'I'm sure. Look, all I'm offering is to guide you and to be there if you need me.'

She put her hands on her hips. 'But why, Stirling? I've only ever treated you like s.h.i.t. I left you when we were young and you let me down once before.'

'You were breaking international law, starting a war that didn't need to be fought,' he countered.

He was right, and that p.i.s.sed her off as well. She waved a hand in the air. 'I'm going to bed. You can all fight for the right to come with me and die if you want, but I'm getting up at oh-dark-hundred tomorrow to go find my daughter. Whatever the rest of you do well, I just don't give a f.u.c.k.'

She left them, annoyed, but not blinded by anger. She took several deep breaths, calming herself. She went to the Land Rover, took out the rifle she had earmarked for herself, a cleaning kit and a small tin of oil. She sat, cross-legged, on her bedroll and closed her eyes. There was enough moonlight for her to see clearly what she was doing, but she needed to be able to strip this weapon, rea.s.semble it, and fill the magazine in complete darkness. The soldier's simple task settled her, as meditation might some hippy. She was at one with the night, with the cold metal parts in her hands, with her mission.

She would find her daughter, and if anyone tried to stop her, she would kill them.

Emma and the others worked into the night, unloading the bundles from the Dakota and then unwrapping them in the glare of the Land Cruiser's headlights, in which Sebastian stood, silhouetted, watching over them with rifle in hand.

Emma wondered what would happen next. Even if Sebastian and Andre killed them all and emptied the two vehicles of all of their gear and loaded the roof carriers, there was still nowhere near enough room for all of the cargo they had recovered from the Dakota.

The sweat that had soaked her clothes through the afternoon had chilled her as soon as the sun set. Andre attacked the last of the bundles with a knife, slashing off the now brittle plastic wrapping, and then used a crowbar to open the wooden crate within. 'Yes!' He punched the air.

His elation had become tiresome. He had already opened all the other crates and this one, like the rest, was full of the same illicit cargo: rhino horns, perhaps hundreds of them. Emma sat down in the sand and Alex and Natangwe took a seat either side of her. Sebastian watched them like a lion selecting his prey. There was no way she could talk.

After she had discovered the dead pilot's pistol she had nearly been caught with it. Andre had stumbled back into the Dakota, his headlamp picking her out in the darkness of the fuselage, but he had been too insistent on her getting back to work to notice her stuffing the pistol in her shorts and hurriedly pulling her T-shirt down over it.

In the rare breaks they had between shifting the bundles she had checked out the pistol. It was caked in dust, and when she had pushed the magazine release b.u.t.ton, as her mother had shown her, instead of the mag sliding slickly into her palm she'd had to claw at it to free it, breaking two fingernails in the process.

On another break she fingered the rounds out of the magazine and was dismayed to find there were only three. The pilot must have been firing at someone inside his own aircraft the night he went down; that accounted for his right arm dangling over the side of his seat and the pistol lying on the floor, not to mention the bullet hole in his skull.

The events of the night the plane crashed occupied her mind less than the prospect of what she would do with this ancient pistol that was so dirty it would probably explode in her hands if she was even able to c.o.c.k it and pull the trigger.

'Alex,' she whispered out of the side of her mouth when Sebastian briefly took his eye off them in order to check on the haul of rhino horns.

'Yes?'

'Can you get to the back of the Land Cruiser?'

'I don't know, why? What do you want?'

'There's a plastic storage crate there, I noticed it when we were packing. There's a toolkit in the crate and I noticed there were some plastic bottles as well gear oil, engine oil, brake fluid, that sort of thing.'

Alex exhaled. 'What do you want with oils?'

Sebastian looked back at Alex and Emma, pointing the barrel of the AK-47 at them as he resumed his watch. Emma stayed silent until Andre called out that he needed help to move the latest box to where the others were, and Sebastian switched his focus to Natangwe.

'Natangwe, go help him,' Sebastian said, and tracked him with the rifle as he moved.

'I've got a gun,' Emma whispered to Alex.

'Seriously?'

'Keep your voice down.' Emma saw that Sebastian was still watching Natangwe and Andre. The professor was resting, sitting in the sand about five metres from Alex and Emma. 'I found it in the Dakota; there's a dead pilot up in the c.o.c.kpit and it was his. But it's filthy and might not even work unless I can clean it. h.e.l.l, it might not work at all, but it's our only chance.'

'Do you know how to use it, how to clean it?' Alex whispered.

'Yes, my mother taught me.'

'What every young girl should learn from her mother.'

Emma liked that he could joke at such a time, but this was no time for laughing. 'How can we get to the Land Cruiser?'

Alex pursed his lips. 'You notice how Andre and Sebastian have collected the rhino horn in one place?' It was stacked about ten metres behind the Hilux, which in turn was in the dark, the same distance past the Land Cruiser.

