more brambles around the little depression he had expanded into a hiding
place during the night. A patrol from the house had come by just after
last night's attack. It had missed them, but Burton wasn't sure the
shelter would stand up to daylight scrutiny.
'I tell you, Juan boy,' he said wistfully, 'it's times like this I wish
I was back in England, fishing a stream in Cotswolds.'
'Why aren't you?'
Burton smiled sheepishly. 'I'm persona non grata there, sport.
Occupational hazard. Her Majesty takes a rather dim view of soldiering
for pay. Not like your scruffy boss in Havana. The only thing waiting
for me in England's a bloody jail cell.'
Diaz tried to smile in sympathy.
'I had a chance to go back free and clear,' Burton said quietly.
'Last night. But we ballsed it up.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean while you were working for a Colombian drug baron, I was working
for Her Majesty's Government. My pay was full reinstatement of British
citizenship. I don't know why everyone wants the old man in that
fortress dead.
' 9
I don't care much, either. Maybe his dru s are ending up in London, and
the bloody House of Lords wants him discreetly blotted from their
universe.' Burton grinned. 'By God, if I thought I had half a chance,
I'd give it another go on my own. I know, I know-English loco, right?'
Diaz nodded, then grimaced in pain.
Burton checked the barrel of his MP-5 for mud. 'Who needs England,
anyway?' he muttered. He fixed his gaze on the rim of the ravine.
'You've got one job, Juan boy- Stay alive until I can commandeer some
air transport. Then it's straight back to civilization. Comprende?'
Diaz coughed horribly.
Burton touched the Cuban's forehead. It felt cool and clammy. A fishy
paleness had spread beneath his olive skin.
'Can you do it, lad? Can you hold out?'
'Fucking-ay, English,' Diaz grunted. 'You get me a plane, and I'll fly
the whore out.'
'That's the ticket.' Burton patted the Cuban on his good shoulder.
'But you better hurry, amigo,' Diaz coughed, gripping his torn side. 'I
can fly drunk, stoned, or bleeding, but I can't fly dead.'
Burton nodded grimly.
1.40 Piw. The Union Building. Pretoria Captain Barnard slammed down
the phone and glared at his watch. He had been trying in vain to reach
General Steyn since ten-thirty. When the general failed to show up for
work this morning, Barnard had assumed he was simply late.
But by ten A.M. Barnard knew something was wrong. No one answered at
General Steyn's home, and none of the government ministries knew where
he was. As Barnard continued his round of calls, a disturbing image
kept coming back to him: the resolute eyes dr the German police captain.
Barnard was certain that Captain Hauer believed he possessed information
vital to South Africa's security. Hauer might be insane, but he was
sincere. The Afrikaner ground his teeth in frustration.
Major Graaff had told him that the Visagie police interrogators would
have the prisoners' story by lunchtime, yet Bernard had received no
further word regarding them. Bernard had never liked Major Graaff, but
in the NIS, like the army, you had to go along to get along.
Fspecially with superiors. Barnard almost jumped out of his skin when
the phone on his desk rang.
'General Steyn's office,' he answered.
'Bernard?' boomed a husky voice.
'General Steyn! Where are you?'
'I'm out at the Pretoria office of Phoenix AG. The directors here seem
to think that some type of shenanigans may be going on in their defense
division. I felt I should handle it myself Phoenix works on some very
sensitive projects, you know Captain Barnard felt sweat on the back of
his neck. 'Excuse me, General, but how did you learn about this
problem?'
'Gruaff called me at home this morning. He's right on top of this.
Seems he's friendly with the people over here at Phoenix. He was the
one who suggested I handle it personally, in fact.'
'Where is Major Graaff now, GeneraIT' 'I haven't the foggiest, Bernard.'
'General,' Captain Barnard said hoarsely, 'I think we've got a problem.'
2.05 Pm. Visagie Straat, Pretoria When General Jaap Steyn strode
through the doors of the Visagie police station, the desk sergeant knew
that his afternoon had just been shot to hell. The chief of South
Africa's ruthlessly efficient intelligence service was a bluff,
red-faced giant of a man. He stalked straight up to the high desk and
planted himself like an admiral on the prow of a flagship.
'Sergeant!' he bellowed. 'I want to see your foreign prisoners
immediately. Where are they?'
'Urn ... yes, sir. Well, one is in the cellblock and the other ... I
believe Major Graaff is supervising his interrogation. 19
'Lead on, Sergeant!'
The desk sergeant wasn't sure if the NIS general had legal authority to
give orders to a municipal police officer, but risking his career to
find out didn't seem like the best of options. He jumped down from his
stool and led General Steyn and Captain Barnard to a heavy steel door at
the back of the station. He nodded once, then fled down the hall.
General Steyn grunted and pushed open the door. Inside he saw two
bull-necked policemen holding-a shirtless, grayhaired man against a
cinder-block wall. The man's face was covered with sweat and blood.
Major Graaff held a rubber truncheon high above his head, poised to
strike.
'That will do, Major,' General Steyn said icily.
Graaff whirled. When he saw his furious general filling the door, he
ftoze, the truncheon still above his head. He looked back at his
muscular accomplices, but after one look at General Steyn they released
their bruised captive and came to stiff attention. Hauer slid slowly to
his knees.
'Captain Bernard,' General Steyn ordered, 'place Major Graaff under
arrest. You men clean the prisoner up and bring him and his companion
