The Delta Read Online Free Page B

her right thigh.
    The pilot turned the machine to get a better view.
    Sonja came to rest near the bike, her khaki trousers and long-sleeved shirt torn and blood pumping from her leg. She released the fingers of her left hand, as unobtrusively as she could, and flicked the grenade away from her. As she did so she rolled through the dirt until she was pressed hard up against the motorcycle.
    â€˜What’s that?’ the pilot yelled into his intercom.
    â€˜Grenade!’ Sibanda pulled the trigger on the AK, emptying his magazine into the motorcycle as the pilot hauled on his controls and fought to bring the Alouette back up into the sky.
    The orb exploded and the machine rocked and bucked.
    â€˜Put her down! Land this bloody thing!’ Sibanda ordered.
    â€˜No way.’
    The pilot had been diverted from the president’s flight to collect Sibanda, but he lacked the aggression and bravery of the deceased gunship captain. The young man had initially refused to land on the road for ‘safety reasons’ until Sibanda had waved the barrel of his AK-47 in the man’s general direction. He would see the pilot court-martialled after this was all over.
    It was too high for him to jump to the road and he thumped the hatch frame in frustration. ‘Do as I tell you!’ he barked into the intercom.
    â€˜Major, I am in control of this aircraft,’ the pilot said back. ‘We have taken shrapnel damage and there is now a civilian vehicle on the road below. I am not going to land.’
    â€˜Then come around, damn you. I want to see if she is still alive.’
    The pilot flew straight and level for a few more seconds, away from the scene of the explosion, ostensibly studying his instruments and experimenting with the controls to satisfy himself there was no serious damage. Sibanda knew the protocols were a mask for cowardice. ‘Now, lieutenant!’
    The pilot looked back at the rifle pointed at him and pushed the stick over. Sibanda tossed the empty AK-47 on the floor of the helicopter. He had neglected to take a spare magazine from the dead soldier’s body by the
bakkie
. He still had his Tokarev, though, and he drew the pistol. It was a fitting weapon to administer the
coup de grâce
. He leaned out of the hatch as the pilot cautiously circled the crashed motorcycle.
    Below them, a big blue tour truck headed for the border. Sibanda had seen it slow, but the driver was wisely continuing on past the cycle.
    â€˜Where is she?’ Sibanda asked out loud. He could see the fallen trail bike, but no sign of the woman.
    â€˜She?’ said the pilot.
    Sibanda ignored the question. ‘Follow that truck. She must have jumped on board somehow. Can you radio the border post at Kazungula?’
    â€˜I’ll try.’ The pilot fiddled with a knob and spoke into his headset microphone. ‘Ah, it is not working, Major.’
    Sibanda wanted to shoot the man, but as he didn’t know how to fly, that wasn’t an option. ‘Fly me to the border, now, you idiot!’
    â€˜Sir.’
    They circled the site of the crashed motorbike once more, but there was no sign of the assassin. The pilot lowered the nose and proceeded along the black ribbon of tar that sliced through the dry mopane bushveld of the national park. A herd of a dozen kudu took fright at their low passage and bolted across the road, their white tails curled protectively over their rumps as they jumped high to avoid the unseen threat.
    The Alouette started vibrating, the tremor growing in a matter of seconds from a hum to a shudder. ‘What’s that?’ Sibanda asked.
    â€˜Oil pressure is dropping.’ The pilot tapped a gauge. ‘I’m putting her down before the engine seizes.’
    â€˜Mother of God!’
    Sibanda was out of the aircraft as the wheels touched the ground. If he didn’t get away from that bloody pilot he would kill him, and he was in enough trouble already this day. His