Red Earth (13 page)

Nia didn't know what to do. She wouldn't know where to start searching for the missing child.

‘I can get authorisation from national parks to overfly Hluhluwe–iMfolozi, and I can fly with you to direct the search,' said Sergeant Munro, reading Nia's mind. ‘This is really important. Shame, it's a missing child, after all.'

‘OK,' Nia said. ‘I'll be on my way soon. But please do check on Mike. He was really worried. I'm not sure what's going on.'

‘Leave it to us,' Sergeant Munro said. ‘Ever since those terrorists killed the ambassador the cell phone signal has been regularly clogged. You're lucky you even got through to me.'

‘Well, my call got through to his number, too, it's just that he didn't answer.'

‘No problem,' the woman said. ‘We'll send someone to check the Fessey household. If you do hear from Mr Dunn, please let me know, and bring him with you in your helicopter. Sergeant Khumalo and I would like to interview both of you. Call me when you're getting close. I'm going into the national park now so I'll let you know where I am.'

‘All right,' Nia said, then ended the call.

John was in the office next door. Nia walked in and found him reading an aviation magazine. ‘I've got to fly up to Hluhluwe again. If Mike Dunn calls, could you tell him I've gone searching for the missing kid? Also, call me and let me know if he does get in touch.'

‘Will do.'

Nia went outside and did her pre-flight checks. Although she had called the police like Mike had asked her to, and the sergeant had said she would send officers to look for Mike, she felt a knot of worry begin to form in her stomach.

‘It's nothing,' she said aloud to herself as she started the engine.

*

Themba walked down the grassy hill, the child warm and sleeping – at last – against his back. It felt weird, having another person attached to him. Carrying infants was the work of women and girls, but Themba had to admit the weight and warmth of the child was oddly comforting. In his hands he carried the AK-47 he had taken from the Fortuner. He had reloaded it with one of the spare magazines.

He glanced over his shoulder. Lerato trudged along about thirty metres behind him, eyes downcast. She was not happy, but there was nothing he could do for her right now. Just as it was a relief that the little one had stopped crying, it was good, in a way, that Lerato was silent. She had been berating him most of the morning, telling him they should give themselves up, but so far they hadn't come across another soul.

In the distance a glint of light caught Themba's eye and he could hear, far off, a low rumbling. He lost sight and sound of the apparition as they descended to a river. As was now his custom, he tuned his senses to full alert. The vegetation along the river was much thicker and greener than on the slopes; perfect habitat for predators and other big, dangerous game to be seeking shelter from the sun.

Themba slowed and checked behind him again. Lerato had stopped, not wanting to close the gap between them.

‘You must stick close to me,' he called back to her.

‘Don't yell at me.'

He had deliberately raised his voice, to let any animal that might be waiting in the jungle-like fringe know that there were humans coming into their territory. In response a turaco squawked and flew out of the threes. Themba saw Lerato flinch.

‘It's all right. Just stay close to me when we go through thick bush. I don't want to lose you.'

She blinked a couple of times and Themba thought for a moment she was going to start crying again, and that brought on a sudden feeling of sadness and helplessness in his own heart. He swallowed hard and told himself to be brave, to be a man, for all of their sakes.

‘It will be fine,' he said, ‘but in this, you must stick with me.'

Lerato gave the slightest of nods and started to make her way towards him. He told himself to remember that she was a city girl, spoiled and not used to life in the bush, let alone sleeping outdoors and being on the run with a criminal. Themba sighed. He had made a mess of this from start to finish. When it was over, however it ended, Lerato would never want to see him again. He sagged under the weight of the child, which suddenly felt unbearable.

‘Let me take him.'

Themba turned. ‘It's all right. He's not a problem.'

Lerato shook her head. ‘His poor little legs are probably in agony from being splayed across your big back.'

The child stirred and started to grizzle. ‘OK,' Themba said. He put the rifle down in the grass and unfastened the wrap tied across his chest.

Lerato eased the little boy from Themba's back. Themba felt the immediate relief from the removal of the weight and the cool of the breeze on his back through his shirt. How did people do this every day? he wondered. ‘Thank you.' He picked up the AK-47.

She scowled. ‘Don't thank me for anything. You got us into this mess and soon I'll be getting us out of it. But in the meantime you need to get us to civilisation and we need to make sure this little man is not harmed.'

Themba took a deep breath. ‘You are right. About everything.'

