01 Those in Peril by Wilbur Smith

Author:Wilbur Smith [Smith, Wilbur]
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The bus was parked among a dozen others at the far end of the campground. It was a sturdy TATA, built in India many years before. At a glance it was obvious that it had lived a hard life. It was almost indistinguishable from any of the other buses parked around it, except only in that it was not heaped high with passenger goods and chattels. Tariq introduced Hector to the owner. After they had gone through the elaborate ritual of greeting, Hector walked around the bus. Three of the windows were cracked and one was missing completely. Hector knelt down to look under the engine. Black oil dripped from the sump, but not in copious amounts. The engine bonnet was held in place with baling wire. Hector opened it and checked the oil level with the dipstick. It was almost full, as was the water in the radiator – clearly recently replenished for his benefit. He climbed up into the driver’s seat and disengaged the fuel cut-off plunger. Next he turned the starter key to heat and waited for the light to show on the panel, then he turned the key to ignition. The engine turned over sluggishly but did not fire. The owner had followed him into the cab.

‘If you will permit me, Effendi?’ Hector relinquished the seat to him. The owner began a practised routine with the throttle and starter key. At last the engine fired, backfired and farted before dying again. Unperturbed the owner repeated the procedure and at last the engine fired more convincingly, almost died, backfired again and then caught and ran up strongly. The owner beamed triumphantly. Hector congratulated him then walked around the vehicle again. Blue smoke blew from the exhaust and water dripped from the same pipe.

Cracked block, Hector thought, and when he opened the bonnet again there was loud knocking from one of the cylinders. For an African bus it’s in almost pristine condition. Should still be good for a few hundred miles, which is all I ask from it.

Then he looked the owner in the eye and said, ‘How much?’

‘Five hundred Americani,’ replied the man delicately.

‘Two hundred and fifty,’ Hector countered, and the man wailed and clutched his brow as though Hector had insulted both his mother and his father.

‘Five hundred,’ he insisted, and then allowed himself to be beaten down slowly to the figure of three hundred that both of them had fixed in their own minds from the outset. They spat on their palms and slapped hands to seal the contract. Then they climbed into the bus and went down the aisle between the seats to the wooden case in the rear. The owner threw back the lid, and with a flourish presented the contents: six AK-47 assault rifles and five hundred rounds of ammunition. The wooden butts of the rifles were chipped and scratched, the blueing had rubbed off on any high-spots on the metal and when Hector looked down the bore of one of the barrels he saw it was worn so badly that they would be inaccurate at any range over fifty yards.

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