The Cull

by Tony Park

  He kissed her mouth again and she responded, opening hers and revelling in the feeling of his tongue, of hers in his mouth, their lips crushing together now, desire taking over.

  He ran his hands along her arms and the feel of him sent a shiver through her.

  Mario put his hands on her waist and lifted her from her bar stool. Sonja let him guide her as he swung her around. She felt him start to raise her and gave a small jump so she ended up sitting on the polished wooden bar. Mario reached up, while maintaining eye contact, and started to undo the buttons on her camouflage shirt.

  Sonja leaned back, her palms on the counter as he went about his work. To his credit, he didn’t go straight for her, instead he kissed a line from the underside of her chin, down her neck to her cleavage.

  ‘You’re wearing lace,’ he said.

  ‘You were expecting Mr Price?’ she laughed.

  ‘I can’t even picture you in a discount clothing store, let alone buying lingerie there . . .’

  ‘I didn’t expect to be going to the golf club on a mission, let alone Zimbabwe.’

  It was the nicest bra she owned; she’d bought it and the matching briefs in Nelspruit, in a lingerie shop, when she’d decided to visit Hudson. Foolish.

  Mario traced the first of her nipples with his fingertip through the sheer fabric then lowered his mouth to it. The cocktail of the warmth of his mouth, the flicking of his tongue and the roughness of the material was enough to elicit a low moan from her.

  Yes, she thought, this is what I need.

  Mario continued what he was doing, which was very good, and freed her other breast with his left hand. When he moved his mouth there he sucked, too greedily.

  ‘Ouch.’

  He glanced up at her. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. Be gentle.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’

  ‘OK,’ Mario said.

  ‘I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He went back to sucking her nipple, more gently this time.

  Sonja focused on getting back into the groove. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. There was still a risk someone could walk in on them, perhaps Taffy because he’d forgotten something, or a security guard. That made it hotter for her.

  Mario was working her belt buckle and the top button of her jeans.

  ‘Help me take your pants off,’ he whispered.

  ‘No. I’ll leave them on.’ It was one thing to get a thrill out of the thought of someone walking in on them, but she didn’t want to be caught half-naked.

  She unzipped and lay back, then shrugged her pants down so the waistband was midway down her thighs. As she did so Mario unzipped his cargo pants. She saw how hard he was, how ready for her.

  Mario bent over and kissed her there. She shivered again. Sonja’s first thought, when Mario had started massaging her shoulders, was that there was no way she would have sex or indulge in inappropriate physical contact of any kind with someone under her command. At that moment, though, she had decided that as soon as they got back to South Africa she would tell Julianne Clyde-Smith and Paterson that she was quitting. She didn’t like the way things were playing out; either they were dropping her into dangerous situations without proper planning and forethought, or the opposite: they were setting her and her people up to be on-the-spot executioners. Either situation was unacceptable. Too much was not right. This, what Mario was doing, was wrong.

  ‘Stop, Mario.’

  ‘Fuck,’ he said. ‘Relax.’

  ‘Do not tell me to “relax”. Back off.’ Sonja heard footsteps. ‘Someone’s coming. Stop it. Pull your bloody pants up.’

  Sonja slid off the bar, raised and zipped her pants, hastily buttoned her shirt and grabbed her half-drunk brandy and Coke. She took a long sip, needing it, and slumped back on the stool as Ian Barton walked across the timber decking. Mario sat on the sofa, trying to control his breathing. Ian’s eyes flitted between them.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ Sonja asked. She could feel her cheeks burning.

  Ian looked to her. ‘I had a call from a contact of mine, a policeman based at the national parks headquarters at Marongora, about eighty kilometres from here on the main road. We’ve got trouble; more precisely, you’ve got trouble.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘Charlie 10. The Central . . .’

  ‘. . . Intelligence Organisation. I’ve had dealings with the CIO in the past.’

