cc.vixen03-第13部分

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ed　to　be　nearly　fifty　workers　and　their　families；　along　with　their　cattle　and　goats。
　The　Fawkes　house…more　of　an　estate；　actually…dominated　the　crest　of　a　hill　and　was　neatly　landscaped　by　rows　of　gladiola　and　fire　lilies　edging　a　closely　cropped　lawn。　The　picturesque　scene　was　spoiled　by　a　ten…foot　chain…link　fence　topped　by　several　strands　of　barbed　wire　that　guarded　the　house　on　all　four　sides。
　Somala　studied　the　barrier　closely。　It　was　a　stout　fence。　The　support　poles　were　thick　and　were　no　doubt　buried　deep　in　encased　concrete。　Nothing　short　of　a　tank　could　penetrate　that　mesh；　he　calculated。　He　shifted　his　glasses　until　a　solidly　muscled　man　with　a　repeating　rifle　strapped　to　a　shoulder　came　into　view。　The　guard　leaned　casually　against　a　small　wooden　shelter　that　stood　next　to　a　gate。　Guards　could　be　surprised　and　easily　disposed　of；　Somala　mused；　but　it　was　the　thin　lines　leading　from　the　fence　to　the　basement　of　the　house　that　diluted　his　confidence。　He　didn't　require　the　presence　of　an　electrical　engineer　to　tell　him　the　fence　was　connected　to　a　generator。　He　could　only　speculate　as　to　the　strength　of　the　voltage　that　surged　invisibly　through　the　chain　link。　He　noted　also　that　one　of　the　wires　led　into　the　guard's　shelter。　That　meant　a　switch　had　to　be　thrown　by　a　guard　whenever　the　gate　was　opened；　and　this　was　the　Achilles'　heel　of　the　Fawkes　defense。
　Pleased　at　his　discovery；　Somala　settled　down　inside　his　blind　and　watched　and　waited。
　
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　Captain　Patrick　McKenzie　Fawkes；　Royal　Navy　retired；　paced　the　floor　of　his　veranda　with　the　same　intensity　he　had　once　exhibited　on　the　deck　of　a　ship　when　approaching　home　port。　He　was　a　giant　of　a　man；　standing　a　shade　over　six　feet　six　in　his　bare　feet　and　supporting　a　frame　that　exceeded　two　hundred　eighty　pounds。　His　eyes　were　somber　gray；　tinted　dark　as　the　water　of　the　North　Sea　under　a　November　storm。　Every　sand…colored　strand　of　hair　was　brushed　neatly　in　place；　as　were　the　whitening　filaments　of　his　King　George　V　beard。　Fawkes　might　have　passed　for　an　Aberdeen　sea　captain；　which　is　exactly　what　he　was　before　being　a　Natal　farmer。
　〃Two　days！〃　he　exclaimed　in　a　booming　Scots　accent。　〃I　canna　afford　to　take　two　days　away　from　the　farm。　It's　inhuman；　aye；　that's　what　it　is；　inhuman。〃　Miraculously；　the　tea　in　the　cup　he　waved　refused　to　slop　over　the　brim。
　〃If　the　Minister　of　Defence　personally　asked　to　meet　with　you；　the　least　you　can　do　is　oblige。〃
　〃But　damn；　woman；　he　does　not　know　what　he's　asking。〃　Fawkes　shook　his　head。　〃We're　in　the　midst　of　clearing　new　acreage。　That　prize　bull　I　purchased　in　Durban　last　month　is　due　to　arrive　tomorrow。　The　tractors　need　maintenance。　No；　I　canna　go。〃
　〃You'd　best　be　getting　the　four…wheel…drive　warmed　up。〃　Myrna　Fawkes　laid　down　her　needlework　and　gazed　up　at　her　husband。　〃I've　already　packed　your　things　and　made　a　lunch　to　keep　you　in　a　good　humor　until　you　meet　the　Minister's　train　at　Pembroke。〃
