they broke for lunch he asked her again.
What happened to my call?
I'm sorry, Mr. Morgan. I was going to tell you. The lines are down.
They are having very heavy rainfull in the low veld. His vague
uneasiness became mild alarm.
Would you call the meteorological office for me, please?
The weather was down solid. From Barberton to Mpunda Milia and from
Lourenro Marques to Machadodorp, the rain was heavy and unrelenting. The
cloud ceiling was above twenty thousand feet and it was right down on
the ground. The Navajo had no oxygen or electronic navigational
equipment.
How long? David demanded of the meteorological officer. How long until
it clears?
Hard to tell, sir. Two or three days.
Damn! DAmn! said David bitterly, and went down to the canteen on the
ground floor of the government building. Conrad Berg was at a corner
table with two other members of the Board, but when he saw David he
jumped up and limped heavily but urgently across the room.
David, he took his arm, and his round face was deadly serious. I've
just heard, Johann Akkers broke jail last night. He killed a guard and
got clean away.
He's been loose for seventeen hours.
David stared at him, unable to speak with the shock of it.
Is Debra alone?
David nodded, his face stiff with scar tissue, but his eyes dark and
afraid.
You'd better fly down right away to be with her. 'The weather, they've
grounded all aircraft in the area. Use my truck! said Conrad urgently.
I need something faster than that. Do you want me to come with you?
No, said David. If you aren't there this afternoon, they won't approve
the new fencing allocations. I'll go on my own.
Debra was working at her desk when she heard the wind coming. She
switched off her tape recorder and went out on to the veranda with the
dog following her closely.
She stood listening, not sure of what she was hearing.
It was a soughing and sighing, a far-off rushing like that of a wave
upon a pebble beach.
The dog pressed against her leg and she squatted beside him, placing one
arm around his neck, listening to the gathering rush of the wind,
hearing the roar of it building up swiftly, the branches of the morula
forest beginning to thrash and rattle.
Zulu whimpered, and she hugged him a little closer.
There, boy. Gently. Gently, she whispered and the wind struck in a
mighty squalling blast, crashing through the treetops, tearing and
cracking the upper branches.
It banged into the insect screen of the veranda with a snap like a
mainsail filling, and unsecured windows and doors slammed like cannon
shots.
Debra sprang up and ran back into her workroom, the window was swinging
and slamming, dust and debris boiling in through it. She put her
