Captive_A High-octane And Gripping African Thriller

by Tony Park

  Sarah felt nervous and it wasn’t simply event-evening jitters.

  ‘Is Eli here tonight?’ Kerry asked, trying too hard to make it sound like it was a casual enquiry.

  Sarah sipped champagne and started walking towards their table. Kerry went with her. ‘No. I invited him, but he had something else on tonight. He wouldn’t say where it was when I asked, or who he was seeing. There’s nothing on his website that indicated another fundraiser.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t sound too upset,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘I am, a bit,’ Sarah said.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘He’s avoiding me. I met him and asked if he would be interested in us joining forces, his anti-poaching army and our Animals Without Borders campaign. He as much as told me to go and get stuffed.’

  Kerry raised her eyebrows. ‘That doesn’t sound like him.’

  Sarah put a hand on Kerry’s arm. ‘You know the public Eli. Mr Clean-cut, polite, handsome-as-hell all-American war hero and animal conservationist.’

  ‘You make it sound like something bad.’

  ‘Oh no, not at all. That’s the good in Eli, in all of us. But underneath he’s like the rest of us, fighting for a shrinking pool of dollars. He’s done the maths, or the math as Americans say, and he knows I need him more than he needs me.’

  Kerry looked around the room. ‘But look at all these people. It looks like you’ve got some of the wealthiest people in South Africa here, Sarah.’

  She shook her head. ‘Five years ago I was pulling crowds twice this size both here and in Australia, and we would make five times what we’ll make tonight. I even spotted a couple of my high rollers at Eli’s concert last night, albeit chaperoning their teeny-bopper daughters. It’s a numbers game.’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the comedian said from the front. ‘Can I have your attention. Please do take your seats. The show’s going to be starting soon.’

  Sarah was about to sit down when she saw Riaan Coetzee, the owner of Kwangela Game Reserve, making his way towards them against the tide of thronging guests.

  When he got to her she introduced him to Graham and Kerry.

  ‘You’ve got some nice-looking rhinos,’ Graham said as they shook hands.

  ‘Thanks. But I’ve just received some bad news.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I just got a call from the wife of my head of security, Michael Collins. He’s been killed in a carjacking. She’s devastated, as am I.’

  ‘That’s terrible,’ Kerry said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sarah.

  ‘Well, I just wanted to let you know.’ Glancing at the comedian on the stage, Riaan excused himself to return to his table and the others took their seats, except for Graham, who held back.

  ‘Call of nature. I’ll be in soon,’ he said, and walked the other way.

  *

  Eli had unpacked and assembled his drone. He started it and the propellers buzzed. He used the remote to control the unmanned aerial vehicle and brought it up into a hover.

  It seemed to be coping OK with the small payload he had fixed underneath it.

  The drone rose higher and Eli checked the screen. Everything was going well. While piloting the device, Eli was able to track its progress via the go-pro camera that was also mounted underneath it.

  He could see the perimeter fence looming. Eli veered left, setting a course parallel to the fence.

  All was set. Eli adjusted the controls and the drone resumed its course, over the fence, above the arc lights and towards its target, the black rhino pens.

  Eli followed the line of pens until he was above the one containing the large male, the rhino called Brutus. He slowed the drone into a hover and start to descend.

  On the screen he saw the animal trot around in a circle, head and ears up. He could hear the buzz of the drone’s rotors, but it took him a few moments to work out that the noise was coming from above. Brutus finally looked up.

  Eli pressed a button on the screen and the payload released, dropping the apple so that it landed in the dust right in front of Brutus. The rhino looked down, up again, and, unable to resist the sight and smell of his favourite treat, he lowered his big head and picked up the apple in his prehensile lips. In a second it was gone.

  Eli brought the drone up. Brutus followed its climb, his face carrying an almost disappointed look. Eli kept watch as Brutus started to walk. Unsettled, teased by just a single snack, he was confused. He paced his enclosure and Eli tracked his movements.

  In time, Brutus’s stride became slower, his course more erratic. He stopped, started to sway, and then dropped, first to his front knees, and then his back legs crumpled. He fell onto his side.

