by Tony Park
Kerry raised her eyebrows. ‘Anything? Like what?’
‘Well, a gentleman wouldn’t tell, but she’s a woman who’s not afraid to use any means, if you catch my drift.’
‘Hey,’ Kerry said, leaning back in her chair away from him, ‘that’s a big call, saying a woman would use sex to further her business interests.’
‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. What she does in or out of the bedroom is her business.’
Kerry closed the gap between them, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level. ‘You said she wanted to get into bed with you – business wise; did she also want to get into your pants, Eli Johnston?’
‘Like I said, a gentleman doesn’t tell.’
‘Did you sleep with her?’ she pushed.
He looked her in the eye. ‘No.’
‘I never knew there was this much scandal in the not-for-profit world,’ she said.
‘It’s like any other business. People sleep with each other, fight with each other, try to get ahead of each other. In that respect it’s just like the corporate world, I guess.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Kerry said. ‘But seriously, I see a lot of cooperation in the corporate sector. By contrast, I’m learning that the not-for-profit sector is more dog-eat-dog than Wall Street. I wonder if people get involved with charity work because of what it does for their personal worth, their status or even their ego, as much as their passion for the cause. What do you think, Eli?’
‘I think I want to go back to the front line. There’s more honesty out there in the bush.’
‘I’m worried about Graham, Eli.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You think he’s gone off the reservation?’
‘If by that you mean I wonder if he’s gone a little crazy and is off on some crusade by himself, then yes. I’m worried he’s going after Costa to try to keep the heat off you and me.’
Eli rubbed his chin. ‘To tell you the truth I feel kind of bad that I dropped the ball in Mozambique when Graham and your dad went to rescue you.’
Kerry sagged a little in her chair. She was tired. ‘I could really use a hand, if you’d be prepared to head back to Mozambique via the Kruger Park?’
He stared at her a few seconds, locking eyes. ‘OK.’
Kerry smiled and waved to their waitress and asked for the bill. When she had paid, a gesture of thanks to Eli, they both went outside and she used her phone to book an Uber.
The driver dropped Eli at a Protea hotel and, as he made his way towards the breakwater where the Table Bay Hotel was situated, Kerry remembered Eli’s earlier evasiveness about the drugging of the rhino. She was grateful he was coming with her, but she was still pretty sure he was hiding something.
Chapter 28
Graham was tired and hungover the next morning.
He had started drinking at Cape Town Airport, continued on the flight to Johannesburg’s OR Tambo Airport, and then had taken a short break to find the cargo area and check on Nsele, the honey badger, who was clearly impatient to get to the bush. He’d organised some food for the poor creature, and had then gone to the Emperors Palace Casino complex near the airport. Graham had continued drinking steadily, alone, until he could barely stand, and had then gone to his room in the adjoining Metcourt hotel and passed out.
The guilt woke him, still half-inebriated, at four in the morning, and he could not get back to sleep. In his drunken stupor earlier he had almost talked himself out of the mission he was planning, but his resolve returned. Costa had tried to kill Kerry, Eli, Bruce and him because of what he had done. He needed to end this blood feud, one way or another. With his hand still shaking, from the drink or fear or both he took out his phone and opened the Twitter app.
It was ironic that Sarah had set up a Twitter account for him, in the hope he might post pictures and updates to excite would-be paying volunteers, for his next tweet was aimed at her. I hereby resign as assistant veterinarian for Animals Without Borders in protest over their criminally negligent plan to build a rhino breeding facility in Mozambique.
Graham posted the message. Emboldened now, he continued, updating his status, or whatever it was young people did on social media. Taking some solo time out at Boulders Camp in Kruger for a few days. Just me. After that I’m going to bring down this crazy rhino scheme.
‘That should do it,’ he said to himself.
He lay in bed, unable to get back to sleep. He had wronged Kerry, a beautiful young woman, but he told himself that he had made the right decision, letting her know he had no desire for her to try and stay in touch with him or follow him. He had been an arsehole for so long that the act came easily enough.
Graham hoped Sarah would let Costa know what he was up to. Boulders was a remote camp, not far from the Mozambique border. Costa had taken the loss of his brother personally, which was understandable, and Graham was counting on the gangster having enough machismo to come for him in person. If he couldn’t kill Costa then he hoped the man’s hunger for revenge might be sated with his death, and that he might lift his fatwa against Kerry, her father and Eli.
With a bit of luck Kerry would be on her way back to Australia by now. He felt guilty about falling for her and sleeping with her. Even as he came to realise how much he wanted her, intuitively knowing she represented a possibility of salvation, he felt at the same time he was betraying Carla. What right did he have to happiness when his negligence had caused the death of the only other woman he had ever truly loved? And if he loved Kerry, what right did he have to make her fall for a broken-down drunk?
The sadness he self-medicated away with drink and dagga and his stupid wisecracking ways was flooding him from within like water filling a sinking ship. He did not deserve to live. Kerry did not deserve to die for his mistake nor throw away her life on him. He could see no other options than a showdown; even if he took Kerry away, to the relative safety of Australia, Costa would have won and he would continue his pillaging of Africa’s wildlife, albeit in a suit of respectability tailored for him by Sarah. He knew Sarah; she wasn’t naive, which meant she was acting out of some darker motive.
