Free Hyena Dawn by Christopher Sherlock

expedition. I’m divorced, my children are grown up. I want to get into the field.’
    Rayne felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He now had a second-in-command - and he couldn’t have wished for a better man.
     
    Back at the Dorchester, Rayne packed the dossiers on each of the men into his attache case. Now he had everything he needed. He had organised payment through the Swiss bank into which John Fry had deposited the funds. Now he and Strong were about to fly back to South Africa. He would be operational in less than a week’s time.
    He looked round the room one last time to make sure he’d forgotten nothing, and then carried his case towards the door - but before he got to it, Priscilla St John entered, wearing a vividly-coloured dress that stood out against her dark skin. The expression on her face, though, did not match the gay design of her dress.
    ‘ How did you know I was going?’
    ‘ I asked Michael.’
    Rayne hadn’t known how to say goodbye to her. He had been afraid to admit to himself that their relationship had become more than just a casual affair. The guilt was still there about Sam.
    She sat down on the edge of the bed, and Rayne put down his case, took her in his arms and kissed her softly on the lips. The embrace went on. He felt scared of what had developed so quickly between them.
    Eventually she pulled away and looked directly at him. ‘You’re so hard, yet underneath you’re hurting. Tell me there’s no one else.’
    He shook his head. ‘I have a duty . . .’
    ‘ A duty to live, not to die.’
    She got up and went over to the mirror. Carefully she made up her mouth again. Then she turned to him.
    ‘ That woman, whoever she is, is very lucky. Don’t let her down.’ And before he could reply, she was gone.
     
    Rayne was seated in the tourist-class compartment of a British Airways 747 flying direct from London to South Africa. Sitting next to him, thoughtfully sipping a glass of white wine, was Colonel Strong. Across the aisle were three hand-picked men.
    Rayne and his team were going on a long holiday to South Africa, and a rather interesting sight-seeing trip to Mozambique.
    Bunty Mulbarton. Easily the most experienced; an ex-SAS man like Colonel Strong. Son of Major Mick Mulbarton, hero of the Somme and countless other actions. Heir to the Mulbarton Biscuit Company but preferring action to management. Active in the Arabian Peninsula with the SAS, particularly Aden and the Radfan Mountains. A weapons and explosives expert. Holder of the rank of major in the regular British army. Five foot nine of him in his stockinged feet. Blond hair, incongruous jet black eyebrows, over penetrating green eyes, sensual mouth, aquiline nose, old Etonian accent.
    Guy Hauser. French national. A career soldier with the French Foreign Legion. Silent about his past before that. A first lieutenant with a violent temper who’d faced numerous assault charges but never been convicted. First-rate shot, hardened hand-to-hand fighter. Ruthless; also highly intelligent. A man who had seen action in Vietnam and anywhere else he could find a war and someone wanting to pay him to fight. Distinctive goatee beard, face deeply tanned, widow’s peak. A tendency to raise the eyebrows and furrow the forehead when speaking.
    Guy was the closest human equivalent to a bull terrier Rayne had ever seen. A good choice for mercenary action; a very intense and dangerous man.
    Furthest away from Rayne sat Larry Preston. He was a very short, stocky man with long, straight blond hair, and he spoke with a Birmingham accent. Formerly an officer in the SAS, and now a full-time mercenary, Preston was a rough diamond with a penchant for the good life. He was expert with explosives, and claimed there wasn’t a vault door he couldn’t open.
    Colonel Strong had provided Rayne with the very best. Now all he had to do was deploy them.
     
    Mozambique at the end of 1978 was a wasteland. Outside the main towns