Red Earth

by Tony Park

  Mike took aim at the vehicle as well, but the white-haired man had floored the accelerator and was disappearing around a bend.

  ‘Shit.’ Jed lowered his MP5 and walked over to him. ‘We just can’t catch a break.’

  ‘That guy,’ Mike said, panting. ‘I saw him yesterday. He’s a dealer in rhino horn.’

  Jed nodded. ‘That’s only half of it. His name’s Egil Paulsen, he’s a South African-born foreign fighter who served in Syria with IS. Now he runs a cell that crosses between Mozambique and here. He’s linked to Suzanne Fessey … She’s one of them as well.’

  Nia had managed to stand and came to them as well, holding her side. Mike took out his phone and searched his contacts for the local section ranger. He tried dialling. ‘No signal.’

  Jed walked away, breathing deeply to control his anger, and at Mike’s urging Nia sank down into the grass to rest. Mike watched as Jed went back to the still-burning wreckage of the Sea Hawk. He was heartened, at least, to see Franklin Washington get to his knees and stand as Jed approached him. The two Americans hugged.

  The survivors took stock of their injuries, losses and their situation, then Mike suggested they start walking towards Nyalazi Gate, he and Jed supporting the groggy but now conscious Franklin between them. After fifteen minutes of slow progress, Mike heard a vehicle engine and, nerves raw, turned and held up his gun. He kept it trained on the white bakkie until it got closer to him and he saw with relief that it was a national parks vehicle with four armed rangers in the back.

  Laying Franklin down, Jed and Mike met the vehicle, and Jed held his weapon up over his head. Mike knew the ranger driving the vehicle and spoke to him in Zulu. The men in the back, at first on guard given the devastation they had passed behind them, lowered their weapons.

  ‘What a mess,’ the ranger at the wheel said.

  ‘Get the okes at Nyalazi Gate to stop a black BMW. Driver’s armed and extremely dangerous,’ Mike said to the man without preamble.

  The ranger nodded and got on his radio.

  ‘Let’s get to the gate, we can call the police from there,’ the ranger said to them once he got off the radio.

  ‘Roger that,’ Jed said. Nia, Jed and Mike climbed up into the rear cargo area of the truck and between them helped Franklin to clamber in and lie down. With the armed rangers sitting around them, Mike and Jed stood, leaning on the roof, guns ready as the driver accelerated down the road. Behind them in the distance was smoke from the burning remains of the Sea Hawk.

  As the driver accelerated, Mike introduced Nia to Jed and Franklin and explained that Sergeant Munro was really Suzanne Fessey.

  ‘So, she, these other people, they’re the ones who killed your ambassador?’ Nia asked Jed.

  Jed glanced to Mike, then back to Nia. ‘No point trying to be coy now. Yes, we believe Suzanne Fessey’s husband was the suicide bomber who killed the ambassador. Egil Paulsen, who was in the chopper with you, heads a cell in Mozambique that works with or is perhaps under command of Fessey and her late husband. Franklin here’s been tracking them – I just happened to be down at our embassy in Pretoria when all this blew up so I’m kind of playing catch up. Franklin knows more than me.’ They looked to him.

  Franklin winced, holding his ribs. ‘That about covers it. Fessey, Paulsen and his crew run a side line trading in rhino horn, which helps fund their radical cause. They’re like an IS splinter group. You know all you need to know about them now; they’re dangerous and they’re on the run and Suzanne wants her baby back.’

  ‘Why?’ Mike asked.

  ‘’Cos she’s his mom,’ Franklin said.

  Mike looked to Jed, who shrugged. Jed either didn’t know any more, or couldn’t say. As much as he had warmed to Jed he was feeling less and less confident in the CIA and the United States government. ‘Where’s the Marine Corps? The SEAL teams? The army and the air force now?’

  ‘We’re it,’ Jed said. ‘South Africa doesn’t want a US invasion, so we’re relying on your police service now, and ourselves.’

