piece of metal from your back. He said it did not penetrate your lung cavity.’
Stratton thought about the information, saddened by the loss of the men even though he had not known them. He emptied the mug of water into his mouth and handed it to Victor to refill.
Victor obliged. ‘Do you know what happened?’ he asked.
‘Have you asked David?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to hear it from you first.’ Stratton cleared his throat. He was starting to feel better now that he could swallow again. ‘It was a booby trap.’
Victor’s mind raced. ‘You’re sure?’
‘A hand grenade, set to go off when the box was opened.’
Victor looked disturbed. ‘We’ve never had sabotage before, not like this.’
‘Where’re my clothes?’
Victor indicated a pile of fatigues on the other side of the room. They looked like those worn by the rebels. ‘Yours were too badly burned,’ he said, pointing to a charred pile of material on the floor. ‘Your carbine is under the bed, along with your pistol. I don’t think the carbine will work any more, either.’
Stratton leaned down, pain stabbing his back, and pulled the guns out from under the bed. The M4 was a mess, its plastic stock and butt brittle and broken in places. The magazine was gone and when he tried to pull back the breech it didn’t budge. He dropped it to the floor and checked the semi-automatic pistol. The grip was a little charred but the magazine slid out easily enough and, yanking back the top slide, he found that the mechanism was working smoothly when a round flew out of the chamber. He put the pistol on the bed to deal with later.
Stratton got unsteadily to his feet. ‘Well,’ he said, stretching his back and ignoring the pain. ‘I don’t think I can take any more of your hospitality.’ He went to the pile of fatigues and looked for a pair of trousers and a shirt that might fit.
‘I understand, of course,’ Victor said, noticing that the dressing on Stratton’s back was bloody. ‘We’ll need to change your bandage before you put your shirt on.’
Stratton pulled on a pair of trousers that were long enough in the leg but big around the waist. ‘My boots?’ he asked, looking around.
‘Yours are no good. Try those,’ Victor said, pointing to an open box filled with jungle boots of various sizes.
Stratton went to the box and rummaged through it, checking the sizes, pulling out a boot attached to another by its laces. He noticed that his wristwatch was broken. ‘I don’t suppose you have a box of watches around here too?’
‘I’ll see what I can do. They’re not a common resupply item.’
‘What is the time?’
‘Almost six p.m. . . . It happened yesterday,’ Victor informed him.
Stratton looked at him quizzically.
‘The doctor put something in your drip to keep you asleep.’
Stratton checked his forearms to find the tell-tale puncture made by a drip-feed needle.
The Frenchman went back to the top of the stairs. ‘I must go. I’ll be back later.’
‘Victor?’
Victor paused to look back at Stratton.
‘Can you get me to the border? I want to go home to heal.’
‘Oh.’ Victor looked disappointed.
‘What?’
‘I thought you would want to find out who did this to you.’
‘No. I just want to go home.’
Victor nodded. ‘I’ll arrange something for you,’ he said, starting back down the stairs.
‘Why are you trying to make me feel bad about going? This isn’t my fight.’
‘It’s a struggle between good and evil. I thought that was everybody’s fight.’
‘It’s not the only one out there.’
Victor nodded. ‘True enough.’ He continued down the steps and out of the cabin.
Stratton sat heavily back down on the bed and lowered himself onto his side. He lay there for some time, fighting the urge to sleep. Fearing that he would lose the battle he sat up, got to his feet and collected together the various items of clothing he’d selected. As he finished threading the laces through the eyelets of the boots he heard the door of the cabin open and close and footsteps on the stairs.
‘You’re going to have to check every one of those boxes,’ Stratton said. ‘I’ll show you a way of doing it safely before I go.’
When he looked up it was not Victor at the top of the stairs but Louisa. She looked different. The coldness in her eyes had gone. She was staring at him in silence as if unsure what to say or do.
Unable to think of anything either, Stratton picked the shirt off the bed to