Lerato flicked him a glance as she hoisted the child onto her back and tied the wrap around him and her, as though she'd been doing it all her life and not just the last twenty-four hours. ‘How do you mean?'

‘We – I mean I – should turn myself in. We need to find the police or someone who will take us to them.'

The relief was plain in Lerato's sigh. ‘Yes, Themba. You have nothing to worry about, you know? You're a good guy.'

He felt, again, though for different reasons, as though his heart might break. ‘I'm not, but thank you. We haven't done anything really wrong, have we?'

She shook her head. ‘No. My father will help us. He is well connected in the ruling party. He can talk to the police. I'll put in a good word for you. And that will be that.'

Themba felt the sadness creep back into his soul. He had been right; whatever happened, Lerato would never speak to him again after this. She would wash her hands of him. He would have a hard time talking his way out of this situation and she would go back to her big house and her pampered life. He was crazy to have thought it would end any other way.

‘I'm sorry I put you through all this, Lerato.'

She stopped walking. ‘I won't lie, Themba, I'm tired and I'm filthy and I'm scared, but you did save my life. I'm sorry I haven't thanked you properly for that.'

Themba smiled. ‘I would do it again.'

‘Well, you're not going to get the chance, hopefully. Promise me we'll stop as soon as we see a car, people, whatever.'

Themba nodded. He didn't want to spoil this moment of forgiveness. He led off again, focusing on the ground ahead. As he approached the river he slowed, then stopped and listened.

‘What is it?' Lerato asked.

Themba held up a hand to silence her, and sensed her resentment without even looking back at her. He turned his head slightly and heard it again, a snort. ‘Go back.'

‘What?'

‘Back up,' he said to her.

He started to move and then saw the dark brown shape emerge from the reeds, trotting up the bank of the river towards him. Themba drew breath. ‘Stop.'

Lerato exhaled. ‘First you tell me to back up, then you tell me …'

‘
Shush
.' Themba held his hand up again, then pointed. ‘Look.'

The rhinoceros took two more steps, climbing up onto the top of the rise. It looked at him with its little eyes, sniffing the air as its ears rotated. Themba could tell immediately from the way it held its head up, and from its hooked, pointed upper lip, that it was a black rhino, and that was bad news. Unlike the relatively placid grass grazing white rhino, the black had a justified reputation for being aggressive and quick to charge.

Themba looked around. ‘Dead tree, on the left,' he whispered. Slowly, so as not to provoke the animal, he began to unsling the AK-47, moving it from where it had rested on his back around to his front.

‘I see it,' Lerato said quietly.

Themba almost had the rifle off his body. The rhino snorted, then charged.

‘Run!'

Themba glanced left and saw Lerato heading for the tree, so he headed right, waving his hands in the air. ‘Hah!'

The rhino followed his shout. That was what Themba wanted, but even so he was filled with terror. He could hear the animal's feet pounding the ground behind him, carving great divots from the dry ground as it clawed for purchase. Themba's arms were pumping. The rifle bounced against his side but he'd also been carrying his blanket roll on his other shoulder and the AK's sling was tangled in it. He imagined the point of a horn hooking him and tossing him high in the air then trampling his broken body to death.

Themba was running, instinctively, away from the river, but something in his brain told him to break left and head back to the watercourse. Even though other dangers might lurk there he knew he couldn't outrun the horned freight train behind him.

Directly ahead of him was a bend in the river. On the opposite side was a sandy deposit on the point. Themba had no idea of how high the drop would be on his side, but the drumming noise in his ears told him he had no choice. He sucked air into his lungs, pumped his arms and pushed his legs to run faster than he ever had in his life.

Themba could hear the huffing and puffing of the rhino behind him and almost feel its hot breath on his neck and legs. Themba glanced over his shoulder and saw the rhino sweep its head up in an attempt to gore him. Instead, the wickedly pointed horn hooked the blanket roll bouncing on his back. Themba screamed, fell and somersaulted as his bedding was ripped from him. He was vaguely aware of the rifle coming untangled and falling free from his body.

The ground beneath him disappeared and Themba flailed his arms and legs as he tumbled through the air. The next thing he knew he was on his face in the water. He had landed hard in the shallows. He looked up, fearing the rhino was going to come flying over the precipice and land on him. It had, however, stopped short, its malevolent face staring down at him. It snorted its contempt for him and shook its head.

