by Tony Park
Sonja nodded.
‘Rules of engagement?’ Mario asked.
Ian grunted and looked around. ‘Simple. One thing our fucked-up government does not worry about is human rights. Up here they operate a shoot-to-kill policy. You see a poacher in a national park, you kill him, dead, one-time.’
Sonja felt the familiar pre-battle cocktail of dread and excitement intoxicate her. She looked into the faces of each member of her team. ‘This wasn’t what any of you signed up for. Anyone who wants out, speak up now. There will be no blame and no shame.’
None of them said a word. Sonja cocked her rifle.
Chapter 11
Hudson stood as Rosie Appleton walked up the steps and was greeted by a waiter at Kuka, a restaurant in the Perry’s Bridge centre, a collection of eateries and boutique shops on the outskirts of Hazyview, on the R40.
Rosie pointed Hudson out to the maître d’ and joined him at his table. She came to him, took his proffered hand and kissed him on the cheek. The sun was taking the heat of the day with it, behind the hills that rose to the escarpment and South Africa’s highveld.
‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ she said as she took a seat opposite him at the outside table under an umbrella. ‘I’m glad you called, I didn’t expect it.’
‘My pleasure, and thanks for coming out here to meet me.’
‘Like I said on the phone, no problem, as I had to meet some friends here in Hazyview in any case.’
The waiter came to them. Hudson ordered a Castle Lite, Rosie a glass of sauvignon blanc.
‘Friends or contacts? You’re not here on vacation, like you told me.’
‘Is that a question or an accusation?’ she asked.
‘Observation.’ The beer was cold, good. Rosie was even prettier than he remembered.
‘Has my reputation preceded me?’ She crossed her legs.
He returned her smile. ‘Maybe. I hear you’re looking to interview undercover anti-poaching operatives.’
Rosie shrugged, sipped her wine. ‘OK, working holiday. I never stop working, really, that’s my problem.’
‘I was wondering . . .’
She leaned a little closer to him and twirled a lock of hair in the fingers of her left hand. ‘Yes?’
‘Have you heard of an organised crime syndicate called the Scorpions?’
Rosie sat back. ‘Maybe.’
‘What kind of an answer is that?’
‘The kind that indicates we may have some bargaining to do, you and me, Mr Hudson Brand, safari guide slash private investigator.’
‘You’ve been googling, I see. I don’t do much investigating these days.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Then how come when I tracked down the families of the two poachers killed on the road to Mkhuhlu the other day the mother of one of them, who works as a laundry lady on your estate, told me that you were investigating the death of her son, Shadrack?’
‘That’s a favour to a friend.’
She sat back in her seat. ‘Level with me, Hudson. We’re both on the same trail. We can help each other.’
‘Why do you say we’re on the same trail?’
She smiled. ‘OK, I’ll go first. At least one of the two poachers who was killed was part of the gang that crossed the border from Mozambique and tried to shoot down the national parks helicopter, as well as killing the two girls from the Leopards.’
‘Not Shadrack?’ Hudson asked.
‘No, his cousin. I’m sure you know a lot of the families in this area are originally from Mozambique and their members cross back and forth across the border, legally and illegally.’
Hudson nodded.
‘The cousin had form and my source tells me he was a Scorpion.’
‘And Shadrack?’
‘Seems he was a new recruit,’ Rosie said. ‘His first mission didn’t end well.’
‘He’d joined the Scorpions?’ he probed.
‘Your turn, what do you know about Shadrack? His mom wasn’t keen on telling me much.’
‘Well, I know there’s no “type” when it comes to criminals, and the money on offer in the rhino poaching business could corrupt a saint, but Shadrack was a nice kid, you know?’
She sipped her wine.
‘He was kind, friendly, maybe a little slow.’
‘Good cannon fodder,’ Rosie ventured.
The thought had crossed Hudson’s mind, but he wasn’t convinced. The crew that Sonja’s girls had come up against in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve sounded like well-trained professionals; why would they recruit a guy with learning difficulties? ‘I want to try and get hold of the autopsy report on his body, when the medical examiner gets around to it. It won’t be a priority.’
