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The adrenaline surged through Hassan bin Zayid’s veins as he piloted the open-top Land Rover at high speed over a bump that caused all four wheels to leave the ground.
Iqhal would have been so proud of his work, he thought. ‘You will be avenged,’ he said aloud to himself. The rear of the vehicle skidded and Hassan wrestled with the steering to keep the four-by-four on the corrugated track. He ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch, taking heart from the fact that the bough indicated he was once more close to the bush camp. He turned off the engine as he crested a low rise and coasted down the opposite slope towards the Zambezi. He stopped the vehicle a hundred metres from the camp.
There was a light breeze from the river and he smelled the lingering remains of acrid smoke. He had hear