　Fawkes　towered　over　his　wife　and　scowled。　It　was　a　wasted　gesture。　In　twenty…five　years　she　had　yet　to　buckle　before　him。　Out　of　stubbornness　he　tried　a　new　tack。
　〃It　would　be　negligent　of　me　to　leave　you　and　the　kids　alone；　what　with　all　them　damned　heathen　terrorists　sneaking　through　the　brush　and　murdering　God…fearing　Christians　right　and　left。〃
　〃Aren't　you　confusing　an　insurgency　with　a　holy　war？〃
　〃Why；　just　the　other　day；〃　Fawkes　pushed　on；　〃a　farmer　and　his　missus　was　ambushed　over　at　Umoro。〃
　〃Umoro　is　eighty　miles　away；〃　his　wife　said　matter…of…factly。
　〃It　could　happen　here　just　as　well。〃
　〃You　will　go　to　Pembroke　and　you　will　visit　with　the　Defence　Minis…ter。〃　The　words　that　came　from　the　woman　seemed　chiseled　in　stone。　〃I　have　better　things　to　do　than　sit　around　on　the　veranda　all　morning　and　palaver　with　you；　Patrick　Fawkes。　Now　get　on　your　way；　and　stay　out　of　them　Pembroke　saloons。〃
　Myrna　Fawkes　was　not　a　woman　to　ignore。　Though　she　was　lean　and　tiny；　she　possessed　the　toughness　of　two　good　men。　Fawkes　seldom　knew　her　when　she　wasn't　dressed　in　one　of　his　outsized　khaki　shirts　and　blue　jeans　tucked　into　midcalf　boots。　She　could　do　almost　anything　he　could　do：　deliver　a　calf；　ramrod　their　army　of　native　workers；　repair　a　hundred　and　one　different　pieces　of　mechanical　hardware；　nurse　the　sick　and　injured　women　and　children　in　the　pound；　cook　like　a　French　chef。　Strangely；　she　had　never　learned　to　drive　a　car　or　ride　a　horse　and　made　no　bones　about　not　caring　to　bother。　She　kept　her　sinewy　body　in　shape　by　miles　of　everyday　walking。
　〃Don't　fret　for　us；〃　she　continued。　〃We　have　five　armed　guards。　Jenny　and　Patrick　Junior　can　both　shoot　the　head　off　a　mamba　at　fifty　meters。　I　can　call　up　the　constable　by　radio　in　case　of　trouble。　And　don't　forget　the　electrified　fence。　Even　if　guerrillas　get　through　that；　there's　still　old　Lucifer　to　contend　with。〃　She　motioned　toward　a　Holland　&　Holland　twelve…gauge　shotgun　that　rested　against　the　door　frame。
　Before　Fawkes　could　grunt　a　last…ditch　reply；　his　son　and　daughter　drove　up　in　a　British　Bushmaster　and　parked　by　the　steps　of　the　veranda。
　〃She's　filled　with　petrol　and　ready　to　go；　Captain；〃　Patrick　Junior　shouted。　He　was　two　months　past　twenty　and　wore　the　face　and　slimness　of　his　mother；　but　in　height　he　loomed　three　inches　over　his　father。　His　sister；　a　year　younger；　big　boned　and　large　breasted；　smiled　gaily　from　a　face　sprinkled　with　freckles。
　〃I'm　all　out　of　bath　oil；　Papa；〃　Jenny　said。　〃Will　you　please　remember　to　pick　me　up　some　when　you're　in　Pembroke？〃
　〃Bath　oil；〃　Fawkes　groaned。　〃It's　a　damned　conspiracy。　My　whole　life　is　one　great　conspiracy　engineered　by　my　own　flesh　and　blood。　You　think　you　can　get　along　without　me？　Then　so　be　it。　But　in　my　log　you're　all　a　bloody　lot　of　mutineers。〃
　Kissed　by　a　laughing　Myrna　and　herded　by　his　son　and　daughter；　Fawkes　reluctantly　boarded　the　four…wheel…drive。　As　he　waited　for　the　guard　to　open　the　gate；　he　turned　and　looked　back　at　the　house。　They　were　still　standing　on　the　steps　of　the　veranda；　framed　by　a　lattice　bursting　with　bougainvillea　blossoms。　The　three　of　them　waved　and　he　waved　back。　And　then　he　was　shifting　the　Bushmaster　through　the　gears　as　he　swung　onto　the　dirt　road；　pulling　a　small　dust　cloud　behind。