Graham got up, showered, and, steeled with grim resolve, caught the shuttle bus to the airport. He and the honey badger both took the morning SA Express flight to Phalaborwa. At the tiny regional airport he stopped to fortify himself with a chicken salad, though a good portion of the meat went to a fluffy feline, which looked part African wildcat, that clawed at his leg and threatened to eat him if he didn’t share his meal with it.
A baggage handler helped him load the honey badger into the back of his Land Rover.
Des Hennessy was expecting him in Hoedspruit, but not until tomorrow. He had arranged by email for Thandi and her boyfriend to drive his Defender from Hoedspruit to Phalaborwa without giving them the details of exactly what he was up to. The boyfriend would then take Thandi home in his car.
Graham drove the short distance to the Phalaborwa Gate entrance to the Kruger Park – the airport, like the town and the enormous copper mine that employed most of the town’s workers, were right on the edge of the national park. He checked in at the gate office, showing his Wild Card yearly entry to the park and giving the reservation number for his accommodation.
‘You are staying at Boulders Bush Lodge?’ the young woman behind the computer at reception said.
‘Yes.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘You are just one, for three nights?’
‘Yes.’ It was an unusual booking. Boulders, in the central northern section of the park, was a private camp, which meant that only one group, or in this case an individual, took over all of the accommodation. It could sleep twelve people, and while it was good value for money if that many people were staying, the cost was extravagant for only one person. ‘I like my privacy.’
The truth was that when Graham had seen online that the camp was vacant – most likely because of a last-minute cancellation – he thought it would suit his needs perfectly. With no
other tourists in residence there would be no collateral damage.
‘Hmm,’ said the woman, clearly thinking he was some kind of insane animal lover. Graham didn’t care.
‘I have a firearm,’ he said to the woman.
‘OK.’
It wasn’t illegal, nor overly unusual, for private citizens to carry pistols in South Africa, though gun licences were becoming harder to obtain or renew. There was an established procedure for bringing a weapon into the park. Graham filled in the firearms register and produced his nine-millimetre Glock pistol, which Thandi had left in the central cubby box of his Land Rover. That was illegal – leaving the Glock unattended overnight – but being caught with an undeclared gun in his vehicle in the park would have resulted in his immediate arrest.
Graham removed the magazine from the pistol, cleared it, and handed it to the woman he was dealing with. She inspected it then threaded a short length of wire cable through the slide and the trigger guard and then crimped the free ends together with a lead seal. She then placed the pistol into a bag and used another wire tie and seal to close the bag.
When she was done the woman gave Graham his national parks entry permit and wished him a pleasant stay.
Graham went back out to his Land Rover and had a quick check through the rear window. He had covered the badger with a plastic tarpaulin he had in the back of the truck and placed his jacket and backpack against the travel cage. He got in the vehicle, started it and drove from the car park to the entry boom gate.
The security officer on duty at the gate used a handheld scanner to capture the details from his vehicle licence disc on the windscreen and Graham’s driver’s licence. Graham should have organised the transport and release of the badger into the park with the South African National Parks head veterinarian at Skukuza. The vet knew Nsele was coming, but the animal should still have been subjected to a check and the full public relations spectacle by Sarah and the park’s PR people. Graham didn’t want Sarah getting another opportunity to tell the press about her harebrained scheme in Mozambique and if he had his way it would never get off the ground.
In any case, Nsele was carrying no injuries nor any diseases so the check would have been a formality.
‘You have a firearm?’ the guard asked.
‘Yes.’ Graham showed the guard the sealed bag, which satisfied him the correct procedure had been followed.
‘Can I check in the back of the vehicle, please?’ the guard said.
‘Sure.’ Graham got out and unlocked the back door of the Land Rover. He felt his pulse pick up as the man stuck his head into the luggage area, but the guard missed the animal and handed his permit back to him.
Normally when he entered the park Graham felt an instant lessening of any tension or worries that were burdening him. It was, to him, a place of refuge and tranquillity. However, because of what was on his mind, and the rendezvous he was heading for, he couldn’t feel that sense of serenity. He found his senses were heightened in another way.
As he cruised along the tar road through this part of the park it was almost as if he was seeing the bush and its inhabitants for the first time in his life, instead of the last.
The sky was impossibly blue, still unblemished by the clouds that would bring the rain any day now; the mopane trees were a lustrous, rich red gold that would turn emerald after the first storms. The earth beneath the trees was the colour of blood. In this part of the park the vegetation grew thick so game viewing was not as easy as on the more open, grassier areas to the south.
All the same he slowed and then stopped to watch a herd of elephants munching away. A big cow snapped off a branch and held one end with her trunk. She rotated the limb in her mouth, like a human chewing on a corn cob, as she stripped off the nutrient-rich bark.
Graham looked at the eye that faced him and marvelled at the long lashes, and the enviable peace and calm that this giant displayed. Her baby wandered about her legs, its own trunk an as-yet-untrained appendage that flopped this way and that.
