Dark Heart

by Tony Park

  Dear Jason and Denise,

  I know it’s been years since you’ve heard from me but I’m coming to town and was hoping you could put me in touch with Collette. I’d very much like to see her. It’s very important.

  Regards,

  Richard

  He was able to see the message successfully sent just as Liesl opened her eyes. He shut down the program. ‘Sorry, hope you didn’t mind but I just checked my email.’

  ‘No problem.’ Liesl stifled a yawn and looked out the car’s window. ‘Hey, we’re almost there.’

  The driver pulled up outside the international departures terminal and helped them unload their bags onto a trolley. Liesl waved away a porter in an orange uniform and tipped the driver. Richard, who got his wallet out too late, realised he had hardly any cash on him. Where he was heading wasn’t a place one could travel cheap, and he suddenly regretted his extravagance in booking the business-class flights.

  Richard pushed the trolley into the terminal building and slowed to a stop. Liesl checked her watch. ‘The flight to Nairobi’s not until just after midnight,’ she said. ‘It’s only four now. We’ve still got about six hours until we need to check in.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Richard said. He was looking at the departure boards.

  ‘There are plenty of restaurants and bars in between the international and domestic terminals, or we could always get a day room at one of the airport hotels.’

  Richard turned from the board and looked at her.

  ‘Hey – don’t get any ideas. I wasn’t suggesting . . .’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t think that.’

  ‘Then what, Richard? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  This wasn’t going to be easy. He glanced up at the electronic board again. ‘Liesl, my flight’s boarding in just over an hour. I have to check in and go through immigration and –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Where the hell are you going?’

  Richard weighed up whether or not to tell her. He looked at his watch again.

  ‘Richard? Talk to me. I thought we were in this thing together. I thought you said you wanted to come to Rwanda to sort this mess out and find out who’s been trying to kill us?’

  He grabbed his daypack and his holdall. He couldn’t meet her eye. ‘I don’t recall saying any such thing.’

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘I can’t believe this. You’re running away?’

  Richard shouldered his pack and lifted his bag. He met her stare. ‘I’ve got some things I need to do, that’s all.’

  ‘But I . . .’

  He could see the mixed emotions on her face and he hated himself for not having had the guts to tell her sooner. She was hellbent on flying to a country that neither of them knew any more and blundering about, like a foreign journalist or photographer would, until she got her story or it killed her. He didn’t work that way. He guessed she wanted him with her, for support or help or whatever – she was far too independent to have said protection. Collette, on the other hand, was hopefully safe and Richard wanted to make sure she stayed that way. She could provide valuable information that might help them, but he didn’t want Liesl dragging her into the limelight through a media story about the events of 1995 and of the recent attempts on their lives. ‘Stay safe, Liesl.’

  ‘Stay safe!’

  People had slowed pushing their trolleys or suspended their goodbyes to watch. She was causing a scene. ‘I have to go.’

  Liesl dropped her hands by her sides and clenched her fists. She lowered her voice. ‘At least tell me where you’re going.’

  If he didn’t move soon check-in would close. He thought about how much she should know. ‘England.’

  ‘Back to where you came from? I wouldn’t have thought your job prospects were too good there.’

  He tried to ignore the barb, but it found its mark. It didn’t comfort him to think she’d followed at least part of his blighted career. ‘It’s not what you think, Liesl.’

  ‘Yes, it bloody well is. I was a fool to trust you. You left me behind once before and you’re doing it again.’

  Left me behind? He wondered where that had come from, but didn’t have the time or the inclination to open up some old wound. What did she expect, that he’d call her and ask her out on a date after she’d been instrumental in breaking up his relationship with Carmel? If she had also thought she had some sort of claim on him, then he’d set some record in male blundering back in 1995, losing a fiancée, a girlfriend, a lover and a father in the space of about forty-eight hours. ‘Goodbye, Liesl.’

  Richard turned towards the check-in counters and walked away.

  ‘Coward,’ he heard her say behind him. He kept walking.

  *

  Liesl stood there fuming, watching Richard disappear down the wide corridor and around a corner. She scanned the area and saw a porter and beckoned him with a wave.

  ‘Yes, madam?’

  ‘Did you see that man I was with just now?’

  ‘Ja.’

  How could he not, Liesl thought. She’d attracted the attention of half the bloody terminal. She hated herself for losing it like that almost as much as she despised Richard right now. ‘Go through to the departure desks, please, and check which flight he’s checking in for.’

  The man looked around him. Liesl reached into the front compartment of her daypack and pulled out a red fifty-rand note and waved it in front of him. It was five times the going rate for a porter. ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘Don’t let him see you.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Liesl moved away from the centre of the concourse to the CNA and bought herself a newspaper. The porter was back in less than two minutes.

  ‘The Qantas flight, madam. To Sydney. He just went through.’

  ‘Not London, not BA?’

  ‘No, madam. British Airways check-in is at the other end of the terminal.’

  She gave him the money and the man walked off, his step light. At least someone was having a good day. Richard, the bastard, had lied to her. What did he think, that she was going to come chasing him through the boarding gates like some mad stalker? She was better off without him. Apart from his foppish good looks she didn’t know what she’d seen in him. He’d seemed principled and courageous, but perhaps war just brought out the best in some people.

