Fire Force(136)

‘Not with an FN,’ said David. ‘He’d need an AK for that.’

They started to walk towards the lake, with Sam and Ganju leading the way, and with Steve just behind them. There was only just over a mile to cover. As you got closer, the vegetation changed dramatically. There was so much spray from the massive waterfall that for a half-mile radius it created a mini-rainforest, with thick, dark vegetation, through which you’d need a machete to cut a proper path.

Ganju slipped onto one of the trails cut into the landscape for the tourists, then motioned to the rest of the unit to follow. They were close enough to hear the Falls now: a massive tumult of water crashing through the air in a churning riot of noise. Spray was flicking through the air, flashing across all their faces, which, combined with the cool early-evening breeze, made for a relaxing walk. But Steve was still on edge, and, as he glanced around at the rest of the men, he could tell that he wasn’t alone.

They were about to walk straight through the enemy.

And a few revolvers aside, they had already laid down their arms.

They came out onto a dirt track, and as they looked east, they could see the bridge clearly enough. A wrought-iron structure, it had been built in 1905 under the orders of Fitzpatrick, who wanted a direct rail link between Batota and Tuka. It was constructed across the second gorge, 500 yards down from the main waterfalls, and taking advantage of a peninsula that rose up out of the river. Fitzpatrick wanted it built close enough to the Falls themselves so that train passengers could feel the spray on the windows as they crossed. In total, the bridge ran for over 250 yards, and provided the best views of the main Falls. There was a rail, road and foot crossing, all within the same structure. But the bridge was no longer judged safe for trains, and trucks were rare. It was mostly a footbridge, and, although there were border posts at both sides, a longstanding agreement between Batota and Tuka meant that tourists were allowed to pass freely from one side to the other without being stopped or asked for visas.

Escape, thought Steve, as he looked up at the bridge, and at the massive cascade of water that lay directly behind it.

There was a string of stalls on the track leading up to the bridge, selling clothes, drinks, souvenirs and food. Dozens of hawkers were touting their wares, and plenty of tourists were milling amongst them. It wasn’t the height of the travel season, and the chaos within Batota wasn’t helping either, but Tuka was peaceful enough, and Avalanche Falls was still one of the greatest tourist attractions in the world, and that meant there were always plenty of people around. There were soldiers among them, however, and more standing over the entrance to the bridge, all of them armed, even if they were trying not to frighten anyone by acting too aggressively. They’ll have seen our pictures, Steve reminded himself. And if they spot us, we’re in big trouble.

‘We’ll go in three batches,’ said Ganju. ‘Wait for my signal.’

Steve started to browse amongst some of the souvenirs. He picked up one piece of African carving after another, using the big blocks of wood to help disguise his face. The stallholders were pestering him to buy one. ‘Twenty dollars, twenty dollars,’ one of them kept saying. ‘This is the finest you can buy in the whole of Africa.’

The tourists were a mix of South Africans, Arabs, Americans, Japanese, British and Australians, a few Dutch, and some Germans. Ganju had chosen David, Nick and Sam to go first. He waited until a group of Dutch went past, then nodded towards David. Together with Nick, they stepped casually into a group of twelve people. Nick had left his staff behind: it would only draw attention to himself. David had bought himself a disposable camera, and was holding it up, pretending to take pictures of everything, so that if you glanced towards him, all you could see was a Fuji logo.

Good trick, thought Steve. He grabbed a camera from the stand and handed across twenty of the Tukan kwachas he had left for it. Then he went back to studying the artefacts.

‘I make you the best price in the whole of Africa,’ said the stallholder.

‘How about twenty, then,’ said Steve, holding up a carving of an elephant made from Batotean teak.

‘American?’ said the man.

They didn’t even bother pricing things in Batotean money, noted Steve. ‘No, Tukan.’

‘It’s worth fifty kwachas.’

Steve couldn’t be bothered to argue. He fished the note out of his pocket, and could see at once that he’d paid far more than it was worth.

‘It’ll look lovely on your mantelpiece, mate,’ said Ollie, grinning. ‘Make sure you get some matching cushions.’

‘It’ll make me look more like a bloody tourist,’ complained Steve. ‘Anyway, I can always give it to you and Katie as a wedding present.’