standing and gazing through the binoculars – at the buildings on the shore.
This man was staring straight at them. And there was a man next to him, pointing. But the man wasn’t pointing.
David felt the uncomfortable prickle of anxiety.
Now he realized: the man had some kind of…device. A long black shape. Directed their way.
Angus was heading for the sheltering rocks. ‘Run! David!
Run!’
But David stood on the beach, gaping with the horror.
The first missile streaked eagerly through the clear blue sky.
42
The fireballs were huge and billowing: monstrous black clouds tinged with Satanic tangerine. Towers of pungent smoke filled the sky.
‘Amy! Amy!’
David edged up over the parapet of sand: the complex of buildings was gone. Replaced by a hideous wall of flame and devastation; the air was shuddering with the heat of the blaze; secondary explosions added to the surging noise.
Angus was prone beside him. Lying on the sand. He put a hand on David’s shoulder.
‘It’s the oil generator – the fuel’s gone up.’ The Scotsman turned on his back, and looked towards the sea. ‘The boat…The bastard boat…Fuck –’
David was staring in horror at the destruction: anyone in or around the building would have stood no chance. No hope. No chance.
Angus muttered:
‘They must have come from Walvis Bay? Maybe Oranjemund…’
‘David?’
A softer voice. David swivelled.
It was Amy. She was unharmed. Standing in the sand. Trembling.
And behind her was Nathan Kellerman, bleeding profusely, and staggering.
Amy sank into David’s embrace.
‘I was coming down to see you…then I got knocked over…’
He hugged her close. Angus asked Nathan:
‘Eloise?’
Kellerman’s voice was slow, and wearied:
‘She was engulfed.’
His suit was smeared with a tar-like substance; David realized it was blood. Kellerman was bleeding from a chest wound.
And now a new noise joined the tumult, cars were screaming to the shoreline, and men in blue overalls and desert boots were jumping out. David recognized Solomon and Tilac, the Kellerman Namcorp guards. Nathan lifted an arm:
‘Shoot.’
The men obeyed: they unhoisted rifles and knelt in the sand, and took aim. The boat was already departing, churning south – job done. But the Namcorp men fired anyway, and the echoes of the crackling rifle fire joined the roar of the burning fuel dumps, and the soft explosion of buildings crumpling in the flames. The smell of burning petrol was vicious, greasy black smoke was fogging the oceanic sky. Amy was shivering now. Angus was remonstrating with Nathan.
David could barely hear their conversation. He caught the odd word: Amsterdam, helicopter, dinghy. He looked between the two of them. Nathan was handing something to Angus. It looked like a gun, a pistol – and something else: a small black velvet pouch. Despite his deep tan, Nathan Kellerman had a notably white pallor; and the blood was still oozing from some hideous wound, staining his soft linen jacket a blatant burgundy. Angus, by contrast, seemed energized; he turned to David and Amy.
‘Nathan wants us to use the company boat, down there.’ He pointed. ‘He’s right. We actually have a chance – let’s take it.’
‘What?’
Angus gestured at the wide black cloud now drifting down the beach. ‘They’ll have zero visibility for an hour or two. The guards can hold them off with gunfire.’
David protested:
‘Eloise…’
‘She is dead, David. Nathan wouldn’t lie. Come on. They’ll be watching the roads out of the Forbidden Zone, but if we take the boat to Luderitz –’
Amy said, very softly: ‘I think he’s right.’
Angus was already hoisting Nathan’s sagging arm over his shoulder, assisting him down the beach. David and Amy swapped glances, then followed, stunned and frightened. A few more rifle shots smacked the hot air behind them.
Behind the next cove was a small pier, and a tethered rubber speedboat with a powerful looking engine.
Angus got in, and assisted his benefactor into the boat. But his boss’s head was lolling, unsteady on its axis. Amy climbed in alongside; David swiftly followed. The oily smoke from the explosions blotted out the sun, turning the desert day into twilight. The Scotsman ripped the cord, the motor growled, and moments later they were speeding along the coast.
Flames and burning buildings receded behind. For a while they were silent, watching the dismal spectacle slowly dwindling, the dinghy buffeted through the blue choppy waves. They passed a disused diamond mine: a skeleton of eroding steel looming above the cliffs.
Nathan was almost whispering, as he lay back on the black rubber of the boat. His face wet with sweat, a Navajo smear of red blood across his cheek.
‘So Eloise is dead. The last Cagot…’
‘Yes.’ Angus wore a regretful