The Delta Read Online Free PDF Page A

dreams of glory were turning into a waking nightmare. There would be no promotion, no more land, no spot on the politburo, and no money if this woman got away and exposed them. To make matters worse, he had deliberately not informed the police or border authorities of the bogus assassination plot. A vehicle was coming towards them, an ageing red
bakkie
with a trailing cloudof black diesel smoke. As the vehicle approached Sibanda walked into the middle of the road and drew his pistol.
    The driver was wide-eyed as Sibanda barked, ‘Get out!’
    Speechless with fear, the thin man in blue workman’s overalls did as ordered. Sibanda saw the four empty two-hundred-litre drums in the back. The man was on a fuel run to Botswana to bring back diesel or petrol for the black market. ‘I am commandeering this vehicle.’
    The citizen nodded dumbly; the sight of the helicopter in the middle of the road and uniformed men silenced any protest. Sibanda got in, rammed the gearstick into first and sped off. As he crashed through the gears and floored the accelerator, the best he could manage from the worn-out diesel engine was seventy-five.
    The tourists were still in shock as their guide and driver, Mike Williams, pulled up at the customs and immigration office at Kazungula. He climbed down from the cab of the overland truck and shook his head. ‘I’m getting too old for this shit.’ He took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Passports everyone. Now!’
    It was odd, he thought, how easily he slipped back into army officer mode when he needed to. Someone had let off a grenade in front of them and a Zimbabwean air force helicopter had very nearly crashed on top of them. He’d thought he’d had his fill of danger on the road. Outstretched hands passed him the group’s travel documents. They seemed as keen as he to put Zimbabwe in the rear-view mirror.
    â€˜
Kanjane shamwari
,’ Mike said to the immigration man, whom he knew by sight. He shook hands with the man and passed the stack of passports under the barred grille.
    â€˜
Kanjane
. You are in a hurry today?’
    Mike coughed. ‘First beer’s waiting for me at the safari lodge.’
    The man smiled and began checking, then thumping each passport with his stamp. ‘Have a safe journey.’
    â€˜I sincerely hope so, mate.’
    On the Botswana side of the border-crossing the customs and immigration people made each of the passengers present themself so their passports could be checked. The group of Australians all knew each other – teachers, parents and senior students from a school in Coffs Harbour – and he’d taken them all the way to Kawalazi in Malawi, to visit a school they were sponsoring. Mike ran a hand through his close-cropped grey hair, then lit a cigarette while he waited outside at the back of the truck. The last of the teachers filed out and Mike ground out his smoke before he was halfway through. On the ground behind the vehicle he saw fresh wet spots. He made a mental note to check for oil leaks when they stopped, but the truck’s dodgy gearbox was the least of his concerns at the moment. ‘Right! Let’s make tracks.’
    â€˜Stop!’
    Mike turned. An African man in army uniform was ducking under the red and white striped boom gate on the Zimbabwean side of the short stretch of no-man’s-land – no more than a hundred metres – between the two border posts. A few of the teachers were gathered in a knot by the truck, watching the man.
    â€˜Maggie, Lisa, Claudia … get on the truck, quick.’ The three women started to board.
    â€˜What does that man want with …’ began another.
    â€˜Don’t worry about him – get on board the bloody truck. Now!’
    Mike started the engine as the last two teachers were hauling on the chain to raise the steps. He was moving before the door closed and a girl shrieked from the rear cab as she lost her