Black Horn (18 page)

He
glanced at the sweep second hand on his Rolex and waited a full ninety seconds.
It would be reasonable to expect a man to need a minute to be woken at five in
the morning and get ready to receive visitors. It would also give his Matabele
time to arm themselves and be on their way.

As he
took his eyes from the luminous dial of the watch and started to move to the
door, Beethoven sounded again, and in his tense mind, Becker thought that the
chimes held a note of impatience. Holding the rifle with its barrel pointing
towards the ceiling, he unchained the door and opened it. His son was standing
five metres in front of him, a look of sheer terror on his face and his voice
was gabbling.

"Pa,
do nothing stupid... This thing is tied round my neck."

Becker
spoke harshly to his son. "Karl. Keep your mouth shut. Just stand
still."

One of
the men was standing behind and slightly to the left of his son, and holding
the rifle casually in his right hand, his forefinger on the trigger. Becker
knew that he was the ex-Selous, Maxie MacDonald. The other man was standing
three metres away from his son on the right. He had one rifle in his right
hand, with the barrel resting over his shoulder. He held another rifle in his
left hand, pointing at the ground. Becker recognised that rifle as being his
son's and he realised that the man holding it must be the mercenary Creasy.

The
mercenary spoke. "If you move the barrel of that rifle even an inch, my
friend will pull the trigger of his rifle. And you will be childless."

"Please,
Pa! They mean it."

"Shut
up, Karl!" his father shouted at him. He did not move the rifle. He looked
at Creasy and asked, "What the hell is going on?"

"Your
son tracked us through the bush and tried to kill us. Just like he killed
Carole Manners and Cliff Coppen."

Becker's
eyes flickered to his son and then back to the mercenary. He said, "That's
nothing but shit! Karl had nothing to do with that. And if he tried to kill you
in the bush, he would have succeeded."

Creasy
smiled at him through his grimy growing beard, and slowly lifted the rifle in
his left hand. Becker noticed that he was holding it by a strip of fabric.

"This
is your son's rifle," Creasy said. "He tells me you gave it to him as
a young boy. There's no doubt that police forensics will match the murder
bullets to this rifle. Your son tells me that he acted under your instructions.
So I came to have a chat."

"My
son would never say that," Becker said. But then he was looking at his son
and he saw the scorch marks on the side of his head and the burn marks on his
shirt and shorts. His voice turned to a snarl. "You tortured my boy?"

"I
warmed him over a fire," Creasy answered. "He was lucky. I usually
don't waste time talking when I catch someone trying to kill me or a good
friend of mine. They usually get dead very quickly. Now, let's go inside and
have that chat, and then we can phone the police."

Becker's
gaze flickered around the darkness beyond the semicircle of light. He could see
nothing and so he played for time.

"Sure,
we'll call the police, but if you don't untie my son immediately, you'll be
charged with kidnapping, torture and attempted murder. You'll spend the rest of
your lives rotting in a very uncomfortable prison."

Creasy
smiled again. "I doubt it, Becker. Your son gets released when the police
arrive and not before."

Finally,
Becker caught a glimpse of movement behind him in the darkness and another to
the right. His Matabele had arrived and were taking up position.

From
his vantage point, Michael had also watched their arrival. The six men were
outlined against the light. Three of them carried what looked like AK47 rifles.
The other three held handguns. Silently, he edged closer along the ridge.

It was
Becker's turn to smile. Creasy heard a sound behind him, twisted his head and
saw the six dim black shapes at the fringes of the light.

"There
won't be any police here tonight," Becker told him. "The odds have
changed. You walked through an infra-red alarm."

"It
makes no difference," Creasy answered. "Your one and only son is a
milli-second away from death. Even if one of your men shoots me or my friend,
we will have time to pull the trigger."

Becker
understood the situation very well, but he was still playing for time. He had
counted six of his men in the semicircle. He knew that with every passing
second, his situation would be improving.

"So
let's talk," Becker said to Creasy. "You are a mercenary. We'll make
a deal. You go back and tell the Manners woman that you reached a dead-end. She
pays you and goes home and I pay you also. How about a hundred thousand of your
dollars, in cash or in gold?"

