by Dan Fletcher
DAN FLETCHER
DAWN OF DECEPTION
PART I of THE DAVID NBEKE SERIES
DAWN OF DECEPTION
PART I of THE DAVID NBEKE SERIES
First Printed in Great Britain in 2015
Copyright Dan Fletcher 2015
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent publisher.
FOR MY WONDERFUL CHILDREN, JOSHUA, KIMBERLEY, OLIVER AND ABIGAIL
Acknowledgements
Thanks must go to my parents, friends and family for their support in more than just this book and giving me the experiences to draw from and the time to write.
Special thanks to Clare for her unquestioning support, to Charlie Brotherstone for giving me the belief to really get going on the book, and to Andrew Papaconstantinou for doing such an excellent job on the cover
PROLOGUE
Masai Mara Game Reserve, Kenya
August 8th, 1961
Maliki grimaced as the laces holding the leather straps were pulled tight. There for protection, they covered most of his sinewy arms.
“Why can’t I go? I have every right to hate them as much as he does!” Maliki was referring to the raid that his father was planning on a British settler’s farm. The attack was set for the early hours of the following morning.
“You heard him, not until you are a man.” His younger brother shook his head, “You should be concentrating on today. If you don’t...well, you might never get the chance.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He puffed out his chest, “Nothing scares me.” Maliki avoided looking back into his brother’s eyes and tried to keep his breathing regular. Both of them knew that many young warriors had failed the test with fatal consequences.
“Come on, let’s go. They’re waiting for us.” His brother pulled back the hide covering the entrance and stepped outside.
The sun announced its approach by reflecting on a thin layer of stratus high in the atmosphere. The clouds glowed orange, golden, red and yellow rays bursting through their sides.
Maliki headed for the men huddled around the smouldering campfire. The group’s animated discussion ceased as he approached. They watched him closely, searching for any sign of nerves. Maliki strode confidently towards their leader.
“A good day to go hunting,” he looked up at his six foot five inch father. Maliki would probably exceed that height when he stopped growing. Even now at thirteen he was just a couple of inches shorter.
Chief Zuberi shook his head, “Remember, this is not a normal hunt.”
“Don’t worry, I will,” Maliki smiled. He embraced his father with the arm holding his spear and their ebony chests touched. The other held his four-foot tall shield, slightly wider than his toned body. He’d removed his brightly coloured shuka and jewellery to avoid spooking his prey. He had even taken off his most prized possession, a gold medallion with the two-headed figure of the Maasai God Engai Narok etched into the face. It was a gift from his mother, meant to bring good luck and wisdom. Maliki felt naked without it.
The older warriors scrutinising him were also dressed for battle. Their hair and cheeks dyed red to give them a more fearsome appearance.
“I’m not worried about your ability. If you weren’t ready I would not have permitted it. What I worry about is your over-confidence.” The Chief put his hand on Maliki’s shoulder, “Now make me proud!”
“They will have left if we don’t hurry up. As soon as the grass is dry they’ll be gone.” His brother turned towards the gap in the bush that marked the beginning of the track. It led east, away from the clearing that the temporary settlement was built in.
They were being forced to move so often to escape the authorities’ resettlement programmes that there wasn’t enough time to build the usual defences. Normally they would surround the village in a boma, a ring of acacia bushes wound together tightly to form a sturdy fence. The steely spikes acting as a serious deterrent to predators and other intruders. As it was they only had a sentry and the fire to ward of any nightly visitors. Although laid out in the traditional way, the rondavels were hastily built. Some were hardly round at all and had patches of dung missing from the rattan frames that formed the walls.
The group were in high spirits as they filed down the track. Maliki joined in with their chatter, anticipating the celebrations that they would be enjoying later that day. As the bush grew denser the men became quiet. They picked their way through the long undergrowth with graceful strides.
He heard the sound of a warthog grunting near to them as it searched the forest for grubs. An orchestra of birds occupied the canopy above them, singing in symphony to the sunlight breaking through the leaves.
His brother’s hand went up, signalling them to stop. He beckoned Maliki to join him at the front of the line. They had reached the edge of the forest.
“Over there,” he pointed to the base of a gigantic boulder, a lump of granite fifty feet high, dumped there when the glazier carved its way through the rift valley millions of years ago.
“Where?” Maliki squinted. The crimson slither of sun was growing rapidly.
“By those two smaller rocks near the end...look, one of them’s moving now!”
His brother had found the pride’s den the previous day. There were eight of them in total. Two of them were females, four young cubs and one an adolescent male. But it was their elder leader that Maliki was interested in.
“I see them.”
The pride was sheltering under an overhang of rock that wasn’t quite deep enough to be considered a cave. He moved out from the trees, into the open field of corn-like grass that separated them from the rock. Dew covered the long stalks in large teardrops that soaked Maliki’s skin up to his waist. He welcomed the feeling. Like all cats lions hated water. They would wait for the sun to dry out the field before leaving. In the twilight hours they could often be seen using the dirt roads that crossed the park to avoid getting wet.