‘You can get that?’ she asked.
He grinned back at her. ‘You’re not the only one with sources. So tell me, what do you know about the Scorpions?’
‘For a start, they exist. The authorities here in South Africa are still clinging to the hope that the Scorpions are some kind of rural myth, but they’re for real. My person tells me the police and army here are worried, as are the law enforcement people in half a dozen other African countries.’
‘How do they work?’
Rosie ran the thumb and index finger of her right hand up and down the sides of her glass, leaving a trail in the condensation. She gave an exaggerated pout. ‘And here I was thinking you called because you wanted to spend time with me. You saved my life at the hotel and I was hoping to repay the favour.’
Hudson laughed. ‘You weren’t in any danger.’
‘No, but does this have to be all business? I am sort of here on a break. As well as researching an article on the links between organised crime and poaching I’m also staying a couple of nights in some lodges to do some travel pieces for Escape magazine. I could do a feature on you.’ She winked at him.
Hudson knew he had to be careful. She was coming on to him and he had to admit that part of him, a certain part of him, was enjoying the attention. His mind, however, told him he needed to make things right with Sonja. Also, he knew that however she might act, Rosie was a journalist, and for her, the story was everything. ‘Well, maybe I can take you on a game drive or two,’ he said cautiously.
‘Maybe you could drive me to the first lodge I’m doing a story on, Khaya Ngala, and you could stay over. In the guide’s room, of course.’
She was a pistol, Brand thought. ‘We’ll see. Where do they get their money from? Who’s the leader of this gang?’
‘Oh, they’re more than a gang. Basically, the Scorpions are all about cornering the market on high-value illegal wildlife products – rhino horn, elephant ivory, abalone, pangolins, and vultures.’
‘Even vultures?’
Rosie nodded. ‘There’s a market for vulture meat in west Africa and some local people here in South Africa, particularly Zululand, believe that because vultures can see so far that using their heads for muti, traditional medicine, will help them see into the future – next week’s lottery numbers, the next big business deal, that sort of thing.’
‘I’ve heard of those uses, but I wouldn’t have thought there was enough money in vultures to interest organised crime.’
‘Well, the Scorpions get their partners in the field to poison the carcasses of rhinos and elephants they’ve killed because vultures give away the locations of the kills and alert rangers, police and the army. Taking vultures out of the ecosystem helps the poachers and makes a few bucks at the same time.’
‘Bastards,’ Brand said. ‘You said “partners”.’
Rosie sipped some more wine. She seemed to be enjoying holding court now and showing off her knowledge. ‘The Scorpions enlist existing poaching gangs to partner with them. They offer modern weapons, silencers, night vision gear, a
nd training in modern military tactics.’
‘So the Scorpions are well funded, organised and probably use ex-military people.’
‘Yes. Ex–special forces according to my source.’
‘And if some local poaching big shot doesn’t want to join Scorpions Inc?’ Hudson asked.
Rosie ran her right hand across her neck. ‘The Scorpions wipe him out, and his family, and any of his foot-soldiers who don’t come on board. They’re ruthless, Hudson.’
He saw how focused she was, how the flirting had dropped away. ‘You’re not just here to interview undercover anti-poaching operatives, are you?’
‘I want to break the story on the Scorpions – hell, I want to help put them out of business. Do you think you can help me?’
‘I think you need to be careful, if these people are as organised and as dangerous as you say they are,’ Hudson said.
‘Don’t patronise me, mister. I’ve covered South Africa’s military involvement in the Central African Republic, been a stringer in Afghanistan; this is just another war zone for me. The only difference is that it’s closer to home.’
He didn’t underestimate her. ‘You heard about the shootout at the Sabie River Lodge golf course here in Hazyview this morning?’
‘Yes,’ Rosie said.
‘Is Antonio Cuna a member of the Scorpions syndicate?’