  Eli was recording.

  ‘Yes,’ he whispered, as Brutus rolled onto his side, immobilised.

  Eli turned the drone and began flying it back towards him. As he did so he heard the noise of a vehicle engine, coming from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the twin beams of headlights bouncing over rough ground.

  Ahead of him, as well, he detected another noise, like a motorcycle being revved hard. A spotlight shot out from the vehicle and began sweeping the ground around him.

  A siren blipped. ‘You. Stop. Stand still! Police.’

  Chapter 25

  Kerry saw Sarah walking back into the ballroom. She had gone outside to make a call. The mood among the diners was subdued following the news from Riaan of the death of Michael Collins on the way to the function.

  Riaan had spoken of his support for the creation of a new rhino conservation and breeding facility. He said he would leave it up to Sarah, in her speech, to say where the rhinos would be relocated to. Riaan said he would be sorry to see the rhinos go, and while Kerry had learned from her visit that he was selling them to the charity to save money and keep Kwangela afloat, she could tell by the quaver in his voice a couple of times that it had not been an easy decision.

  ‘Thank you, Riaan,’ the MC said as the applause died down. ‘And in a few minutes, as you enjoy your dessert, we’ll hear from Sarah Hoyland from Animals Without Borders, who’ll be telling us exactly where this precious natural cargo is headed.’

  A few people got up from their tables to use the bathrooms and conversation resumed.

  ‘Where’s Graham?’ Sarah asked Kerry.

  Kerry looked around. ‘He went out for another cigarette a while ago.’

  ‘I told you to keep an eye on him. He’s going to be on straight after me.’

  Kerry bridled at Sarah’s tone, but she knew the other woman could be quite pushy. ‘I didn’t think I needed to hold his hand all night.’

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt. Look, can you please find Graham?’

  ‘All right.’

  Kerry got up and left the ballroom. Sarah had annoyed her, but perhaps she was right to be worried. Where the hell was Graham? She saw a man walking and putting a packet of cigarettes into his pocket.

  ‘Can you tell me where the smokers are, please?’

  ‘Sure, out those doors and on your left.’

  ‘You didn’t by any chance meet a grey-haired veterinarian?’

  ‘Your guest of honour?’ The man laughed. ‘I’m here for the chartered accountants’ dinner, but I’d rather be at your dinner if he’s going to be speaking.’

  ‘Hmm, I’m not so sure about that,’ she said.

  ‘Well, he’s out there with the smokers all right, though none of them will have any ciggies left if that’s what you’re after.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kerry didn’t know what was so funny. She headed outside.

  Graham was holding court, with four people around him, laughing at something he had just said.

  ‘Ah, Kerry, come join us! This is where the cool kids hang out. I never knew accountants partied so hard. We may all die early, but we’ll do so laughing.’

  ‘Not funny, Graham. Sarah wants to see you. You’re speaking soon.’

&nbs
p; ‘Sarah wants to see you,’ he parodied in a high voice. ‘The schoolmarm beckons.’

  Graham put his hand in his right-hand suit pocket as he drew on a cigarette with his left. Kerry heard the clink of glass.

  ‘Graham, what’s in your pocket?’

  He looked at her, fixing her with his blue eyes.

  ‘Have you been drinking?’

  ‘I’m of legal age.’

  ‘Graham, you said you wouldn’t.’

  He hiccuped, then turned to his audience, most of whom were looking away in embarrassment. ‘Well, that rather gave the game away, didn’t it? Just a little something to take the edge off my nerves.’

  Kerry grabbed Graham by a forearm and physically dragged him away from the group, whose members laughed as he waved goodbye theatrically.

  When Kerry eased open the doors of the function room Sarah was on stage.

  ‘And so, ladies and gentlemen,’ Sarah was saying, ‘in closing I can say that even though these rhinos have been superbly cared for at Kwangela Game Reserve, here in the Western Cape, it is time for them to do their bit in rebuilding the population of wild free-ranging rhinos that has suffered so terribly in the last fifty years or more, especially in recent times.’

