Dead of Night

by Michael Stanley

  Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. There was a light on inside her chalet too. She was sure she’d turned them all off. But now she could see it moving around in the room. A flashlight maybe? With a shock, she realised she’d left her travel wallet lying on the dresser. Everything of importance was in it – passport, cards, cash.

  ‘Hey!’ Crys shouted, breaking into a run, not thinking about what she was doing, simply worried about her valuables. ‘Hey!’

  She reached the porch and yanked open the door, but there was no one inside. She dashed into the bathroom and looked out the back door, but there was no sign of anyone. No sound. No flashlight.

  Then she went back into the room and checked the dresser. Everything was still there. Even all the cash, as far as she could tell. Had it been moved, though? She wasn’t sure. She grabbed the wallet and passport and ran back to the house.

  Anton was at the front door having a smoke.

  ‘Someone was in my room,’ Crys said. ‘With a flashlight. I saw the light as I came up to the porch, but he was gone when I got there.’

  Anton stubbed out the cigarette and shouted for Johannes.

  ‘Come inside,’ he said, as Johannes arrived, asking what the matter was.

  A few moments later he headed outside with a powerful flashlight, shouting for the staff.

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t a reflection or something?’ Anton asked. ‘We only have our own people here at night and I trust them all. Although…’ He shrugged.

  ‘Could someone else get in here? It’s just…’ Crys hesitated, but decided to get it off her chest. ‘It’s just, when I was in Pretoria, I … I thought someone was following me. And my suitcase was broken into and searched.’

  Anton shook his head. ‘In Pretoria, it was probably the government. They don’t like foreign journalists much. They might keep an eye on you there, but they wouldn’t follow you out here.’

  She and Anton sat down in the living room in silence. And a few minutes later Johannes came back inside.

  ‘I’ve got the trackers looking around,’ he said, ‘but they won’t see much in the dark. We’ll look again in the morning. We’ll move you in here for the night.’

  Anton snapped his fingers. ‘Fireflies!’ he said. ‘They were out tonight. Maybe you saw them reflected in the glass. Some of them are really bright out here, and there’s not much moonlight.’

  ‘No, no. I know what fireflies look like,’ Crys insisted. ‘It was a flashlight. I’m sure.’

  But Crys wasn’t sure that she was sure. Had the light flickered? She started to wonder if it was her imagination after all. An imagination fired up by what had happened in Pretoria.

  The two men watched her, seeing her hesitation. Johannes looked concerned; Anton had a small smile.

  ‘Look, whoever it was is gone. I should’ve locked the doors when I came for dinner. Stupid of me. And I don’t want to move; I’m fine in the chalet. Really.’

  Johannes looked concerned, but Crys smiled. ‘Honestly. It’s okay.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But I’ll walk you back, check the place, and make sure everything’s locked up properly.’

  She nodded, grateful.

  Once Johannes had seen Crys back, checked the doors and windows and left, she locked the door, and climbed into bed. She thought she’d fall asleep at once, but that didn’t happen. Her mind was up to its usual tricks.

  She’d been in South Africa three days and in that time, she’d been followed by a man she’d taken for a pickpocket, someone had trashed her suitcase, and now someone had been going through her chalet while she was stargazing with Johannes.

  And then there was Michael. She was doing the same thing Michael had come out here to do. And then he’d disappeared.

  It wasn’t exactly a prescription for sweet dreams.

  Chapter 6

  Crys was dressed and showered before dawn, then went and sat on the porch to watch what was an amazing sunrise. The sun’s colour was different from what it looked like back home. Here it was fiery orange. Perhaps it was the sand in the air.

  She inhaled deeply through her nose. A South African expat friend of hers in Minneapolis had once told her that Africa had a unique smell. Sitting there, she immediately knew what he meant. She tried to find words to describe it, but couldn’t find any to do it justice: earthy, sweet, rich? Each of these words was part of the smell, but not all of it.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the calls of unfamiliar birds. Two overpowered the rest. The first was a raucous, repeating call, made by a brown, grouse-like bird with a reddish beak. It was quite tame and jumped onto the porch, presumably to look for crumbs. The other bird was a dove of some sort. Its call sounded something like ‘my FA-ther, my FA-ther’ and went on and on – it could become very irritating if you were trying to sleep in, she thought.

