42 CHAPTER FORTY TWO (1/2)

I decided I'd wear a white T-shirt and a pair of light grey chinos. They were wrinkled like hell, but that couldn't be helped. I changed my footwear to the suede desert boots I'd bought before the trip: they seemed, and felt very flimsy on my feet after the military-style boots I'd been wearing. I looked at the discarded costume - T-shirt, camouflage pants, boots - and decided it would be safer to get rid of it later, when I'd put some distance between myself and the border.

I re-tied the knot on the sock containing the diamonds, making the little package as flat as possible, and slipped it into my front pants pocket. I finished off the last of my bottled water and, after a short hesitation, guiltily flung the empty plastic bottle into the bush. Then I started wondering how to dispose of the rifle, and that's when I heard the helicopter.

It was approaching from the south, the whop-whop-whop of the rotor blades slowly growing louder. I grabbed my gear and clung to the tree trunk. I couldn't see the helicopter, even though it sounded very close.

It burst into view not more than a hundred yards from me. It was flying very low and very slowly, following the river on the Ghanaian side. It looked fairly antiquated - it was painted green-brown, like a Battle of Britain Hurricane. The cockpit windows were arranged like a jetliner's, in a narrow arc above a jutting bulbous metal nose. The main rotor was mounted atop a big hump whose back was perforated with numerous ventilation slits.

The side door was open and while it didn't feature a machine gun pointed at me, it did have two soldiers squatting and looking around. I could see the green straps of their security harnesses, and one of them was holding an assault rifle. The other held a pair of binoculars and he chose that very moment to raise them to his face and I swiftly pulled my head back behind the tree trunk. A few very long seconds ticked by.

The helicopter kept whop-whop-whopping in the same spot and I was beginning to get worried the soldiers had spotted something when there was a sudden change in tone and volume. I risked a peek. The helicopter had turned around and was flying away, going downriver. I could see the soldiers for a couple of seconds and I had the impression they were looking at something way behind my back - one of them raised a pointing arm briefly just before the sweeping tail boom with its own little rotor brushed him from view. I watched the helicopter until it dropped out of view.

It was time to get going. I wanted to get rid of the rifle and the military clothes first, though. I had the thought it wasn't wise to leave them right next to the river ford, so I took them along. I remembered that there were at least a couple of kilometers before the track to the river joined the dirt road, and I thought I'd find a good hiding spot for the gear along the way. I was still carrying the rifle, and the military clothes stuffed into my bag, when I heard another engine.

It was a two-stroke motorcycle engine, the sound passing left to right maybe a couple of hundred yards ahead. I was closer to the dirt road than I'd thought. I thought fuck it and grabbed the rifle by the muzzle and just flung it into the bush with all my strength. It cartwheeled crazily through the air and dropped out of sight.

Free of incriminating evidence, I quickened my step. A few minutes later, I came to the dirt road.

I stood still for a while, thinking hard. I remembered that Kross had turned right into the track to the river on our way in; that meant I should turn left. I also remembered that we drove down the dirt road for almost half hour before reaching the turnoff to the river. That translated into at least thirty kilometers to the highway. We had passed a dirt crossroads before the turnoff, but I had no idea where the other road led. There might be a village at its end, or not. My only option was to try and reach the highway.

I was very doubtful of my ability to walk another thirty kilometers on top of the thirty-plus I'd already done. I looked up and down the road: empty. A few cowpats here and there, but no cows or cowherds. My only hope was that someone would be passing by, and would give me a ride if I waved money at them.

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