The Temple Covenant

by D C Macey

  ‘See, over there,’ said Smuts, pointing towards the lake’s end. There, sitting in the open, was a big male lion. Thickset shoulders, heavy head, mane fluffed out. ‘He’s eaten. See all the red around his mouth and neck, that’s blood, fresh blood.’

  Smuts cast about, and then drove on, making for a marshy area just beyond the lake. Now he drove very slowly, watching the track ahead and to either side. ‘See, to the right … in that reed bed … I’ll get us a bit closer.’ He gingerly nudged the vehicle further off the track and finally brought it to a halt. He turned his head to the rear and paused to admire Helen’s thighs before tilting his head up to address his passengers through the skylight.

  ‘What is it?’ said Sam.

  ‘I’m going to get us a little bit further forward - be quiet now and keep your eyes peeled. I think we should see that big boy’s pride eating around here somewhere. The lionesses and, with a bit of luck, the cubs too. But don’t speak now. Okay?’ With a final appreciative glance at Helen’s legs, he turned to face front and began to edge forward. As the vehicle flattened another round of reeds, he turned hard left and eased to a stop.

  Less than five paces from the vehicle was what remained of a zebra carcass after the male lion had taken his fill. Two lionesses were methodically eating and around them were five or six cubs. The whole group was stained red, though Helen was unsure whether the cubs were actually eating or just learning a procedure. She and Sam watched in silence for a little while, fascinated by the cubs and the lionesses eating while apparently unconcerned that they had an audience.

  ‘You’re okay in the truck,’ Smuts voice came to them from the cabin below, as though he knew what they were thinking. ‘But believe me, if you step out you’ll be on the lunch menu too.’ His laugh echoed up and out. One of the lionesses turned her head for just a moment then resumed eating.

  ‘We’re going now,’ said Smuts. Several more safari trucks had closed in behind him, and he wanted fresh ground to explore. ‘We’ll leave this lot for the amateurs.’ Slowly, he pulled away, forcing the truck through the reed bed and leaving the other safari trucks to manoeuvre for spots around the pride and its kill.

  As they pulled away, Sam watched the vehicles behind him; he had to admit to Helen that Smuts was right. He did seem to have a knack, and the other drivers were certainly following him around.

  Helen nudged Sam’s side, and he looked to see what was interesting her. She nodded towards a vehicle that was cutting out from the following pack, seemingly intent on keeping pace with them. Once again, it was the 4 x 4 that had been dogging their tracks over the past day or so. He raised his binoculars to his eyes and casually did a slow sweep of the landscape. As the following vehicle came into view, he paused his scan and tried to see who was on board. He felt a tightening in his stomach.

  He could see the driver and front passenger clearly, couldn’t make out who was in the rear but guessed they too would be Asian. Somewhere along the line, their Nairobi tail had switched the inconspicuous city car for a big 4 x 4. He kept the sham of his wildlife scan up, and after a few moments of peering absently into the bush, he lowered the glasses and turned to Helen. ‘Korean,’ he said. ‘It’s them.’

  ‘How did they find us?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess the other question has to be why did they find us? I don’t think we’ve done anything to attract attention.’

  ‘No, but they’re here.’

  Smuts’ voice came up to them from the driver’s seat. ‘I think I’ll find an open spot to stop for lunch. What do you say, hungry yet?’

  They both agreed, and Smuts drove towards his planned location. While maintaining a discreet distance behind, the other vehicle followed on.

  ‘Ha! I see we’ve still got one follower. Not much I can do about it now, but I’ll shake them off after lunch.’

  22.

  Wednesday, 30th October - PM

  The spot Smuts chose for lunch had a stark beauty; a long flat stretch of dusty yellowed earth that lay between a shrunken lake and a stand of trees. Once the rains came it would become lakebed again, today it was bone-dry hard pack. They could make out more elephants standing in the shade of the trees, their heads weighed down with long tusks that rocked gently from side to side as they stared out quietly towards the waters of the lake.

  A little more disconcerting was the family of hyenas that had emerged from the woods and spread out to walk slowly and silently towards the water.

