The afternoon sun beat down. The sweat was running off McQuade, his mouth dry, and he cursed himself for not bringing a bottle of water.
He was three kilometres further along the range of hills, sitting amongst a pile of rocks in the notional shade of a skeletal thorn tree. He had been there half an hour, and he intended to stay there till sunset, to find out how many times the Landrover patrolled the ranch.
He had found the track branching up from the main road into the hills towards the schloss. He had crept through the bush beside it until he had seen the guardhouse at the main road. He had lain waiting to find out how many guards there were. In ten minutes, only a woman emerged to tend a cooking pot, followed by two small children. He decided he should not wait any longer; the guard himself might be prowling the area. He carefully made his way back into the hills.
He had emerged on the top of the range. There, below, was the schloss again, the track going across the plain towards it. The whole area around the schloss, a rectangle of maybe thirty acres, was enclosed by a diamond-mesh fence, ten or twelve feet high and topped by barbed wire, mostly obscured by trees and scrub. But there were few trees inside the fence, and they provided little or no obstruction to a clear field of vision from the battlements. In the western corner was a large orchard, and some fields of lucerne. In the eastern corner were the stables adjoining the big paddock, and there was also a small grandstand under a thatched roof. Beyond the stables, back into the trees, were the thatched huts, in neat rows, obviously a labour compound. The road from the main gate wound down to the high fence, followed it to the west, up to a big main guardhouse, which McQuade had been unable to see before. This was the main entrance he had been expecting. It was like a small fort in itself. It had a big arch and the outer walls had gunslits.
He studied the guardhouse through his binoculars. There was no movement, but it was big enough to be a barracks for the guards. He took a photograph of it, and more photographs of the schloss and its surroundings. Then he drew a rough sketch plan, estimated the distances and marked them in.
He sat there, waiting for something to happen.
Three times the Landrover had driven through the hills in the time he had been here, at approximately two-hour intervals, but he had only glimpsed it through the trees and had been unable to see where it disappeared to. From here he should be able to see.
In the middle of the afternoon he heard a different vehicle. He scrambled down onto his stomach and peered.
Suddenly, coming from the direction of the main road, a grey Mercedes ground down the track past him. He just had time to make out that a white man was driving, a blonde woman was beside him, and another person in the back. It disappeared in the direction of the schloss. A few minutes later it reappeared on the plain below, alongside the fence. It drove up to the guardhouse. It did not stop. It swept up the drive and disappeared into the schloss.
Almost immediately he heard the Landrover again. A few minutes later it came into view on the track immediately below him; he glimpsed three black men. Then it was gone.
He waited for it to reappear on the plain below. It did not.
So, it had driven off down another track that he could not see. Obviously, around the eastern perimeter of the property. Was there another entrance to the enclosure in the east? Another guardhouse?
Was there a back door to the schloss? Or one on the far side? Just then the question was answered: two men emerged from the back of the schloss and began walking slowly towards the stables. McQuade shot the binoculars up to his eyes.
He could not make out faces. One was short and had white hair. They were walking slowly, heads down, talking. They stopped and faced each other; then slowly continued. They disappeared inside the stables.
McQuade waited.
Almost twenty minutes passed. Then, in the far distance, beyond the schloss, a vehicle flashed between the trees for an instant. He was sure it was the Landrover. Just then the two men emerged from the stables. They were walking briskly this time. They disappeared into the back of the schloss.
Then things started happening rapidly.
Suddenly the Landrover reappeared on the far side of the plain. It was driving down a track towards the guardhouse. At the same time, seven uniformed black men emerged from the labour compound behind the stable and walked briskly towards the guardhouse, a kilometre away. They were all armed with rifles. McQuade looked at his watch. Five minutes before five p.m. Now two black guards emerged from the guardhouse. The Landrover appeared at the guardhouse, drove through, stopped, and three black men got out. A uniformed white man emerged from the guardhouse.
The black men formed two ranks, the seven newcomers in one line, five in the other. They stood at ease, the white man strolling amongst them. Suddenly they all snapped to attention. Then two of the newcomers did a smart left turn and marched off in the direction of the schloss. They disappeared inside. Half a minute later, two black men emerged, marching smartly. They marched to the guardhouse, and snapped to a halt in the ranks. Then that line did a left turn, marched three paces, and fell out. They started walking in the direction of the compound. The rank of newcomers marched off. Three climbed into the Landrover. It drove off towards the far side of the plain.
So, McQuade thought. Seven men to a guard-watch. Two in the schloss itself, two in the guardhouse, three in the patrol vehicle. Plus one at the entrance at the main road. At least fifteen armed men in all. Plus the white officer, sixteen. Plus the pilot, who was doubtless armed. Plus the man who had driven the car. A total of eighteen at least.
Just then, the white Toyota emerged from the schloss. It drove to the guardhouse, and disappeared out of McQuade’s field of vision, in the direction of the airstrip.
He waited. The sun was getting low now.
Five minutes later he heard a soft distant roar. Then the aeroplane appeared, climbing into the sky. It turned due east, still climbing, and disappeared.
McQuade cautiously got up. He started threading his way between the trees, in the direction of the guest farm.
There was only one thing more he could learn today, and that was whether the area around the schloss was floodlit at night. It would be dark soon and that detail he could learn from his first vantage point, closer to home.
It was after nine o’clock when he toiled up the track to the guest farm. To his relief, his Landrover was there. There were several other cars. He hurried to his rondavel. The door was locked, but opened immediately when he knocked. Sarah was wreathed in smiles. She flung her arms around him. ‘Oh thank God! Did anybody see you come in?’
‘Don’t think so.’ He hugged her.
‘Because you dine promptly at seven in this German establishment, or not at all. I said you were resting and ordered dinner to be sent in.’ She waved her hand at a tray. ‘And booze,’ she added.
‘Sheer genius!’ He snapped the cap off a beer and drank it down, down, down. It was nectar. He sat on the bed in a heap.
‘Tell me. But first tell me you love me.’