Red Earth (31 page)

‘So,' Mike followed her train of thought, ‘that would indicate she's more interested in retrieving the microchip.'

‘What kind of mother thinks like that?' Her question was rhetorical, so she carried on. ‘If the microchip number
is
a bank account, which seems likely, then she's after the money. We could just give the child to her, or leave him somewhere where she could find him.'

Mike nodded, slowly. ‘We could. Do you want to do that?'

Nia thought about it. ‘She's a criminal, a murderer, and she deserves to face justice, in South Africa and wherever else she's committed her crimes. Also, even if she has feelings for her baby, what kind of life would we be condemning him to?'

‘My thoughts, too,' Mike said.

‘The Americans are behaving almost as recklessly. Nobody cares about this child except us. Can we remove the microchip from the baby?'

‘Microchips are easy to implant,' Mike said, ‘but they're damned hard to remove. I looked into this with vultures. When I first heard about the technology I thought we could maybe re-use the chip if a bird died and we retrieved it. It turns out it's a difficult procedure, even on a dead bird. The chips are hard to locate – they move around under the skin away from where they're first inserted – and scar tissue forms around them where they come to rest, so it's not as simple as, say, making a small incision. The baby would have to be anaesthetised and it would take a plastic surgeon to dig around and get it out and, more importantly, repair the damage done under the skin as well as stitching him back up.'

‘So, if Suzanne or the Americans get the baby, dead or alive, they're going to be able to read what's on the chip. We can't give up, though,' Nia said. ‘If Suzanne or the other terrorists get the information they could access the bank account and use it to fund some terrible attack, like maybe another 9–11.'

‘We could just hand the baby over to the Americans. I can call Jed Banks, and we can give ourselves over to them – with no guns this time,' Mike said.

It was a tempting proposition, Nia thought. If the Americans had the baby then Suzanne would have no reason to come after them. Or would she? She might have already deduced that they had read the information on the chip.

Mike appeared to have had the same thought. ‘Suzanne would probably still try and get the information from us. Damn.'

‘Damn what?' Nia asked.

‘If Suzanne checked Boyd's operating theatre, and I'm sure she would have, then she would have seen that the microchip reader was lying around after I'd used it. I should have put it away.'

‘Don't beat yourself up,' she said. ‘Suzanne's outsmarted everyone so far.'

Mike leaned towards her, his elbows on his knees. ‘The interesting thing is that unless Suzanne is just a grieving mother trying to get her kid back – and her recklessness with his safety seems to contradict that – then she mustn't know the numbers on the chip.'

‘That could mean she's not in the loop,' Nia reasoned, ‘or that this was something that only just recently happened. The puncture wound from where the chip was inserted hasn't healed yet.'

‘Either way, she now needs the numbers.'

‘And we have them,' Nia said. ‘Question is, what do we do with them?'

‘What do you think?' Mike asked.

She thought it through. The idea she had in mind was crazy, could never work, but they had to turn the tables on Suzanne. ‘We go find the money.'

‘Go to Switzerland? Crazy,' said Mike.

‘Listen to me. I fly to Switzerland, check out the bank, go there and find out what's in the account. I've got the account number and what looks like the passcode number.'

‘Call the bank,' Mike suggested. ‘See if they'll tell you what's in the account.'

Nia shook her head. ‘My friend Roger said that with these numbered accounts they don't do electronic or telephone banking or give out details that way. Think about it, Mike, if Suzanne knows I'm in Switzerland she'll know for sure we have the numbers and that it's too late for her. Roger told me that these Swiss banks are cracking down on criminals using their services, so if I go there, access the account and tell them the money belongs to terrorists, they can call in the police. If Suzanne knows we've locked up the money then there's no reason for her to keep chasing the kids and the baby, though I guess she'll want her child back eventually as well.'

Mike stood, his fists clenched by his sides. ‘No, Nia. She might head to Switzerland herself if she knows you've gone there, and I won't allow you to be bait for her to follow. You can't just jump on a plane to Geneva!'

That made her mad. She got to her feet. ‘You won't
allow
it? I know the numbers, I can do what I damn well want with them.'

‘I'll go to Switzerland, then,' he said.

She put her fists on her hips. ‘No.'

