Dead of Night

by Michael Stanley

  And what about Nigel?

  If he wasn’t who he said he was, then who was he? And what was his real motivation? Crys had helped him without knowing either and now felt very uncomfortable about it. On the other hand, everything negative had come from Søren. The fact was that Nigel had managed to get the South African authorities to act to protect Kruger – a huge plus. And what was Søren doing here anyway? Was it coincidence or did he have some agenda of his own that he hadn’t shared with her?

  She didn’t know which of the two NGO directors she could trust. If either.

  Soon it was dawn – the Milky Way gradually faded as the sky turned pale and then brightened, and the air was filled with the sound of birds welcoming a new day.

  She could barely wait to hear if there was any news, so, around seven, she headed to the main house for cereal and more coffee on the veranda. However, no one was about, so she made herself comfortable and tried to relax.

  After a while, she heard a voice coming from one of the upstairs bedrooms that overlooked the veranda. She guessed the windows were open to catch the cool of the night. Suddenly, the voice got louder, and she realised it was Anton. She sat very still, straining to hear.

  ‘That wasn’t the deal! You promised me the money in advance.’ There was silence for a few seconds, and she realised Anton must be speaking to someone on the phone. ‘That’s not my problem! I have everything set up…’

  Then his voice dropped, and she couldn’t make out what he was saying. It seemed odd to be having a business discussion at seven on a Sunday morning, but maybe his financial problems were even more urgent than Johannes had suggested. Crys shrugged it off.

  A short while later, Johannes walked onto the veranda, greeted her and helped himself to coffee. His face looked drawn. Crys hoped he wasn’t coming down with malaria again.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Kruger?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Nothing. And there’s nothing on the TV either.’ He sat down opposite her. ‘And nobody has tried to get to our rhinos. I hope it’s all a hoax.’

  Crys didn’t know what to think. Part of her hoped that nothing would happen – that it was all rumour and speculation, and that the rhinos would be safe, the horns stocks secure; but the journalist in her wanted to be at the centre of a huge story, with good guys and bad guys, and conflict.

  Søren came to breakfast around nine. He looked cheerful enough, but he didn’t say much. It was as though the discussion of the previous night had never happened. Crys decided he’d make a very good poker player. She was sure Johannes had no idea they knew each other before the previous evening. He ate some fruit and then excused himself, saying he had calls to make.

  Anton didn’t show up for breakfast. Johannes said he wasn’t feeling well and would eat in his bedroom.

  Then Johannes left to do some work, and Bongani was nowhere to be seen.

  Crys was left alone.

  She headed back to her chalet and tried to write, but found it impossible – her mind was everywhere except on the story.

  At lunch, Crys was the only one who showed up. Even Boku, once he’d taken her drink order, disappeared into the kitchen. It was an eerie feeling – as though she was being avoided.

  She checked the TV, flipping through a number of channels, but there was nothing of interest, so she returned to the chalet and again tried to write, again without much success.

  She wondered if Mabula had caught Pockface and found Michael. He’d promised to let her know, but that was a day ago. So, she tried to call him, but it went to voicemail.

  Was that good news or bad?

  Every hour or so, she went online and checked the South African news sites, the national parks site, and even CNN and the BBC. There was absolutely nothing. Either nothing had happened or there was a stranglehold on information.

  She went outside and kicked the ground in frustration.

  Chapter 34

  Everyone gathered for drinks and supper at around seven. It was a buffet because it was Sunday and the staff were off.

  Anton appeared and without greeting anyone poured himself a brandy and coke. Johannes and Søren had red wine, and Crys stuck to her usual orange juice. They helped themselves to food and then settled at the table.

  Anton downed his drink and went to fetch another. He returned with the bottles. It seemed he intended to make a night of it.

  ‘I tried to call Hennie in Kruger around lunch, but it just cut to voicemail,’ Johannes said. ‘I asked him to call back if he had a chance. But I’ve heard nothing all day.’

  ‘I spoke to Colonel Mabula this morning,’ Søren commented. ‘He seems to be taking all this very seriously.’

  ‘Only as long as there’s something in it for him,’ Anton sneered. ‘They’re all the same – on the take.’

  Crys wondered what Søren had talked to Mabula about, but decided not to ask in front of the others. Had Michael featured in their conversation?

  ‘You remember Mary, the rhino whose foot was caught in the snare?’ Johannes asked her. ‘Her foot’s completely healed. I spotted her when I was working on the fences this morning and had a good look with my binocs.’

  ‘Until the next poacher gets to her,’ Anton said bitterly. He looked at Søren. ‘Thanks to you people. If you left us alone to farm our rhinos and sell the horn, they would be safe.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Søren responded, ‘but I have to disagree. That would just grow the demand for horn.’

  ‘Yes, that’s your take on it. Meanwhile, we go broke.’ Anton thumped his glass on the table. ‘You can come to the auction when we sell our rhinos to the highest bidder to be slaughtered.’

  ‘Dad,’ interjected Johannes quietly. ‘Mr Willandsen is our guest. Everyone has the right to an opinion, even if we don’t agree with it.’

