Mercenary

‘Yes.’

‘It’s ready to move in on your command?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is now all about neutralising Sebastian’s brigade and there’s only one way you’re gonna do it. You have to move between Hector’s and Sebastian’s encampments. Hector won’t touch your back. He’s got too much to lose. If he countered your attack it would only push him further from his dream of becoming a revolutionary leader. I’ll make sure he knows that.’

Ventura nodded in agreement. ‘We could begin to move into position during daylight tomorrow. Preparations could be complete by nightfall. We could attack the following morning.’

‘Sounds perfect to me, my friend. It’ll be over in a couple hours. Especiallly with those helicopters we gave you.’

‘So what’s the final story concerning Sebastian?’ Ventura asked. ‘How will the people eventually see it?’

‘They’ll see what they’re given. The revolutionary council brokered a deal with the government but Sebastian stood in its way. Sebastian’s outfit became a rogue terrorist organisation that murdered the head of the government’s beloved brother.The revolutionary council tried to get rid of Sebastian but failed and found they were unable to deal with the situation themselves. So they paid a mercenary, who happened to be training Sebastian’s troops at the time, to kill him. Meanwhile, government troops arrived to arrest Sebastian for the murder of Chemora. A skirmish broke out. People were killed. The mercenary was never seen or heard from again. But everything turned out fine in the end. The revolutionaries, under their new leader Hector, brokered a deal with Neravista and everyone lived happily ever after. It’ll get a short column on page five of the New York Post.’

Ventura smiled thinly at the story. ‘It will work. And you will be rewarded for your efforts . . . by your own people?’

‘I get a reputation among people who respect that kind of thing.’

‘Then there’s the gold mine,’ Ventura said, his words this time accompanied by a friendly smirk.

Steel glanced at him long enough to see there was no intended malice. ‘You still ain’t ready to take that pebble, Ventura.’

‘But I’m getting closer, no?’

Both men laughed as they walked into the night.

In the darkness Victor trotted along the track, with the niggling feeling that someone was following him. He slowed to a stop to look back and listen, but he could hear nothing. It was so dark that he could not see far beyond his horse’s nose. The glow from the fires of Hector’s encampment had already disappeared.

He trotted on, not looking forward to the ride or to getting back to the camp. Terrible suspicions about Hector haunted him. He felt something very bad was going to happen. But no one would listen to him, anyway.

Victor felt suddenly alone, and not just physically. He wondered if it was time to move on himself. The rebellion no longer felt like the one he had joined. Deep down he was not entirely against Hector’s efforts to broker a peace deal. Victor hated violence and the prospect of more to come while Sebastian remained entrenched appalled him. He knew his thoughts were disloyal and that his reasons for wanting peace now were selfish. But it was how he felt and he could not ignore it.

An unfamiliar sound snapped him out of his thoughts.

He slowed down again, turned and listened. He couldn’t see anything, yet the distant sound remained. He stopped altogether.

It was a rumbling sound and growing louder, like hooves rapidly striking the ground. That was it. Riders!

Victor’s first thought was to step back into the undergrowth and let whoever it was pass. But that would have been too risky right now. He might not have had good enough reasons for his paranoia before he’d arrived at Hector’s camp but he felt entirely justified by the time he had left it. If he was right and Hector had been prepared to kill Sebastian then the man would have no qualms about doing the same to him. Victor was suddenly filled with fear.

The pounding of hooves grew louder and Victor dug his heels into his horse’s flanks so hard that the animal shot forward at a gallop. He lost his hat and raced along the track.

Panic gripped him. He felt a desperate need to escape. But he could barely see ahead - the cloud-covered sky and the trees lining the track made the blackness complete. A branch whacked him across the face, a stinging blow that drew blood. He crouched low against the horse’s neck and spurred the animal on.

The sound of pursuit became fainter but it had only become lost in the noise of the thudding hooves of his own mount. Victor wanted to look back but did not dare allow his stare to stray from the way ahead. His horse swerved suddenly to take a bend in the track but it had come upon it too suddenly and its flank struck a branch. Victor felt a solid blow against his leg that must have hurt the horse too but the animal did not flinch and powered on.

They galloped into another tight turn and this time Victor almost lost his balance. As he sat up in the saddle a low branch came out of nowhere and slammed him in the shoulder. He stopped dead while his horse continued on. He somersaulted backwards and struck the ground brutally hard, rolling over several times before coming to a halt in the centre of the track.

The blow and the fall stunned Victor and he lay in the dirt, trying to regain his senses. He rolled onto his front and pulled his knees beneath him, feeling a searing pain in his chest. He realised that the sound of beating hooves came from his pursuers.They would soon reach the bend.

Victor rolled as fast as he could to the edge of the track and got there just as the beasts thrashed past him. He pushed himself up onto his knees where he balanced unsteadily. He had to get going - but which way? if he remained on the trail there was a chance of running into the riders again. He could not be absolutely certain that they had been pursuing him but he was not about to wait around and ask them. His only option was to make his way into the bush and somehow shadow the track until he could be certain where he was. He needed to cross a valley to the adjacent plateau on top of which was his own encampment. But at night, in this jungle, that was going to be easier said than done.

He got to his feet, put his back to the track and felt his way forward, immediately hitting an impenetrable thicket. He tried to explore a way around it but the sound of hooves froze him. The horsemen were returning, this time at the trot.

Victor dropped to his belly and like a rodent scurried deeper into the bush, dragging himself in as far as he could.

As the sound of trotting horses grew louder he went motionless, feeling as defenceless as a tortoise on its back.

A lone horse slightly ahead of the others slowed to a walk and a flashlight beam played along the track and into the bushes. The light passed over Victor but the rider continued on. Another horse followed a little way behind and stopped a few metres beyond him. A new beam came on and shone along the track. Victor practically stopped breathing.

This horse and its rider remained perfectly still as if listening. Victor was afraid they could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The sound of more hooves announced other riders closing in. They came to a stop. ‘I found his hat,’ a man’s voice said. ‘He was wearing it when he left.’

Another pair of riders joined them. ‘We saw his horse,’ one of them said. ‘There was no sign of him, though. He’s ducked into the forest.’

The men fell silent. Victor stared at the feet of the horses that were almost within touching distance. Then: ‘Victor!’ a voice boomed. ‘I know you can hear me. You’re lying somewhere nearby in the dirt, scared to death and wondering if we will find you. You have every reason to be scared. If we find you we will slit your throat. I have a message for you from Hector. Don’t go back to Sebastian’s camp or you will die. If you value your life you’ll leave this place, leave this country and never come back.That’s not just a warning, Victor. That’s a promise.’

The horses remained still for a moment before trotting away in the direction of Hector’s encampment.

Victor lay where he was for a long time without moving, partly to ensure that the riders had gone and were not trying to trick him but mostly because he simply did not know what to do. The very question he had pondered earlier had been answered for him. His revolution had indeed come to an end.