Rosie rocked her head from side to side, pondering the question. ‘I had him down as a maybe, but after the gunfight on the green I’d now say he’s a yes, for sure.’
‘Why?’ Hudson asked.
‘Cuna’s a big-time operator in Mozambique, probably the largest of the independents, or so I thought. He’s got direct links to very senior people in Vietnam; he allegedly had a hotline to Tran Van Ngo, the kingpin who was assassinated in Ho Chi Minh City two years ago. You know anything about that?’
‘Nope,’ Hudson lied. Sonja Kurtz had killed Ngo, on a mission to avenge the death of her partner. She had as much as admitted it to him. He wanted to find out how much Rosie knew about that, or if she was just fishing. This was like a game of chess, with drinks. Hudson called the waiter over and ordered another round. ‘Was it Cuna, acting on Tran’s orders, who had that American wildlife documentary maker killed?’
‘So, you do know about Tran’s assassination.’
Hudson shrugged. ‘I read the papers, check the internet every now and then.’
‘OK, I’ll level with you, even if you’re playing it cool with me. I like you, Hudson.’
He sighed, internally. That’s what Sonja said to him, sometimes.
Rosie continued: ‘Sonja Kurtz, retired mercenary, killed Tran Van Ngo. She was also at the golf course when Cuna was wounded by King Jim’s men. Had a gun shoved down Antonio’s mouth from what I hear.’
Her sources were good, and everywhere apparently. ‘Go on. What makes you sure Cuna’s joined the Scorpions?’
‘King Jim. One thing about the Scorpions, from what I hear they don’t have a toehold in South Africa and our country’s own tsotsis want to keep it that way. We’re proudly South African here in the Rainbow Nation, and local is lekker, even when it comes to crime. King Jim’s been running rhino poaching this side of the border since he was the Hazyview police chief, and Cuna’s brazen raid into the Sabi Sand Game Reserve, not to mention his attempt to shoot down a helicopter, will draw even more heat onto the reserves in this part of the country. Jim and Cuna had a truce, of sorts, but as of their last friendly golf match today – usually a peaceful way to discuss business – Jim signalled he was finished with Cuna. I believe he was trying to send a message to the Scorpions.’
‘But Jim’s ambush was in turn hijacked by Julianne Clyde-Smith’s flying squad.’
‘Led by your girlfriend, Sonja Kurtz.’
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’ Hudson was getting tired of those words.
Rosie gave him a wink. ‘Cool. Does this mean this is a real date, then? Dinner?’
Hudson checked his watch. The waiter returned to check on their drinks and lit a candle on the table between them.
‘Come on, where else do you have to be? It’s on me. I have an expense account.’
‘OK,’ he said, relenting. It wasn’t difficult. ‘How did Clyde-Smith’s people know about the meeting between King Jim and Antonio Cuna?’
‘Their intelligence is as good as – maybe better than – that of the South African authorities. She’s got a guy called James Paterson, ex-army, who makes it his business to keep tabs on all sorts of people and groups, including the Scorpions. I had an off-the-record interview with him once. He’s impressive, committed, and straight up and down.’
‘And Julianne?’
‘She’s putting a hell of a lot of money into anti-poaching. I think she gets off on it, but that doesn’t belittle her commitment. She probably spends more on security than the rest of the lodges in the Sabi Sand put together, which is why she hasn’t lost a rhino on her property. Same thing goes for her lodges in other African countries, although there was news of a mass elephant poisoning at her property in Zimbabwe, near Mana Pools, yesterday.’
Hudson was aware of Julianne’s reputation. Her glossy tourism brochures always talked up her commitment to protecting animals, not to mention her many philanthropic projects in the communities living near her lodges and reserves.
‘So what do you think went down at the golf course?’ Rosie asked. She was making good headway with her second glass of wine and seemed to be enjoying herself.
Hudson replayed the day’s events in his mind. ‘Cuna had no bodyguard, no weapon. He sure wasn’t expecting anything.’