  Jed turned to look back, his thick fair hair catching the slipstream created by the speeding Toyota. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, then took a breath to compose himself. He turned around to face forward again and took out his cell phone. Mike glanced at the screen and saw that they were once again receiving a signal. Jed immediately started making calls.

  The United States of America had been humbled in South Africa. A senior diplomat had been killed and the people responsible were leaving a trail of bodies through Zululand. Jed and his compatriots had been bested this time, but looking at the CIA man’s stone-set face and cold blue eyes Mike had the feeling that the terrorists had made the mistake of prodding a sleeping lion.

  The beast was about to wake, but America had been defeated by rag-tag guerrilla fighters and terrorists in the past.

  The ranger in the front cab leaned out of the front passenger window and called to Jed. ‘News from the gate, and it’s not good.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Jed asked.

  ‘Paulsen’s just been at the gate. He smashed through a barrier, guns blazing. A female ranger was hit, though it doesn’t sound too serious. They called the police, but they didn’t make it in time.’

  ‘Shit.’

  Mike knew that whatever was going to happen next it was a good idea for him and other innocent bystanders, such as Nia, to be out of it. He was relieved Nia was still alive and that she had survived the foolhardy but courageous stunt she had pulled with her helicopter.

  Yet, as he scanned the road and horizon in front of them he thought of a young Zulu boy and two other minors who had also been dragged into this war. Could he really leave Themba and the girl with him to the jackals who were after him?

  He wanted to believe Jed and Franklin and the South African Police Service could defeat the terrorists and rescue the children alive. Themba had tried to warn the Americans about the impending rocket attack on the helicopter, and had fired at the pseudo police officers, yet the gunner on the Sea Hawk had still opened fire on them. This man Paulsen and the others would kill Themba and the girl to get the baby back.

  Mike had the terrible thought that if he did walk away now, as he very well should, more innocents would die. He knew this part of Africa better than any of them and he knew the parks, where Themba would most likely continue to seek refuge, as well as any ranger.

  He thought of the blood-soaked earth under the body of another boy long ago and knew he could not turn away.

  Chapter 18

  Themba and Lerato had made themselves as comfortable as they could in the bullet-riddled caravan. Wind rushed in through the shattered rear window, but the teenagers sat close together on the double bed, with the baby, asleep again at last, between them.

  Lerato had her elbows on her knees, her head in her hands. She looked up, her eyes red from crying. They had found a phone charger and power point in the van, and while Lerato’s phone was now working she could not get through to her father. Her calls kept going through to voicemail. ‘Themba, I don’t know who to trust now.’

  Themba felt the same way. His satisfaction at seeing the truck that was following them grind to a halt, its engine cooked, had been short-lived. He knew it would not take the people coming after them long to find a replacement ride.

  ‘We have to turn ourselves in at the next stop,’ she said.

  He sagged. ‘I can understand that.’ Themba wondered if this day would end with him in a police cell.

  Lerato stroked the baby’s soft downy hair. ‘I wonder what will happen to him?’

  Themba shrugged. ‘We don’t know if those people are after the baby as well as the rhino horn. The way they were shooting at us, it was almost as if they didn’t care if they killed him in the process.’

  Lerato looked to him. ‘Themba, toss the rhino horn out of the caravan
. You don’t want to have to explain to the police or national parks people how you got it.’

  It was a tempting proposition. He was going to have a hard enough time explaining how he’d come into contact with Joseph again, and why he’d been wielding an AK-47, let alone recounting how he’d found millions of rands’ worth of rhino horn and then run off with it. ‘I can’t just throw it away. It’s evidence of a crime,’ he said heavily.

  ‘Yes, but not a crime you committed. You could go to prison for a very long time if they pin rhino horn smuggling on you.’

  Themba was getting angry again. He punched the aluminium wall of the caravan. ‘I have done nothing wrong.’

  Lerato reached over and put a hand on his arm. ‘I know that and you know that, and I’ll tell the police you did nothing wrong, but your background will arouse suspicion. It won’t be easy.’

