There was no improvement in the surface of the trac as they drew nearer
to the rim of the gorge, and the hours passed in this bone-jarring,
teeth-rattling progress. The track snaked over a rise and then
dog-legged down the far slope. Halfway down Boris swore in Russian as
they came round the hairpin bend of a high earthen bank to find a huge
diesel truck slewed across the track, almost blocking it.
Even though they had been following the tracks of this convoy of
vehicles since the previous day, this was the first of them that they
had encountered, and it took Boris by surprise. He hit his brakes so
suddenly that his passengers were almost catapulted from their seats,
but on the steep incline in the mud the brakes did not bring them to a
complete halt. Boris was forced to change down into his lowest gear and
steer for the narrow gap between the bank and the truck.
From the back seat Royan looked out of the window I beside her, up the
high side of the diesel truck. There was a company name and logo
emblazoned in scarlet on the green background.
A strong feeling of du vu overcame her as she stared at the image. She
had seen this sign recently, but her memory cheated her: she could not
recall the time or the place. She only knew that it was of vital
importance that she should remember.
The side of the Toyota scraped against the metal of the truck, and then
they were past it. Boris leaned out of his window and shook his fist at
the driver of the larger vehicle.
He was a local man, probably recruited in Addis by the owner of the
truck. Grinning at Boris's antics, he leaned out of his own cab to
return the clenched fist salute, adding a nice little touch by jerking a
raised forefinger upwards.
'Dungeater!' Boris roared with outrage at being bested in the exchange,
but he did not stop. 'No use even talking to them. What do they know?
Black chimps!'
For the rest of the wearisome journey Royan remained silent and
withdrawn, shaken and troubled by the conviction that she had seen the
trademark of the winged red horse before, with, set above it in a
pennant, the name of the company: 'PEGASUS EXPLORATION'.
As they approached the end of the day's journey at last they passed a
signpost beside the track. The supporting legs of the sign were solidly
set in concrete, and the artwork was of such high quality that it could
only have been that of a professional signwriter.
Across the top of the board an arrow indicated a newly bulldozed road
that headed off to the right, and the directions read:
PEGASUS EXPLORATION
BASE CAMP - ONE KILOMETRE
PRIVATE ROAD
NO ENTRY TO UNAUTHORIZED TRAFFIC
The scarlet horse reared in the centre of the board with its wings
spread wide, on the point of flight.
Now she gasped aloud as the elusive memory came upon her with stunning
clarity. She remembered where she had last seen the flying red horse. In
an instant she was transported back into the icy waters of an English
salmon river, flung from the rolling body of the Land Rover, the huge
