by Tony Park
‘Yebo madam,’ said the driver.
Jane looked over her shoulder, scanning the car park, as the driver stopped and put a ticket into a reader at a boom gate. She saw a white Vito minibus reversing out of a car space, but the windows were tinted, so she couldn’t get a good look at the driver or passenger.
‘Look, I don’t mean to be melodramatic . . .’
‘What?’ said the driver.
‘Don’t panic, but do you have a gun?’
The driver looked across at her as if she were mad. ‘Why?’
‘I think we might be being followed.’
The driver looked into his rear-view mirror. ‘There is no one behind us. But I will keep watch if you wish.’
She swivelled in her seat and saw the white van, but then sighed with relief as it indicated to turn right once it cleared the boom gate, taking it in the opposite direction to them.
‘I’m sorry for that, it’s just that . . .’
As Jane started to face forward again the driver stood on the brake and the Mercedes skidded to a halt. He crunched the gear lever into reverse and dropped the clutch, spinning the wheels. Jane screamed as she saw what had made him stop. A blue Audi had stopped at ninety degrees, blocking their way. Two men wearing black ski masks were out of the car walking towards her, submachine-guns in their hands.
Jane ducked her head and looked between the front seats out the back window. The white van that had turned off was now reversing at high speed, weaving crazily as the driver tried to stay straight but then over-corrected. Her driver was closing the distance between them and the van rapidly and she thought he was going to try to ram the larger vehicle.
Jane heard a noise like hail hitting a tin roof, and the windscreen shattered into chunks and fell back in on her. She put her hands over her head and felt the sharp shards bouncing off her skin. The driver braked hard again and she felt herself pushed back into the seat. She saw him reach under his seat and grab a black pistol.
As he started to raise the gun Jane heard shouting from in front and behind, then two shots. She turned to look up and the driver’s head seemed to explode, splattering her with blood and brains. Jane screamed and ducked behind the dashboard. She saw the dead driver’s gun in the foot well. Almost paralysed with fear and shock, she nonetheless reached out for it. The pistol trembled in her hand.
‘I’m not supposed to kill you now, but I’ll gladly do so.’
She felt the painful stab of hot metal in the back of her neck. She sat up and tried to look around, but the man who had spoken grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched her out of the car. ‘Drop the gun, get out and keep quiet.’
Through the pain and frustration that brought tears to her eyes she recognised the voice.
Piet van Zyl.
The slaughtering of the elephants was taking place with gory efficiency in the bush clearing. Frank Cole was supervising the butchering gang and his hands and bare legs were already soaked red.
Alex turned away. He wasn’t weak-stomached – he’d spent too much time in war zones for that – but he was saddened by the waste of these great animals. He could understand the logical arguments in favour of culling, but as someone who had invested in the future of Mozambican tourism, he felt the South African government hadn’t given nature enough time to work out its own solution to elephant overcrowding in Kruger. He was sure that, given a few more years, more and more elephants would cross the border and populate the Greater Limpopo Transfrontier Park and other reserves further afield, such as Gorongosa.
Vultures were already circling above them, a flock of twenty or more riding the thermal currents while they kept watch on the proceedings below.
Each animal was gutted first, and there were mounds of purple-blue entrails oozing around the men as they worked. Chainsaws were used to cleave off great sides of meat and skin, which were then loaded onto the trailers with a crane on the back of a Unimog truck.
Workers used axes to remove the precious ivory. Each tusk came out with a wet, bloody mass of fat and tissue attached to one end. They were stacked in a growing heap, awaiting pick-up by the helicopter.
Kufa and Novak were dutifully pretending to record the event with their cameras. Alex wrinkled his nose at the stench of blood and half-digested vegetable matter.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
Frank walked over to him, wiping his hands on his shorts. ‘I won’t shake your hand. At least you were smart enough to wear gloves. Tell one of the army guys to drive you back to Satara in the Mog. We’ll be an hour or so here.’
Alex thanked Frank for his time and said he had found the whole experience fascinating. He couldn’t wait to get back to his island.
