. The road to its right, the one Sydney was running down, led up to the administrative compound and the gate. To the left was the gravel road and earthen embankment that became the dam wall. Sydney stopped, planted his feet apart, drew a deep breath and raised the pistol in his right hand. His left hand was wrapped around the right to steady his aim and absorb the recoil. He was an expert shot, but this was close to maximum effective range for the pistol, and a night shot to boot. He fired twice.

Sydney heard a grating whine as Sonja missed a gear. He knew he'd hit the vehicle somewhere. He wasn't a demolitions man so he didn't know if a bullet would detonate the bulk explosives on board. If she went up with her home-made bomb, then so be it. He started running again while she fought the gearbox, and despite slipping on the loose gravel and nearly falling, he was able to close the gap between them a little. He paused again as she began to accelerate and he emptied four more bullets at the lorry, which was trundling along the access road to the dam. He'd been aiming for the tyres and scored a
lucky hit at extreme pistol range. One of the pair on the right rear was already blown. It slapped and clattered around the steel rim, but the remaining tyre held the vehicle's weight for the time being. Sonja was still moving, and although the blowout had slowed her a little she was still able to drive far faster than he could run.

‘Hands up! Stop!'

Sydney turned around and saw two uniformed Namibian Defence Force soldiers trotting down the road, their AK-47s held at the high port.

‘Drop the gun!'

Sydney did as he was told. ‘You have to stop that truck. It's full of explosives and the driver's going to blow up the dam.'

‘What?' The soldiers had him covered, their rifle barrels rising and falling as they panted. ‘You're the missionary, aren't you?'

Sydney nodded. ‘The vehicle that was destroyed at the gate just now by the security guards – it had a bomb on board, right?'

The soldiers looked at each other, wondering if they should confirm what they had been told.

‘Well,' Sydney continued, ‘their information was wrong. There were no explosives in that ambulance – they're all in that vehicle heading to the dam. You have to stop it!'

The men looked at each other again, confusion and indecision paralysing them. One raised his rifle to his shoulder, though held his fire.

‘There's a patrol on the other side of the dam, on foot like us,' the other soldier said. ‘I'll get them to set up a roadblock at the end of the dam wall.'

‘For Christ's sake, man, don't be daft. That vehicle's not going to make it to the other side. The bomb's going to be detonated halfway. You have to stop it now!'

‘I'm going to aim for the tyres,' said the man with the raised
rifle. He fired a shot, adjusted, then pulled the trigger again. The tanker was several hundred metres away, but travelling broadside to them. A hand appeared from the driver's window and all three men ducked instinctively at the sight of the pistol and the popping of return fire.

One of the soldiers ducked. The other squeezed off a burst of automatic fire at the disappearing lorry.

‘You'll never stop it from here now.' Sydney scanned the far side of the dam. ‘Where are the armoured cars … the BTR 60s?'

One of the soldiers took a walkie-talkie from his belt and radioed through a hasty summary of what was going on.

‘Yes, sir,' the soldier said in reply to a question Sydney couldn't hear. ‘We're trying to stop it, sir, but it's almost out of range.' He looked at Sydney, who mouthed the words ‘armoured car' to him. ‘Sir, can you order the BTR 60 on the far side of the river to engage the explosives truck?'

The soldier put the radio back in the pouch on his belt.

‘Well?' Sydney said.

‘The BTR's on patrol at the far end of the camp.' He pointed upriver to where the troops' bivouacs were. ‘My platoon commander said it won't be able to beat the Land Cruiser back to the dam and the bush is too thick for it to fire on your truck from where it is.'