Surprisingly, the boom gate in front of the Land Cruiser was raised before it came to a stop. Roberts thrust his arm from the driver’s window and motioned them to follow. Sonja cruised past the checkpoint, taking in the numbers, the guns, uniforms and general attitude of the men and women manning it, without making eye contact with any of them. It was one time she would have welcomed a brief delay, in order to better carry out her recce.
The road had turned from tar to gravel and was now called the D3402, according to her GPS. They had swung west again, the Okavango still somewhere off to their right, and Sonja eased off the accelerator to stay out of the dust cloud stirred up by the Toyota in front. The dry grass to her right was covered in a layer of white grit, a testimony to the amoun