Themba coughed muddy water. At least he was safe for the moment, and he hoped Lerato had the good sense to stay in whatever tree she had found until he could get back to her and the child.

The rhino lifted its head high, sniffed again and then turned and trotted away from the bank. Themba went to stand, but his foot slipped on a rock and he fell backwards into a deeper pool of the river. He came up snorting water and coughing again. His body ached in various places but he realised he'd been lucky not to break a bone. He had only just escaped with his life.

‘Themba!'

He stood and held his hand up to his eyes to shield them from the glare. Lerato was standing on the bank above him, the baby still tied to her back, holding the AK-47 which she must have found on the ground where it fell.

‘Get back in the tree. The rhino could still be around,' he called to her.

‘Themba, look out! Behind you.' Lerato raised the rifle. ‘Get down!'

Themba turned and ducked at the same time, and felt his stomach churn as he saw the scaly ridge of the crocodile's tail and its evil eyes bearing down on him through the water. Lerato pulled the trigger and a burst of bullets sent geysers of river water rising around him.

Chapter 14

Mike Dunn came to with a slap in the face. He blinked. The man in front of him hit him again.

‘Who are you?' the man asked.

Mike focused, which wasn't easy, and saw that the man had his wallet. ‘You've got my driver's licence, so you've got my name.'

‘Don't be a smart-ass. Who are you, Michael Dunn, and why are you here?' The man was black and spoke with an American accent.

‘I could ask you the same thing.'

The man raised his hand to strike him again, but then another man came into focus. He was fair haired, with a blond beard flecked with grey. He put a hand between Mike and the other man. ‘Leave him be.'

‘Dude nearly killed me,' said the African American.

‘We all just need to cool it,' said the fair-haired man with the beard. Mike recognised him; he was the man who had let him into the estate through the security gate. He had been set up. The man's accent was no longer disguised; it was pure American.

Mike raised a hand, slowly, and felt the lump on the back of his head. ‘Yeah, cool it like nearly caving my skull in.'

‘Well,' said Blondie, ‘you did take a shot at my partner here.'

‘You're police? What, FBI?'

‘Something like that,' said the bearded man. ‘Now, you tell us what
you're
doing here.'

‘You first.'

The black man laughed. ‘I say we water-board him.'

‘CIA?' Mike said.

‘Enough,' said Blondie. ‘Michael, I'm going to level with you. My name's Jed Banks and my partner here is Franklin Washington. We're looking for Suzanne Fessey, the woman who lived here, until recently. How do you know her?'

Mike touched his lump again and winced. ‘I don't. Her car was stolen yesterday and I ended up helping a woman who was trying to get it back.'

‘What woman?' Jed asked.

‘Helicopter pilot. She works for a car-tracking company. I was nearby and she couldn't get police assistance, on account of your ambassador being assassinated. You got anything to do with that?'

‘What makes you ask that?' Franklin said.

‘Well, we don't get too many CIA agents breaking into houses in Durban.'

‘Who said anything about the CIA?' Jed asked.

Mike shook his head, and the act hurt. ‘If you were police or FBI, you would have identified yourself. If you're plain old criminals – maybe burglars on a safari holiday – you probably would have killed me after I opened fire on you.'

‘You a cop, Michael?'

‘I'm a zoologist.'

Franklin snorted. ‘Dr Doolittle? With a nine-mill?'

‘And a .375 rifle behind the front seats of his Defender out there.'

‘The police are on their way, so we can all have a chat with them soon,' Mike said. ‘I'll start with getting them to charge you with breaking into my Land Rover.'

‘That's an old trick,' Jed said.

‘Old, but true. I left a message with a friend to call the policewoman investigating the theft of Suzanne Fessey's car if she hadn't heard from me by ten.'

Jed reached into the side pocket of the lightweight jacket he was wearing. Mike glimpsed the shoulder holster and the big old-fashioned Colt automatic inside. Jed pulled out a phone – Mike's phone. He dialled the message bank and put the phone on speaker.

‘
Mike, it's Nia Carras
,' the recording began. ‘
I hope you're OK. I called Sergeant Khumalo but her partner, Sergeant Munro, told me Suzanne Fessey is with them. I'm going up there to help her with the search. Please call me and let me know you're fine
.'

‘There were a few more missed calls. Where's “there”?' Jed asked.

