leaving a smooth, almost polished surface without even the minutest hold or purchase. A good, safe climber moved from hold to hold with never a single moment when he was totally insecure. In a situation such as this that hypothetical climber would have driven an iron piton into the rock to give him the hold he needed.
'Look, Mummy, no pitons,' Sean said grimly. 'We'll have to jump for it.' He would have only one chance at it. If he missed his hold on the ledge once he had launched himself, the next stop would be the base of the cliff.
He set both feet firmly and sank down at the knees, but he was so cramped on the tip of the buttress that he could not get low enough before his face touched the rock and his backside stuck far out over the drop. He took a breath and used both arms and legs to propel himself straight upward. It was an awkward, hampered jump, but he got high enough to hook both hands over the edge.
For a moment they began to slide back, then his fingers gripped and held.
He kicked both legs and drew himself upward by the main strength of his arms. His chin came level with the ledge, and in the moonlight he saw in front of him a false crest, simply another ledge below the true top of the cliff.
The ledge was obviously occupied by a colony of rock hyrax.
The stink of their droppings, sharp and ammoniac al filled Sean's lungs as he gasped from the effort of holding himself. The hyrax is a plump, fluffy animal. Although it is only the size of a rabbit, it is a remote relative of the elephant and as endearing in appearance as an infant's soft toy. These hyrax were deep in their rocky burrows now, and the ledge seemed deserted. Sean hoisted himself up smoothly and hooked one elbow over the edge; he kicked again, gathering himself for the final effort. Then he froze.
The silence of the night was cut by a loud high-pitched hiss, like the leaking valve of a truck tire. In the moonlight what he had taken for a pile of rock lying directly in front of his face altered shape, seeming to melt and flow. In an instant Sean realized it was a snake. Only one of the adders would hiss as loudly, and only one adder was that large.
It was coiled upon itself, loop after loop of its thick scaly body glistening softly, and as it cocked its neck into a menacing 'S' the moon and winked at him shape, its eye caught the light of sardonically.
The huge flat head was the distinctive spade shape of the ga boon adder, the largest of all the adders and one of the deadliest of all of Africa's venomous snakes.
Sean could drop back and try to regain his stance on the narrow pinnacle of rock, but that was a slim chance and if he missed it, he e ul would plunge down the cliff face. A much better chanc would be to try and brave it out.
He hung with legs free, trying to control his breathing, staring in horror at the loathgbme creature- It was cocked to strike less than two feet from 4is face, and he knew it could lunge out almost its full body length,' seven feet or more The slightest movement would trigger it.
He hung on his arms, every muscle of his body rigid, staring at the adder, trying to dominate it by the force of his will. The seconds drew out as slowly as spilled molasses, and he thought he detected the first relaxation in the taut 'S' of its neck.
At that moment his left hand slipped, his fingernails rasped on the rock, and the adder struck with the force Of a blacksmith's hammer.
Sean rolled his head to the side like a boxer avoiding a punch.
The adder's cold, scaly nose jarred against his jawbone and there was a fierce tug against his neck and shoulder, so powerful it jerked one hand loose from its hold on the rock and spun him half around. He was sideways to the ledge, holding on with only his left arm.
He knew the adder had hooked its fangs into his shoulder or the side of his throat, and he expected the exquisite fire of its venom to kindle in his flesh. The serpent was locked onto him, dangling down the front of his body, thick as a salami sausage; it squirmed and thrashed, hissing explosively in his ear. The cold touch of its slippery scales brushed against his bare flesh.
Sean almost screamed with the sheer horror of it. The adder's weight threw him about as it lashed from side to side, and its loud hisses deafened him. He felt his single-handed grip on the ledge slipping, but the prospect of the drop below him was suddenly insignificant when compared to this foul creature fastened to his neck.
He felt an icy spray of liquid on the side of his throat and his jaw; it dribbled down the opening of his bush jacket, and with a rush of relief he knew the adder had missed his throat and fastened onto the collar of his jacket. Its fangs were fully two inches long and viciously curved, designed to penetrate and hang on to its prey.
