Read Online Z by Bob Mayer - Free Book Online Page A

the trees that hung over it. The foliage almost touched in the middle overhead, making the band of water a dark tunnel with splotches of light playing along the surface.
    “All right. We’ll break here,” Quinn called out. Daylight revealed him to be more than just a voice in the dark. He was a tall, thin man, his hair completely white, unusual for a man of thirty-six, but not for someone in his line of work.
    Trent placed outflank security on either side and the rest of the men slumped to the ground, exhausted. Trent was the opposite of Quinn in body type: short and stocky with heavily muscled arms and legs. He’d been the heavyweight boxing champion of the regiment before Quinn and he had been cashiered after the episode in Somalia. His nose and ears showed the results of those fights, squashed and battered up against his skull.
    “I suggest everyone take a bath and get cleaned up,” Quinn said in a voice that carried across the patrol.
    “Fuck, we’re just going to get dirty again,” one of the new Australians replied, pulling his bush hat down over his eyes. Those who had served with Quinn before were already beginning to strip down.
    Quinn had Australians, English, French, Germans, and quite a few East Europeans in his group, along with several black Africans—the latter a fact that didn’t bother him in the least, but had caused four South African merks to quit just before this latest foray into the bush. Good riddance was Quinn’s view. Bullets were not a discriminator and the blacks were good men. They kept their mouths shut, followed orders, and did their job well. That was all that Quinn was interested in. The white South Africans had bitched too much anyway about things that they no longer had any control over. Change with the times or become a statistic was one of Quinn’s mottos.
    “Yes, but cleanliness is very important,” Quinn replied, keeping his voice neutral.
    “I’ll clean when I get out of this pigsty of a country,” the Australian joked.
    Quinn pulled the bolt back on his Sterling, the sound very loud in the morning air. “You’ll clean now.”
    The Australian stared at him. “What the hell, mate? You fucking queer or something?”
    “I’m not your fucking mate. I’m your commander. Take your clothes off, put them on the riverbank, then get in line.”
    “You ripping us off?” the man stood, his weapon not quite at the ready.
    “No,” Quinn said with a smile. “I’m making sure you aren’t ripping your buddies off.” He centered the muzzle of the submachine gun on the man. “Now strip.”
    Soon there was a line of naked men standing waist deep in the water. The white ones had farmer’s tans, their torsos pale, their faces and forearms bronzed from the sun. Quinn and Trent went through the men’s clothes and gear, very slowly and methodically. A diamond was a very small thing to conceal, but they had experience. Trent had briefly worked security in South Africa at the diamond mines and knew the drill, and Quinn had followed his lead enough times to pick up the science of the search. It was just like customs officials. They knew the way people tended to think when they wanted to hide something, which usually led to the same common hiding places being used.
    Quinn held up a plastic canteen and shook it. He turned it upside down, draining the water out, then took his flashlight and peered in. “Ah, what do we have here?” Quinn asked. He drew a knife and jabbed it into the canteen, splitting the side open. A small, soaked piece of cloth fell into his hand. He unfolded it. Four rough diamonds fell into his palm.
    “Whose gear?”
    The men all turned and looked at one of the Australians who had just joined them for this mission. The one who had bitched about taking a bath. “Come here, mate,” Quinn called out with a smile.
    The man walked out of the water, his hands instinctively covering his groin. “Going into business for yourself, are you?” Quinn asked.
    “I