'Oh, dear God. You have made it. We are at the top$ Nicky. There are the
vehicles. You did it, Nicky. You did it.
He tried to speak, but his throat had closed up and no words came. He
reeled forward towards the lights, and Royan cried out weakly on his
back.
'Help us here. Please help us.' First in English and then in Arabic.
'Please help us.'
There were startled cries and the sounds of running men. Nicholas sank
down slowly into the fine highland grass and let Royan slide off his
back. Dark figures gathered around them, chattering in Amharic, and
friendly hands seized them and half-carried, half-dragged them towards
the lights. Then a torch was shone into Nicholas's face and a very
English voice said, 'Hello, Nicky. Nice surprise. I came down from Addis
to look for your corpse. Heard you were dead. Bit premature, what?'
'Hello, Geoffrey. Good of you to take the trouble.'
'I dare say you could use a cup of tea. You look a bit done in,' said
Geoffrey Tennant. 'Never realized that your beard had ginger and grey
bits in it. Designer stubble.
Fashionable. Suits you actually.'
Nicholas realized what a picture he must present, ragged and unshaven,
filthy and haggard with exhaustion.
'You remember Dr Al Simma? She has a bit of a dicky knee. Wonder if you
would mind taking care of her?'
Then his legs gave way under him, and Geoffrey Tennant caught him before
he fell.
'Steady on, old boy.' He led him to a canvas-backed camp chair, and
seated him solicitously. Another chair was brought for Royan.
'Letta chai hqPa!' Geoffrey gave the universal call of an Englishman in
Africa, and minutes later thrust mugs of steaming over-sweetened tea
into their hands.
Nicholas saluted Royan with his mug. 'Here's to us.
There's none like us!'
They both drank deeply, scalding their tongues, but the caffeine and
sugar hit their bloodstreams like a charge of electricity.
'Now I know I am going to live,'Nicholas sighed.
'Don't want to be pushy, Nicky, but do you mind telling me what the hell
is going on here?' Geoffrey asked.
'Why don't you tell me?' Nicholas countered. He needed time to evaluate
the situation. What did Geoffrey know and who had told him? Geoffrey
obliged immediately.
'First thing we heard was that white hunter chappie of yours, Boris, had
been fished out of the river near the Sudanese border, absolutely
riddled with bullet holes. The crocs and catfish had snacked on his
face, so the border police identified him by the documents in his money
belt.'
Nicholas glanced across at Royan and cautioned her with a frown.
'Last time we saw him, he went off on a scouting expedition onhis own,'
Nicholas explained. 'He probably ran into the same bunch of shufta who
raided our camp four nights ago.'
'Yes, we heard about that too. Colonel Nogo here radioed in a report to