Moved by the simple sighting of the elephants Graham checked his phone and, finding that he had signal, he called his friend Juan, in Mozambique. Juan answered and they exchanged greetings.
‘Tell me, Juan, did you ever see that baby elephant again, the one Retief and I were chasing when he . . .’ Graham swallowed the emotions that rose up unexpectedly, ‘when the chopper went down?’
‘As a matter of fact, we did, Graham,’ Juan said. ‘You wouldn’t have seen this from the air, but it had a distinctive feature; its right ear had a rip in it – maybe a hyena or lion had tried to get it. He was a lucky little guy, two times over.’
‘How so?’ Graham asked.
‘One of my guides saw it a couple of days after all that drama you had in Massingir. It was back with the herd; it seems one of the other cows in the family had decided to adopt it after all. It was feeding and looking strong.’
Graham wiped his eyes. ‘That’s lekker, Juan. Thanks.’
‘You OK, boet?’ Juan asked.
‘I am, brother,’ Graham said, returning the term of endearment.
‘You still need to be careful of Costa, my friend.’
‘You won’t need to worry about him for much longer,’ Graham said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let me worry about him. Goodbye, my friend.’
‘Graham, are you –’
‘Sorry, losing signal,’ Graham lied, then ended the call.
He turned on the engine again and continued his journey. Maybe he was reluctant, even a little scared, but he took the time to stop again to look at a male impala. These antelopes were the most common mammal in the Kruger and nearly all but first-time visitors passed them by for the most part. Today Graham saw the healthy shine on the fur on its flank, and the light twinkling in the ram’s dark eye.
Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t turn back.
Graham crossed the broad Letaba River, pausing briefly to take in a crocodile basking in the sun. A row of wicked teeth protruded from its lower jaw. The reptile looked fat and lazy, but Graham knew that it could snap into action in a heartbeat.
He had stayed at Boulders once before, and the camp held the last of his fond memories, probably with the exception of his time with Kerry. The last time he had been in love and truly happy in life had been ten years earlier, at Boulders, and at Victoria Falls.
First he had to drive to Mopani Camp. This was the closest main rest camp to Boulders. A trio of dagga boys, the local nickname for mud-plastered, dangerous old male buffalos, glared at him as he turned off to Mopani and drove up the hill. He went through the thatched entry gates and pulled into reception, on the left.
In the office he presented his permit and booking confirmation and the woman behind the desk processed the paperwork.
‘You know there is no shop or restaurant at Boulders?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You can buy whatever you need here at Mopani.’
‘Thank you.’
Graham took the woman’s advice and drove through the camp to the store. He bought a couple of nights’ food, a sixpack of beer and a bottle of brandy. He didn’t want to get blind drunk, and although he had booked out the whole camp for three nights he did not expect to need food or drink for more than two.
Near the store was the camp’s restaurant and bar, set on a wooden deck overlooking a dam. Graham took his paper bag of supplies and walked across to the railing.
Out over the dam a fish eagle cried to its lifelong mate, and it took Graham only a few seconds to pick out its snowy white head at the top of a dead tree on the far side of the dam. The other eagle soared across the dark blue sky and landed next to its mate. They both threw back their heads and called.
That sound had always uplifted Graham, like a welcome home, but now the birds’ lilting cries just sounded painful, and left him feeling sad. He left the scene, trying to imprint the beauty of the dam on his mind forever as he walked to his Land Rover, got
in, and started the engine.
From Mopani Camp he headed southwest towards Boulders. Near the Shipandani Hide he saw another massive crocodile and was again reminded of the impending danger he was heading into.
The route to Boulders took him down one side of the Mopani airstrip, used by national parks aircraft to access this part of the park. As he cruised along he picked up movement on the strip in his peripheral vision and stopped. A pack of seven wild dogs broke from the line of trees and started running down the strip. Graham put the truck into gear and accelerated to catch them.
As he drove, trying to keep one eye on the road, he saw the dogs moving into a practised formation. Ahead of them, for the first time, he saw an impala ram, running at full pace and occasionally leaping into the air.
One of the painted dogs, as they were also known, left the pack and veered left, towards him, and Graham eased off, not wanting the animal to inadvertently run into him, or vice versa. Across the other side of the gravel airstrip he saw another dog pushing to the right, into the bushes that lined the runway on the far side.
These two, Graham knew, would be the flankers, and they poured on the speed, moving either side of the impala and corralling him, preventing him from breaking left or right off the cleared ground.
The main body of dogs had split into groups of two and three. The first pair were chasing the impala while the other three lagged slightly behind.
Graham accelerated again to keep up with the hunt and wondered if the dogs would run out of runway before they caught the impala, which might stand a better chance of losing them in the thick bush. Just as it looked like the antelope might outrun them, the game changed. The three stragglers, who had been conserving their energy, sprinted past the lead two pursuers, who moved aside, adding extra security to the flanks.
The outriders circled in, and as the three-dog killer group finally caught the impala, the remainders formed a circle around it. The expert example of teamwork and choice of ground had sealed the ram’s fate almost from the start. When the dogs all closed in Graham stopped and watched through his binoculars.