  ‘That’s what you think, is it? Everyone has a right to an opinion, hey? Well, let them put their money on the table. Then I’ll listen to their opinions.’

  At that moment the phone rang, and Johannes jumped up to answer it. The rest of them went on eating in an uncomfortable silence, anxious to hear if it was news from Kruger. Anton threw his cutlery on his unfinished plate, poured himself a brandy – no Coke this time –and tossed it down.

  After a couple of minutes, Johannes came back. ‘That was Hennie. He says all the camps are locked down, the perimeters patrolled, and they’ve checked that all the tourists are safely inside. They found a few stragglers who’d been delayed by elephants and so on, but everyone’s accounted for now. If anything happens, they’re ready for it.’

  Anton said something in Afrikaans and laughed loudly. He was well on his way to being very drunk. Johannes ignored him. Crys wondered if this was normal.

  ‘It seems Wood warned them of a possible terror attack, Crys,’ Johannes said to her. ‘They’re taking it very seriously. I hope … Actually, I don’t know what I hope.’

  Crys understood what he meant, yet she did want something to happen. She wanted the boss man and his thugs to be caught, no one hurt in Kruger, and, yes, a great story. But from what Søren had told her, she realised it wouldn’t make any difference. If the boss man’s cartel was gone, another group would take their place. Pretty soon it would be business as usual.

  She looked round the table, wondering about the people sitting there.

  Was Anton selling his horn on the black market to keep Tshukudu going?

  If so, did Johannes know? And Søren? He had her followed in Vietnam to find out what she’d learned.

  Why did he do that?

  Then there was Nigel. He’d come across as totally dedicated – until he had the information he wanted. Then he’d dropped her. Now she had no idea what his real objective was. As for Mabula, she still didn’t know if she could trust him, or if his only interest was in getting his hands on the money.

  But he was Michael’s only chance. She felt the familiar ache in her chest.

  ‘There’s ice cream in the freezer,’ Johannes said, interrupt
ing her reverie. ‘I’ll fetch it.’

  Crys shook her head. ‘I think jet lag’s hitting me, and I want to check the internet in case anything’s happening. I’ll see you all in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you,’ Johannes offered.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m fine. I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.’

  She headed back to her chalet and immediately searched the internet, but again found nothing. She tried calling Nigel on the off chance he’d answer, but once again it went straight to voicemail in Geneva. She’d run out of options to get information; there was nothing she could do but wait.

  She decided on an early night and set the alarm on her phone for five a.m. Hopefully there would be some news by then if anything had happened during the night.

  Crys woke suddenly. The room was in complete darkness, no hint of dawn yet. Her first thought was that jet lag was the culprit – making her wake in the dead of night, but she knew that was wrong. Something had definitely woken her.

  Then she heard what sounded like raised voices some way off, followed by a sound like a door slamming.

  She checked her watch. It was just after four a.m. She pulled back the curtains and saw lights on in the main house.

  At this time? What is happening?

  She pulled on her clothes as quickly as she could, and as she did, she heard another shout. Now she was sure something wasn’t right. She turned off the lights and went to investigate.

  As she walked towards the house, possible scenarios ran through her mind. Maybe Anton had drunk enough to end up fighting with Johannes? But at four in the morning? She stopped under a tree. This was probably none of her business; maybe she should go back to bed.

  But something compelled her to keep going – the feeling that something was badly wrong.

  She heard a noise behind her and swung round.

  It was Søren.

  ‘Thank heaven, it’s you,’ she whispered. ‘You gave me a fright.’

  ‘I heard noises up at the house,’ he said softly. ‘And there are vehicles up there.’

  She saw he was right – there were two vehicles parked outside the house. They hadn’t been there when she’d walked back to her chalet after supper.

  ‘Let’s take a look,’ she said pressing on.

  He didn’t follow immediately, but then he nodded. ‘Let’s see if we can spot anything from the outside. But be careful. Something isn’t right about this.’

  So, he felt it too.

  ‘I’ll go to the left, and you go right,’ she suggested. ‘We’ll meet on the other side of the house.’

  He looked alarmed. ‘We’re not police – or the army.’

  ‘What else can we do? If something bad is happening, we don’t want to just stumble in…’

  He nodded, but didn’t seem happy about it.

  They moved quietly towards the house.

  Crys pointed at the security lights and guided Søren out of their range. Even in the dark she could see the fear on his face. She wondered if hers showed the same.

  They reached the two vehicles, and now they were close, they could see that they didn’t have the characteristic Tshukudu rhino logos. Were they visitors from a neighbouring farm? Unlikely at four in the morning.

  She swallowed and her adrenaline started to pump.

  Then she moved round to the left side of the house, and indicated Søren should go to the right.

  When she reached the corner of the building, she could see light from the living room spilling into the garden; apparently the curtains had been left open. She crept around the corner, hugging the wall.

  She could hear a murmur of voices from inside, but couldn’t make out any words.

  Then there was a shout from the other side of the house. Crys jumped, then froze, her heart pounding. Was it Søren? Was he in trouble? She waited, but everything had gone quiet. The voices had stopped.