Mike wondered what the Americans wanted with Suzanne Fessey in the wake of the assassination of their ambassador. Were the armed men following the Fortuner CIA agents?

‘Nia Carras is your helicopter pilot friend. We've already got a line on her,' Jed said.

‘Then you'll know where she's headed.'

‘The guy who answered the phone at the chopper company wouldn't tell us, but we'll find out. You can save us all some time, Michael, and do some good as well.'

‘Good?'

‘We're the good guys, Michael,' Franklin said. ‘In case you couldn't tell already.'

They both had that bulked-up US military look about them, Mike thought, though that didn't mean they were ‘good', even if they were CIA, or FBI, or whatever.

‘We can wait for your police to get here,' Jed said, ‘but that will cost us time.'

Mike thought about the situation. Jed and Franklin, whoever they were, knew about Nia, and probably more about Suzanne Fessey than they were going to let on. It wouldn't take them long to find out where Nia was headed if they really were with a security service of some kind. He replayed the message from Nia in his mind.

‘Why are you looking for Suzanne Fessey?' Mike asked them again.

Jed and Franklin looked at each other. Jed raised his eyebrows and Franklin shrugged his shoulders.

‘She's important to us, Michael. Very important,' Jed said.

‘Which is why you are in her house, with guns, snooping around and waiting to see who turned up. How long was I out for?'

‘A while,' Franklin said. ‘We can't wait around here all day. You going to help us or not?'

‘Why should I?' Mike asked.

‘Because we didn't kill you – even though you took a shot at Franklin – and we didn't water-board you.'

Mike looked Jed in his blue eyes and the American held his gaze.

‘I can't tell you everything, Michael, but if Suzanne is where your chopper pilot lady friend is going then you should be concerned for Nia's safety.'

‘Let me call her,' Mike said.

Jed held up the phone again. ‘Tried that, while you were out cold. We got sick of waiting for you to wake up. But when we did try her phone was out of range, probably because of where she's flying. Want to tell us now where that is?'

Mike was having a little trouble collecting his thoughts after the bump on his head, but he realised what it was, now, that he'd thought odd about the message from Nia. ‘There's no Sergeant Munro that I know of at Mtubatuba police station, where Sergeant Khumalo works.'

‘Could be an outsider,' Franklin said, looking to Jed.

‘Maybe,' Jed said. ‘Nia said she was going to help “her” with the search. She could have been referring to Sergeant Khumalo, or maybe this Sergeant Munro is a woman as well.'

‘Is Suzanne Fessey a criminal; is she wanted for something?' Mike asked both men.

They looked at each other again, then Jed turned back to Mike. ‘I'll know soon enough if you're involved in this or not. I've already phoned your driver's licence details and ID number through to the South African police.'

Mike felt his anger rise; now he was not only worried about Themba, but also Nia, as he had dragged her into this. ‘I'm not
involved
in anything. I'm only trying to help. Just tell me, is Nia flying into trouble? Is this Suzanne dangerous?'

‘Well,' Jed said, stroking his beard, ‘either you do know and you're not letting on, or you've really just stumbled in on this. In any case, you need to know that Suzanne Fessey could just be the most dangerous woman in Africa at the moment.'

Mike looked to Franklin. ‘I'm sorry for taking a shot at you.'

Franklin shrugged. ‘Only would have been a problem if you'd hit me. Many scientists pack Glocks here?' he pressed.

‘Not unusual,' Jed weighed in.

The blond, Mike realised, was the good cop in this show.

‘Are you
okes
going to kill me?'

Jed looked to Franklin, who shrugged. Jed turned back to Mike. ‘Probably not.'

‘Then let's get to where Nia is going to meet Sergeant Khumalo and this Sergeant Munro, and Suzanne Fessey.'

‘Where are we going?' Jed asked.

‘Zululand, up near the iMfolozi Game Reserve. Few hours' drive. Tell me, did you send three men, armed with assault rifles, after Suzanne's stolen car and her baby?'

‘Nope, but we know about them.' He turned to Franklin. ‘Get the chopper organised.'

‘You have a helicopter?' Mike said.

‘Michael –'

‘Mike.'

‘Mike, we have the United States Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps if we need them.'

‘You think we might need all of them?' Mike asked.

Jed stroked his beard again. ‘Maybe.'

*

Lerato held out a hand and Themba grasped it. She helped pull him onto the sandy riverbank. Behind him, the crocodile floated dead on its back. The baby was wailing.