  Her touch calmed him. ‘I feel sometimes that no matter how hard I try I can never escape my past.’

  ‘You’ve done a lot already to change your life, Themba. Your friend, what’s his name, the vulture man, he will speak for you.’

  Themba thought of Mike. ‘Can I use your phone to call him?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  Themba felt the caravan begin to climb a steep incline, and he peeked out the broken window again.

  ‘We’re here, Hilltop Camp. Get the baby and be ready to jump out; I’ll call Mike when we get clear.’

  Themba shouldered their bags and opened the door of the caravan. They were slowing to a stop in the car park. Hilltop was the largest rest camp in Hluhluwe Game Reserve.

  ‘Quickly,’ he said, jumping down before the four-by-four halted. Themba knew they needed to get away before the old people got out of the vehicle, saw them, and raised the alarm. If they were going to turn themselves in, he didn’t want it to be with a couple of freaked-out old people chasing them.

  Themba strode alongside the van door and held up his arms. ‘Pass me the baby,’ he said quietly.

  Lerato handed the child down to him just as the caravan came to a halt. Then she jumped down too and followed Themba as he darted around an open-sided Land Cruiser game-viewing vehicle that was parked next to them. They crouched behind the safari truck while the elderly couple got out of the Discovery.

  ‘I’m going to the toilet,’ the woman said.

  ‘Be quick,’ said her husband. He had his cell phone out and made a call. ‘Hello, police? Ja, I want to report a terrible crime.’

  A two-way radio hissed and crackled to life from inside the open vehicle they were hiding behind. ‘Greg, it’s Dirk, over,’ a voice said from the tinny speaker somewhere in the Land Cruiser.

  ‘Go, Dirk,’ said the other voice. ‘What’s happening in your part of the park?’

  Lerato started to stand, eager to move away, but Themba put a hand on her arm. The elderly man was telling the police about the crashed helicopter and the people following them, while the two safari guides continued their radio conversation.

  ‘Sure, Greg, it’s hectic here, bru. We just picked up some tourists, a Dutch couple, in the middle of the bush. They said some crazy cop lady on foot with a couple of detectives just commandeered their vehicle, man. They’re heading for Hilltop now, chasing some dudes.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘Yes way, bru. These cops sounded like, crazy. I don’t know if they were for real. I radioed Hilltop to ask them to check them when they get there – they’re in a blue Polo.’

  Lerato grabbed his arm again and whispered fiercely, ‘Themba, let’s go, we’ll find someone who will look after us.’

  Themba peeked around the Land Cruiser. He had left the AK-47 in the van, deliberately, as he couldn’t be seen strolling around Hilltop Camp with a gun. He felt naked, vulnerable, now without the rifle. ‘You heard the radio – that woman and the men, they’ve got another car. They’re coming for us.’

  Themba unzipped his backpack and took out the binoculars he had found in the stolen Fortuner. He straightened and started moving around the vehicle, keeping out of sight.

  ‘Themba, let’s find someone to give ourselves up to.’

  ‘Wait, first I must check the valley to see if it’s safe.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ve seen what these people are capable of, Lerato. They’ll blow this camp up, start shooting people until they get us. I don’t want more blood on my hands. We have to get away from them.’

  Lerato sighed, but Themba jogged off towards the reception building. He made it to a spot where he had a clear view of the approach to Hilltop Camp. He used the binoculars and scanned right to left, as Mike had taught him. Panning in the opposite direction to which one read a book, Mike said, meant one focused more and picked up little details that might otherwise be glossed over.

  Lerato was behind him. She gave a short, sharp cry.

  Themba looked back, his heart beating fast, but saw that she had been startled by a Samango monkey. The cheeky, blue-grey primate raised his bushy eyebrows up and down. Themba went back to checking.

