The outlines of Nyando and his men were visible, advancing uncertainly towards another cluster of vehicle lights. She jumped as a shaved head appeared in the window next to her.
The man, of Caucasian race, put his fingers to his lips, appeared to mouth the words ‘Don’t scream,’ shaking his head vigorously while he prised the locked rear door open with the blade of a fearsome looking knife.
Nyando halted, ordered the men on his either side to do likewise, as he began to ponder the audacity of the formidable shape lumbering towards them. The warlord was desperate to ensure the ploy to get his hands on what he regarded as his rightful share of the fruits of Quesada’s mining expedition would meet no more hitches. But the latest message from his contacts in Matadi, informing him of the value
