The young man had told him to keep the headlamps dipped. The edges of the road were ill-defined, heaped with wind-blown sand that sometimes covered the whole road until the wheels of the car sank almost to the axles.
Neither of them seemed disposed to talk. For the first few minutes the silence between them was tense; then the young man switched on the car radio and tuned in to the local station.
Packer now noticed two curious things: instead of the mournful wail of traditional music, the radio was playing strident martial tunes; he also saw, beyond the white arc of the headlamps, that the glow of the city, which had been clearly visible from the air, had disappeared. He supposed that the citizens of Mamounia, deprived of alcohol and the diversions of Western life, retired early, and that, the street lighting was extinguished before midnight. But even as he thought of it, he was not entirely happy with this explanation.
According to the map, it was twelve kilometres to the outskirts of the city. He had checked the kilometre gauge before leaving, and saw that they had covered just over half this distance, when they ran into a roadblock.
Two jeeps and an armoured car were positioned along the road so that he would have to do a slalom to get past. Half a dozen soldiers in battle-dress and helmets stood on either side. They all looked efficient and alert. He slowed down and stopped, even before they had ordered him to. Several carbines and rifles were pointing at his head, and there was a finger on every trigger. The man beside him switched off the radio. ‘We must get out of here,’ he whispered. He sounded nervous.
As Packer opened his door a sound reached him that he had not heard for a long time: a sound both fearful and exhilarating, sending at once a needle of excitement up his spine and making his heart race.
It was the distant sound of battle: not just sporadic firing, but a steady grumble and roar, punctuated by the rattle of machine guns, the crack of mortars, and the slow thump of artillery.
He looked at his guide, who stood white-faced in the light of more hurricane lamps beside the road. He was talking earnestly to one of the soldiers, who appeared to be an officer. Packer waited, without speaking. The young man finally turned and was about to speak, when the sky was split open by a streak of white-hot flame, followed by the tearing shriek of a jet. The troops ducked instinctively as the fighter swooped away towards the city.
The guide turned to him again. ‘I do not understand. There is big fighting in the city.’
‘Can we go on?’ said Packer.
‘They say it is difficult. That the road is blocked and that it is very dangerous.’
Christ, thought Packer. Those bastards, Pol and Steiner, had to choose this night of all nights! In normal circumstances he would have driven back and waited for Ryderbeit at the salt-pan. But he remembered that somewhere ahead, in the chaos of battle, was Sarah. He didn’t suppose that the Ruler would have much time for her tonight: the Royal Palace would be the central target of the fighting. He just hoped to hell that it had all started before she had been despatched on her mission.
At least he had the consolation of knowing that Ryderbeit, going with the Fieseler Storch to refuel, would be taking a different road away from the city, and might even have an uneventful ride.
He said, ‘Let’s get going.’ He moved back towards the Range Rover and no one stopped him. The guide got in beside him and Packer restarted the engine. ‘They didn’t even ask to see our papers,’ he added, nodding at the troops as he swung the Rover round between the jeeps.
‘They have instructions,’ the guide said uneasily. He switched on the radio again: the same monotonous martial music.
‘Have you any idea what’s happening?’ Packer asked.
‘No. But I think there are bad things. Maybe a revolution.’
‘Who makes the revolution?’ said Packer.
‘I do not know. Maybe NAZAK. There are many bad men in NAZAK. But maybe it is the army — and that is not so bad.’ He shook his head. ‘It is very complicated.’
After another two miles the headlamps picked out the rear of a Chieftain tank, straddling the whole road. When Packer stopped and got out, he saw that it was the last of a column of six. One of the crew came round, wearing the padded leather helmet and earflaps of tank troops ready for combat. The guide had again begun talking in a rapid undertone, while Packer listened to the cacophony of gunfire ahead, which had grown perceptibly louder.
The young man turned to him at last, with worried eyes. ‘It is not good. The army has surrounded the city and is fighting with NAZAK. It is impossible to go further.’
Packer stared at him hopelessly. ‘I’ve got to be in the city in twenty minutes!’
The guide shook his head. ‘It is not possible.’
‘We can bloody well try.’ Packer glared at the helmeted soldier. ‘Will he let us pass?’
The guide shrugged, with a miserable defeated movement. ‘The road is blocked. Maybe when the tanks have gone —’ He shook his head and got back into the Range Rover. Packer followed reluctantly, with a sense of furious frustration.
In less than twenty minutes now, Sarah might come running to the corner of Passam Street to find no one there. In the long year of knowing her, and loving her, this was his one chance to play a role of high drama and gallantry; and at the final moment he was going to fail her.
CHAPTER 40
Sarah found herself lying on a couch in the brightly lit anteroom. Her face still felt
