Juggernaut

car. Hammond joined him and I followed them back to camp, but stopped to say a few polite and appreciative things to Sadiq on the way. He assured me that any labour necessary for strengthening the bridge would be found very quickly, and I left him, marvelling at the self-assurance that a uniform lends a man.

My mind was in top gear as I thought about the bridge. Someone had made a bit of extra profit on the contract when it was built, and it was going to be interesting to watch the passage of the rig the next day. From a safe vantage point, of course. But if this bridge was run of the mill, what the hell was the tricky one going to be like?

I laid my plate on one side. 'Good chow.'

There was humour in Kemp's voice. 'Not haute cuisine, but we survive.'

Two of the tractors were parked side by side and we sat under an awning rigged between them. Kemp was certainly more relaxed and I wondered how best to take advantage of the fact. We weren't alone – several of the others had joined us. Obviously Kemp didn't believe in putting a distance between himself and the men, but I wanted to get him alone for a chat. I leaned over and dropped my voice. 'If you can find a couple of glasses, how about a Scotch?'

He too spoke quietly. 'No thanks. I prefer to stick to the camp rules, if you don't mind. We could settle for another beer, though.' As he said this he got up and disappeared into the night, returning in a moment with a four- pack of beer. I rose and took his arm, steering him away from the makeshift dining room. 'A word with you, Basil,' I said. 'Where can we go?'

Presently we were settled in a quiet corner with our backs up against two huge tyres, the blessedly cool night wind on our faces, and an ice cold can of beer apiece.

'You've got it made,' I said, savouring the quietness. 'How do you keep this cold?'

He laughed. There's a diesel generator on the rig for the lights. If you're already carrying three hundred tons a ten cubic foot refrigerator isn't much more of a burden. We have a twenty cubic foot deepfreeze, too. The cook says we're having lobster tails tomorrow night.'

'I forget the scale of this thing.'

'You wouldn't if you were pushing it around.'

I drank some beer. It was cold and pleasantly bitter. A little casual conversation was in order first. 'You married?'

'Oh yes. I have a wife and two kids in England: six and four, both boys. How about you?'

'I tried, but it didn't take. A man in my job doesn't spend enough time at home to hang his hat up, and women don't like that as a rule.'

'Yes, indeed.' His voice showed that he felt the same way.

'How long since you were home?'

'About two months. I've been surveying this damned road.

I reckon it'll be a while before I'm home again,'

I said, 'Up at Bir Oassa the government is just finishing a big concrete airstrip, big enough for heavy transports. It's just about to go into operation, we've been told, though we're not sure what 'just about' means.'

Kemp said, 'No parades up there though, with no-one to see them.'

'Right. Well, when it's ready we'll be flying in the expensive bits that aren't too heavy, like the turbine shafts. There'll be quite a lot of coming and going and it wouldn't surprise me if there wasn't room for a guy to take a trip back to England once in a while. That applies to your crew as well, of course.'

That's splendid – we'd all appreciate it. I'll have to make up a roster.' He was already perking up at the thought, and I marvelled all over again at what domesticity does for some men.

'How did you get into heavy haulage?' I asked him.

'It wasn't so much getting into it as being born into it. My old man was always on the heavy side – he pushed around tank transporters in the war – and I'm a chip off the old block.'

'Ever handled anything as big as this before?'

'Oh yes. I've done one a bit bigger than this for the Central Electricity Generating Board at home. Of course, conditions weren't exactly the same, but just as difficult, in their way. There are more buildings to knock corners off in Britain, and a whole lot more bureaucracy to get around too.'

'Was that with Wyvern?'

'No, before its time.' He knew I was pumping him gently and didn't seem to mind. 'I was with one of the big outfits then.'

I drank the last of my beer. 'You really are Wyvern Transport, aren't you?'

'Yes. Together with Ben and Geoff Wingstead. We'd all been in the business before, and when we got together it seemed like a good idea. Sometimes I'm not so sure.' I saw him wave his hand, a dim gesture in the darkness, and heard the slight bitter touch in his voice. I already knew that financially this was a knife edge operation and I didn't want to spoil Kemp's mood by raking up any economic dirt, but I felt I could get a few more answers out of him without pressing too hard.

He carried on without my prompting him. 'We each came into a little money, one way or another – mine was an inheritance. Ben had ideas for modifying current rigs and Geoff and Ben had worked together before. Geoff's our real ideas man: not only the financial end, he's into every angle. But if we hadn't landed this contract I don't think we'd have got off the ground.'

I had had my own doubts about giving this enormously expensive and difficult job to a firm new to the market but I didn't want to express them to Kemp. He went on, though, filling me in with details; the costly airlift gear, which they only realized was necessary after their tender had been accepted, was rented from the CEGB. Two of the tractors were secondhand, the others bought on the never-never and as yet not fully paid for. The tender, already as low as possible to enable them to land the job, was now seen to be quite unrealistic and they did not expect to make anything out of the Nyalan operation: but they had every hope that a successful completion would bring other contracts to their doorstep. It was midsummer madness, and it might work.

I realized that it was late, and that I hadn't yet broached the subject of security or danger. Too late in fact to go into the whole thing now, but I could at least pave the way; Kemp's practical problems had rendered him oblivious to possible outside interference, and in any case he was used to working in countries where political problems were solved over the negotiation table, and not by armies.

'How are you getting on with Captain Sadiq?' I asked.

'No trouble. In fact he's quite helpful. I'll make him into a good road boss yet.'

'Had any problems so far? Apart from the road itself, that is.'

'Just the usual thing of crowd control through the villages. Sadiq's very good at that. He's overefficient really; puts out a guard every time we stop, scouts ahead, very busy playing soldiers generally.' He gestured into the night. 'If you walk down there you'll stand a chance of getting a bullet in you unless you speak up loud and clear. I've had to warn my chaps about it. Road transport in the UK was never like this.'

'He's not really here just as a traffic cop,' I said. 'He is guarding you, or, more to the point, he's guarding the rig and the convoy. There's always a possibility that someone might try a bit of sabotage. So you keep your eyes open too, and pass that word down the line to your men, Basil.'

I knew he was staring at me. 'Who'd want to sabotage us? No-one else wanted this job.'

He was still thinking in terms of commercial rivalry and I was mildly alarmed at his political naivety. 'Look, Basil, I'd like to put you in the picture, and I think Ben Hammond too. But it's late and you've a major job to do in the morning. It's nothing urgent, nothing to fret about. Next time we stop for a break I'll get you both up to date, OK?'

'Right you are, if you say so.' I sensed his mind slipping away; mention of the next day's task had set him thinking about it, and I knew I should leave him alone to marshall his ideas.

'I'll say good night,' I said. 'I guess you'll want to think about your next obstacle course.'

He stood up. 'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,' he said sardonically. 'Sleep well. Your bunk is rigged over there, by the way. I sleep on top of one of the tractors: less risk of snakes that way.'

'I know how you feel,' I grinned. 'But with me it's scorpions. Good night.'

I strolled in the night air over to the rig and stood looking up at the great slab of the transformer. Over one million pounds' worth of material was being trundled precariously through Africa by a company on the verge of going bankrupt, with a civil war possibly about to erupt in its path, and what the hell was I going to do about it?

I decided to sleep on it.