The men appeared from the bush behind him. Moving like silent spectres in their red war paint they formed a bullhorn shape, with Maliki at the centre. Once they were in position he started walking slowly towards the pride. They were downwind from the lions, using the light breeze to mask their scent as they approached. The other warriors followed suit, keeping their formation, treading slowly and deliberately. They gradually increased the space between them to spread the reach of their human net.
At some thirty meters away one of the lionesses heard their approach. She jumped onto a rock and let out a low rumbling growl to alert the rest of the pride.
The battle-scarred male rose up from its haunches. Shaking a dark and matted mane it let out a tremendous roar. The lion focussed on Maliki and padded towards him, making grunting noises that seemed to come from its belly. For a moment he thought it was going to charge straight away. But the giant cat stopped a few meters from him, tilted its head to one side and snarled, displaying four-inch canines to warn him off. Maliki had to admit he was a magnificent specimen, a worthy opponent for a future Chief.
The men banged spears against their shields and chanted. They took turns to bait and distract the lion, causing it to circle between them.
Maliki overcame the urge to turn and flee. Even though his legs and heart were telling him to run like he had never run before. The lion was pacing from left to right, blocking them from the rest of the pride. He snapped and growled at the men either side but kept his eyes fixed on Maliki. The unblinking amber globes burnt into his soul.
Instead of charging and leaping at him the scarred veteran wriggled backwards. Maliki pulled the spike from the ground and moved a step closer. His father shouted for him to stop. But it was too late. Sensing his opportunity the huge male rushed forward and attacked. Using one enormous paw it knocked Maliki’s leg from underneath him and sent him crashing to the ground.
The beast pounced on top of him, biting into his arm and clawing at his face. Razor sharp teeth passed through his flimsy leather armour as if it were paper and latched on to Maliki’s forearm. Canines drove through flesh and hit solid bone. He cried out as red-hot pokers of pain were messaged to his brain. Maliki let go of the shield and struggled with his attacker. He grabbed its mane with his free hand. The pain ripped through him and his primeval screams intensified as the huge cat worried at his arm, tearing flesh and muscle apart.
Suddenly the animal cried out, a short sharp yelp, and went limp, crushing him with its weight. He felt the chest deflate and with one last twitch of its legs the lion went still. Maliki tried to move but his back was pinned to the ground.
“Help me get it off!”
The carcass was dragged away and Maliki could see his younger brother looking down at him spear in hand, blood dripping from the tip.
“No!” Maliki screamed, realising that the worst shame possible for a Maasai had befallen him. By killing the lion his brother had effectively exiled Maliki from the family and tribe forever.
CHAPTER ONE
South of Kisii, Western Rift Valley, Kenya
October 21st, 1991
David was desperately fighting the need to urinate. They had arrived in the midday heat, using the animal’s resting time to find a suitable hiding spot. The five hours since then had passed slowly as they waited and watched the waterhole. He couldn’t feel his feet and wondered how his father managed to look so comfortable.
“We might as well just give up,” David whispered. Fidgeting as his urge to pee overcame his desire to shoot his first buffalo. He had hunted smaller animals before. But having just turned sixteen, this was the first time his father had allowed him to test his skills on more dangerous game.
“I thought you were the one who wanted to do this?” Sefu smiled, “Be patient, they’ll be along soon. They’re always the last to come, just before dark.”
The waterhole was the only one for miles, enticing a small herd of impala, some zebra and a few giraffes to drink the brackish water. They were thirsty enough to risk being attacked by the handful of hungry crocodiles lying in wait. The giraffes splayed their front legs to reach the prized liquid. Gazelle and zebra took brief sips before flicking their heads up, ears turning and eyes twitching as they scanned their surroundings for predators.
All the time keeping a beady eye on the stationary crocodiles submerged in the water, the bony ridges of their prehistoric backs visible above the surface.
It was the height of the dry season and the receding waters were very low, their retreat marked by stains on the shallow banks. The long grass had been scorched tinder crisp by the fierce African sun and the season of bush fires would soon be upon them. David could taste the dust between his teeth, carried on the hot breeze hitting his face. Dusk approached, and the light was starting to fade.
“But...” David spotted a familiar dark shape emerge from the shrubbery to their right. The buffalo stopped a few meters out into the clearing and raised its nostrils, sniffing for danger before it proceeded towards the water’s edge. The other animals moved out of its ambling path. A pair of resident tickbirds rode the buffalo’s back, tolerated for the service they provided. It was the perfect target. Replaced by younger males the old bull would have left the herd to live out his final years alone, wandering around in an endless nomadic search for food.