‘Thank you,' Themba said.

Lerato yelled, ‘Don't thank me, get us out of here!'

‘OK.'

Lerato unfastened the child from her back and rocked him in her arms to try to soothe him. ‘Now look what's happened, he's going crazy.
I'm
going crazy. I don't want to be out here any more. And if I put this kid down for two minutes he tries to crawl away into the bush.'

‘I know,' Themba said. For the first time in a long time he was beginning to feel the same way she did. He did not live in comfort, but right now his modest shack and single bed with the moth-eaten blanket seemed like a king's castle.

Themba was soaked but fortunately it was a warm sunny day. He first walked fifty metres in each direction along the riverbank, satisfying himself that the rhino wasn't circling back to have another try at killing them, then sat down on a rock and unlaced his shoes. He wrung out his socks then took off his shirt and squeezed most of the water out of it.

Lerato was jiggling the baby, trying a variety of cooing noises to calm it. ‘He's hungry, I think,' she said.

‘We're almost out of baby food.'

‘I
know
. We can't let this child die of starvation, Themba.'

He stood up and went back to the water's edge.

‘Where are you going?'

Themba shielded his eyes against the glare on the water then waded into the river again. ‘We need food.'

‘You're going to get yourself killed, like you nearly did just now.'

‘Then cover me with the rifle.' Themba grabbed the crocodile by its tail, giving it a shake first to confirm it really was dead. When he dragged it up onto the bank he saw it was about a metre and a half long.

‘You can't be serious.'

He went through the pack and pulled out a Leatherman tool he'd taken from the Fortuner. ‘We have to eat.'

‘Crocodile?'

‘People say it tastes like chicken.'

‘Um, Themba, people say anything gross tastes like chicken. Personally I'd rather have KFC.'

Themba shook his head and went back to the carcass. He knelt beside it and lowered his head. He heard the crunch of footsteps behind him.

‘What are you doing now?'

‘It gave its life to feed us,' he said. ‘I'm saying a prayer of thanks.'

He looked up at her. She had the baby on her back again and her hands on her hips. ‘You can thank
me
. I'm the one who killed it.'

‘Thank you.'

It was funny, he thought. She was frightened and tired and hungry, as he was, yet at moments like this she seemed forged of steel, like a statue of some warrior heroine of the struggle. Themba opened the serrated blade on the Leatherman and started to saw through the tough skin where the tail joined the main part of the body. It was hard work and blood welled up over his hand.

‘
Ewww.
'

Well, perhaps not quite the warrior woman. He carried on with the grisly work. He had seen men in the village cleaning slaughtered animals. Sometimes the beasts they had killed were buck, taken illegally from the national park and other game farms. Themba had grown up thinking this was perfectly acceptable, and that most animals provided food of some kind or another.

Since his time as a rhino guard, however, he had come to realise that wild animals had a greater value to man than merely the taste of their meat, or the use of their skins.

He hated the fact that they had killed the creature he had just butchered. No one he knew liked crocodiles, but Mike had taught him that everything had a part to play in the environment, that an ecosystem was about balance and acceptance that everything was there for a reason. ‘Even vultures?' Themba had joked.

Mike had smiled at him, one of the rare times, because even though Themba thought they might be friends Mike was never truly a happy man and rarely smiled. ‘Especially vultures.'

Themba called Mike ‘Inqe', the vulture, not to his face, but in his own mind. He had once thought of the bird as ugly and evil, a scavenger that lived on death, but Mike had taught him that without the vulture there would be disease and more death in the veldt. The vulture travelled great distances, as Mike did, in the course of its important work, and it could see very far. The
inyangas
used the myth that vultures could even see into the future as an excuse to peddle their heads, and while Themba did not believe that, he had believed in Mike's vision for the future: that one day, with hard work, Themba could end up like him, working in the bush, helping to conserve wildlife, and that he would not end up dead in a gunfight or locked up in prison.

Yes, Themba thought as he dragged the crocodile's tail back to the river and rinsed away the blood – quickly, in case another was drawn by the scent of the swirling redness – he had believed in Mike's prophecy of the future.

But not any more.

*

Nia saw the flashing blue lights of the white police double cab
bakkie
ahead. She scanned for powerlines and other obstacles, but saw that the cops had picked a good, open space for her to land – by the side of the tar road from Nyalazi Gate to Mpila Camp. She brought the helicopter down.