‘Why not?'

‘You need to stay here and look after these three kids of ours, that's why not,' she said.

‘Ours?'

She grimaced. ‘You know what I mean.' She changed the subject. ‘What do we do about the Americans?'

‘I share your misgivings about them, but I'd still rather Jed Banks found us than Suzanne.'

Nia nodded. ‘Lesser of two evils. But the Americans want the baby – and presumably the money – as much as Suzanne. We're all still at risk. The money gives us leverage over all of them, and insurance.'

Mike continued to clench and unclench his fists by his side. ‘I still don't like it, particularly if it draws them after you. I'd rather stash you and the kids somewhere else safe, maybe find a place in Harare, and go myself.'

‘Three reasons why it has to be me, Mike.' She raised her thumb. ‘One, there
is
nowhere that's really safe and at least you know the terrain here.'

She could see from the set of his mouth that he knew she was right.

‘Two,' she raised her index finger, ‘I've got the cash to buy a standby ticket. I might even use my parents' Amex card and go business class. Do you have that sort of money?'

He didn't return her smile. ‘You know I don't.'

‘Sorry, I don't mean to rub it in.' She raised a third finger. ‘Three, I've got an Australian passport with me so I don't need to organise a visa in advance. I've been to Switzerland a couple of times on holiday with my folks. I can find my way around. I'll phone you from there and let you know how it's going.'

‘You still need to get to Harare.'

‘I've thought of that. Cassandra,' she called inside to the manager. The young woman came over to them. ‘Do people sometimes fly in and out of this place?'

‘Yes, we've got a light aircraft due in today.' Cassandra checked her wristwatch. ‘It's due any time now.'

‘Can I get on it?'

Cassandra seemed momentarily surprised. ‘Well, um, sure. It'll be empty, so I'm sure we can find you a seat and work out a means of payment.'

Mike shook his head. ‘I don't like this, Nia. You'll have to use your real name and passport number to book your international flights. The Americans will be monitoring that kind of stuff. They'll find you and they'll be waiting for you when you fly to Europe via Johannesburg. You won't get a direct flight from Harare to Switzerland.'

‘I've thought of that too,' she said. ‘I know people who've flown into and out of Zimbabwe before. I can get a flight to Nairobi and go from there. The Americans may be able to track me, but I won't make it easy for them by going via Joburg. Also, I'd like to see them try and pick me up in Switzerland without creating an international incident.'

‘No,' Mike said.

Nia put her hands on her hips. ‘Yes. If Suzanne does show up here, as we think she will, then try to find a way to parley with her. Tell her we'll give her the bloody numbers if she leaves Africa and guarantees your safety and that of the kids. I'll leave Switzerland and she can take her chances with the bank and the cops there.'

‘It's still crazy. Also, Suzanne doesn't seem like the type to negotiate. She shoots first.'

Nia sighed. ‘This whole thing is mad, Mike. If we get access to her money we get ahead of her, really in front of her, for the first time.'

They were at a stalemate. The sound of vehicle engines revving to climb the steep driveway to the lodge made them both turn.

An open Land Cruiser game viewer carrying a party of eight tourists pulled up at reception. As the guests were greeted by Cassandra a double-cab Land Rover Defender arrived as well.

The occupants of the second vehicle walked in, and they were a very different breed from the tourists.

There were three white men and two black; all wore green military-style field uniforms that were mottled black with sweat under the arms and across their broad chests. Their clothes were also coloured with dust and dirt; all carried a few days' worth of stubble and their hair was unwashed, spiked, matted. As they came closer Nia smelled them.

‘Nia,' Mike said, gesturing to the man at the head of the phalanx, ‘meet Shane Castle and Tim Penquitt. They run the anti-poaching operation in this part of Zimbabwe.'

They all shook hands. Cassandra politely interrupted them. ‘Nia, if you want to get the flight out, then the vehicle that just brought the tourists can take you to the airstrip. The plane leaves in twenty minutes.'

‘Excuse me,' Nia said to the new arrivals. She took Mike by the elbow.

‘Don't do this,' he said.

‘I have to, and you know it. Keep the kids safe, Mike. Trust me on this, and if you can't, then it doesn't matter. I'm my own person, I'm going.'