  ‘She’s good,’ Graham whispered, then hiccuped again.

  ‘Shush,’ Kerry said. They made their way to their table and took their seats.

  ‘These rhinos aren’t leaving Africa,’ Sarah continued, ‘but they are going home, to somewhere that needs them more than ever. To Riaan and his team, and in memory of the late Michael Collins who did so much to protect them, rest assured, we at Animals Without Borders will do all we can to ensure that they stay safe, and that their offspring will carry on the name of Kwangela forever. Thank you.’

  When the applause died down the master of ceremonies introduced Graham.

  He straightened his tie, weaved his way through the room and took the stairs to the stage, stumbling over the last step, but stopping himself from falling. The crowd hushed.

  ‘You were expecting,’ he cleared his voice, ‘a handsome television star, and instead you get me, an ugly washed-out old has-been.’

  The audience didn’t seem to know if this was a joke, though someone laughed, too loudly.

  ‘Thank you,’ Graham said, looking at the laughing person. ‘You might not know it from looking at me in these fancy new threads, but I am the ugly face of the work you support.’

  He waited for silence again.

  ‘It was pointed out to me, ladies and gentlemen, by the lovely Sarah Hoyland, whom you all know, that I was too dirty, my clothes too grubby, for you to see me as I normally dress. Now, I could take offence at that, because my bush clothes, which I was wearing until a few short hours ago, are stained and patched.

  ‘They’re stained with blood. My shirt was ripped, gored, by the tip of the horn of a female rhino as she died, under my care, a couple of months ago. She was shot and left for dead by poachers and I became covered in blood as I performed an emergency C-section in a bid to save her unborn calf. I failed.’

  The audience was hushed. No one dared lift a fork.

  ‘I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t know if what we’re doing is right, shipping animals from zoos around the world and sending them back to Africa, shipping rhinos from one country or continent to another because they might be safer or needed more in one place than the other.

  ‘I don’t know if our government, the private sector, and good people such as yourselves are better off putting money into breeding endangered animals or giving anti-poaching patrols the training, guns and bullets they need to catch or kill poachers. I don’t know if we need more drones and helicopters, or advertising and PR campaigns to convince people they are bloody idiots for wanting rhino horn, elephant ivory, pangolin scales, cycads – yes, even plants – or abalone.’

  Graham paused and took a sip of water. Kerry looked around the audience. All eyes were on him, waiting to see what he would say next. Kerry said a silent prayer that he didn’t cock this up. Or fart. He was doing a great job so far and had her, like everyone else in the room, on the edge of her seat. Kerry liked that he could be serious and passionate when he had to be.

  Graham set down his glass and drew a deep breath. ‘The only thing I do know, ladies and gentlemen, is that we are at war, and you fight a war, if you believe in it, with every weapon in your arsenal. You fight it with guns and bullets and helicopters and drones; you fight it with PR and advertising and you hope that you can change what people on TV call “the narrative” and convince the bastards who use all this stuff, who kill to feed their egos and their superstitions, that they are wrong. And, as in previous wars, you fight it by protecting the innocents and keeping them out of harm’s way, even if that means moving them from one bloody country to –’

  Graham was interrupted by Riaan, who moved swiftly up the stairs to the stage. He came to Graham and whispered in his ear.

  Kerry felt a lump in her throat as she looked at Graham, then a stab of fear. His face had turned so pale that Kerry was worried he was so drunk he might throw up. Graham’s whole body seemed to sag and he gripped the lectern in front of him, seemingly to stop himself from falling.

  Graham hung his head and the whole room could hear his raspy breathing in the microphone. ‘I must go, but I am tired. I am sick and tired, and I feel the weariness in my bones, and the sadness fills my heart, because this war of mine has now come to your backyard.’

  He looked up and out at the audience, red-rimmed eyes scanning them. His shoulders sagged. ‘Riaan has just told me that his prize male rhino, Brutus, who many of you would have seen at Kwangela, has just been poisoned. So now I must go back to my war, to see if there is any chance, however unlikely, that we can save Brutus. Thank you . . . thank you for being on my side.’

