Fire Force(99)

Thirty-Six

THE BORDER CROSSING WAS JUST a single wooden shack. Six soldiers were standing inside it, all of them armed with AK- 47s, checking the papers of the passing traffic. Six cars and trucks were parked ahead of him as Moses pulled the Hyundai up into the line. Most of them were Batotean vehicles returning home. Few tourists came here any more; even the safari business had largely died. There wasn’t even much trade. Not many people in Batota had any money, and the Tukans had largely given up doing business with them. The bills didn’t get paid.

‘Got your papers ready?’ Moses asked.

Sam nodded. They had crossed over the Hasta Dam, following the road that linked the two countries and would eventually take them down to Ibera. On one side, the lake stretched out into the distance, its surface shining in the bright afternoon sunshine. On the other, the Zambezi River, from which the lake was fed, continued the long journey that started in Angola and finally ended spilling out into the Mozambique Channel that separated that country from Madagascar.

It was at moments like this, as she looked out onto its breathtaking scenery, that Sam realised she’d been born an African, and would remain an African. It was in her blood, and if that blood had to be spilled, then that was just the price that the continent demanded.

She glanced ahead. One truck driver had been led away for interrogation, and she could feel her pulse racing in fear. The border guards rarely got paid any more: bribes and extortion were the only way they could make a living. She’d heard stories of women being gang raped while male drivers and passengers were beaten and robbed.

‘Papers,’ said a soldier, leaning into the side of the Hyundai. He was a tall, strong man, and he smelled of tobacco.

Moses handed across his own Tukan passport, then Sam’s. She had both British and Batotean documents, and used the African one this time. The soldier looked at the picture, then up at her. There were whites left in Batota, but not that many, and they were more often going out than coming back in again. Moses produced three ten-dollar bills he’d stashed in his breastpocket and handed them across. ‘For you,’ he said quietly.

The soldier took the money. There was more, but Moses knew it was a mistake to pay a bribe that was too generous. If they thought you had a lot of money on you, they’d just rob you, then kill you and tip the bodies in the lake to make sure the theft wasn’t reported.

‘Your business?’ the man said.

‘We work with the World Species Fund,’ said Moses. ‘We have permission to track down and monitor some of the last wild herds of Black Rhinos.’

‘What’s in the vehicle?’

‘Just food, water, photographic equipment and medicines.’

The soldier was gesturing to one of his mates. A second soldier walked towards the car, and from his manner, Sam judged he was the more senior of the two men. They were surveying the car, and you could see the greed in their eyes. Sam was starting to feel nervous. She’d called ahead to Archie, who was already in Ibera, and explained that she was on her way to the city, and to make sure there wouldn’t be any problems at the border. But there was no way of knowing if the border soldiers even listened to the government any more.

‘We need to search the car,’ said the second soldier.

Sam leaned across. She had a letter personally signed by the Minister of the Interior guaranteeing safe passage through the country for any senior staffer of the World Species Fund. Handing it across, she flashed half a smile. The soldier took the letter, stopping for a brief chat with his mate.

There was a flicker of indecision on his face, Sam noted.

Then he handed the letter back. ‘On your way,’ he said tersely.

Moses kicked the Hyundai up into second, then third gear and pushed on down the track. From the sentry post, they heard a scream as one of the truck drivers was given a beating. From here to Ibera was a drive of 365 kilometres along the R14 Highway. There was relatively little traffic. Fuel was in such short supply that few people were taking their cars or trucks out. There were plenty of robbers on the road, and any decent-looking vehicle was always at risk of a holdup, but they managed to drive a couple of hours and cover 100 kilometers without incident.

At five in the afternoon, Sam asked Moses to pull off the main road. He drove 500 metres down a dirt track, then pulled into a small, shaded copse of woodland. Sam climbed from the Hyundai, opened up the back, and lifted the fake floor.

‘Jesus,’ muttered Steve, climbing out first. ‘Remind me never to be buried alive with a Welshie and a Mick. The bloody smell in there would make a skunk faint.’

He took the bottle of water Sam had just handed him, and took a long, hard swig on the lukewarm liquid before passing it across to Ian and Nick. Both men drank as much as they could. They had spent the last three hours lying squeezed up side by side in a temperature that was getting above 40 degrees, and with the carbon monoxide from the exhaust pipe swirling up around them, and with every bump and pit in the worn-out road shattering straight through their spines. A thin film of grime and sweat covered every inch of their bodies, and it took a couple of minutes to readjust their eyes to the glare of the late-afternoon sunshine.