The Delta Read Online Free

judging by the hole in its side, a disused one. Animals such as cheetah, hyena and ant-bears made their homes in abandoned termite mounds. She dismounted and put the bike on its stand. Without stopping to see if anything was living inside, Sonja unslung the Javelin from her back and tossed it inside the natural cavern. Too bad, she thought, if the Zimbabwean police or army discovered the launcher now. If her suspicions were right, they probably knew all about her and her weaponry already. She walked back up the hill, stooping as she approached the brow, then dropped to her knees and crawled through the grass.
    She took the binoculars from the pouch in her vest and scanned the horizon. The twin pyres that marked the graves of the Land Rover and helicopter seemed a long way off, but Sonja knew the gap could be closed in seconds if her pursuers had access to another helicopter.
    â€˜Think,’ she ordered herself.
    Exfiltration from this godforsaken country was always going to be the hardest part of the mission. Even if all had gone according to plan, the assassination of a president was news that spread fast. Borders would be sealed in hours, if not minutes, and all westerners – even women – would come in for extra attentionfrom the police, army, and customs and immigration officials.
    Being female was an advantage, and clearly part of Martin Steele’s reason for choosing her for this mission. A lone western man might attract the attention of police, but she had passed through several roadblocks in Zimbabwe, easily playing the part of a German nurse. Only once did she have to show her forged letter of introduction from a German development fund.
    Sonja pulled the satellite phone from a pouch on her combat vest. She dialled Martin’s number. He would be waiting at Francistown Airport, in Botswana, a few hundred kilometres from where she was crouching in the grass.
    â€˜Sorted?’ he asked.
    â€˜No. It’s turned to shit here. We’ve been compromised. There was no package and there was a surprise waiting for me.’
    â€˜A surprise?’
    â€˜A fucking Hind gunship.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜Oh, indeed.’
    â€˜Where are you? Should I come get you?’
    The grass airstrip, their prearranged meeting place, was on an abandoned farm, about fifty kilometres from where she was, as the crow flew. She could be there in less than an hour, even if she drove cross-country, rather than on the secondary road that linked the property to the main Bulawayo Road. Every fibre of her being wanted to say ‘yes, please come get me’. She looked down at her left hand. It was shaking, as the adrenaline began to subside.
    â€˜No. Does your contact know about the pick-up location?’
    There was a pause on the other end of the line.
    â€˜Shit,’ she said. ‘Then that does it. I’ll come by road.’
    â€˜Which crossing ?’
    Sonja thought for a moment. ‘Not over the phone. I’ll call you when I get there. Got to run.’
    She put the phone away and lifted the bike’s seat. From the cavity made for a helmet she extracted a rolled-up nylon hiking rucksack. She slid her M4 into the pack and put it on her back. Also in the helmet well were two more hand grenades, which she put in pouches in her vest.
    Sonja lowered the seat, got back on and kicked the bike into life again. She revved the throttle hard and rode down the hill, around its base and onto the main road. Speed was of the essence now.
    The wind whipped her ponytail behind her as she rode. She watched the speedometer needle climb to a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour. It was good to be moving again. Outside of Victoria Falls was a police checkpoint and veterinary control post. If someone asked to look in her backpack there would be blood spilled. Her vest resembled a photographer’s and she was counting on the novelty of being a white woman on a motorcycle being enough for her to distract