  ‘Apparently they’ve found out you’re here and someone is coming to interview you. Why?’

  Sonja drained the drink. The ice had long melted. ‘I tried to assassinate the President of Zimbabwe a few years ago. They never really forgave me for that.’

  ‘That could explain why the cops are coming out now, in the middle of the night. Investigating the deaths of several poachers could easily have waited until tomorrow,’ Ian said.

  ‘I was wondering if they might have been waiting for me at Harare Airport, but I figured that since we arrived on a private jet and went straight to a chartered aircraft they wouldn’t notice me.’

  ‘Yes, well, the local cops knew you were here, thanks to the park’s rangers. Obert Mvuu probably reported your presence to someone higher up. Your aircraft arrives at eleven tomorrow, in time for you to connect to the Comair Flight back to Joburg from Harare at fourteen-hundred. I called Julianne’s office to try and get her jet again, but Doug Pearse has taken it to Pretoria for maintenance. I checked with Comair, and there are plenty of seats on tomorrow’s flight so you can buy a ticket for cash at the airport; hopefully that will keep you a step ahead of the CIO. For now, though, you can’t stay here.’

  ‘Any ideas?’

  Ian nodded. ‘There’s a place called Chitake Springs, have you heard of it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sonja said.

  ‘Legendary game-viewing location about forty kilometres away from the river,’ Mario weighed in.

  ‘Correct,’ Ian said. ‘We’ve got a tented camp there. I’ll get one of the guys to drive you there now. We’ve got permission to drive at night on anti-poaching patrols. The rangers don’t need to know who’s on board the Land Rover. I’ll wait here and deal with the police and CIO. You can hide out at the bush camp until your flight arrives.’

  ‘Will you be OK?’ Sonja asked.

  ‘I’ll be fine. Hopefully you’ll make it through the airport at Harare. The CIO are evil, but not terribly efficient. I’ll tell the local guys you’re out on patrol, looking for the bearers who escaped the gunfight.’

  Sonja looked to Mario. ‘We’d better get Tema and Ezekial up and ready.’

  They started to walk to the tents they had been allocated. Ian put a hand on Sonja’s arm. Her instinct was to shrug him off.

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you, again, for your help,’ he said.

  ‘I feel like I was set up, used.’

  His face betrayed nothing. ‘Obert Mvuu was a criminal and a traitor to his country and the parks and wildlife service. He had the blood of humans as well as animals on his hands.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sonja replied, not feeling gracious, ‘and now you have me, a wanted political criminal to pin the blame on for his killing. You’ll stay out of prison, but your patch of Africa will be safer. Let me tell you something . . .’

  He squared up to her. ‘What?’

  ‘If I get caught at Harare Airport, when I get out of prison I’ll come looking for you.’

  Ian nodded. ‘I’d expect nothing less from you.’

  Chapter 14

  Chitake Springs was one of Africa’s best-kept game-viewing secrets. Sonja had heard of it, but had never been there.

  She, Mario, Tema and Ezekial sat on folding green canvas safari chairs on the edge of a bank that dropped almost vertically past their toes about ten metres down to a most
ly dry riverbed.

  The morning was cool and crisp, the sun, not long up, bathing the dry bush behind them in mellow red-gold. From the opposite bank came the lowing and the bovine smell of a herd of buffalo whose lead element had stopped at the precipice and was now staring malevolently at the sitting humans.

  ‘Are they going to come down to drink?’ Tema asked.

  ‘They will,’ said Ezekial, ‘but they are cautious. This place is a natural ambush site for lions. They could be anywhere, hiding under a bush or tree on the bank on our side or the other side and we’d be lucky to see them if they charged. They can launch themselves from the higher ground, down onto the buffalo when they are drinking.’

  Ezekial handed Tema a pair of binoculars and pointed out a big buffalo bull with spectacular horns. When Tema had trouble finding the bull, Ezekial was quick to stand and move behind her and place his hands over hers, guiding her line of sight. The length of time Ezekial spent touching her was too long for mere friends.