'Yes.'

'Why didn't they just get us to load all the horns into the vehicles?'

Emma hadn't thought Sebastian and Andre's orders through; she was tired and she had a headache, which she guessed was due to dehydration. They had worked all afternoon in the blazing heat and Sebastian had allowed them only one half-litre bottle of water each, while he and Horsman had drunk steadily through the day. She focused on Alex's question. 'There must be someone else coming, perhaps in a bigger vehicle.'

'Yes.'

'You think they might want to keep us alive as slave labour until then?' Emma asked.

'Perhaps. I can't really see Sebastian letting us go, can you?'

Emma looked at the handsome man she'd almost given herself to. 'No.'

'Sebastian,' Andre called from where he and Natangwe had moved the last crate. 'I'm going to answer the call of nature.'

'OK,' Sebastian replied. 'Natangwe, get over there with the rest.'

Natangwe walked over and sat down on the sand beside them. Sutton shifted closer to them, sliding along on his bottom. 'What are we going to do?' Natangwe asked.

Emma didn't have an answer, but she heard the hopelessness in this normally proud, opinionated, intelligent young man's voice. 'I don't know.'

'Hey, no one speaks unless they're spoken to,' Sebastian called to them. He walked closer, swinging the AK-47 from side to side, checking each of them. Emma felt her heart pounding.

Sebastian took a pace closer to them, though remained out of striking reach of any of them. He must have realised, Emma thought, that if he got too close and the men made a move on him he could only hope to hit one of them before the others overpowered him. But, she wondered, would any of these men have the guts to try something or, for that matter, would she be as brave or as reckless as her mother would undoubtedly be in such a situation? What would Sonja do? Emma asked herself. She would wait, she would a.n.a.lyse, she would plan, and she would act.

Sebastian confronted Alex down the barrel of his rifle. 'Everyone's going to walk out of here alive as long as no one does anything brave or stupid.' He took a few steps back from them and looked out over the dunes in search of Andre, who was taking his time on his toilet break.

'I've got a pistol,' Emma said quietly.

Natangwe nodded. 'I know, I saw you with it.'

Emma felt slightly miffed. 'It's almost inoperable. I need oil or something to clean it with, and I don't have much ammo.'

Natangwe seemed to ponder the predicament and then, checking that Sebastian was still looking the other way, quickly reached into his pocket. He unfolded his hand, briefly, revealing a Swiss Army pocketknife to the other two. 'I also found this in the aircraft. It must have fallen out of someone's pocket during the flight. It looks old.'

Emma frowned. 'It'd be hard to kill or maim Sebastian with that.'

'I could if I got close enough,' Alex said through gritted teeth. Sebastian turned his attention back to them and Alex stared back at him.

'You need to get into the truck, right?' Natangwe said out of the side of his mouth.

'Shut it,' Sebastian called.

Emma gave the slightest of nods. Natangwe stood up and started walking towards Sebastian, who raised his rifle again, into his shoulder. 'Stop, or I'll shoot you.'

'I need to go to the toilet as well.'

'Do it here,' Sebastian said.

'I will not. Never.' Natangwe looked down at Emma. 'Not in front of a woman.'

'Sheesh,' said Sebastian. 'All right, go behind the Land Cruiser, but make it quick.'

Emma followed Natangwe's movements out of the corner of her eyes. Sebastian was looking at her now, though, so she stared back at him defiantly, hoping he wouldn't look too closely at Natangwe. No one spoke and the tension hung in the air around them, like the cool fog from the Skeleton Coast that had begun creeping towards them from the Atlantic. Emma shivered.

'Hey!' a voice called out. They all looked in the direction of the noise. It was Andre, running back towards them down the face of a dune, brandishing a shovel in the air like a weapon. 'What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?'

'What is it?' Sebastian called.

'This little b.a.s.t.a.r.d is letting the air out of the rear tyre.' Andre grabbed Natangwe by the collar of his shirt and pulled him up, but then jumped back in alarm as Natangwe slashed the air just centimetres from the older man's chest, the blade of the pocketknife flashing silver in the gloom.

Sebastian fired a shot. 'Drop the knife!'

Natangwe held out the knife, but slowly lowered his arm.

'Toss it to Andre.'

Andre scooped the pocketknife from the sand and walked to Sebastian, who gave him back the pistol he'd taken for safekeeping earlier that afternoon. Andre walked to Natangwe. 'Get down on your knees, boy.'

Natangwe looked ready to explode. 'Don't call me that.'

Andre levelled the pistol between Natangwe's eyes. 'Get down on your knees or I'll shoot you here. I don't need all of you alive.'

