“First rule in the bush,” he said. “Walk, don’t run. Remember that on the way out.”

We left by the side entrance which was usually kept open for those clients who wanted direct access to the girls and didn’t welcome publicity. A Ford truck was parked just around the corner from the café, an African dozing behind the wheel. Burke told me to get in the back, spoke to the driver and joined me.

As the truck started to move, I said, “Where to now?”

“The old army airstrip at Caruba. Do you know it?”

“I’ve only been in town a couple of weeks. That job at the ‘Lights of Lisbon’ wasn’t intended to be my life’s work. I was just trying to raise the price of a ticket to Cape Town.”

“Any special reason?”

“A man has to have an aim in life.”

He accepted it, looking quite serious and nodded. “That was good shooting back there. Where did you learn?”

When I explained he was obviously surprised. At that time I didn’t realise how good I must have looked because it wasn’t until later that I learned that I acted instinctively like a real professional who always aims for the shooting hand with his first bullet, knowing that a dying man can still get off a shot at him.

We moved out through the edge of town; there were no longer any street lamps and we were shrouded in darkness. After a while he asked if I had my passport.

I reached for my wallet instinctively and nodded. “About all I have got.”

And then, as if it had only just occurred to him, he said, “My name is Burke, by the way – Sean Burke.”

“Stacey Wyatt.” I hesitated. “Didn’t I hear Coimbra call you major?”

“That’s right. I was twenty years in the British Army – Paratroops. Left last year. I’ve just been granted a commission by the Katanga government.”

“The Congo?” I said.

“I’m forming a special unit to help keep order. Coimbra was supposed to find me a few men. The bastard didn’t even try. Now I’ve got an old D.C.3 waiting at the airstrip and no one to fly out in her.”