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whatever they could find then started running after the departing vehicles. They didn’t care that the cars had left them far behind. They could run for hours if the need arose. And the tens of thousands of dollars at stake provided all the incentive they required.
    Most of the men carried regular knives and guns. One, though, had a long thin tube on his shoulder. At the rear end it flared like the mouth of a trumpet. At the front the tube appeared to swell, before tapering to a point. This was the unmistakable silhouette of an RPG-7 grenade-launcher, a weapon beloved by terrorists, guerrillas and freedom fighters the world over for its ability to take out small buildings, armoured vehicles and even helicopters. It was, by some distance, the most precious single item in the entire village.
    As Killaman’s forces converged on Carver, Justus and the girl, a Bell JetRanger was skimming over the hills to the west of the Zambezi.
    ‘For fuck’s sake, man, can’t you make this heap fly any faster?’ Morrison was shouting at the pilot.
    ‘Forget it, Flattie, I’m maxing it already,’ he replied. ‘And if you keep yelling in my ear, putting me off my stroke, I will make a mistake and hit a tree or a fucking power line. And then we will all be dead. But I tell you what, boet, it will be worth it just to get a little peace. Ek se, you are one loud item.’

19
     
    Silent Death was driving the Hilux that was leading the pursuit of Carver, Justus and the girl. He had followed the road the VW had taken, but had been too far behind to catch sight of his prey. Then he heard the shrill clamour of the warehouse alarm. He looked across at Killaman and asked, ‘Is that them?’
    ‘Slow down,’ Killaman ordered him. The commander leaned out through the passenger window, almost like a dog sniffing the air. He pulled his head back inside the cab and nodded. ‘Yes, the warehouse. They are there. Follow them.’
    Silent Death turned off the main road and drove down a short incline towards the warehouse.
    ‘Stop!’ snapped Killaman.
    Up ahead, both men could see the VW parked by the warehouse. There did not appear to be anyone in it.
    ‘Right,’ he went on. ‘Let us make these drunken apes earn their money.’
    He got out and faced the men in the back of the truck. ‘I need two volunteers,’ he said. Then he pointed at two of them in quick succession. ‘You and you. Check out the van.’ Killaman illustrated his orders with hand signals, to ensure that there could be no possibility of misunderstanding.
    Both men glanced across the expanse of open road between them and the van. There was no cover at all aside from the wooden poles that supported the lights round the football pitch or carried power cables to the lights and the warehouse. The poles were very slender and at least fifteen metres apart. The men looked back at Killaman, eyes wide.
    He grinned. ‘So you lose your enthusiasm. OK, no money for you. I will choose someone else.’
    The men immediately leaped down from the Hilux and set off nervously down the road.
    ‘Make sure that the van is always between you and the open door,’ Killaman called after them. ‘If there is anyone inside the warehouse, they will not be able to shoot you. If anyone fires from the van, we will cover you.’
    The men seemed to take heart. As Killaman and his remaining troops took up positions behind the Hilux and those with weapons aimed them towards the VW, the two unwilling volunteers jogged more purposefully to the first pole. There was no response from the van. The men emerged from behind the pole and started running again. Still nothing.
    When they had got to within twenty metres of the van without any sign of hostile activity, the men relaxed. They stopped running and dodging and just walked straight towards the VW, their guns held diagonally across their bodies, ready to be used in an instant if required.
    Ironically, their comrades left behind at the Hilux now became more tense. It