'How do you kill a monster?' he thought grimly. 'I should bury him at a
crossroads with a stake through his heart.' But instead he drowned him
fifty times over, and at the next bend of the river they were washed
into the bank.
Mek's men were waiting for him there. They supported him when his legs
sagged under him, and they helped him up the bank. When they started to
drag Boris's corpse out of the river, Mek stopped them abruptly.
him for the crocodiles. After what he has done
'Leave to our country and our people, he deserves nothing better.' But
even in his anger and his hatred he did not want Tessay to have to look
at that mutilated head. She had been unable to keep pace with the men,
but she was coming along the bank towards him now.
One of his men pushed Boris's corpse back into the current, and as it
floated away he unstung his AK rifle from his shoulder and let off a
burst of automatic fire. The bullets chopped up the surface around
Boris's head, and socked heavily into his back. They tore holes in his
wet shirt and kicked out lumps of raw flesh. The other men on the bank
shouted with laughter and joined in the fusillade, emptying their
magazines into the lifeless body. Mek did them. Some of their close
relatives not attempt to prevent had died most horribly under the
Russian's care. The corpse rolled over in a pink cloud of its own blood,
and for a moment Boris's pate bulging eyes stared at the sky. Then he
sank away beneath the surface.
Mek stood up slowly and went to meet Tessay. He took her in his arms,
and as he held her to his chest he whispered to her softly.
'It's all right. He won't ever hurt you again. It's all over. You are my
woman now - for ever!'
Since -Boris and Tessay had left the camp there was no longer any reason
to maintain security, and Nicholas -and Royan were no longer obliged to
skulk in Royan's hut when they discussed their search for the tomb.
Nicholas transferred their headquarters into the dining hut, and had the
camp staff build another large table on which they could spread the
satellite photographs and all the other maps and material that they had
accumulated.
The chef sent a steady supply of coffee from the kitchen, while they
pored over the papers and discussed their discoveries in Taita's pool
and every theory that either of them dreamed up, no matter how
far-fetched.
'We will never be certain if that shaft was made by Taita, or whether it
was a natural sink-hole, until we can get back in there with the right
equipment.'
'What type of equipment are you talking about?' she wanted to know.
'Scuba, not oxygen rebreathers. Although the navy rebreathing outfits
are much lighter and more compact, you cannot use them below a'depth of
thirty-three feet, the equivalent of one atmosphere of water. After that
pure oxygen becomes lethal. Have you ever used an aqualung?'
She nodded. 'When Dutaid and I were on honeymoon at a resort on the Red
Sea. I had a few lessons and made three or four open-water dives, but
let me hasten to add that I am no expert.'