Hooked into the khaki cotton material of his collar, its violent struggles were forcing the venom out of the hollow bony needles, and it was squirting onto his throat and bare skin.
The realization that the fangs had not penetrated his flesh rallied him, firmed his grip on the ledge, and arrested his slow slide into the drop. His right hand was still free. He reached up and seized the adder's neck just at the back of its flat diamond-shaped head.
Ms fingers could barely span the massive body, and he felt the enormous power of its muscles beneath the glassy scales.
He tried to pull it free, but the fangs were like fishhooks in the heavy cloth. The serpent hissed more viciously, and its grotesque body, patterned like a patchwork quilt, coiled around his forearm.
Holding on to the ledge with his left arm, heaving at the adder with his right, and using all his strength, he tore the fangs from the roof of its gaping mouth so that its dark blood mingled with the copious flow of its venom, and flung the twisting coiling body far out over the drop. Then he swung back and grabbed with his right hand at the rock of the ledge.
He was sobbing softly with horror and exertion, and it was fully half a minute before he could gather himself sufficiently to pull himself up and crawl onto the ledge.
He knelt on the rock floor and shrugged out of his bush jacket.
The front of it was wet with venom , and one of the adder's broken off fangs was still buried in the cloth of the collar. He worked it loose and, careful to avoid the needle point, flicked it out over the cliff. Then with his handkerchief he wiped his skin dry.
He considered the danger of wearing the jacket again. The venom might be absorbed through the pores of the sensitive skin under his jaw, it could cause ulcers or worse, but to discard the jacket would expose his body to tomorrow's tropical sun. He hesitated, then rolled the jacket and fastened it onto his belt. He would wash it out at the first opportunity.
The thought of water made him aware of his thirst. The climb was with his pack at the had dehydrated him, and his water bottle bottom of the cliff. He had to find water before tomorrow noon, but now his first concern must be to get off the exposed face of the cliff and into cover.
He stood up and felt the night breeze cold on the sweat of his bare upper body. From the ledge on which he stood it was an easy pitch to the crest, more a scramble than a climb. However, he took it carefully, and when he reached the top he lay for a few minutes with just his head peering over the crest.
A haze of light cloud had veiled the moon, and he could see very little. The bush that grew so densely up the sides of the valley had spread across the tops of the cliff and formed a dark wall just ahead. There were probably forty yards of rocky ground, open except for coarse knee-high grass, and then he would be into the cover of the bush.
He rose to his feet and ran forward, crouching as low as possible as he crossed the skyline. He was halfway to the edge of the bush when the light hit him.
It stopped him dead as though he had run into the rock cliff.
Instinctively he flung up his hands to protect his eyes, for his vision had been shattered and. staffed by the brilliance of the light beamed full into his face. Then he flung himself face forward into the grass and flat tepee his body against the stony earth.
The beam of light threw long black shadows behind each boulder and cast a bright, reflective glow from the pale winter grass.
Sean dared not raise his head. He pressed his face to the earth, exposed, vulnerable, and helpless in that fierce white beam He waited for something to happen, but the silence was unbroken. Even the usual night sounds of nocturnal birds and insects were quenched, so that when at last the voice boomed out of the trees, magnified and distorted by an electronic bullhorn, it was as shocking as a blow in the face.
'Good evening, Colonel Courtney.it was spoken in good English, barely touched by an African accent. 'You made excellent time. Twenty-seven minutes fifteen seconds from the base of the cliff to the top.'
Sean did not move. He lay and absorbed the bitter humiliation of it. They had been toying with him.
'But I cannot give you high marks for stealth. What was it you threw down the rock? It sounded like a bunch of old tin pots.' The speaker chuckled derisively and then went on. 'And now, Colonel, if you are sufficiently rested, would you be gracious enough to stand up and raise both hands above your head?'
Sean did not move.
'I beg of you, sir. Don't waste your time and mine.'
Sean lay still, wildly considering the possibility of dashing back over the crest behind him.
'Very well, I see you have to be convinced,' There was a brief pause, and Sean heard a soft order given in