Jane should be three days into her voyage home by now. He wondered what had happened to George Penfold and if she’d taken his advice not to tell her boss that she was quitting, just to not show up for her meeting at De Witt Shipping.
‘Alex?’
‘What?’
‘We’re ready, man.’ Novak had his camera over his shoulder and had obviously been standing next to him for a few seconds unnoticed. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
They drove back along the fire-trail road to the Satara airstrip. The Oryx sat in the sun like a huge dragonfly, its rotors still and limp, as if it were sagging in the midday heat.
Colonel De Villiers walked out of the headquarters tent and lit a cigarette. ‘Did you get some film of the cull?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘The culling teams are all reporting in. We’re close to the target already. Eighty-seven elephants killed. Mess tent’s over there if you and your guys want to get some food.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Kufa said to him as they walked away. ‘Not after watching that.’
Alex nodded. ‘We just need to keep out of sight until the chopper’s ready to leave.’
Alex took a cold drink in the mess and then walked back outside towards the car park. Kevin opened the door of the Land Cruiser and waved him over. It looked like he, Heinrich, Henri and Kobus had been sitting inside with the engine running and the airconditioning on. He didn’t blame them.
‘We’ve been busy while you were off gallivanting about,’ Kevin said to him.
‘Do tell.’
‘We took a drive down the main road. There’s another fire trail closed to public access, not far from here. It looks like a good place for us to wait for the pick-up. There’s a clearing big enough for the chopper to land – looks like an old road-work quarry that the park guys have been using as a rubbish tip.’
‘Good.’ Alex looked back out towards the row of tents and saw De Villiers waving at him. ‘I’d better go. Head off as soon as we leave in the helo. Come on, Kobus. Stick close to me from now on.’
‘Get your men saddled up. Chopper’s leaving in five,’ Captain Steyn yelled to Alex as he approached. He heard the whine of the aircraft’s turbine engines starting up. When he turned back to call to Kufa and Novak to drop their drinks he saw the rotor blades slowly start turning. ‘It’s all gone much better than we could expect. All the ivory is out and ready for collection and the parks guys have decided to call it a day at eighty-seven.’
Alex took a bulky black backpack from the rear of the Land Cruiser and shouldered it. He, Kufa, Kobus and Novak strode through the dry yellow grass to the makeshift helipad.
Kevin started the Land Cruiser and drove past them. Alex held up his right thumb in the air and the helicopter copilot raised his in reply. ‘Come on!’ he called to Novak and Kufa above the growing din of the engines.
They jogged across the clearing, heads bent to make sure they were below the spinning rotors, and eyes down to avoid the storm of dirt and stone and grass that was being blasted out around the Oryx. They hefted their bags into the cargo compartment and a flight engineer in a flying suit helped them aboard.
‘Joost,’ said the crewman. Alex took the man’s hand and he pulled him inside. ‘Welcome aboard!’ He was
yelling in Alex’s ear, his lips almost as close as a lover’s. ‘Captain’ll talk to you on the headset once we’re airborne. Sorry for the rush, hey, but it looks like we’ll be in the pub early this afternoon.’
Alex grinned and gave the man a thumbs up. Joost spoke into his intercom and stuck his head out of the cargo hatch to make sure all was clear. The Oryx rocked a little then lifted off. The pilot dropped the nose to gather speed and they lurched away from the airstrip.
Joost passed Alex a bulky set of headphones and clipped a switch to the front of his uniform. ‘Press this when you want to speak,’ he said, and Alex heard him clearly through the earpieces.
‘Welcome aboard,’ said the pilot. He turned and smiled briefly. He was white, a colonel, and looked to be in his forties. An experienced operator. ‘Sorry for the rush, but we don’t waste daylight.’
‘We’ll try not to get in the way,’ Alex assured the man.
‘No problem. We’re all looking forward to being famous, although Petrice’s used to the limelight, being one of our first African female pilots.’