He put his hands on her shoulders and she felt small, but also safe, in his grip. ‘I think that's one of the things I like about you.'

She took a deep breath. Her tough talk belied the fear that balled in her chest. She was worried that she was leaving him in grave danger. Nia looked up at him. ‘I like a few things about you, too.'

Mike kissed her and she wrapped her arms around him.

‘Be safe,' he whispered in her ear.

Chapter 32

Mike, Shane Castle and Tim Penquitt walked the perimeter of the self-contained satellite camp that David had recently established about a kilometre away from the main lodge, deep in the bush.

They were preparing for a battle and, on reflection, Mike now felt better that Nia had left. At least she would be out of the line of fire when Suzanne showed up.

Shane and Tim were well known to Mike. Tim was the older of the two, around sixty, Mike reckoned, and he had a justifiably fearsome reputation as a former member of the Selous Scouts, an integrated black and white unit of the Rhodesian Army, before the country gained independence and became Zimbabwe. The scouts had specialised in pseudo operations, with African soldiers loyal to the government and white men covered in black makeup masquerading as nationalist guerrillas, ambushing and disrupting the genuine revolutionaries' forces.

Shane stopped, rested the butt of his FN self-loading rifle on the ground and looked around him. ‘
Ja
, this'll do,' he said, his accent a mix of Australian and Zimbabwean. Shane, Mike knew, had been born in what was then known as Rhodesia, before his parents had moved the family across the Indian Ocean to Australia. Now in his forties, Shane had served with the Australian SAS, the Special Air Service, in Afghanistan, and as a hired gun in Iraq.

Tim was in charge of the anti-poaching operations in the Save Valley Conservancy, on the border of Gonarezhou National Park, and often operated on the Fish Eagle Lodge property as well. Shane was something of a military consultant and it spoke volumes for his experience and intelligence that Tim, a hardened veteran himself, accepted the outsider's counsel. Jordan, Tim's son, one of the three younger men in the team, had his own military pedigree, having served in the British Army's Parachute Regiment in the bloody fighting in Afghanistan's Helmand Province before returning home to Zimbabwe to take a position in what had become the family business – hunting poachers. The remaining members of the team, Mike knew, were brothers. Oscar and Sylvester Mpofu were like family to the Penquitt boys. Tim liked it that way; family would never betray each other and would never leave a member stranded or wounded on the field of battle. The younger members were with the three fugitive children.

As well as seeing Tim and the rest of his team from time to time while doing his vulture monitoring, Mike and Tim had a shared past. They had served together on anti-poaching operations in this same area after Mike had left Operation Lock. Tim knew all about the young boy Mike had killed and knew well enough not to ever raise the matter.

‘We'll set up a sentry post here,' Shane said for Mike's benefit. ‘Good view out over the valley, towards Mozambique. That's where you think they'll come from?'

Mike shrugged. ‘This woman, Fessey, could come from any direction. My guess, though, is that if she brings hired muscle they'll have to come in from across the Mozambican border.'

Tim chewed a blade of yellow grass. ‘No shortage of guns over there.'

‘Why didn't you take the baby and the other two kids to Harare?' Shane asked.

Mike looked at the two ex-soldiers. ‘Because I want to end this, and for once I have the advantage: you two are here. Also, we're out in the bush. This woman's caused enough collateral damage.'

Shane gave a half-grin. ‘That bad, hey?'

‘You said she and her people deal in rhino horn?' Tim asked.

‘Yes, that's right,' Mike said. ‘We've found evidence they've been using the trade in horn out of KwaZulu-Natal's parks to help finance their terrorist network. I've got some of the horn here, young Themba found it in the woman's car. I can show you if you like.'

Tim shook his head. ‘I trust you, Mike. All right, this makes them our enemy as well.'

Mike was curious. ‘You wouldn't take them on simply because of what they've done in South Africa, and around the rest of the world. Like I told Shane on the phone, these people are part of ISIS; they're fanatics, the rhino horn is their way of part funding their operations.'

Tim gestured back towards the tented camp. ‘My boy Jordan fought those people in Afghanistan. He said he didn't know who the bigger religious fanatics were: the Taliban and their supporters, or the Americans. I understand, in a strange way, killing for something like rhino horn. I don't believe it has any magical medicinal powers, just like I've never cared for diamonds, but these are commodities, things worth money, and people will fight to take and protect these things. It seems, in its way, somehow more understandable than a fight over gods.'

