Crocodile Tears - Anthony Horowitz [106]
“How were you going to kill him?” Alex asked.
“I was planning to shoot him, but as I discovered last night, that will not be as easy as I thought. He is well protected by his Kikuyus. However, I have come well prepared. I can also blow up his plane.”
“You have plastic explosive?”
“Of course.” Rahim gestured at his backpack. “McCain flies a four-seater 172 Skyhawk.”
Alex nodded grimly. “I know. That’s what brought me here.”
“I will blow it up in midair. In a way, that is the better option. It is part of my brief that RAW should not be seen to have been involved. A bomb, I think, will be more anonymous than a bullet casing.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to think again, Rahim.” Alex went over to the Indian agent and sat down next to him. His thoughts had already raced ahead. “I have to contact MI6,” he said.
“You want to let them know you are safe.”
“More than that. Do you have a radio?”
“I have a laptop equipped with a demodulator. It will produce a baseband output that can be picked up by satellite. Do you have an address?”
“No.” It only occurred to Alex now. Even after all the missions he had undertaken for MI6, they had never given him an e-mail address or a telephone number. On the other hand, he’d been supplied with gadgets. What had happened to the pocket calculator with the built-in communications system? It was a shame it hadn’t been in his pocket when he was snatched.
“It’s not a problem,” Rahim said. “We can contact the Intelligence Bureau in New Delhi. They will pass on any message to Liverpool Street. What is it you want to say?”
Quickly, Alex told Rahim everything that he had learned from Desmond McCain the night before . . . the genetically modified wheat crop, the spores, the plan to poison half the continent. “We have less time than you thought,” he said. “And killing McCain right now isn’t going to do anyone any good. We have to go up to the Simba Valley. It’s only two miles from here.”
Rahim shook his head. “I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t have enough explosive to blow up an entire wheat field.”
“That’s not my idea.” Alex was remembering what McCain had told him, and what he had seen for himself when he was flown in. “There’s a place called the Simba Dam,” he explained. “It’s on the edge of a big lake. If we could blow it up, we could flood the valley. We could put the whole crop underwater before it has a chance to do any harm. But we have to do it today. Right now. McCain said that the spores would start working at sunset. It must be about midday now.”
“Alex, I know this dam,” Rahim said. “I studied the whole area before I parachuted. It is what is known as a double curvature arch dam . . . which is to say that it curves against the side of the valley and also against the valley floor, making it doubly strong. I have just one kilogram of plastic explosive. That would not be nearly enough even to make a crack in the wall.”
“There must be some sort of pipe or valve—”
“There will be a whole series of pipes carrying the water down the hill. Simba Dam is used for irrigation purposes, but there are also two hydroelectric turbines.” Alex was impressed. Rahim had clearly done his homework. “It might be possible to attack the bottom outlet valve or the scour valve that is next to it. Either of them would release enormous amounts of water.” He shook his head. “But it cannot be done.”
“Why not?”
“Because I cannot do it. My leg is infected. I was barely able to limp to the river. The Simba Dam is three miles from here.”
“I could go on my own.”
“That I will not allow.”
Alex thought for a minute. “You parachuted in,” he said. “How were you planning to leave?”
“McCain has a crop duster as well as the Skyhawk. I imagine he used it to spread this spore of his that you described?