David’s hand trembled slightly as he aimed down the beaded scope of the Lee Enfield .303.
“Breathing,” Sefu instructed him quietly.
David took a deep breath, and held it for a second. Allowing for the distance, light breeze and slight drop, he exhaled slowly and gently squeezed the trigger. He aimed for the heart, above and behind the beast’s front haunches.
Just as the shot rang out and the rifle recoiled into David’s shoulder the bull lurched forward. Searching for clearer water having stirred up the mud with its own hoofs. The bullet missed David’s intended target by a few inches and deflected off the bull’s rib cage, tearing into its lung. The tickbirds fled in a flutter of tiny wings. The other animals scattered in a flash of hooves and haunches, leaving the injured prey to stagger back into the bush and disappear from sight.
They rose slowly to their feet, muscles cramped and legs unsteady after being immobile for so long. David shot his father a worried look as he slung the rifle strap over his shoulder. They both knew that a wounded buffalo was extremely dangerous. Many a hunter was mauled to death by their fierce horns and trampling hoofs, sometimes just for startling them as their paths crossed in the night.
David followed his father into the forest and the circulation slowly returned to his aching legs. They picked their way along the track between the acacia bushes. The two-inch needles caught him occasionally, digging into his flesh. Nerves on edge they headed west towards the LandRover, constantly scanning the bush for any sign of the buffalo.
Eventually the trees started to thin out and they reached the edge of the veldt where the jeep was parked. David relaxed and loosened his grip on the rifle.
There was a loud crack as a branch was snapped under the buffalo’s weight. Hidden in the last of the bushes to their left it ambushed them. David's father shouldered him out of the way, his rifle pointed towards the charging mass he pulled the trigger.
The .303 slug shattered the buffalo’s skull and exploded into its brain, killing it instantly. Weighing over half a tonne, the dead animal’s momentum meant that it didn’t stop. It ploughed through the earth and slid to a halt inches from their feet. The huge nostrils flared and David felt the heat of the bull’s last breath on his toes.
“That was pretty close,” Sefu shouldered the rifle and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
“Close? I think I wet myself,” David replied and they burst into fits of relieved laughter.
“I’ll get the jeep,” Sefu said, once the adrenalin and laughter subsided. The twilight was dwindling and it was getting dark.
They gutted the beast under the glare of the headlights and Sefu hacked it into quarters using his machete. Between them they struggled to lift the pieces onto the back of the vehicle, their chests heaved and arms swelled as they got covered in blood.
“You can drive,” Sefu tossed David the keys and closed the tailgate.
“Thanks,” David grinned.
They left the entrails on the ground for the scavengers and headed off over the bumpy terrain, the suspension straining under the enormous load it was carrying.
*****
“That was delicious,” Waseme licked the grease from her long delicate fingers. “Well done you two.”
“Father killed it, not me. If it wasn’t for him we’d probably both be dead,” David’s reply was muffled by the piece of meat he rammed into his mouth.
“I’m sure you would have reacted if I hadn’t,” Sefu smiled. “You did well to hit it from that range in the first place. Tomorrow we’ll salt the rest of the meat. We’re going to be eating it for months.”
“Can we give some to Aunty Farisi?” David looked at his mother.
“You can take some over to her tomorrow on the way to school. Now finish your food, it’s late,” Waseme cast Sefu a nervous glance.
/> They were sat around the blazing campfire, carving the meat off the leg as it cooked on the spit. The smell as the fat sizzled and spat was almost as delicious as the taste.
“You heard your mother, it’s time for bed so eat up,” instructed Sefu.
David knew better than to argue. It would only mean more chores if he did, and there were enough of those to go around already.
His Aunty Farisi was his mother’s older sister and the only relative he had. Well the only one he was allowed to have anything to do with. At twelve years old Aunty Farisi had helped his mother run away from their clan. She wanted Waseme to escape the genital mutilation that she had suffered. By chance they stumbled across the catholic mission outside town and the sisters welcomed them in. His Aunty Farisi had been there ever since. She had become one of the nuns, caring for other misfortunate girls.
His father’s parents were Kikuyu and wouldn’t accept Sefu marrying outside their tribe. They and the rest of his family refused to come to the wedding and his father never forgave them. Sefu never spoke of his parents and David had no idea who his grandparents were or where they lived. He thought that by now there might have been some form of acceptance and he would have been allowed to meet them. There wasn’t, the tribal rift between the families was as wide as the great valley itself, timeless and unmoving.
Like his Aunty, Waseme rejected Maasai traditions and turned to the Christian faith. She too would no doubt have become a nun if not for meeting his father.
“Don’t forget to read a page of your bible tonight,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.
“But you said, it’s late,” pleaded David.
“I suppose just once won’t hurt, but make sure that you say your prayers.” Waseme smiled, “Now off you go, we’ll see you in the morning. Have you put the hens away?”