  ‘Oh, oh, look at this. These beauties have spotted something,’ said Smuts pointing towards the hyenas. He scanned the lakefront ahead of them as Helen and Sam followed his direction.

  ‘There. See? At the water’s edge. That wildebeest, it shouldn’t be at the water on its own. It’s a herd animal. Something’s wrong for sure.’

  Some instinct made the wildebeest look up, and it registered the danger. The hyenas realised they had been spotted and suddenly began to move much quicker. As they sped up, their bouncing, almost comic, gait became more pronounced. The wildebeest started to move away but slowly, too slowly.

  ‘He’s lame, the old boy’s lame. He doesn’t stand a chance,’ said Smuts. Helen could hear the excitement growing in his voice as death approached.

  ‘These hyenas are brutal, once they’ve got you in their sights, you may as well give up. A hyena clan can see off a lion if push comes to shove. Look at those shoulders, heavyset to carry that big head. And the jaws, strong, crack right through a bone in a single bite.’ Smuts’ South African accent became more pronounced as he became engrossed in the hunt.

  ‘Go on, run old man. Run!’ He kept his eyes on the wildebeest as it started in one direction then changed its mind and turned to run through the shallows in the opposite direction then stopped, that escape route closed by a great beast of an animal. The wildebeest backed a little into the water, half turned one way then the other. Knew it was dead.

  ‘Look! See the wildebeest’s back end? It’s all raked and red. It must have dodged a lion attack last night. It’ll wish the lion had got it now. That would have been a cleaner kill.’

  The wildebeest chose its direction of flight far too late, and then stopped; its head lowered, its horns waving in a last desperate defence. As the hyenas milled about, their yip, yip, yipping cries worked towards a crescendo and the wildebeest, losing its nerve, decided to run.

  Helen averted her gaze in revulsion as Smuts cheered on the attackers. The sound of splashing, excited cries of the hyenas and frightened screams from the doomed wildebeest rushed up from the water’s edge.

  ‘Go on, have him. Have him down. Ha! They’ve got him. See how they do it? That’s one wildebeest that’ll sire no more calves.’ He laughed out loud.

  When the wildebeest had made its final ill-fated break, its damaged quarter had faltered, making the animal stumble. Immediately, one huge hyena had thrust her head between his rear legs and bitten deep into the wildebeest’s groin. Jaws clamped tight on her favoured point of first contact, the wildebeest’s own motion provided the energy to simultaneously emasculate it and rip open its rear end. As the wildebeest struggled forward in its agonising death throes, an umbilical of intestine unravelled to maintain a deadly tether with its attacker. The hyena chewed and bit on its mouthful of flesh as the others closed in, darting forward and back stressing and tiring the crippled wildebeest.

  Now unable to move its rear at all, the wounded animal could no longer face off the hyenas. It couldn’t kick out, couldn’t turn its head to face an attacker without becoming unstable and falling. Life struggles to the very end, but the end was here.

  ‘Go on, have him down. Have him down!’ Smuts was lost in the moment, bloodlust blocking out every civilising thought.

  The wildebeest’s cries turned to squeals of fear and agony as one hyena took its damaged rear leg between its jaws, the sound of crunch and crack racing across the beach while the attacker ripped the leg away and loped off to enjoy its prize. The wildebeest was finally down on its back, t
hree remaining legs kicked spasmodically in the air; two legs were seized by juvenile hyenas who did not yet have the jaw strength to sever the limbs cleanly, so they engaged in a tug of war, chewing through flesh and bone, still yipping through their clamped jaws.

  Having swallowed her first mouthful, the big female returned and sniffed at the supine animal’s belly, which jerked from side to side under the leg pulling of the juveniles. Nosing about, she paused for a moment to select the perfect spot and then sank her teeth in. Jerking back, she tore open the belly, and then she thrust her muzzle deep into the wound, bit hard and pulled, drawing out what remained of the wildebeest’s intestines. The little ones crowded round for a taste of the kill as the wildebeest’s eyes rolled. All hope gone, its one free leg kicked out vainly. Then it was still, and the hyenas piled in to dismember the carcass.