They were all silent a moment.

‘Enough philosophy.' Shane clapped Tim on the shoulder. ‘There are scared kids back in the camp whose lives are in danger and we've got the chance to take out a rhino horn trader. If these people can't get their horn in South Africa they'll just join the queue of people trying to rip it out of Zimbabwe. I'd say that's a fight worth taking on both counts.'

‘Me too,' said Tim.

They walked to the safari tents that made up the fly camp, a term for a semi-portable encampment, and found Lerato and Themba eating.

‘Sylvester and I fixed them some scoff, Dad,' Jordan said. ‘Oscar's standing watch.'

Tim surveyed the setup. ‘Good work, Jordie. Clean and check your weapons, all of you, and get some food for yourselves as well.'

‘Mike?' Shane said, and beckoned to him with a nod to follow.

They went to Shane's Land Rover and Shane opened the door and flipped a lever to make the back of the driver's seat slump forward. He reached in and pulled out an assault rifle.

‘R5.'

Mike took the weapon from him. ‘I know it. Been a while since I handled one.'

Shane lowered his voice. ‘Tim told me a little about your time together here back in the day, hunting poachers. He didn't give me details, but I know how the bad stuff can stay with a man. Are you good with this?'

Mike nodded.

‘Jordan, Sylvester, Oscar,' Tim called. ‘We need some firing positions here. There's fuck-all cover in this place.'

‘I found somewhere, Dad,' Jordan said.

Mike and Shane walked over and joined the others. Jordan led them to the far right of the tents, where he showed them a deep hole, about three metres long, two wide and a metre and a half deep.

Tim put his hands on his hips. ‘Bloody plunge pool.'

Mike smiled. Tim had said it as though he couldn't imagine how or why anyone would have need of a swimming pool out in the bush. He lived on a reserve where people paid up to a thousand dollars per person per night to dine on fine cuisine and view big game, while he, his son and his fellow rangers spent their nights patrolling, lying in ambush, and swatting mosquitos.

Shane moved away a short distance to where there was a pile of building materials, bags of cement, timber formwork and some corrugated sheeting. Gingerly, he lifted a sheet of metal with the tip of the barrel of his FN rifle. He jumped back a pace in obvious fright.

The others began laughing out loud.

‘What is it?' Mike asked.

Tim wiped his eyes. ‘Our big bad hero of the Australian SAS is scared of snakes.'

‘It was just a lizard,' Shane said, ‘thank fuck.'

‘I've seen this man run at an armed poacher, firing from the hip, but show him a boomslang and he near shits himself,' Tim said.

The brief moment of mirth over, Tim marshalled his troops back to work. ‘Right, lads. This is our strong point, last line of defence. Stack those cement bags around the edge and leave gaps for your rifles.'

Sylvester, Oscar and Jordan lay down their weapons within easy reach, stripped off their shirts and got to work. Mike, Shane and Tim went into a huddle.

Shane looked to him. ‘Jordan and I know the sort of people we're dealing with, Mike. We're not leaving anything to chance.'

Themba approached them. ‘Mike, Lerato and the baby are resting in one of the tents. How can I help?'

‘Best if you stay with Lerato,' Mike said.

‘But I would like a gun, as well.'

Mike looked to Shane. ‘What do you think?'

‘He's young,' Shane said.

‘He knows how to handle an AK. He's a good student these days but he used to be a car thief,' Mike said.

Themba looked pained at the revelation.

‘This is a fight we're getting ready for, mate, not an algebra lesson,' Shane said to Themba.

‘I am a man.'

Shane looked him up and down. ‘Getting close. You want a gun?'

Themba nodded.

‘Go over to the Landy, and have a look in the back under that green tarpaulin.'

Mike and Shane watched as Themba walked to the truck.

‘What's in the back?' Mike asked.

‘We came to you straight from the bush. We had a contact last night.'

Mike walked slowly after Themba. If he hadn't known Themba's background, the horrors he had already seen in his short life, he would have been worried about what sort of test Shane was putting him to. Men like Shane and the Penquitts had lived through the horrors of war, and the fight to save the rhino was not much different.