  After a few moments, she edged up to the open living-room window. Her pulse was racing as she peeked in.

  The first thing she saw was two men holding assault rifles. One man had his back to the wall opposite the door. The other was covering two men in the centre of the room. One was spreadeagled on the floor. He was lying face down, but she could see it was Johannes. Near him, Anton was also on the floor, clutching his stomach. A third man was standing over him, talking to him. As she watched, he kicked out, and Anton screamed.

  When the man straightened up, she saw he was Asian.

  Then, with a sickening shock, she recognised him. It was Dinh – the government official from Ho Chi Minh City.

  Oh. He wasn’t trying to stop the smuggling! He was with one of the gangs. And she had fed him information.

  She moved forwards a little so she could see the whole room. On the right, against the wall, was another body.

  Crys stifled a cry. Held her hand to her mouth.

  Michael.

  She was sure it was him. And he was either dead or unconscious – a pool of blood around his head. She simply couldn’t believe it. She pulled back a little, her mind reeling.

  She clamped her hand tighter to her mouth. She was trembling.

  What was he doing there?

  But before she could think about what it could mean, a door burst open, and three more men came into the living room. One was Søren. He was being pushed – almost thrown – into the room by a man who also had an automatic weapon. And behind him was Bongani, with what looked like an old bolt-action rifle.

  She gasped again. Bongani was working with Dinh.

  Slowly, Crys edged back from the window, not knowing what to think. She’d found Michael, but didn’t know whether he was dead or alive. And as for the other two, Søren wouldn’t give her away, but Bongani knew she was somewhere on the farm, and they would come looking. She had to hide, and she had to get help.

  She had to get her cell phone, but it was back in her chalet – the first place they would look for her.

  She worked her way back to the chalet using the trees scattered about the compound as cover. She moved quickly, looking about, but there was no sign of anyone following her. Then she heard another scream.

  Anton? Johannes? Søren? Michael?

  When Crys reached her chalet, she worked her way around it. She couldn’t see in because the lights were off, and she couldn’t hear anything. She eased open the door and slipped inside. She stood dead still, listening and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.

  Suddenly there was a flash of light. She jumped and almost yelled out, but then she realised it was her phone, silently indicating an email. Gratefully, she grabbed it and slipped out of the door.

  Crys still needed somewhere to hide, somewhere she could use the phone. She couldn’t think of anything better than another chalet, so she went to the one furthest from the house, hoping it would be the last they would search. She stepped inside, locked the door behind her, and made sure the curtains were closed.

  Then she sat on the floor against the wall and scrolled straight to Mabula’s cell-phone number and called it. Her heart was in her mouth. What would she do if he didn’t answer? He was her only hope. But he answered immediately.

  ‘Colonel Mabula.’

  ‘Colonel,’ she whispered. ‘It’s Crys Nguyen. Tshukudu’s being attacked. There are armed men here, and they have the Malans. And Michael’s here also, on the floor. I don’t know whether he’s alive or not. We need help right away!’

  ‘Slow down. Give me the details.’

  She took a breath and told him what she’d seen.

  ‘Do you have any idea who the attackers are?’ he responded.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do. Bongani Chikosi is with them. And the leader is a Vietnamese man I recognise. His name is Dinh. He’s with the Vietnamese Department of Environmental Affairs and knows Nigel Wood at Rhino International.’

  ‘Din? What sort of name is that?’

  ‘It’s Vietnamese. He’s from Ho Chi Minh City.’ She sat up and parted the curtains slightly wi
th her finger, but saw nothing.

  ‘And he works with Nigel Wood?’ said Mabula. There was a brief pause. ‘Does that mean Wood’s involved too? I’ll have him picked up for questioning.’ There was a silence on the line. ‘I’ll grab some men here and leave at once. But it’ll take me more than an hour to get there.’

  ‘But we need help now! I don’t think these men are going to leave anyone alive.’

  ‘Yes, I understand, but all the police helicopters were seconded to Kruger. I’ll try and get one back here, but things are chaotic there right now. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to drive.’

  ‘That could be too late.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in one of the chalets. I’m sure they’ll come looking for me. Bongani knows I’m here.’ She couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice. She checked through the curtains again. Still nothing.

  ‘Now listen. You must get out of there,’ Mabula said. ‘Go into the bush. Then climb a tree – it’s safer, and searchers never look up. Don’t risk getting caught. I’ll be there with my men as soon as I can.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Get going. Now. We’ll see each other later, I’m sure.’

  She hoped he was right.

  She turned the phone off; she couldn’t risk the screen lighting up. She needed a few seconds to get control of herself, so she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and repeated her mantra five or six times. She needed to be calm when she decided what to do.

  After that, she thought through her options.

  The most sensible was to do what Mabula said – head for the safety of the bush. But that meant abandoning Michael. The thought made her dizzy. Her heart gave her no choice.

  She couldn’t do that. She needed to help him.

  And the others too.

  She unlocked the door, slipped into the darkness, and headed back towards the house.

  Chapter 35