When the copilot turned to acknowledge them with a nod Alex saw for the first time that it wasn’t a man, but rather a young coloured woman. She smiled at him. She was very pretty. The surname on the name tag on her flight suit said Judge. Alex forced himself to look pleased to meet her over the radio. He heard Captain Steyn, the ground liaison officer, relaying coordinates for the first pick-up.
‘Confirm you now have four pax on board. Army public relations team plus one parks officer?’ Alex heard Steyn ask.
‘Roger,’ said the colonel. ‘And acknowledge that we are now taking all four to Skukuza.’
‘That’s affir . . .’ said Steyn. Alex could not hear the other man’s full reply.
‘Any word on our guest star . . . for . . . vid . . . ?’ the pilot asked.
Alex pressed his left hand against his headphones to try to hear the transmissions, which kept dropping in and out. He jiggled the wires attached to each earpiece as well, and finally was able to hear the conversation, though he had missed most of it.
‘It’ll be a nice surprise,’ the pilot said.
Alex pressed the talk switch. ‘What’s that about a surprise?’
The pilot laughed into his microphone. ‘Well, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Wait and see. It might not happen.’
Novak tapped Alex on the shoulder and pointed out the open cargo hatch. Below them a herd of more than a hundred buffalo was stampeding from the noise of the passing machine. They looked like a swarm of fat black flies from this height, zigging and zagging through the dry yellow grass. Alex guessed plenty of animals had been upset today by the sounds of gunfire and the movement of heavy vehicles and aircraft around them.
Alex was concerned about the pilot’s last comment. The only surprise he wanted on this mission was the one he had in store for the helicopter crew and their escorts. Two airmen in SANDF camouflage fatigues sat in troop seats at the rear of the cargo compartment, R5 rifles resting on their knees. One of the men grinned and raised his rifle into his shoulder and aimed out the open door when Novak pointed his stills camera at him.
Both were young – one white, the other African – and Alex was sure he would be able to best them when the time came. Airmen received basic weapons training, like all members of the military, though they would not be as adept in hand-to-hand combat as the ex-special forces soldiers on board. Both wore bullet-proof vests, which Alex guessed was more for the benefit of the news cameras waiting in Pretoria than in acknowledgement of any real threat to the helicopter and its cargo.
‘First collection coming up,’ the pilot announced for the benefit of Alex and the helicopter’s crew.
Alex looked out between the pilot and the copilot. Ahead he saw two tractors towing trailers loaded with grey hide and raw meat and fat. The bones of a dozen dead elephants were showing white against the brown of the bush. A man in national parks field green stood with both hands above his head.
The crew conversed among themselves as the pilot descended. Joost the flight engineer craned his head out the door and gave a commentary on vehicles below them and their distance from the nearest trees.
‘When we touch down, your cameraman and photographer can get out to photograph the loading, if you like,’ the copilot said to Alex over the radio.
‘Thanks, will do. I’ll let them know.’
Alex relayed the orders to Novak and Kufa in a shout. It was important for them to win the confidence of the airmen around them. As the Oryx’s wheels touched down the flight engineer gave the men a thumbs up and yelled, pointing to the rear of the helicopter, ‘Stay clear of the tail rotor!’
Novak and Kufa jumped down and were almost stampeded by a chain of national parks staff who were already running towards the Oryx, laden with tusks. Joost grabbed one of the rangers by his epaulette and motioned for him to get into the helicopter and help stack the ivory. Alex, Kobus and the two armed airmen joined in. The uniformed men at first slung their weapons, but when one jabbed the other painfully in the side of the head with the tip of his barrel, both decided to unsling their rifles and stow them under their seats. Alex moved to the extreme rear of the fuselage and motioned to the two guards to pass the tusks back to him, where he began stacking them.
Alex’s gloves were soon wet with blood from the uncleaned ends of the tusks. He pulled off his right glove and stuffed it in the pocket of his fatigue shirt, which made handling the yellowed shafts a little easier. Sweat was pouring down his face by the time the last of this first batch was on board.
Novak grinned and winked at him as he climbed aboard. He held up his camera. ‘I could get used to this job. Point and push the shutter button!’