  She’d been sitting for only a few minutes when an open Land Rover pulled up, and Johannes jumped out, a big smile on his face.

  ‘Morning,’ he beamed. ‘Another beautiful day in paradise. Are you ready to go? The light will be perfect in fifteen minutes or so.’

  Crys picked up her camera bag and stepped off the porch. Johannes opened the passenger door with a little flourish and closed it behind her as she sat down. She wondered if he did this for all women, or whether he was trying to impress her.

  ‘How long will it take to find some rhinos, do you think?’ Crys asked as he climbed in behind the wheel.

  ‘Shouldn’t take long, once we’re outside the electric fence.’

  And he was right. They’d only driven for about five minutes beyond the gate before he stopped and pointed into the bush. ‘There’s a big, white-rhino male with no horn. I’ll drive until the sun’s behind us. That’ll give you the best light.’

  He drove slowly around some bushes, looking for the ideal spot.

  ‘Rhinos are nearly blind, but they can see movement,’ he said. ‘That’s why, if you’re on foot and a rhino charges, you shouldn’t run. Just stand still.’

  Crys looked at him to see if he was joking.

  ‘It’s true,’ he said with a smile. ‘But it would be nearly impossible to do. They can weigh up to four tons.’

  She put the zoom lens onto the camera, wondering whether she would be able to outrun a rhino.

  ‘You can’t outrun a rhino,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘But it doesn’t matter how slow you are, as long as you can run faster than at least one other person.’ He looked at Crys, serious for a moment, then burst out laughing. ‘It’s okay. You’ll be safe. Let’s go.’

  He moved the Land Rover into a gap between two bushes and turned off the engine. The light was glorious, and the various greens of the bushes were rich and saturated with colour. The rhino paid no attention, so Crys had plenty of time to snap away with different zoom lengths and exposures.

  ‘Do you have any that still have their horns?’ she asked.

  ‘Ja, there are some we’re about to harvest, but we’ll have to look for them. I know where they were yesterday, but today…’ His voice trailed off as they drove back to the dirt road.

  A few minutes later, Johannes pulled off the road and again they were bouncing through the bush.

  Suddenly he stopped. ‘There!’ He pointed straight ahead.

  Crys peered through the bushes but couldn’t see any rhinos. ‘Where?’

  ‘Straight ahead. Twelve o’clock.’

  She searched again, then saw them. Three big ones, all with their horns intact.

  ‘Hold on,’ he whispered.

  The Land Rover moved forwards, rocked its way over a fallen branch then stopped about twenty metres from the small group. Again, Crys took dozens of pictures, thankful for digital technology.

  Eventually, the light lost its early-morning richness, and they headed back to the lodge for breakfast.

  Crys and Johannes were the only ones at a table that held more food than they could eat in a week: various fruits, cereals and cold cuts; three dif
ferent breads; a plate of cheeses, together with orange juice, a pot of tea and a pot of coffee.

  The moment they sat down, Boku appeared. ‘How would you like your eggs, madam?’

  ‘None for me,’ Crys replied. ‘There’s more than enough here. Thank you, Boku.’

  He nodded and asked the same question of Johannes, who just shook his head.

  Crys was halfway through a large bowl of fruit salad, when a man appeared in the doorway. Johannes beckoned him into the room, and he whispered something into Johannes’s ear. Johannes nodded, thanked the man, and sent him on his way.

  ‘Well, I don’t know what to say,’ he said once the man was gone. ‘They can’t find any tracks out of the ordinary around your chalet.’

  Crys could almost hear the question tacked on to this – Did you really see someone? He didn’t ask it, but she began to doubt herself.