  As Graham left the stage and walked down the stairs, through the middle of the audience, the crowd rose as one. Their applause was deafening, and as Graham passed them Kerry saw men reaching for their wallets and women opening their handbags.

  Graham was walking with Riaan, who was beside him, saying something close to his ear so he could hear above the noise.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Graham said to Kerry as he came to her table.

  Kerry stood. ‘You want me to come with you?’

  Graham stopped. ‘Yes. Riaan here says he’s organised a helicopter to take us from the waterfront. There’s a guy who does game capture for him in between taking tourists for flips. He’s standing by.’

  Sarah was waiting for them outside, by a chauffeur-driven car. ‘Good work, Graham. The crowd loved your talk.’

  He stopped in front of her. Kerry thought he no longer seemed drunk. ‘An animal may be dying, and you’re thinking about money. Also, I’m sorry I missed your speech, but Riaan just filled me in. You’re consigning his rhinos to a certain death.’

  ‘We can talk about this later, Graham,’ Sarah said.

  ‘I missed it too,’ Kerry said, turning to Sarah. ‘What’s happening to the rhinos?’

  But it was Graham who answered. ‘Sarah announced, in her speech, that Animals Without Borders, and an “unidentified philanthropist”,’ he made air quotes with his fingers, ‘who wants to remain anonymous, are funding the construction of a rhino breeding and conservation centre in Mozambique, not far from Massingir. It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know that that is the poaching capital of that country.’

  Sarah put her hands on her hips. ‘As I said, while you were outside getting pissed, Graham, and as you alluded to in your speech, we can’t stop poaching with guns and bullets alone. We need to give the people of Mozambique ownership of rhinos and show them that they can make money out of tourism, and that’s what this new centre will do.’

  Graham shook his head. ‘I don’t think those rhinos would last five minutes in Massingir even if you had Mother Teresa running the place and Chuck Norris protecting them. As it is, they’re destined to be killed.’

/>   ‘How come?’ Kerry asked, looking from Sarah to Graham.

  ‘You tell her,’ Graham said. ‘Tell her who this “philanthropist” is that you’re dealing with in Massingir.’

  ‘We’ve got a partner in Mozambique, a well-respected local politician and businessman, who will be the chairman of the board of the new centre,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Too embarrassed to say his name?’ Graham said, goading her.

  Sarah said nothing.

  Graham turned to Kerry. ‘I’ll tell you who her “well-respected” partner is.’

  ‘Who?’

  Graham was clearly seething, fists clenched by his side. ‘Fidel Costa.’

  *

  Graham pulled off his rubber gloves and tossed them aside. Brutus the rhino was still groggy, walking unsteadily around his enclosure, but he was alive.

  Graham’s new clothes were a mess, but he didn’t care. Likewise, Kerry’s stockings were ripped at the knees and her dress was dirty. ‘Good job, Graham.’

  Bradd, the ranger who had shown Graham and Kerry around Kwangela, had met the helicopter and taken them to the boma. He had been watching on while Graham ministered to the giant animal.

  ‘What was wrong with him, Doc?’

  Graham snapped his veterinarian’s bag closed. ‘Brutus wasn’t showing any signs of poisoning, so I assumed someone simply sedated him. I gave him a shot to reverse the effects of the most commonly used drug and he came to. That doesn’t mean someone wasn’t trying to take his horn.’

  ‘A humane poacher?’ Bradd asked.

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first time. Early on in this latest poaching epidemic there were reports of veterinarians getting involved in the trade, darting rhinos secretly and taking their horns. Also, poachers with access to drugs have given rhinos a lethal dose of immobilising agents and not bothered with reversing the effect – a dart gun is a silent way to kill.’

  ‘So whoever did this could still have been trying to kill Brutus, quietly.’

  Graham nodded. ‘Yes, possibly. I’ve taken a blood sample and that will show us just what was in his system and how much of it there was – whether it was a potentially lethal dose or not. Whoever did this and for whatever reason, the fact is that there’s always a risk when sedating a big animal like this one.’