Alex reached down to help Kufa aboard, as he was burdened by the unfamiliar bulk and weight of the video camera. Kufa nodded his thanks then wiped his bloody hand on his shirt, giving Alex a look of genuine distaste.
The engines whined and the rotors kept turning the whole time.
After the third pick-up Alex told the pilot that Novak and Kufa had shot enough stills and video and would now be happy to help load the tusks on board for the final two collections.
‘Great, thanks,’ the colonel said. ‘That’ll save us some time.’
The airmen who were supposed to be guarding the ivory were now chatting and laughing with Novak and Kufa as though the four of them were old friends. Kufa told a dirty joke that had all of them roaring.
Alex took off his headset and handed it to Kobus. Cupping a hand around his mouth, in case the flight engineer could lip read, he told Kobus to listen in to the chatter between the air force pilots and those on the ground. He would need to learn the call signs and verbal procedures they were using.
Kobus nodded, and licked his lips. He looked pale, Alex thought. Kobus had been fearless in landing them on the Penfold Son under fire, and while he was a good pilot he was not a soldier. No doubt he was nervous about what was to come.
The next two collections of ivory went without incident and, with Alex and his men helping with the loading, were completed quickly. The Oryx had travelled a circuitous route and now skimmed the trees at the edge of the Satara airstrip.
On the ground they all sweated in the midday heat as they unloaded the ivory from the helicopter and stacked it in the cargo net laid out in the dirt. The pilot had shut down the engines and a refuelling truck pulled up next to them.
‘Petrice?’
‘Yes?’ said the copilot.
‘We need to get some pictures of you for the army newspaper,’ Alex said.
‘OK,’ she sighed. ‘It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last.’
Alex chatted to Petrice while Novak posed her first at the nose of the helicopter, then sitting in a copilot’s seat with the door open. ‘It can’t be easy for you, being one of a few women in a mostly male environment.’
‘Don’t take this badly,’ she paused to smile for Novak’s camera, ‘but it
’s only people like you who make my job difficult. The other female pilots and I get more publicity than the males and it makes them jealous. We get ribbed about it.’
‘Well, you’re more photogenic than the colonel over there.’ Alex gestured to the older pilot, who was chatting to Captain Steyn out on the airstrip, and smoking a cigarette the regulation hundred metres away from the refuelling bowser.
‘Are you flirting with me?’
Alex raised his palms and shrugged. She laughed. ‘You work a lot with the police, don’t you?’ he said, changing the subject. He’d wanted her relaxed and felt he’d succeeded.
‘Yes. We fly special weapons teams to incidents such as sieges and armed farm invasions.’
‘Sounds dangerous. You don’t carry a gun yourself?’
‘Sometimes, but not on PR jobs like this,’ she said. ‘The colonel’s old-school, though. He always has a pistol on him. He was shot down twice in Angola during the border war.’
The pilot, who Petrice referred to only as the colonel, was probably the squadron commander, Alex thought. He saw the man stub out his cigarette and place the butt in a zippered pocket of his flying suit. He couldn’t see a pistol belt or shoulder holster, but as the officer swung his arms out and around as he walked – he looked like he was stretching away a muscle ache – Alex caught sight of a bulge under his left armpit.
‘OK. Finished your photo shoot, Petrice? Good. I know it’s a chore, but someone’s got to do it and they don’t want an ugly old white man like me in the news, do they?’
A circle of men was now raising the sides of the wire cargo net and linking them to one another with snap hooks. The mouth was pulled close and tied tight with cord.
The engines whined and the rotors started to turn slowly above their heads. Alex looked at each of his men and they all nodded back to him. It was nearly time.
Alex looked out the hatch of the helicopter, watching a herd of giraffe loping away from the noise of the helicopter as they raced along above the dry grey-green carpet of bush. The wind coming in through the opening provided a welcome relief from the day’s heat. Alex felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up. The flight engineer was standing beside him, pointing to the black nylon backpack Alex had brought with him from the four-wheel drive.