  This was, Sonja thought, like sitting in the seats of a natural amphitheatre with a ringside view of an imminent gladiatorial fight. There was an air of anticipation among the group, which was better than them brooding about the events of the previous days and nights.

  Sonja had deliberately set up her chair so that Tema and Ezekial were between her and Mario. She regretted her decision to momentarily give in to his advances, even though they hadn’t gone all the way. Perhaps there had been more chemistry between them in Afghanistan. It hadn’t helped that Ian had almost walked in on them, but she had decided that would be it for her and Mario. It had been a mistake and it was time for her to move on.

  Mario had looked at her, hopefully, when they were shown to their respective safari tents at the camp at Chitake, but Sonja had dashed his hopes of a second try with a curt shake of her head. She had been tired, but it was the sort of exhaustion that made sleep impossible. She had tossed and turned on her stretcher, thinking about her near miss with Mario, her elevated and unfulfilled desire, and how Hudson Brand had cut off her call.

  Men.

  ‘Look.’ Mario pointed to the opposite bank. ‘They’re coming down.’

  Here and there on the sandy riverbank the water from the natural springs seeped to the surface, and it was to these small pools that the buffalo were making a beeline. They would take a few steps, pause and sniff the air, but as the lead animals moved further down the bank their thirst and the steepness of the sandy game trail forced them to increase their speed. Dust clouds began to swirl as a mini stampede began.

  Sonja felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Out of habit she had it turned to silent. She was surprised to get a signal here in the middle of nowhere, and even more so when she checked the screen and saw she had three bars of signal on her international roaming SIM card.

  Hudson’s name was flashing on the screen. She stood, ignored Mario’s question about who was calling, and walked away from the others and the bank. She answered the call.

  ‘Brand.’

  ‘Howzit, Sonja?’

  ‘What do you want?’ She kept walking.

  ‘I saw you called me last night. My battery went flat before I could answer and I only just borrowed a charger this morning. I called straight away; I haven’t even listened to your message.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At a hotel, Rissington, in Hazyview.’

  ‘Why?’

  There was a pause. ‘Why? What’s with the third degree?’

  ‘It’s not the third degree, unless you’re guilty of something. Anyway, I don’t care where you spent the night, or with whom.’

  ‘Sonja, I didn’t spend the night with anyone. Where are you?’

  ‘Zimbabwe.’

  ‘You called. What did you want?’

  ‘I wanted . . . I wanted to talk to you about some stuff, about poaching, and that guy, Cuna. I need more information on a group called the Scorpions, an organised crime syndicate.’

  ‘I might be able to help you there,’ Hudson said. ‘I’ve picked up some information on them from a contact.’

  ‘That woman journalist?’

  He paused again and she thought she could picture his embarrassment. ‘We can talk about where I got the information later. Are you coming back to South Africa?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Sannie van Rensburg wants to see you. She’s pissed off that you left the country.’

  ‘Where were you last night?’ Sonja asked, changing the subject. She didn’t care about the police officer or how she felt.

  ‘I told you, at the Rissington Inn, having dinner.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘Sonja, please . . .’

  ‘Was it with her?’

  Hudson sighed. ‘Rosie Appleton, yes. And yes, she has information about the Scorpions. I can tell you what I know, happy to. You know, nothing happened between us.’

  ‘I wasn’t inferring that anything had,’ Sonja said.

  She had wanted so much to hear his voice and she was still not convinced he hadn’t ended her call deliberately and then slept with that woman, who clearly wanted him. And to top it all off she felt guilty about what had nearly happened between her and Mario.

  ‘How’s Mario?’

  How can he read my mind? Sonja thought. ‘OK. Why?’