With eyes locked on Andre, Natangwe slowly lowered himself to his knees. Keeping the weapon trained on Natangwe, Andre walked around behind him and pointed the pistol at the base of Natangwe's skull.

'No!' Emma screamed. She felt Alex's arm tighten around her, trying to shield her from what was about to happen next. 'Don't shoot him, Andre, please.'

Andre and Sebastian both looked to her. Andre brought his hand up and then savagely clubbed the b.u.t.t of the pistol down on the back of Natangwe's head. Sebastian strode across, reversed the AK-47 in his hands and slammed the stock into Natangwe's neck and back three times, each vicious stroke ending in a thud and a diminishing convulsion on Natangwe's part. Emma noticed that Natangwe didn't cry out in pain or for mercy once.

Emma stood and broke free of Alex's grasp as he tried to stop her. She ran at Sebastian, who turned his rifle on her. She stopped.

'All right. Everyone, just chill the f.u.c.k out,' Sebastian said, running a free hand through sweaty hair. 'Natangwe was stupid, and he's paid the price, but I'm not going to kill him unless I have to. Alex, get up and help Emma change the tyre.'

Alex stood and walked to Emma, putting an arm around her.

'Get your hands off her.'

'Don't make him angrier than he is,' Emma whispered.

Reluctantly, Alex removed his arm and Emma shivered. She liked it better when he was holding her, even though it had only been for a few seconds each time. She quickened her pace and knelt beside Natangwe.

'Get away from him.' Sebastian backed off a few metres so he could cover all of them and not be rushed by anyone.

'I need to check on him.'

'He'll live,' Sebastian said to Emma.

Emma cradled Natangwe's head in her lap. He was conscious, but only just. He blinked up at her, and tried to speak. 'Shush,' she said. 'You were very brave.'

'Yes,' Alex added out of the side of his mouth as he opened the rear of the four-by-four under Sebastian's watchful stare. 'You did well, Natangwe.'

Natangwe coughed. 'Thank you.'

'Set him down, Emma,' Sebastian said. 'Help Alex, and if either of you tries anything I'll shoot Natangwe.'

Emma seethed at Sebastian, her hatred burning her from within, but she told herself to stay calm and tried again to think what her mother would do in this situation. Sebastian, she realised, would have already been dead if she were Sonja. Alex found a wheel spanner and a jack, which he tossed out onto the sand.

'This is a small bottle jack, it will be useless in this sand,' Alex called to Sebastian. He pointed up at the driver's side of the Toyota's roof carrier. Bolted to it was a high-lift jack, secured with a padlock. 'We need that one.'

Sebastian held the rifle's pistol grip with one hand and reached into his pocket with the other. He took out the vehicle's keys. 'Don't try and be a hero, Alex; it'll cost you your life.'

Alex nodded and caught the keys. He made slow work of finding the right key.

Emma could see Alex was deliberately distracting Sebastian.

'Hurry up,' Sebastian called.

Emma leaned into the back of the truck and started rifling through the crate. There was gear and engine oil, and brake fluid and automatic transmission fluid for the gearbox, but they were all in one and five-litre plastic bottles. There was no way she would be able to smuggle one of those past Sebastian. She moved the bottles in the crate around, frantically trying to find something she could use, or an empty container to decant some oil into.

'Get out of there, Emma,' Sebastian called. 'There's nothing you need in there. Alex has the jack.'

'Emma,' said Alex, 'find the crank; we need it to lower the spare wheel down from under the Toyota.'

'Yes, very well,' Sebastian agreed. 'Find that thingy as well.'

Emma's hand closed around a small aerosol can that she'd missed on her first search of the crate. She took a quick look; it was a lubricating spray called Q20. It was, she thought, the kind of stuff used to loosen rusted bolts and stuck door hinges. It would do. She shifted the crate and found the collapsible rod that lowered the tyre. She had watched Sam change a wheel on his four-by-four in Los Angeles one time; it was, he had told her, about the most adventurous thing he had done since meeting her mother in Africa.

Emma looked out the side window and saw that Andre was busy guarding Professor Sutton, who had been ordered to open some tins of food and heat the contents over a gas stove.

Emma withdrew herself from the rear of the truck and, when Sebastian was looking away, holding his hand out for Alex to toss him the keys, she dropped the can of spray onto the sand next to Natangwe. Without even knowing what the contraband was, Natangwe raised his T-shirt and, wincing in pain, slipped the can behind the waistband of his trousers.

Emma got down on her knees and inserted the long rod of the crank into the hole in the rear b.u.mper, as Sam had shown her, and jiggled the end around until it mated with the socket above the spare wheel. She started to wind. It was stiff at first, but with a screech of metal, the chain came free and the spare started to drop.

Alex hefted the heavy high-lift jack to a position next to where Emma was.

'All OK?' he asked her.