  Liesl went into the open-plan cafe and bar at the end of the terminal, sat down and ordered a brandy and Coke. She opened her netbook and clicked on Outlook Express. When the messages downloaded she was surprised to see one from Richard.

  Dear Liesl,

  Sorry. I wanted to tell you, but thought it was best to just slip away. Carmel is on her way to Rwanda as well. You have her email, but I’ve attached her mobile number at the bottom of this message. It might pay to touch base with her. She’s looking for the same thing as us, and will have better resources and hopefully some protection.

  R.

  Great, Liesl said to herself as the waiter set down her drink. I’m not doing this by myself, I’m doing it with Richard’s old girlfriend, who hates me.

  *

  While Aston was waiting for his Gucci luggage to be wrapped in cling film – a free service provided by Kenya Airways in an attempt to thwart Johannesburg’s notoriously light-fingered baggage handlers – he saw the woman.

  He watched her kick her pack along the polished floor as the economy-class queue inched painfully slowly towards the check-in desks for the Nairobi flight. Aston’s Rolex said it was just after 10 pm. He was checking into business class so he moved to the counter virtually as soon as the men operating the wrapping machine were finished. When he had checked in and been issued his boarding pass, he walked between the counters towards immigration, but lingered in the corridor before the security checkpoint so he could use his mobile phone. He dialled the number of Jan Venter, the mercenary.

  ‘Ja,’ the man answered after one ring.

  ‘Are y
ou watching the farmhouse?’

  ‘Ja, of course.’

  ‘Any change?’

  ‘No, it’s all quiet.’

  ‘Yes,’ Aston balled the fingers of his fist so tight that he felt his fingernails dig into his palm. ‘I know it’s all quiet because the doctor and the photographer woman are not there.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’ve been watching them all day and half the night. They went nowhere. Her Facebook page says she’s at home looking forward to dinner with her parents.’

  ‘Well, I’ve just been watching the woman check in to a flight bound for Nairobi – the same flight I’m on.’

  There was a pause on the other end. ‘Jissus. What about the man?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Aston said, ‘and neither do you, obviously.’

  ‘I’ll go in close tonight; find out if he’s still there.’

  ‘No! You have done enough damage already. Stay in position and be ready to hit the place and get the wild dogs on my command.’ There was another pause on the other end. Aston fancied the man was bridling at Aston’s tone. As well he should. Another damned incompetent.

  ‘Very well. If I see the doctor, how can I contact you?’

  ‘SMS me. But I doubt the woman would have left alone. Just stay in place and try not to fuck up anything else.’

  Aston ended the call as the woman emerged from economy check-in and walked past him. He followed her into the queue for security, showing his boarding pass and passport.

  ‘You can go through the express queue, sir,’ the female security guard said to him, pointing to a dedicated lane and X-ray machine.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Aston said. The woman shrugged.

  Aston moved into the maze created by the bollards and barrier tape, and caught up with the woman. He was close enough to smell her perfume. Opium. Addictive; deadly.

  The woman stopped at the X-ray machine and unzipped her daypack, taking out her netbook and placing it in a plastic tray.

  ‘Shoes,’ the security guard at the metal detector said to her, pointing to the woman’s boots.

  Aston had already taken his laptop out and placed it in a box on the roller conveyor. The woman turned and smiled at him. ‘Sorry.’

  He beamed at her. ‘No problem at all. Take your time. We have only bad food and warm drinks to look forward to on the other side.’

  She smiled back at him. Aston took out his cellphone and coins and his Mont Blanc and put them in the tray with his computer.

  As he moved through, the woman was grabbing her things. The X-ray operator kept the baggage pumping through and Aston saw the woman was having difficulty grabbing everything. ‘May I?’

  ‘Oh, thanks so much,’ she said.

  Aston picked up the tray containing her high-heeled boots and walked with her to a line of seats.

  ‘That’s why I never wear my high heels on business,’ he said. She laughed, and he sensed it was a type of release for her. She must be nervous. She should be.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the boots from him.

  ‘I’m sorry, I know you must get this a lot, but I’ve seen your face before, haven’t I? On television, or in the newspapers?’

  She hesitated a moment, but he knew his smile would disarm her. ‘I’m a photojournalist. I write for Escape! Maybe you recognise me from that?’

  ‘Ah, of course. I’ve read your column. I love wildlife and I’m a keen photographer.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, some black people can take pictures and like to camp in the bush.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to infer –’

  She had played into his hands. He laughed loud and hearty, enough to draw a glance from the security guard. ‘I’m just joking. No offence taken.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, zipping up her bag, ‘none intended, believe me.’

  ‘Are you on the Nairobi flight?’ he asked as they queued for the next stop, the immigration officers.

  ‘Yes.’

  She was being guarded, but he wanted to draw it out of her, to get her to trust him. ‘I am going to Nairobi, too, then connecting to Kigali, in Rwanda, tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Well, have a safe trip,’ she said, then purposely scanned the row of counters looking for the next available immigration officer.

