of papyrus.
The Otter touched down on the dirt strip beside the lake and rolled out
in a long trailing cloud of dust. It swung in -and stopped engines
beside the run-down terminal building of thatch and daub.
The sunlight was so bright that Nicholas pulled a pair of sunglasses
from the breast pocket of his khaki jacket and placed them on his nose
as he stood at the top of the boarding ladder. He took in the pock-marks
of bullets and shrapnel on the dirty white walls of the terminal, and
the burnt'out hull of a Russian T35 battle tank standing in the grass on
the verge of the runway. The' barrel of its turret gun pointed
earthwards, and grass had grown up between the rusted tracks.
The other passengers pushed forward impatiently behind him, jostling him
and jabbering with excitement as they saw friends and relatives waiting
to greet them under the eucalyptus trees that shaded the building. There
was only one vehicle parked out there, a sand-coloured Toyota Land
Cruiser. The roundel on the driver's do6r had at its centre the painted
head of a mountain nyala, with long corkscrew horns, and in a ribbon
below it the title 'Wild Chase Safaris'. A white man lounged behind the
wheel.
As Nicholas came down the ladder behind the two women, the driver
slipped out of the truck and strode out on to the strip to meet them. He
was dressed in a faded khaki bush suit, and he was tall and lean and
walked with a spring to his step.
'Fortyish,' Nicholas judged his age from the grizzling in his short
beard. 'One of the hard men,' Nicholas thought.
His ginger hair was cropped short, his eyes were pale killer blue. There
was a puckered white scar that ran across one cheek and up to twist and
deform his nose.
Tessay introduced `Royan to him first, and he made a short, choppy bow
as he shook her hand. 'Enchant6, he told her in an execrable French
accent and then looked at Nicholas.
'This is my husband, Alto Boris,' Tessay introduced him. 'Boris, this is
Alto Nicholas.'
'My English is bad,' Boris said. 'My French is better.'
'Not much to choose between them,' Nicholas thought, but he smiled
easily and said, 'So we will speak French then. Bonjour, Monsieur
Brusilov. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.' He offered the
Russian his hand.
Boris's grip was hard - too hard. He was making a contest out of the
greeting, but Nicholas had expected it He knew this type of old, and he
had taken a deep grip so Boris could not crush his fingers. Nicholas
held him without allowing any strain or effort to show on his lazy
smile. Boris was the first to break the handshake, and there was just
the trace of respect in those pale eyes.
'So you have come for a dikdik?' he asked, just short of a sneer. Most
of my clients come for big elephant, or at least for mountain nyala.'
'Bit rich for my nerves,' Nicholas grinned, 'all that big stuff. Dik-dik
will suit me fine.'
'Have you ever been down in the gorge?' Boris demanded. His Russian