‘No, but King Jim was, and so were Julianne’s hit squad.’
‘Hit squad? That’s a bit rich, isn’t it?’
She was stroking her glass again, the candle’s reflection dancing in her mischievous eyes. ‘They were loaded for bear, as you Americans might say, and tailing King Jim and Cuna. Paterson knew something was up, though he hasn’t been returning my calls lately.’
Hudson let himself ride along on Rosie’s conspiracy express. ‘Someone tipped King Jim off that Cuna was joining or had joined the Scorpions; King Jim was angry at Cuna for crapping in his backyard; Julianne Clyde-Smith saw an opportunity to join in an ambush and do some collateral damage when the bullets start flying?’
‘Yes!’
‘That’s a stretch.’
‘This is Africa, Hudson. Nothing’s a stretch.’
Hudson thought back to how Sonja had acted on the golf course. She had been working apart from the rest of her team, close to where Antonio and Jim were playing. Maybe the whole thing was personal for her, more payback for the death of Sam. Like most firefights it had been a confusing affair, but when the bullets had started flying Sonja’s team was well positioned to take on King Jim’s hit squad. Would a successful businesswoman whose reputation for philanthropy equalled her ability to make money really bankroll a vigilante-style hit squad? As Rosie said, and as he himself had learned through some of his cases, people were capable of anything. He took a drink.
‘Sonja had a chance to take out Antonio Cuna, but she didn’t,’ Hudson said, playing devil’s advocate. ‘She wasn’t on an assassination mission.’
‘Were you in the army?’ Rosie asked.
Hudson set his beer down. ‘Angola, 32 Battalion.’
‘OK, so you’re officially a bad-ass. Did you ever kill anyone in cold blood, execution-style, shoot prisoners, that sort of stuff?’
‘No.’
‘So maybe there’s a difference for Sonja and her team, subtle though it may be. It’s OK to start firing when there’s a gunfight going down, or at some guys with AK-47s posing as armed robbers, but a different thing to put a gun to someone’s head and pull the trigger.’
‘Hmm.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Maybe.’ He didn’t want to tell Rosie, but in
his opinion if Sonja had been on a mission to kill Antonio Cuna as well as King Jim, she wouldn’t have had a second thought about despatching the rhino poaching kingpin, quickly and cleanly.
‘Do you believe in coincidences?’
‘No.’ Not when it came to investigations, he didn’t. ‘Although it does seem odd that Sonja and her operatives appeared to be tailing two gangsters on the day that one of them was about rub out the other one.’
‘My point exactly,’ Rosie said. ‘I’m starving, let’s eat.’
‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to the Protea Hotel?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m staying in Hazyview tonight, a place called the Rissington Inn.’
‘I know it.’
‘What’s the food like there?’ she asked.
‘The crocodile tail curry and bobotie samosas are excellent.’
‘Great, then let’s eat there and I won’t have to worry about driving back to the hotel drunk,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ve got a nice buzz on already.’
Hudson realised he had been snookered. ‘I should get home.’
‘To what?’
It was a good question. He would be alone, with not much food in the refrigerator, and the supermarkets would be closed soon. The thirty-five-kilometre drive from Hazyview to Hippo Rock could be quite perilous at night, with drunk drivers, cars without headlights, and pedestrians and cows meandering along the unlit road.
Hudson weighed up his options. He could stop drinking now and drive home, or he could go back to Rosie’s hotel with her, get pleasantly drunk over dinner and then stay the night at the Rissington Inn. She twirled a finger in her hair and smiled at him as she waited for him to decide.
‘OK, I’ll come for dinner. If I need a room the owner usually does me a good rate.’
‘I like you, Brand. You’re tough, but you’re also a boy scout. Maybe you can show me how to tie a few knots after dinner.’
Chapter 12
Nervous energy, the thrill of the hunt, excitement laced with a dash of fear – call it what you want, but the possibility of impending contact with the enemy had charged Sonja’s mind and body.
