shouted: ‘Very well! You wish to die painfully!’
With that, he shouted more orders, and hismen began to crash through the jungle in search of Mitch.
Great! thought Mitch sourly. He looked at the FAL rifle in his hands, and cursed silently again. A good weapon, ruined by some idiot! Now it was only useful as a club.
The sounds of Ngola’s men’s boots were getting nearer. If he started to run, they’d hear him crashing through the undergrowth and they’d start shooting. Even firing blind, with automatic fire there was a good chance that some of their bullets would hit him.
Mitch scanned the area immediately around him, and saw a dark patch of water. A jungle swamp. He didn’t know how deep it was, or what dangers might be lurking in the stagnant water, but it was the only protection he had on offer right now.
He slid on his belly to the edge of the swamp and let himself sink into the stinking, thick muddy water. He took the FAL in with him. The firing mechanism was already jammed, so mud insideit wouldn’t make it any more useless than it already was.
He sank further. The water was deeper than he’d thought, and now it came right up to his neck. He reached out and grabbed hold of a nearby tree root, just as his head sank beneath the surface. No sooner had he submerged than he felt the thudding vibration of boots crashing past, shaking the tree root and rippling the thick oozing water. He stayed beneath the water, holding his breath, mouth closed firmly.
He could feel water insects and leeches on his skin, eager for fresh food. They crept over his body, along his arms, digging into the skin of his neck and back.
Mitch stayed under as long as he could. He’d have to take a chance and put his head out to get some air soon. He couldn’t feel any more vibrations, but that didn’t mean that Ngola’s men weren’t near by, maybe even watching this jungle pond.
Carefully, slowly, Mitch eased his head out of thewater, taking in a breath gratefully as his nose and mouth broke the surface.
There was no one around. Ngola’s men had gone.
Mitch stayed with the rest of his body beneath the water and listened for a while longer, letting his eyes get used to the jungle half-light again.
He could make out some of Ngola’s men back in the grounds of the hotel. The rest were probably still searching for him in the jungle.
The hotel itself was still in semi-darkness, so he guessed they hadn’t been able to repair the generator yet.
Where was Ngola? Again, Mitch guessed that he’d be back inside the hotel, talking on his satellite phone, trying to salvage the situation. No doubt he was pretending to his customers that he still had Mwanga and the soldiers as his prisoners.
Mitch pulled himself clear of the water and slid on to the earth. He was covered from head to foot in black slime, and was armed only with a rifle that didn’t work. But he had promised himselfthat he would protect the villagers who’d helped them, so he was going to find Ngola even if it was the last thing he did.
25
Mitch weighed up his situation. The rifle he had didn’t work, but there would be better weapons inside the hotel. If he dumped the rifle on the ground here and Ngola’s men found it, they would be able to track his movements and discover he was heading for the hotel. He wanted Ngola to think he was on the run in the jungle, so he slid the rifle into the jungle pond and let it sink out of sight beneath the murky water. There would be no trace of it. But now he was completely unarmed. If caught, he couldn’t even bluff his way out of trouble.
Mitch crouched down just inside the edge of the jungle and studied the hotel. In the dim light he could see that some of the windows had been uncovered during the fire-fight, the wooden boardsand sheets of iron dangling and broken. One of those windows would be the best way in. He settled on one with no light at all coming from it. No light meant no torches, which he hoped meant no
With that, he shouted more orders, and hismen began to crash through the jungle in search of Mitch.
Great! thought Mitch sourly. He looked at the FAL rifle in his hands, and cursed silently again. A good weapon, ruined by some idiot! Now it was only useful as a club.
The sounds of Ngola’s men’s boots were getting nearer. If he started to run, they’d hear him crashing through the undergrowth and they’d start shooting. Even firing blind, with automatic fire there was a good chance that some of their bullets would hit him.
Mitch scanned the area immediately around him, and saw a dark patch of water. A jungle swamp. He didn’t know how deep it was, or what dangers might be lurking in the stagnant water, but it was the only protection he had on offer right now.
He slid on his belly to the edge of the swamp and let himself sink into the stinking, thick muddy water. He took the FAL in with him. The firing mechanism was already jammed, so mud insideit wouldn’t make it any more useless than it already was.
He sank further. The water was deeper than he’d thought, and now it came right up to his neck. He reached out and grabbed hold of a nearby tree root, just as his head sank beneath the surface. No sooner had he submerged than he felt the thudding vibration of boots crashing past, shaking the tree root and rippling the thick oozing water. He stayed beneath the water, holding his breath, mouth closed firmly.
He could feel water insects and leeches on his skin, eager for fresh food. They crept over his body, along his arms, digging into the skin of his neck and back.
Mitch stayed under as long as he could. He’d have to take a chance and put his head out to get some air soon. He couldn’t feel any more vibrations, but that didn’t mean that Ngola’s men weren’t near by, maybe even watching this jungle pond.
Carefully, slowly, Mitch eased his head out of thewater, taking in a breath gratefully as his nose and mouth broke the surface.
There was no one around. Ngola’s men had gone.
Mitch stayed with the rest of his body beneath the water and listened for a while longer, letting his eyes get used to the jungle half-light again.
He could make out some of Ngola’s men back in the grounds of the hotel. The rest were probably still searching for him in the jungle.
The hotel itself was still in semi-darkness, so he guessed they hadn’t been able to repair the generator yet.
Where was Ngola? Again, Mitch guessed that he’d be back inside the hotel, talking on his satellite phone, trying to salvage the situation. No doubt he was pretending to his customers that he still had Mwanga and the soldiers as his prisoners.
Mitch pulled himself clear of the water and slid on to the earth. He was covered from head to foot in black slime, and was armed only with a rifle that didn’t work. But he had promised himselfthat he would protect the villagers who’d helped them, so he was going to find Ngola even if it was the last thing he did.
25
Mitch weighed up his situation. The rifle he had didn’t work, but there would be better weapons inside the hotel. If he dumped the rifle on the ground here and Ngola’s men found it, they would be able to track his movements and discover he was heading for the hotel. He wanted Ngola to think he was on the run in the jungle, so he slid the rifle into the jungle pond and let it sink out of sight beneath the murky water. There would be no trace of it. But now he was completely unarmed. If caught, he couldn’t even bluff his way out of trouble.
Mitch crouched down just inside the edge of the jungle and studied the hotel. In the dim light he could see that some of the windows had been uncovered during the fire-fight, the wooden boardsand sheets of iron dangling and broken. One of those windows would be the best way in. He settled on one with no light at all coming from it. No light meant no torches, which he hoped meant no
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