  They ate in silence for a while. Then, Johannes stood up. ‘Now, please excuse me. I’d better get to work. The chopper will be here about five o’clock. You should take long pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and hiking boots if you have them. And a dark jersey as well. If you don’t have any of that, I’m sure I can find something that would work. Also, make sure you spray yourself with mosquito repellent. There’s been an outbreak of malaria not far from here.’

  ‘No problem, I have all those things,’ Crys said, smiling at him over the rim of her cup. ‘And thanks for the photo op this morning.’

  He smiled and left her to finish her coffee.

  Crys had never been in a helicopter before and couldn’t wait for five o’clock. At four-thirty she went and sat on the porch of her chalet and started sorting out her photos. Every few minutes, she’d look up into the blue sky in the hopes of seeing a chopper approaching.

  She heard it before she saw it – the wap-wap of the blades growing louder and louder. A few moments later, it came into sight, and in seconds it was hovering over a concrete slab about a hundred metres away from the chalet. It descended slowly and settled down, blowing clouds of sand in all directions.

  She picked up her backpack and camera bag and headed towards it. Halfway there, she met up with Johannes and another man.

  ‘Ready for the big adventure?’ Johannes asked.

  Crys nodded. ‘Can’t wait. And it’ll be my first helicopter ride.’

  ‘This is Bongani,’ he said, indicating the man beside him. ‘He’s our senior guide. He accompanies our guests on our safaris. He’ll be going with you.’

  ‘To keep an eye on me?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Johannes’s face was serious. ‘I don’t think you really understand what you are getting yourself into. It could be very dangerous, and I don’t want a dead journalist on my hands.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ Crys said firmly.

  But then doubt crept in. Michael was a war correspondent in Afghanistan, and it seemed he couldn’t look after himself.

  She bit her lip.

  Johannes was watching her, seeing her hesitation. ‘Look, you have no idea,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But Bongani knows the ropes. He works with the anti-poaching teams when he’s not busy with us. Hennie’s the team leader. Do exactly as he says and remember: this is not a picnic. If you find poachers, there’ll be shooting, and the bad guys won’t stop to check that you’re a reporter.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’ Crys made sure her tone was as businesslike as his. ‘I promise.’

  He patted her on the back. ‘Time to go.’

  They walked over to the chopper, where the pilot was standing outside.

  The man shook hands with Johannes and nodded at Bongani. They chatted for a few minutes in Afrikaans. Then Johannes turned to Crys.

  ‘Crys, this is Frikkie van der Merwe. Frikkie: Crys Nguyen from Minnesota in the States. She’s writing an article on rhino poaching for National Geographic.’

  They shook hands.

  ‘Jump in next to me,’ said Frikkie. ‘The others are waiting. It’ll only take about fifteen minutes to get there.’

  Crys was so excited she could hardly sit still. The roar of the engine, then the lift-off, the tilt forwards, and they were away, climbing to what Frikkie told her was fifteen hundred feet.

  ‘Look over there,’ he said through the headphones. ‘Buffalo. Two to three hundred.’

  From that altitude, it was difficult to identify the dark patch on the ground as a huge herd of animals. It looked more like a ridge of rocks.

  ‘Elephant,’ he said, a little later, pointing ahead.

  There was a small herd clustered around a waterhole. As the helicopter approached they moved away from the water and headed for the bush.

  ‘Scared of the noise,’ he said.

  Crys was in heaven. All her life she’d dreamed of the wildlife in Africa.

  All too soon, they were descending into a small clearing with a group of tents at one end. As soon as the rotors stopped, a man in camouflage clothes walked over and opened Crys’s door.

  ‘Hennie van Zyl.’ He shook her hand. ‘You must be Crys.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you so much for letting me join you.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t want you along. It’s too dangerous. But Anton can be very persuasive.’

  ‘I thought Johannes arranged it,’ Crys said as she disembarked.

  ‘No. It was his father who called us to ask. We always try to help him out.’

  She smiled, but wondered why Johannes had told her that he’d made the arrangements.

