The Afrikaner was glad to be back in Africa, but quite disgruntled that it was in Algeria and not in his homeland. He supposed that it would have to do. Instantly, he could tell that most of them were quite unaccustomed to the climate and insisted on a night operation. While it made sense tactically, he was sure that they were motivated at least partially by the weak desire of avoiding the inhospitable African sun - which was unrelenting to all who felt her rays.

The journey from Geneva to Algeria, and indeed the entire process, had been a silent one for v.d. Westhuizen. He felt no inclination to speak up at Geneva, or in the flight over, or really at any point in the process. What did he have to say? The stares and glares from the kaffers and their like-minded companions burned into his skin like laser-beams. The hatred that they felt for him radiated off of their skin like the radiance of the African sun. But what did he care?

Hate him, and see if he minded.

As the car drove onward into the night, he smiled to himself. If they were stopped by a Bedouin with half a brain, they would instantly be suspicious at not only the kaffer in the front seat pretending to be their commander, but by the woman beside him. They would all be shot dead in the car before they could even raise their weapons in anger. It was a gross miscalculation, he thought, on the part of Brick for even including them in this mission. They were sure to get them all killed.

"Let us drive West!" The Afrikaner spoke up, motivated by no desire except to say the opposite of the "French" kaffer who suggested the idea, "it will be the easiest course to take. We should not risk any confrontation or discovery. If we are stopped..." he spoke for the first time about his concerns, or really at all, since they had been assigned the mission, "...they will discover we are not who we say we are."