  Aston noted her body language and her clipped tone. She wasn’t going to reveal her onward destination, although he was certain she was going to the same place as he was. It wasn’t a good thing if she nosed around too much and got too far into the country, but on the other hand it might make his job easier.

  With both the lawyer and the photographer in the country at the same time, he would be sure of killing at least two of the three people he needed gone. He would ensure Liesl Nel told him where the English doctor was before she died.

  17

  Just before she’d boarded the flight to Kigali, Carmel had received a brief email from Liesl on her BlackBerry advising her that she was at OR Tambo Airport in Johannesburg and would be catching the late-night flight to Nairobi.

  Liesl would arrive in Nairobi tomorrow morning and get the early flight to Rwanda, which meant she was only a day behind Carmel and Henri. Carmel was annoyed. She liked people to do what she told them, not what they thought was best, particularly when it came to legal matters. She’d advised Liesl and Richard to travel to Arusha, where the tribunal sat, and the last thing she needed was for Liesl to be blundering around Rwanda. Liesl had made a point in her email of saying that Richard was not with her and was not coming to Rwanda. Carmel was still wondering what that was all about as the Kenya Airways Embraer 170 entered Rwandan airspace.

  The pilot had been cruising in the clear blue sky above the clouds to escape the worst of the turbulence thrown up by the mountains and hills that punched the atmosphere like jubilant freedom fighters.

  Henri was next to her, lost in his Kindle ebook reader. There were only two seats on either side of the aisle, and the aircraft was new enough for the seats to be of still-clean leather rather than fading greasy fabric.

  The flight attendants in their red slacks and white shirts dispensed Tusker beers and a nose-wrinkling beef stew and rice to the passengers, who seemed to be mostly businesspeople. Carmel had caught snippets of French, but Henri had nodded to the men with crew cuts in front of her and whispered: ‘Belgian. They still think they own this place.’

  The fasten-seatbelt sign pinged on as they descended once more into the grubby clouds. Africa was beckoning again, drawing them down into the buffeting gloom. Raindrops streaked the windows and Carmel shivered.

  When they reached the bottom of the clouds she was surprised to see how low they were. It was almost as if the pilot was following the course of the valleys, as the crowns of most of the hills were lost in a mix of cloud and fog. The line between earth and sky, heaven and hell, was blurred in foggy grey.

  Below it was green.

  South Africa and Zambia were verdant at this time of year, swapping their dusty winter khakis for drab olive, but the endless undulating hills of Rwanda were a rich emerald cut by venous roads of blood red running slick from the misting rain.

  Henri had switched off his Kindle once the descent began and he looked across her now, out the window, lost in his own thoughts. She wondered what memories this place provoked in him, and whether they were nightmares like hers.

  Kigali appeared, improbably perched on a cluster of hills. Walled villas ruled from the high slopes, and more modest homes of rendered concrete, and rickety shanties, tumbled down into the valleys. From this height, it seemed not a square inch of land in the capital was left unoccupied.

  Carmel drew a sharp breath, whose real cause was masked by an accompanying lurch as the Embraer bounced through a pocket of malevolent air. It wasn’t turbulence, it was memory that was rushing up to meet her. The hills were either side now, the slick dark silver of the runway reaching up to catch them and draw them into the vortex of remembered evil and sadness. The first time she’d
flown into this airport was in a C-130 Hercules military transport aircraft, seated on a red canvas webbing seat opposite Richard. She’d wanted to grip his hand as they landed, but they’d made a conscious decision not to sit next to each other, as their romance was a secret and they were serving in different parts of the task force – Carmel at headquarters and Richard with his medical unit. When all the peacekeepers had boarded and filed to their cramped seats in the Hercules it was an ironic twist that they’d ended up sitting facing each other. Some of the soldiers had feigned boredom or disinterest and sat with heads lolled back and eyes closed. Richard winked at her every now and then and she tried to stop herself from blushing. She really had thought she had found true love with him. She bit her lower lip.

  ‘Mi-6 helicopters – Russian.’ Henri pointed to where the trio of giant striped dragonflies sat, rotors down as though crouched and ready for action, outside a hangar on the left.

  Carmel wasn’t interested in military aircraft or their provenance. Sure, the Rwandan national army, the Forces Armées Rwandaises, or FAR for short, and the Interahamwe had been armed with Soviet AK-47s, but so had their opposition, the RPA. Just as the genocide hadn’t been about religion, it had also borne no links to that other great killer, ideology.

  ‘Have you ever been to the genocide memorial?’ Carmel asked as the Embraer’s engines came down from the reverse-thrust high and the airliner turned towards the terminal.

  ‘No, have you?’

  ‘No. I never seemed to have the time and, besides, I always thought that since I’d seen the aftermath for real, I didn’t need to see it laid out again in humidity-controlled display cases.’

  Henri looked into her eyes, perhaps wondering, as she was, why she’d raised the subject of the memorial. ‘And now?’

  ‘I think maybe I need to see it,’ Carmel said. ‘I’ve focused on the perpetrators and the victims for years, and while I’ve read about the causes, I think it would help me to take a fresh look at the theories about how it happened.’