Themba went to the back of the truck, reached over the side wall and lifted the green tarpaulin. Mike heard the buzz of disturbed flies and Themba took an involuntary step back and put his hand to his mouth.

‘Two Mozambicans,' Shane said quietly. ‘We killed them last night; they were tracking a rhino, and when we told them to drop their guns they opened fire on us. It was over quick.'

Themba straightened his body and seemed to compose himself. He went back to the side of the vehicle and once more lifted the cover. He bent over, reaching inside, and pulled out an AK-47. He came to Mike and Shane and, noticing blood on his fingers, transferred the rifle to his other hand while he wiped it off on his school pants. ‘Do you have magazines?'

‘In the Landy,' Shane said evenly, ‘behind the seat. You'll find a stack of them, still loaded.'

‘Thank you, sir,' Themba said.

‘Tough kid,' Shane said to Mike.

‘He is.'

‘Sounds like he'll need to be.'

Mike walked to the vehicle. A cloud of disturbed flies still hovered above the bodies, not willing to stray too far from their new hosts. Some settled onto eyes, into nostrils, others returned to the bullet wounds.
I can do this
, Mike told himself.
These were men, not boys. They carried guns and would have killed the anti-poaching forces if given a chance
.

It's a war. It's combat. Get over yourself
.

Shane was beside him. ‘Mike? You OK?'

The trees around him were swirling and he saw pinpricks of light at the periphery of his vision. He smelled how the men, or one of them at least, had fouled himself. The bile rose in his throat. He closed his eyes, but saw the face of the sixteen-year-old he had shot. He'd had to load him onto a truck, after the killing was done. He heard the gunfire, the screams; they filled his head.

‘Mike?' Themba echoed.

Mike staggered away from the truck, the dizziness taking over, amplifying the feeling of nausea. He stumbled to a tree and hugged its rough bark for support. The noise in his mind was deafening. There was another, animalistic sound all around him. After a few moments he realised that it was coming from him. Tears streamed from his eyes as he vomited.

He felt hands on him, heard the murmur of soothing voices through his own rage, but he didn't want them, didn't want their pity or their sympathy. He was weak, falling apart at a time when the children needed him to protect them, when Shane and the Penquitts needed another gun. This was
not
the time to unravel. This was
not
the time to let this tide of sorrow and shit swamp over his head and drown him. He
had
to hold it together.

But he could not.

He should never have let Nia go, he realised. She would not be safe, there was nothing he could do to protect the children, or himself. They would all be dead soon, and it was all his fault. He had failed them all; he had damned them all because of the child he had killed all those years ago.

Mike was aware of the others around him, but he stood and stumbled towards the nearest tent. Inside he found a canvas basin and splashed water on his face. He looked at himself in the mirror, disgusted.

‘Mike?'

He looked and saw Themba waiting by the opening. Mike sat down on a stretcher, his face in his hands.

‘Mike,' Themba said again. ‘You're a good man, Mike. Without you, I wouldn't be here today, I'd be in prison or, worse, dead.'

He couldn't look up at the boy, he was too ashamed. He felt the despair was shutting him down, as though it would cripple him, kill him. Any good he did was useless; he was damned, as sure as the rest of them were.

‘Mike, listen to me, please. You came for me, for Lerato and the baby. You found us in Mkhuze. You didn't have to do that, you got me to your doctor friend.'

‘And he's dead,' Mike sobbed.

Themba put a hand on his shoulder. ‘He fought for us. He gave his life for us, Mike. You got us away from those people, from those crazy people. You could have just handed us to the police or the Americans and I'm worried what they would have done to us.'

Mike lifted his head and looked up at the boy. He had been a surly, angry criminal when Mike had met him, but now Themba was more of a man than he.

‘We all need help, Mike. I do, my sister does, we all do. You taught me that. It's OK to reach out for help. You suggested once that you could find me someone to talk to, about my problems and my past, but I found that person. It was you.'

Mike drew a deep breath to try and still himself. He heard his own words, the ones Themba reminded him of, through the fog of his sorrow.

‘Mike, there are good men here. They will protect us. You can stay here, rest. I will take care of you.'