  ‘Okay, Crys,’ Hennie continued. ‘Here’s the deal: things may happen out there in the bush tonight. Maybe we’ll meet poachers, maybe not. Either way you can write about what we do, but no names and no details we don’t approve. If you don’t agree, you’ll wait at camp and can chat to us when we come back.’

  Crys didn’t like being restricted like that, but she realised she didn’t have an option. ‘Okay, agreed,’ she said, but wondered what it was he wanted to hide.

  He nodded and took her to an area next to the tents. A group of men were lounging around – some smoking, some cleaning their guns. They all looked at her as she walked up. No smiles, no greetings.

  ‘This is the chick that Anton wants us to take tonight,’ Hennie told them. ‘Her name’s Crys.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me tag along, guys. This chick is working on a story for National Geographic and wants to see all aspects of the war on poaching.’

  There was no response from the men.

  ‘Crys, have you ever used night-vision glasses?’ Hennie asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  She shook her head.

  ‘They give us a better chance of seeing anyone out there.’

  ‘How do they work?’ she asked.

  He dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. ‘Not important. Have you ever used a firearm?’

  ‘Yes, many times.’ She looked him squarely in the face, expecting scepticism.

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘Mainly .22 long-range bolt-action. I compete in biathlons.’ She wondered if he knew what that was. ‘But I’ve also used several other rifles at a range.’

  ‘Have you ever been shot at?’

  ‘No. And I want to keep it that way. How often do you encounter poachers on these patrols?’

  ‘No poachers for about a month, but fifteen dead rhinos – shot, then the horns cut off with a reciprocating saw.’

  ‘What happens if we run into poachers?’ she asked, wanting to know the protocol.

  ‘Try to kill us,’ one of the men muttered. ‘Maybe not you. They’d want you for something else—’

  ‘If they spot us,’ Hennie interrupted, ‘they’ll probably shoot. They don’t want to be caught. Some of them even have AK-47s.’

  She knew Hennie was trying to scare her out of going. But her mind was made up. She was going to do this. She felt her adrenaline start pumping.

  ‘You don’t use bullet-proof vests?’ she asked, keeping her tone casual.


  ‘Too cumbersome for the bush.’ He held up a rifle. ‘Take this .303. It’s also bolt action. Only has four bullets before you have to reload. Even if you have to shoot, it’s unlikely that you’ll fire more than once or twice – either he’ll be dead or you will. Here are a few more bullets, just in case. I hope you don’t have to use it.’ He dropped them into her hand.

  ‘Here’s the safety catch. You release it like this.’ He demonstrated and then reset it. Then he thrust the rifle into her hand. She thought it felt like a lump of lead compared to her Anschutz biathlon rifle.

  ‘If you shoot any of us, you have to buy the beers.’

  Finally, there was laughter from the men. Crys realised it was at her expense.

  There were seven in the group. Crys would go with Hennie, Bongani, and a tracker named Kai – a short man with almost oriental features. Ariko, a National Parks ranger, was leader of the second group. The other two were Sampson and Thabo – both National Parks rangers and trackers.

  ‘We’ve all been hunting poachers for several years,’ Hennie said as he made the introductions.

  ‘If it’s okay, I’d like to interview them all when we get back,’ Crys said.

  ‘We’ll see what they say,’ replied Hennie. He didn’t sound optimistic.

  He called the group together, then pulled out his radio.

  ‘Radio check.’ He clicked the transmit button. Several radios buzzed. ‘Okay. Use the radio only when needed – if you see anyone, hear anything, or get shot at. Also, if you find a rhino alive or dead.’

  Crys didn’t have a radio, but everyone else plugged in their earpieces and adjusted them until they were comfortable.

  Hennie glanced at Ariko, who nodded. They’d clearly done this many times – except now they had an American journalist along with them. Crys breathed deeply. She didn’t want to cause any problems … or get shot.

  ‘Okay, Crys,’ Hennie took a step towards her and stood slightly too close for her comfort. ‘Last chance. Are you sure you want to do this? You can easily change your mind – stay here and be safe.’