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completely unserviceable. It didn’t matter, he realized, and some of the tension in him began to bleed away. As long as the international press didn’t get wind of the situation, then money could make everything right in Burkina Faso. The third world nation wasn’t so backward that bribes were useless.
“Get inside and sit down,” du Toit suddenly said to the girl, speaking French.
He had to organize his men, secure medical evacuation for the wounded and eventually a cargo plane back to South Africa for the dead. He needed to uncrate and arm the men he had left before securing motorized transportation. He needed to get into town and pull money out of the transfer account he’d set up. He had to start bribing people, starting with Le Crème.
He looked up into the sky, turning his face into the deluge. He could see the face of the man who had ambushed him very clearly, each stark line and even the graveyard gaze of the man’s cold blue eyes. He felt a grudging admiration. That feeling changed nothing. If he saw the man again, he’d kill him.
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