  Smuts reached over the back of his seat and gripped Sam’s arm. ‘There man! Africa in the raw. Beautiful animals, they know how to kill for sure. You wouldn’t have got that with any of those follow-on drivers. You come to me, you get the best.’ He laughed out loud, then releasing Sam’s arm, he waved a dismissive hand towards Helen. ‘Your assistant doesn’t look so good. Come on girly, you’ve got a nice trip to Africa with your boss, time to realise what the bush means.’ Smuts turned back to look at the scene by the lakeside.

  ‘Tell me, man, why did you really insist to my tour company that I was the only driver you’d accept? Not many people do that.’

  Sam had spent much of the morning wondering when he should broach the subject. Smuts had done it for him, and he was ready.

  ‘I was told you were the man I wanted.’

  ‘Told by who?’

  ‘Friends, well no, business connections in Europe, and out in the East too. I’m not giving you their names. I’m sure you know some people like to avoid being named. People who name them might as well go and play with those hyenas.’

  Smuts continued looking at the beach. One or two hopeful vultures had landed. He could see other black specs circling above, coming lower, but there would be little left once the hyenas had finished.

  ‘I know more than one European that could describe.’ Smuts looked over his shoulder towards Sam. ‘Anything in particular you’re interested in?’

  ‘Well, my friends tell me you’re the man for most tricky things. I heard, if a man wanted to shoot with something heavier than a camera, you had a handle on that.’

  Smuts said nothing, but Sam saw his slight nod.

  ‘My friends say you can do more than that.’

  Smuts turned back to Sam. ‘Look, let’s not dance about. You’ve heard I can fix things out here in the bush, maybe that’s true and maybe it’s not. I’ve done a bit of checking too. I know you’re rich, a private jet sitting on the runway over at Kilimanjaro.’ He turned and looked at Helen who was struggling to conceal her distaste for the man. ‘You’re doing alright for yourself, girly. A boss with a private-’

  ‘Let’s stay focused on the business in hand, shall we? And you’ve been checking on me too, interesting,’ said Sam. He felt a tingle in his spine. It had been a gamble to allude to unnamed acquaintances, but Smuts was greedy, and he moved in a dirty world. He wasn’t going to play down his links and status if there was a chance of money to be made.

  ‘I knew there was something more about you,’ said Smuts. ‘Ordinary folk don’t request specific guides. Hey, ordinary folk don’t have private planes. And I know you’re not police or wildlife protection investigators. If you were undercover, you might have been able to front up this trip, but the private jet? That’s out of their league. So, what are you wanting? And remember, I live in a cash world. That’s cash dollars, American. Tell me again, who are your friends?’

  Sam leant forward. ‘Friends like mine don’t have names, but they know you and you know them. I’m interested in hunting for real, off-piste you might say. But the main reason I’m down here is I need to set up a transport route. One that doesn’t attract too much attention.’

  ‘Transport what to where? Internal or crossing borders?’ Smuts’ business mind was suddenly in top gear. He gave Helen a cautious look.

  ‘Don’t worry about the girl,’ said Sam. He placed his hand on Helen’s shorts, slid it on to the bare flesh of her thigh. ‘She does as she’s told.’

  Smuts’ eyes traced the hand’s progress and he gave a deep throaty laugh as Sam squeezed the bare flesh hard.

  ‘That’s how it should be, hey, yes? Make sure the little woman knows her place. Good man. Now what are we talking?’

  ‘I want some private shooting; I’ll pay big for the right beasts. I’m thinking the man that can set that up in this wilderness is the man who can sort my little transport problem too. Think of one as the test for the other. Show me you’re the man to deliver.’ Sam released Helen’s thigh and snapped his fingers in front of Helen’s face. ‘Cash, girl. Quickly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Helen kept her face down and bit her lip as she raised her top a little and pulled at the money belt Sam had made her wear. She was furious, could feel Smuts’ eyes on her midriff as she pulled the belt up and out a little. Unzipping it, she withdrew a wad of US dollars; she handed them to Sam and, with some relief, tucked her top back into her waistband again.

