Алистер Маклин - Time of the Assassins

Graham bounded down the stairs and sprinted after him. He was surprised by Ngune’s pace. He was certainly fit for a man of his age. Although Graham was able to close the gap considerably he still couldn’t catch up with Ngune before he reached another flight of steps at the other end of the tunnel. Ngune paused at the foot of the steps, his face now bathed in sweat, and ripped the chain off from around his neck. From it hung a key. He scrambled to the top of the steps and unlocked the door. He pulled it open but made no attempt to retrieve the key from the lock. That would just waste valuable time – and yardage. He disappeared through the doorway.

Graham reached the foot of the steps a few seconds later. He took them two at a time but paused at the door and peered cautiously into the room which was lit by a single naked bulb hanging from a frayed length of flex in the centre of the roof. It was a lock-up garage. Ngune had ignored the battered green Ford station wagon and continued instead on foot. The side door was ajar. Graham pulled open the door and cursed angrily to himself. It led out onto a street where a group of locals were dancing and singing to celebrate the liberation of their city. If Ngune could blend in with the locals Graham knew he would never find him.

He looked the length of the street but couldn’t see any sign of him. He couldn’t have gone far, Graham said to himself, not after that run. Even he felt exhausted.

Then he noticed a movement in a doorway on the opposite side of the street. He waited until the locals had passed then ran across the road and moved slowly towards the doorway. A stray light swept across the street and for a split second Ngune’s face was illuminated in the darkness. Graham broke into a run.

Then Ngune saw him. He darted out of the doorway but his legs wouldn’t carry him any further and Graham was quick to grab him from behind and slam him up against the wall. Ngune’s body sagged and Graham made the mistake of loosening his grip on the front of the tracksuit. Ngune caught Graham with a hammering punch to the side of the face then hit him again as he stumbled off balance. The second punch dropped Graham to the pavement. Ngune ran towards the end of the street. Graham scrambled to his feet and sprinted after him. He was quick to close the gap and felled Ngune with a bruising football tackle. Both men landed heavily on the pavement but Graham was the first to react and brought his elbow up sharply into Ngune’s midriff. Ngune slumped back against the wall, temporarily winded.

Graham stood up then hauled Ngune to his feet and shoved him face first against the wall.

It was then he noticed the mob standing on the corner of the street. He counted about a dozen of them, mostly men. And they were armed with sticks and chains. One had a machete. Ngune also saw them and started shouting to them in Swahili as he struggled to break free of Graham’s vice-like grip.

The mob moved towards them. Graham was caught in a dilemma. He may need to defend himself, but that would mean releasing Ngune. One of the men suddenly broke free from the others and ran towards the two men. He caught Graham painfully on the shoulder with his stick. Graham stumbled back and Ngune began gesticulating wildly in his direction while continuing to incite the mob in Swahili. The men moved towards Graham. Ngune sensed his chance and began to move away from the mob. They had now surrounded Graham and were shouting at him in Swahili. Another blow was aimed at him but this time he was able to block it with his forearm. He couldn’t hold out like this for long. But what could he do? He couldn’t communicate with them. But you don’t need to speak Swahili, he suddenly chided himself. Of course not.

‘Tito Ngune!’ Graham shouted and pointed an accusing finger towards the retreating figure. ‘Tito Ngune. Tito Ngune.’

The name caused an immediate response. All heads turned towards Ngune who immediately tried to bluff his way out of trouble. A fat woman grabbed his arm and pulled him round to face her. She stared at his bowed head for several seconds then looked across at Graham and nodded in agreement. She pushed Ngune towards the men who shoved him roughly to the ground before beating him with their sticks.

Graham was about to try and intervene when an army jeep appeared at the end of the street. It pulled up beside the men and two soldiers jumped out and forced their way through to where Ngune lay huddled against the wall, his arms wrapped over his head.

An officer, wearing the rank of lieutenant, climbed out of the passenger seat and stopped in front of Graham who estimated him to be no more than twenty-five.

Graham asked him if he could speak English. The lieutenant said nothing then turned and walked over to where Ngune was slumped against the wall, his tracksuit now matted with blood. The fat woman pushed through the crowd and spoke to the lieutenant. Graham thought he heard Ngune’s name mentioned. The lieutenant barked out an order and the two soldiers hauled Ngune to his feet. The lieutenant looked carefully at Ngune’s bloodied face then took a pair of handcuffs from his belt and manacled Ngune’s hands behind his back. The two soldiers pushed Ngune to his knees then stepped back to allow the lieutenant to approach him.

Graham watched, unsure what was going to happen next. Ngune had been handcuffed. That implied arrest. But why hadn’t he been taken to the jeep? Then the lieutenant took his RF-83 revolver from the holster on his belt and pressed it against the back of Ngune’s head. Graham stepped forward, horrified at what he was witnessing. It was barbaric. Ngune’s guilt wasn’t in doubt. But he still had the right of a fair trial. That was the law, a universal law.

The lieutenant looked across at Graham and said something to him in Swahili. Graham shrugged helplessly but when he tried to get closer his path was blocked by the two soldiers, their M16 rifles aimed at his stomach. The lieutenant looked down at Ngune who was babbling incoherently as he pleaded pitifully for his life. Once the second-most powerful man in the country, Ngune was now nothing more than a sad, pathetic old man on the brink of death. The lieutenant pulled the trigger. Ngune’s body jerked grotesquely as the back of his head disintegrated in a spray of blood and bone.

The mob cheered triumphantly when he slumped forward onto the pavement. The lieutenant bolstered his revolver then snapped an order at the two soldiers who quickly shouldered their rifles and returned to the jeep. This time the lieutenant ignored Graham as he walked back to the jeep. The driver started the engine and drove away. Graham stared at the body, still struggling to come to terms with the savage justice that had been meted out seconds earlier. But then this was Africa, a continent where mercy was so often regarded as a sign of weakness and where brutality and violent death had become just another acceptable everyday occurrence.

He shook his head sadly as he watched the mob singing and dancing only a few feet away from Ngune’s crumpled body then turned away and walked off slowly down the street.

Sabrina sat forward in the chair, her hands cupped over her face, her eyes riveted on the telephone. It had been over two hours since she had returned to the farm and there was still no news of Graham. She knew from Tambese that he hadn’t been one of the casualties at Branco so where was he? And how had he managed to get out of the prison before it was bombed? The questions seemed irrelevant as she willed the telephone to ring.

Moredi and Laidlaw sat in the lounge with her. Neither of them had spoken for over thirty minutes, each engrossed in their own thoughts. She slumped back in her chair and banged the arm with her fist. Laidlaw glanced at her. She looked pale and drawn and he could see the anxiety mirrored in her eyes. She looked from Laidlaw to Moredi. He had been playing patience on the coffee table when she had arrived back at the farm. That had been an hour ago. He was still playing. He sensed she was watching him and looked up at her. He smiled fleetingly. She didn’t respond. He was about to resume the game when the telephone rang. She was on her feet before she could check herself. She bit her lip nervously as Moredi lifted the receiver to his ear. He listened momentarily then extended the receiver towards her.