　Somala　watched　the　captain's　departure；　closely　noting　the　procedure　of　the　guard　as　he　turned　the　electricity　off　and　on　when　opening　and　closing　the　gate。　The　motions　were　acplished　mechanically。　That　was　good；　Somala　thought。　The　man　was　bored。　So　much　the　better　if　the　time　came　for　an　assault。
　He　angled　the　binoculars　toward　the　dense　elephant　grass　smudged　with　thick　clumps　of　shrub　that　made　up　the　snaking　boundaries　of　the　farm。　He　almost　missed　it。　He　would　have　missed　it　if　his　eye　hadn't　caught　a　lightning…quick　glint　from　the　sun's　reflection。　His　instinctive　reaction　was　to　blink　and　rub　his　eyes。　Then　he　looked　again。
　Another　black　man　was　lying　on　a　platform　above　the　ground；　partially　obscured　by　the　fernlike　leaves　of　an　acacia　tree。　Except　for　slightly　younger　features　and　a　shade　lighter　skin；　he　could　have　passed　for　Somala。　The　intruder　was　dressed　in　identical　camouflage　bat　fatigues　and　carried　a　Chinese　CK…88　automatic　rifle　with　cartridge　bandolier…the　standard　issue　of　a　soldier　in　the　African　Army　of　Revo…lution。　To　Somala　it　was　like　gazing　into　a　distant　mirror。
　His　thoughts　were　confused。　The　men　of　his　section　were　all　ac…counted　for。　He　did　not　recognize　this　man。　Had　his　Vietnamese　advi…sory　mittee　sent　a　spy　to　observe　his　scouting　efficiency？　Surely　his　loyalty　to　the　AAR　was　not　in　question。　Then　Somala　experienced　a　creeping　chill　up　the　nape　of　his　neck。
　The　other　soldier　was　not　watching　Somala。　He　was　staring　through　binoculars　at　the　Fawkes　house。
　
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　The　dampness　hung　like　a　soggy　blanket　and　kept　the　water　from　evaporating　out　of　the　potholes。　Fawkes　glanced　at　the　clock　in　the　dashboard；　it　read　three　thirty…five。　In　another　hour　he　would　reach　Pembroke。　He　began　to　feel　a　growing　urge　for　a　healthy　tot　of　whisky。
　He　passed　a　pair　of　black　youngsters　squatting　in　the　ditch　beside　the　road。　He　paid　them　no　heed　and　did　not　see　them　as　they　leaped　to　their　feet　and　began　running　in　the　Bushmaster's　dusty　wake。　A　hundred　yards　farther　on　the　road　narrowed。　A　swamp　on　the　right　side　held　a　rotting　bed　of　reeds。　On　the　left　a　ravine　fell　more　than　a　hundred　feet　to　a　muddy　streambed。　Directly　ahead　a　boy　of　about　sixteen　stood　in　the　middle　of　the　road；　one　hand　gripping　a　broad…bladed　Zulu　spear；　the　other　hand　supporting　a　raised　rock。
　Fawkes　stopped　abruptly。　The　boy　held　his　ground　and　stared　with　an　expression　of　grim　determination　at　the　bearded　face　behind　the　windshield。　He　wore　ragged　shorts　and　a　soiled；　torn　t…shirt　that　had　never　seen　soap。　Fawkes　rolled　down　his　window　and　leaned　out。　He　smiled　and　spoke　in　a　low；　friendly　voice。
　〃If　you　have　a　mind　to　play　Saint　George　and　the　dragon　with　me；　boy；　I　suggest　you　reconsider。〃
　Fawkes　was　answered　by　silence。　Then　he　became　aware　of　three　images　simultaneously；　and　his　muscles　tensed。　There　was　the　sight　of　gleaming　safety…glass　fragments　that　had　been　carelessly　kicked　into　a　rain…eroded　rut。　There　were　parallel　tire　marks　that　curv