  ‘Watch him. He’s dangerous.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He’s a psycho, Sonja. I tried to warn you about him. He comes across all sensitive and kind, what with his sculptures and all, but he’s a stone-cold killer. He’s one of those guys who really enjoys it. I’m sure you know the type. They don’t last in military units – usually don’t even make the grade – and in mercenary outfits they’re the ones who cause all the trouble.’

  She did, indeed, know the type, but she hadn’t pegged Mario as a psychopath.

  ‘I knew him in Afghanistan. He wasn’t like that.’

  ‘You ever work with him, get into a gunfight with him alongside you?’

  ‘No.’ They had worked as personal protection officers, bodyguards, in Afghanistan, and while Sonja had seen action, Mario hadn’t been around at those times. ‘Except for last night, and he did just fine.’

  ‘He had a nasty habit of shooting unarmed prisoners of war in Angola.’

  Sonja remembered the wounded man crying out for help last night, the single shot in the darkness, and Mario’s explanation that the man had been going for his gun. She didn’t say anything to Hudson, though. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Well, whatever you do, keep an eye on him.’

  ‘He told me about Ines,’ Sonja said. There was a pause on the other end of the line. She filled the void. ‘He said you took her away from him.’

  Another pause. ‘Yes. I did. I don’t want to talk about that. When are you due back?’

  Sonja sighed and checked her watch. ‘We should get picked up in twenty minutes for a flight out of where we are now back to Harare Airport. Plan is that we catch the Comair flight to Joburg this afternoon and then an Airlink connection to Skukuza tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Can I pick you up from the airport?’

  ‘No date planned for tomorrow?’

  ‘Sonja . . .’

  ‘I’ve got business with Clyde-Smith and someone else. Have you got hard intel on this group, the Scorpions?’

  ‘I don’t know how hard my info is, but we need to talk.’

  ‘About work.’

  ‘OK, about work,’ he said.

  ‘Come to Khaya Ngala tomorrow; I’ll square it with Julianne. She can put you in a room in the staff quarters. Shoot for seventeen-hundred.’

  ‘All right, I’ll be there.’

  Sonja ended the call. She thought about what Hudson had said about Mario and how he had all but agreed with Mario’s take on what had happened with the girl, Ines, when
they were younger. She would need to grill Mario about what had happened during the contact last night.

  She put her phone in her pocket and had started to turn back to where the others were when she caught sight of something moving, through trees on the opposite side of the dirt road from where she was standing. Sonja froze.

  As safari guides and soldiers were taught, she looked through the leaves and branches, not at them. There it was again. Sonja stayed still, all senses alert. She thought of what Ezekial had said, about how lions followed herds of buffalo and set up ambushes. They had passed a pile of bones on the way to the viewing spot, proof that lions had feasted very close to where they were all sitting, enjoying the sight below.

  Sonja had no weapon on her; the AK-47 Ian had lent her was in a bag beside the chair where she had been sitting while watching the buffalo. There were public campsites at Chitake Springs, not just the one Ian operated, and if she or the others had been seen carrying rifles the tourists might have panicked and called national parks.

  Sonja saw a stout leadwood tree off to her right. She dropped to a crouch and made her way to it. She took cover and watched the bush where she had seen the movement. If it was a lion she knew she would have to stay still, as her movement would attract it, but she would also need to alert the others.

  Holding her breath, she peered through the foliage until she saw it again. This time, however, she saw bluish gunmetal. It wasn’t an animal, it was a rifle, and holding it was a man, whose form slowly emerged.

  He moved with exaggerated caution, scanning the bush to his front and each side and glancing down before taking a step, to make sure he wasn’t going to stand on a dry twig that might snap, or stumble on a rock.

  The man held up a hand, telling her there must be others behind him. He had come to the roadway where Sonja had been standing and he scanned left and right. When he was satisfied there was no one in sight and no traffic approaching he darted across and, as Sonja had done, found himself cover and concealment behind a tree. He looked over his shoulder and waved for his comrades to move.