  ‘Good girl,’ said Sam, flicking through the cash wad then looking up to catch Smuts’ eye. ‘One thing you should know, money’s no problem. Here, take this, treat it as a goodwill gesture.’ He thrust the money forward.

  Smuts took it eagerly. ‘You can rely on me. Smutsie always delivers, I’m your man.’

  ‘Another thing. Be aware my business contacts don’t like to be messed with, I think you know what I mean.’ Sam pointed down to the shore where the wildebeest’s carcass was now just scraps of bone and hide that the disappointed vultures squabbled over. ‘There are no prisoners and no second chances in my line of business.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. As long as you can deliver the cash, I can deliver the services. So, tell me more of what you want.’

  ‘If somebody needed to move things across the borders around these parts and wanted to avoid the roads and border checks how would you recommend they go about it?’

  ‘Which border and how big is your package?’

  ‘I’d need some flexibility on destinations and big, think truckloads big.’

  ‘Hmm, that’s not easy. I’m sure there are bush drivers who could get packages across for you no problem, but a truck-sized delivery. That’s a challenge, man. A big challenge. Plenty of the smaller bush tracks won’t support a truck. No, you’ve got yourself a problem there.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘Why can’t you just go to one of the smaller crossings and bribe the border guards? That’s what some folk would do in this country.’

  ‘So I’ve heard, but I need a belt and braces approach. I can’t risk chancing upon an honest border guard or running into a spot check, you understand?’

  ‘I sure do, man. Matter of fact, there’s been a similar problem for somebody else recently.’

  ‘I see, and how did that get fixed?’

  Smuts looked back out of the window towards the beach. The carcass had been cleared now and the vultures who had missed out on scraps were taking off one by one with empty bellies and angry squawks.

  ‘That sort of problem gets fixed with lots of money, and plenty of skills and knowhow. Those sorts of skills are valuable out here.’

  ‘I’ll bet,’ said Sam.

  ‘You’ve got to know the bush, man. Know how the land lies, know who to trust, who to pay, who to hide from.’ He paused and looked at Sam with a pointed stare. ‘Not that Smutsie hides from many.’

  ‘So, what’s the solution?’

  ‘You’d need to keep way off the beaten track. If it’s as big as you say, and maybe attracts attention, then there’s no point in even trying to get it over a border crossing. You’re going to need to go off-road.’

  ‘You said bush tracks wouldn�
�t support a big truck.’

  ‘I did, and I didn’t say I’d go by bush tracks either.’

  ‘Well?’ said Sam, he was becoming sick of the charade and wanted out of the situation as soon as possible. He could sense Helen’s anger as she sat beside him playing the compliant personal assistant. She needed out too.

  ‘Think man, no road, no bush track, what’s left?’

  ‘Look, I’m not the bush expert, I’m asking you. Now is there a way or have I wasted that goodwill payment I’ve just given you?’

  ‘Alright man, alright. It’s simple, you fly it out.’

  Sam looked at him askance. ‘Fly? It’s not a bundle of newspapers I want to shift. A plane big enough to take my load will need a proper runway. Not some bush landing strip. Any airport is going to have security, customs, and the works.’

  The tainted moustache parted to show yellow teeth again. ‘You’re spot on, man; except not for Henk Smuts. I’ve got a runway, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. Some mining company had great plans, thought it was on the Tanzanite mother lode. They built the infrastructure, a runway to fly in their kit and months later - Pop’—Smuts clapped his hands—‘the surveyors had screwed up big time. Deposit was a dud, finished before they’d really got started. Place just abandoned.’

  ‘I see,’ said Sam. ‘And it’s yours to use?’

  ‘Well, the locals have reclaimed the whole area. It’s just bush, miles and miles and miles of it. Pastoralists, they won’t let their land go a second time. And sure as hell, the Tanzanian Government doesn’t want to be reminded of the flop.’

  ‘I’m interested Mr Smuts, you might be able to help me. Where exactly is your runway?’