Juggernaut. Desmond Bagley
less of a strain than daywork.
I pulled up and looked around. Of the men I could see I knew only one by name: McGrath, the big Irishman who had driven the lead tractor in the parade through Port Luard. Ritchie got out of the car, thanked me for the ride up and went off to join his mates. I called McGrath over.
‘Hi there. Mister Kemp around?’ I asked.
McGrath pointed up the road. ‘There’s a bridge about a mile along. He’s having a look at it.’
‘Thanks.’ I drove along slowly and thought the convoy looked like an oversized gypsy camp. The commissary wagon was opened up and a couple of men were cooking. A little further along were the other trucks, including the big one with the airlift gear, and then the camp of Sadiq and his men, very neat and military. Sadiq got to his feet as I drove up but with the light fading I indicated that I would see him on my return from the bridge, and went on past. I saw and approved of the fact that the fuel truck was parked on its own, well away from all the others, but made a mental note to check that it was guarded.
The road had been blasted through a low ridge here and beyond the ridge was a river. I pulled off the road short of the bridge and parked next to Kemp’s Land Rover. I could see him in the distance, walking halfway across the bridge, accompanied by Hammond. I waved and they quickened their pace.
When they came up to me I thought that Kemp looked better than he had done in Port Luard. The lines of his face fell in more placid folds and he wasn’t so tired. Obviously he was happier actually doing a job than arranging for it to be done, Ben Hammond, by his side, hadn’t changed at all. He still had his gamecock strut and his air of defensive wariness. Some little men feel that they have a lot to be wary about.
‘Hello there,’ I said. ‘I just thought I’d drop by for a coffee.’
Kemp grinned and shook my hand, but Hammond said, ‘Checking up on us, are you? Mr Wingstead’s just been up here, you know.’
Clearly he was saying that where Geoff had gone, no man need go after. His voice told me that he thought a lot of his boss, which pleased me. I sometimes wondered if I was as transparent to other people as they appeared to me.
I jerked my thumb back up the road. ‘Sure I’m checking. Do you know what that transporter is worth? Landed at Port Luard it was declared at one million, forty-two thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six pounds and five pence.’ I grinned to take the sting out of it. ‘I still haven’t figured out what the five pence is for. If it was yours, wouldn’t you want to know if it was in safe hands?’
Hammond looked startled. Kemp said, ‘Take it easy, Ben,’ which I thought was a nice reversal of roles. ‘Mister Mannix is quite entitled to come up here, and he’s welcome any time. Sorry if Ben’s a bit edgy – we have problems.’
I wasn’t a bit surprised to hear it, but dutifully asked what they were. Kemp held out a lump of concrete. ‘I kicked that out with the toe of my boot. I didn’t have to kick hard, either.’
I took the lump and rubbed it with my thumb. It was friable and bits dropped off. ‘I’d say that someone used a mite too much sand in the mix.’ I pointed to the bridge. ‘Milner said the bridges would prove dicey. Is this the worst?’
Kemp shook his head. ‘Oh no. This isn’t too bad at all. The really tricky one is way up there, miles ahead yet. This one is run-of-the-mill. Just a little shaky, that’s all.’ He and Hammond exchanged rueful smiles. ‘It’s too risky to move in the dark and there’s only half an hour of daylight left. We’ll take her across at first light. Anyway it will be our first full night stop for nearly a week, good for the lads.’
I said, ‘I came just in time to see the fun. Mind if I stick around? I brought Ritchie Thorpe up with me.’
‘Good show. We can use him. We’ll rig a couple of extra bunks after we’ve eaten,’ Kemp said, climbing into his car. Hammond joined him and I followed them back to camp, but stopped to say a few polite and appreciative things to Sadiq on the way. He assured me that any labour necessary for strengthening the bridge would be found very quickly, and I left him, marvelling at the self-assurance that a uniform lends a man.
My mind was in top gear as I thought about the bridge. Someone had made a bit of extra profit on the contract when it was built, and it was going to be interesting to watch the passage of the rig the next day. From a safe vantage point, of course. But if this bridge was run of the mill, what the hell was the tricky one going to be like?
I laid my plate on one side. ‘Good chow.’
There was humour in Kemp’s voice. ‘Not haute cuisine, but we survive.’
Two of the tractors were parked side by side and we sat under an awning rigged between them. Kemp was certainly more relaxed and I wondered how best to take advantage of the fact. We weren’t alone – several of the others had joined us. Obviously Kemp didn’t believe in putting a distance between himself and the men, but I wanted to get him alone for a chat. I leaned over and dropped my voice. ‘If you can find a couple of glasses, how about a Scotch?’
He too spoke quietly. ‘No thanks. I prefer to stick to the camp rules, if you don’t mind. We could settle for another beer, though.’ As he said this he got up and disappeared into the night, returning in a moment with a four-pack of beer. I rose and took his arm, steering him away from the makeshift dining room. ‘A word with you, Basil,’ I said. ‘Where can we go?’
Presently we were settled in a quiet corner with our backs up against two huge tyres, the blessedly cool night wind on our faces, and an ice cold can of beer apiece.
‘You’ve got it made,’ I said, savouring the quietness. ‘How do you keep this cold?’
He laughed. ‘There’s a diesel generator on the rig for the lights. If you’re already carrying three hundred tons a ten cubic foot refrigerator isn’t much more of a burden. We have a twenty cubic foot deepfreeze, too. The cook says we’re having lobster tails tomorrow night.’
‘I forget the scale of this thing.’
‘You wouldn’t if you were pushing it around.’
I drank some beer. It was cold and pleasantly bitter. A little casual conversation was in order first. ‘You married?’
‘Oh yes. I have a wife and two kids in England: six and four, both boys. How about you?’
‘I tried, but it didn’t take. A man in my job doesn’t spend enough time at home to hang his hat up, and women don’t like that as a rule.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ His voice showed that he felt the same way.
‘How long since you were home?’
‘About two months. I’ve been surveying this damned road. I reckon it’ll be a while before I’m home again.’
I said, ‘Up at Bir Oassa the government is just finishing a big concrete airstrip, big enough for heavy transports. It’s just about to go into operation, we’ve been told, though we’re not sure what “just about” means.’
Kemp said, ‘No parades up there though, with no-one to see them.’
‘Right. Well, when it’s ready we’ll be flying in the expensive bits that aren’t too heavy, like the turbine shafts. There’ll be quite a lot of coming and going and it wouldn’t surprise me if there wasn’t room for a guy to take a trip back to England once in a while. That applies to your crew as well, of course.’
‘That’s splendid – we’d all appreciate it. I’ll have to make up a roster.’ He was already perking up at the thought, and I marvelled all over again at what domesticity does for some men.
‘How did you get into heavy haulage?’ I asked him.
‘It wasn’t so much getting into it as being born into it. My old man was always on the heavy side – he pushed around tank transporters in the war – and I’m a chip off the old block.’
‘Ever