Maxie
joined the conversation. He said, "Your research is defective, Becker. We
never work for two masters."

"I
know all about scum like you," Becker answered. "You'll do anything
for money."

Michael
had moved to within a hundred yards of the semicircle of Matabele. He could
just hear the conversation. Suddenly, from the periphery of his vision, he saw
another dark figure moving in from his left. He would have been invisible to
Creasy or Maxie, from inside the halo of light. He saw the figure stop, crouch
and then saw the rifle raise.

Michael
took an instant decision. He screamed out, "Creasy! Down!" And then
his AK47 was spitting flame at the crouched sniper.

Like
all fire-fights, it seemed to go on forever, but in reality it only lasted a
few seconds. As Creasy dropped to the floor, Maxie fired his rifle and then the
loop of twine pulled back the already dead Karl Becker. Maxie gripped him
around the chest, disengaging his rifle and using the twitching body as a
shield.

Rolph
Becker managed to get off one shot which grazed Creasy's left buttock, and
Creasy pumped three quick shots into Rolph Becker, slamming him back into the
hall. Creasy rolled rapidly away to his right, twisted and then started firing
again.

Maxie
was squatting behind Karl Becker's body, firing his rifle with one hand. He
grunted as a bullet passed through Becker's body and lodged itself in his right
thigh. From the darkness beyond, Creasy heard the deadly fire of Michael's
AK47, watched the bodies spinning in front of him and heard the screams.

There
came a watchful silence and then Creasy's voice.

"Maxie?"

Maxie's
voice cracked back. "I got a number two or three in the leg."

Creasy's
voice called out into the darkness, "Michael?"

Michael's
voice came back. "I'm hit."

Creasy
was still lying in the dust with his rifle aiming at one of the Matabele, who
was lying on his back, clutching his shoulder and moaning loudly.

"Don't
move, Michael," Creasy called, and turned his head to look at Maxie.

"Are
you mobile?"

"Yes."

"Recce
the house."

Maxie
dropped the body of Karl Becker in the dust and moved to the doorway. Creasy
followed.

Rolph
Becker was lying on his back with his hand clutching his stomach, his face a
picture of agony. Creasy kicked the rifle further out of his reach and looked
closely at the wound. His three bullets had stitched a line across Becker's
naked body. Only Becker's spread fingers were holding in his guts. He would be
dead within minutes.

He
looked up into Creasy's eyes and said, "Get me to the hospital, quick.
It's only six kilometres away at Binga. Quick!"

Creasy
shook his head. "I'll get you to hospital when you've answered a couple of
questions."

Maxie
was moving quickly from room to room, kicking open doors with his rifle ready.
The bullet in his thigh was no hindrance. He could feel the outline of it under
his skin. Karl Becker had been a good cushion. He found nobody in the house,
but in the master bedroom he found a huge wall-safe with a combination lock. He
moved back to the hall and saw Creasy bending over Rolph Becker.

"The
house is clear," Maxie said. "But I've found a big safe with a
combination lock."

Creasy
looked down at Becker's twisted face. "The combination," he said.
"Then you get to the hospital."

Becker
almost screamed out a series of numbers. Maxie turned and ran back down the hall.
In the bedroom, he dialled in the numbers, and pulled down the large handle.
The heavy door swung open, revealing rows of files, bundles of money and two
pistols. He ran back to the hall. The flesh wound was beginning to send pain
through his body.

"It
was correct," he said. "The safe is open."

Creasy
straightened up, looking down at Rolph Becker.

"Are
you going to send him to hospital?" Maxie asked.

Creasy
shook his head. "It would be a waste of petrol."

Becker's
voice came out in a long sigh. He shuddered over on to his side as his hands
came away from his belly. His guts oozed out on to the maroon tiles, then he
died.

"He
confessed," Creasy said. "I guess the files in that safe will confirm
it. Now, quick, phone the police while I check out Michael."

