'Here!' she called back.
'Get home safely,' he said. 'All of you. And thank you.'
'We will meet again, I hope,' she replied.
The Brush Viper continued after Pavant. He did not believe that he would ever see Dhamballa or the others again. The helicopter spotlight was playing across the terrain, picking out the rock formations and studying them. The crew had to have seen the Brush Vipers.
Seronga would lead them away in a few minutes. Part of him hoped the helicopter followed. He did believe in Dhamballa and his work. He believed in it because he believed in
**%
Botswana. In Africa. In the people among whom he had lived
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and fought and laughed. He could not have asked for a more fulfilling life. Or, if it came to that, a more fulfilling death.
Prince Leon Seronga moved from one small group to the next. He told the men to get back into the vehicles and head north. He told them to move in different directions to make pursuit more difficult.
'What do we do if we are fired upon?' Arrons asked.
'I would prefer that you stay hidden and escape when you can,' Seronga replied. 'If necessary, fight back. If it is absolutely necessary, surrender.'
'What will you do?' Pavant asked.
Seronga thought before answering. 'I must clean the black magic from Dhamballa's hand,' he replied.
'The killings?' Pavant asked.
'Yes.'
'How can that be done?' Pavant asked.
Seronga smiled. 'By me, and me alone. I want you to join the others before the helicopters arrive.'
Pavant lingered for a moment. He saluted his commander with a sharp, clean snap. It was the first time that Seronga could remember Pavant saluting. Then he turned and ran into the darkness. Soon, all Seronga heard was the beat of the helicopter rotor and the growl of the engines as the trucks and vans slipped away.
He hunkered down beside one of the boulders. But he did not pick up any of the weapons. He simply watched the helicopter. And he made sure it saw him for a moment. Soon, other lights appeared in the distance. The squadron was corning. One of the helicopters would have to land to make sure this area was cleared of Brush Vipers.
It would be, very nearly.
Seronga unholstered his pistol and thought about the land. He thought about the night and about his life.
Seronga had no regrets. In fact, he felt surprisingly at peace. When all of this was done, his body would still be a part of this great continent. His spirit would be part of an eternal collective.
In the end, that was the most anyone could ask for.
MISSION OF HONOR
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After a few minutes, the scout helicopter landed. Troops emerged. They were fast-moving silhouettes in the bright searchlights mounted to the side of the chopper.
Seronga counted ten of them. The men went from rock to rock, securing each position. They were good, these kids. They moved well. He wondered how he would have fared if he were their age, competing with them.
Then the soldiers noticed the tracks of the vans. The men pointed to the north and northwest.
Eventually, the soldiers headed toward his position.
Seronga fired at the nearest soldiers. Not to kill. Not to wound. Simply to delay. They hit the ground, rolled behind the boulders, took shelter while they covered one another. These kids were very good. They belly-crawled to new positions so they could triangulate fire on the rock.
After a few minutes, it became clear that Seronga could delay no longer. He did not know if they would take him alive. He did know they would probably beat him for information. Or perhaps drug him. Only the latter scared him. He also knew what his fate would be for murdering the two deacons.
With gratitude for the life he had lived, Prince Leon Seronga put the barrel of the pistol to his temple.
He fired.
SIXTY-ONE
Washington, B.C. Friday, 6:19 P.M.
The tension in the office was not like anything Paul Hood had ever experienced. Hood, Rodgers, Herbert, and McCaskey sat in their chairs, waiting. Lowell Coffey had joined them. No one was talking because there was nothing to talk about. There had been no further word about the Japanese or the Europeans. Everyone was focused on the situation in Botswana.
Hood could tell that Herbert was not comfortable with the silence. It was not in the man's gregarious nature to
