SS Glasgow Castle 42 Chapter Forty Two

I decided I'd wear a white T-shirt and a pair of light grey chinos. They were wrinkled like h.e.l.l, but that couldn't be helped. I changed my footwear to the suede desert boots I'd bought before the trip: they seemed, and felt very flimsy on my feet after the military-style boots I'd been wearing. I looked at the discarded costume - T-shirt, camouflage pants, boots - and decided it would be safer to get rid of it later, when I'd put some distance between myself and the border.

I re-tied the knot on the sock containing the diamonds, making the little package as flat as possible, and slipped it into my front pants pocket. I finished off the last of my bottled water and, after a short hesitation, guiltily flung the empty plastic bottle into the bush. Then I started wondering how to dispose of the rifle, and that's when I heard the helicopter.

It was approaching from the south, the whop-whop-whop of the rotor blades slowly growing louder. I grabbed my gear and clung to the tree trunk. I couldn't see the helicopter, even though it sounded very close.

It burst into view not more than a hundred yards from me. It was flying very low and very slowly, following the river on the Ghanaian side. It looked fairly antiquated - it was painted green-brown, like a Battle of Britain Hurricane. The c.o.c.kpit windows were arranged like a jetliner's, in a narrow arc above a jutting bulbous metal nose. The main rotor was mounted atop a big hump whose back was perforated with numerous ventilation slits.

The side door was open and while it didn't feature a machine gun pointed at me, it did have two soldiers squatting and looking around. I could see the green straps of their security harnesses, and one of them was holding an a.s.sault rifle. The other held a pair of binoculars and he chose that very moment to raise them to his face and I swiftly pulled my head back behind the tree trunk. A few very long seconds ticked by.

The helicopter kept whop-whop-whopping in the same spot and I was beginning to get worried the soldiers had spotted something when there was a sudden change in tone and volume. I risked a peek. The helicopter had turned around and was flying away, going downriver. I could see the soldiers for a couple of seconds and I had the impression they were looking at something way behind my back - one of them raised a pointing arm briefly just before the sweeping tail boom with its own little rotor brushed him from view. I watched the helicopter until it dropped out of view.

It was time to get going. I wanted to get rid of the rifle and the military clothes first, though. I had the thought it wasn't wise to leave them right next to the river ford, so I took them along. I remembered that there were at least a couple of kilometers before the track to the river joined the dirt road, and I thought I'd find a good hiding spot for the gear along the way. I was still carrying the rifle, and the military clothes stuffed into my bag, when I heard another engine.

It was a two-stroke motorcycle engine, the sound pa.s.sing left to right maybe a couple of hundred yards ahead. I was closer to the dirt road than I'd thought. I thought f.u.c.k it and grabbed the rifle by the muzzle and just flung it into the bush with all my strength. It cartwheeled crazily through the air and dropped out of sight.

Free of incriminating evidence, I quickened my step. A few minutes later, I came to the dirt road.

I stood still for a while, thinking hard. I remembered that Kross had turned right into the track to the river on our way in; that meant I should turn left. I also remembered that we drove down the dirt road for almost half hour before reaching the turnoff to the river. That translated into at least thirty kilometers to the highway. We had pa.s.sed a dirt crossroads before the turnoff, but I had no idea where the other road led. There might be a village at its end, or not. My only option was to try and reach the highway.

I was very doubtful of my ability to walk another thirty kilometers on top of the thirty-plus I'd already done. I looked up and down the road: empty. A few cowpats here and there, but no cows or cowherds. My only hope was that someone would be pa.s.sing by, and would give me a ride if I waved money at them.
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I took out my wallet and conducted a review of my finances. I had tens of thousands of African francs remaining from the traveler's checks I'd cashed at the hotel. I still had two traveler's checks, hundred American each. To my pleasant surprise, I found two tightly folded Canadian twenties tucked into the pocket behind the slotted cash and credit cards. I also had an American fifty that I'd kept back from Kross. It was certainly enough to get me to Abidjan. The only problem was finding someone who would take me there.

I started walking and quickly became aware of another problem. I was getting really, really hungry. I was also starting to feel thirsty. There was no way I could walk thirty kilometers without food or drink. For a moment I thought about simply sitting down in the middle of the road and waiting for someone to come along. I wouldn't perspire as much if I wasn't walking. But staying motionless, becoming pa.s.sive wasn't really an option. I was too tense for that.

A few minutes later, I saw two faraway silhouettes on the road. They grew larger fast, they were coming towards me. It seemed to be an elderly adult with a child. I wondered if I'd be able to communicate with them in English. Chances were it wouldn't work, but maybe they could spare me a drink?

We drew closer, and I saw it was a crippled guy with a young boy. The cripple had a wooden crutch stuck under his arm on his legless side. He was lucky in a way, because he had a working arm on that side and could use a crutch. The other arm ended in a rounded, calloused stump that rested on the boy's shoulder. The boy couldn't be more than eight or nine years old. He was staring at me with his face empty of all expression.

The cripple, the man at his side seemed to be happy. He seemed to be grinning. It was only when we drew closer still that I saw he didn't have a nose or upper lip: his teeth were exposed in a permanent grinning snarl. The little boy said something in French and I stopped. He held up a battered wooden bowl with a single copper coin, his good-luck piece. I looked into the leper's eyes and he seemed to resent that - his snarl became more ferocious. Then I understood he was trying to smile.

I needed all the cash I had, so there was only one thing to do. I reached into my pants pocket and got the sock out and untied it. I poked around until my fingers encountered a bigger stone. It was the size and shape of a fat watermelon seed, a translucent tear squeezed out of mother Earth. As I held it above the bowl the light caught a sharp edge and it glowed briefly with hot pink fire. I dropped the stone into the bowl - pink! - and looked at the leper's face again and saw there was no need to try and explain anything. He recognized the stone for what it was. He was frightened of me and wanted me to go away. So I did. I hoped he would make a good deal on the diamond.

An hour pa.s.sed, then another. My step changed into the shuffling gait of a very old, tired man. My tongue felt like a piece of wood stuck inside my mouth. I wanted to lie down and go to sleep. Even the red laterite looked inviting. I was a whisker away from collapse when Fate or Destiny or whatever the old b.i.t.c.h is called finally reached out to pat my shoulder.

I saw the dirt crossroads. They were very clearly marked by a minibus standing in the centre. I shook my head to check whether I wasn't dreaming . But it was unfailingly there, and grew larger. It was white and there were people inside. I could feel numerous eyes watching me. It didn't matter. When I was close enough to make out individual faces, I stopped and sat down. I just couldn't take another step.

I sat on the red road and looked at the minibus and the minibus looked back at me. I was on the verge of tipping over and falling asleep when the driver honked twice, and started the engine. That infused me with fresh strength and I got up and I staggered to the front door. Someone opened it for me. I got in and found myself looking at the driver's expectant black face.

"Boundoukou?" I croaked.

He smiled and nodded and said something which ended with 'francs'. He called me a monsieur. I wanted to hug and kiss him. I said:

"That's okay. That's fine. I've got tons of money."