  Themba was confused. He wanted the sanctuary of authority to enfold him, but perhaps it was his past, his life so far, that made him realise that sometimes you had to rely on yourself, on your instincts. He saw the rolling hills of the Zulu king’s hunting lands laid out before him like a rumpled green and khaki duvet tossed casually over a giant’s bed. This was where he came from and this was where he would return. They needed more time, to stay a step ahead of their pursuers, and Themba knew he could only do that if they stayed in the bush. They would emerge when he was ready, somewhere Mike could find him first. Mike would understand he had done nothing wrong, no one else would.

  Then Themba saw movement on the road, and re-focused the binoculars. It was a blue car. It wound its way up the snaking hill towards the camp, but stopped about half a kilometre away.

  Someone got out of the car, in contravention of the park’s rules. Themba saw the blue of the uniform and the brief flash of blonde hair. One of the men got out as well, and they set off, moving uphill, parallel to the road.

  They were moving like soldiers advancing on the enemy, with one staying put and giving cover while the other darted forward, just as Mike had taught him to move on anti-poaching patrols. They knew what they were doing.

  Themba knew then that whatever he did, the people following them would not stop until he, Lerato and the baby were dead or in their custody. The people chasing them had forced his hand; there was no time to alert the authorities now.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Lerato asked.

  ‘She is coming for us. They are leaving their new car, parked, so as not to arouse suspicion in case the rangers here have been notified. The woman and one of the men are coming first, on foot, to look for us.’

  Behind them, in the car park, the elderly couple were back in their Discovery and had started the engine. Themba looked at Lerato.

  She shook her head emphatically. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, it is our only chance.’

  ‘No, Themba, our only chance is to wait here for my father to come and get me. He has to return my calls soon.’

  Themba looked at his cheap wristwatch. ‘He should have been here two hours ago. I know how he cares for you and worries about you. Do you think he would have been this late if there was no problem? Lerato, we have to keep moving. If those people find you they will kill you.’

  She looked back to the Discovery, which was trundling out of the car park towards the gate, bullet-holed caravan in tow. It pulled up at a stop sign, at an intersection about fifty metres from them.

  ‘I’m going,’ he said, but paused.

  ‘I’m not.’

  Themba looked to the vehicle. The couple had stopped to pore over a map book.

  ‘Hurry, they’re not looking.’

  He darted across the road, keeping an eye on t
he wing mirror extensions on the four-by-four in case the woman in the passenger seat caught sight of them. He opened the caravan door, which was still unlocked. This was meant to be, he thought. Themba motioned to Lerato to come to him.

  Beginning to feel desperate, Themba nodded his head and waved to her. She looked down into the valley again and Themba followed her gaze. A bend in the road shielded them from view, but Themba knew it wouldn’t be long before their pursuers spotted them.

  Lerato seemed to hesitate a moment longer then took a deep breath and ran, the child clutched tight to her breast. Awash with relief, Themba ushered her up and into the caravan. They were moving again. Running.

  Chapter 19

  Nia checked herself out of the Netcare Hospital in Umhlanga Rocks Drive and called Banger.

  ‘Howzit, you’ve called Angus Greiner. I’m busy catching bad guys or watching the rugby. At the tone, do your thing.’

  ‘It’s me, I’ve been in hospital. Very long story. I’m OK, but I’d like to see you,’ she said, then ended the call.

  She’d been taken back to Umhlanga from the park in an ambulance. Nia had left two messages for him, not telling him about the crash in case he freaked, but she had been desperately hoping he would call back. It had been hours since her first call.

  She waited fifteen minutes, her anger building, sitting on a park bench in her bloodstained flight suit, a bandage around her head. She tried Banger again but when the call went through to voicemail once more she dialled her tracker, John Buttenshaw, instead.

  ‘Nia, my God, are you all right?’ John said as soon as she mentioned where she was. She told him she was fine. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  John got there in eight and she eased her body, sore but nothing broken, into the front seat of his battered Ford Bantam bakkie. Its rear side panel was dented from the fender bender John had been in on the previous morning. She told him of her eventful day and John fired a dozen questions at her, most of which she couldn’t answer.