Creasy
ran up the small slope and through the bushes. Suddenly he could hear Michael
groaning, then he saw him lying, sprawled on his stomach. He knelt beside him
and asked. "Where, Michael?"

Michael's
voice was clear and firm. "I took one in the shoulder and it spun me
round, then I got one in the back... low down."

"Do
you feel pain?"

"I
feel nothing."

"Don't
move."

Carefully
Creasy pulled up the blood-soaked shirt. There was just enough light to see the
wound in the lower spine. A stream of silent curses went through Creasy's
brain, but he said calmly, "Don't move, Michael. Stay completely still.
We'll get you out of here very soon."

Michael
lay with his cheek against the soil. He said, "I can't move, Creasy."

Gloria
Manners sat in her wheelchair in the garden of the Azambezi Lodge. The great
Zambezi River flowed past not more than twenty metres away and to her right,
she could hear the thunder as it plunged over the Falls. She sat alone. After
lunch, she had given Ruby an hour off to go and see the Falls.

There
were birds in the trees above and small vervet monkeys played on the lawn. She
had expected to hate this country, especially after the events of last night,
and at first she had. But during the day that hatred had faded away. Maybe it
was the serenity of the hotel. It was a two-storey structure shaped in a curve,
the pool and gardens in front and the wide river beyond. The entire structure
was covered in dark thatch. When they had checked in, the African manager had
explained proudly that it was the largest thatched building in the world.

Her
thoughts turned to the two men in the bush. She expected them to return in a
few days and announce that they had found nothing. She had mentally prepared
herself for that. At least she would have the solace of knowing she had done
everything possible. She thought about Creasy and how, in some ways, he
reminded her of her husband. He was certainly one of the few men who had ever
faced her down. She would leave Zimbabwe, knowing that she had hired the very
best, and if Creasy failed, then there was nothing more she could do. She would
simply live out her boring, chair-bound life in Denver. Perhaps it would not be
for much longer. She felt no disquiet about that. Suddenly she heard a voice
behind her.

"Mrs
Manners?"

She saw
the young Oriental woman and felt irritation at having her thoughts
interrupted. She snapped. "Yes! I doubt there is another old woman in this
hotel in a wheelchair."

The
young woman hesitated for a second and then walked round in front of her and
said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I've come a very long way to talk to
you. My name is Lucy Kwok."

"Talk
about what?"

"About
the murder of your daughter and Cliff Coppen. And the almost simultaneous
murder of my father, mother and brother in Hong Kong."

After a
pause Gloria said, "You've come from Hong Kong to talk to me?"

"Yes.
I think the murders are connected. So do the Hong Kong Police. I know that
you're here, trying to find the killers."

The old
woman gestured and said, "Pull up a chair, Miss Kwok."

They
talked for twenty minutes, by which time Gloria had recounted the events since
her arrival in Zimbabwe and Lucy had explained why there was a connection
between the murders in Hong Kong and the ones by Lake Kariba.

Gloria
turned her head to gesture for a waiter, but instead saw Inspector Robin
Gilbert walking across the lawn towards them. He pulled up a chair and sat
down. Gloria introduced him to Lucy and said, "This young lady thinks
there's a Hong Kong connection with my daughter's murder. She's just arrived
from Hong Kong."

"Yes.
I know. Commander Ndlovu called me last night." He drew a breath.
"Mrs Manners, I have to inform you that the men who killed your daughter
and Cliff Coppen were shot dead just before dawn today, together with four of
their men."

For a
long time, the old woman stared at the policeman's face and then she said,
"Are you sure it was them?"

"Yes.
We have complete evidence."

"Did
Creasy kill them?"

"Yes.
Together with Maxie MacDonald and Michael. There was a gun battle at Binga,
down the lake."

"I
thought Michael was in Harare."

"Yes.
So did we. But he checked out of his hotel yesterday and must have travelled
fast to get there."

"Were
the murderers blacks?"

"No.
They were whites. Father and son." He looked at his watch and said,
"But I'll give you all the details on the plane."

Gloria
was a little dazed. She blinked her eyes a few times and then asked,
"Plane?"