Connor hoped Amber didn’t consider him a parasite. He’d been careful to keep his distance and focus on Henri when they’d been prepping for the dawn safari. And, since the spider episode the previous night, he’d noticed she had become more open towards him.
They watched as the little bird pecked with its red beak at the rhino’s rump. The rhino twitched and turned slowly, until its back was to them. Then it excreted several huge dollops of dung that plopped on to the ground in a steaming heap.
‘Gross!’ exclaimed Henri.
‘Well, that’s certainly put me off my breakfast,’ agreed Connor.
Gunner grinned. ‘An adult rhino can produce as much as fifty pounds of dung in a day. Did you know each rhino’s stool smell is unique and identifies its owner? They often use communal dung deposits, known as middens, to serve as local message boards. Each individual dung tells other rhinos who’s passed through, how old they are and whether a female is on heat or not. Think of it like a post on one of your social networks.’
‘That’s a pleasant image!’ said Amber, laughing.
Having done its business, the rhino trotted off and disappeared into the thicket.
‘What a spectacular start to the safari!’ declared Gunner, switching on the Land Rover’s engine. ‘Your first close encounter with one of the Big Five and it’s only six a.m.’
‘What are the other four?’ asked Amber.
‘Elephant, lion, buffalo and leopard. Can’t guarantee we’ll spot a leopard, though. They’re pretty elusive.’
Henri frowned. ‘Why isn’t a hippo one of the Big Five? Surely it’s larger than a leopard?’
Gunner shook his head. ‘It isn’t about size. The “Big Five” was the term used by white hunters for the five species considered the most dangerous to hunt. Although you’re technically right, a hippo should be on that list. Hippos kill more people than any other animal in Africa.’
‘Really? What about mosquitoes?’ said Amber.
‘Yeah, I’ll give you that. They’re responsible for millions of deaths through the spread of malaria. But mosquitoes aren’t directly attacking you, unlike hippos who are fiercely territorial. I can assure you, you don’t want to get between a hippo and water. But if you really want to be picky, then there’s one beast in Africa that’s killed more than all the mosquitoes, hippos, elephants, crocs and lions combined.’
‘Which one?’ asked Connor, intrigued.
‘The most deadly species on Earth,’ said Gunner, fixing him with a grave look. ‘Man.’
A single fan whirred like an oversized mosquito in the corner of the makeshift office, no more than a lopsided whitewashed brick hut with a corrugated tin roof, situated on the edge of a Rwandan border town. The fan’s feeble breeze was barely enough to stir the stifling air as the diamond merchant, a thin-faced man with half-moon spectacles and a shirt two sizes too big, removed the stone from its bag. He deposited it under the microscope with the infinite care of a parent holding a baby for the first time. Then, setting aside his glasses, he peered through the eyepiece.
‘A pink, very rare … and desirable,’ he said, adjusting the focus and magnification. ‘Clarity is almost flawless, at least internally.’
The merchant pulled back and blinked, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes at the quality. Retrieving his spectacles, he glanced up at the client sitting opposite him. The white man hadn’t moved a muscle since taking his seat. Yet his posture suggested he was ready to strike like a panther at the slightest provocation.
‘Where did you get this?’ asked the merchant breathlessly.
‘I’m not paying you to question,’ said Mr Grey. ‘I’m paying you to appraise.’
‘Of course,’ replied the merchant, immediately returning to his work. No stranger to violence, the merchant recognized the implied threat in the man’s tone and had no intention of antagonizing him further. With due diligence, he transferred the stone from the microscope on to a set of digital scales. The merchant tried not to show any surprise at the reading, but it was impossible to hide the shocked dilation of his pupils.
‘A little over thirty carats, in its rough state,’ announced the merchant, somehow managing to keep his voice even.
‘Estimated value?’
The merchant licked his lips as he considered the rare diamond before him. ‘Twenty million dollars, if not more.’
Mr Grey nodded, picked up the stone and laid out ten hundred-dollar bills on the table. ‘For your appraisal. Plus another ten for keeping your tongue.’ He added more notes to the pile. ‘Or else I’ll return to take your tongue.’
‘Discretion is my religion,’ assured the diamond merchant, pocketing the money. As his client reached the doorway, he cleared his throat. ‘You’ll have trouble getting that stone out of Africa without the correct certificates. I could h–’
‘That’s my concern, not yours,’ said Mr Grey, stepping out into the hot midday sun.
He crossed the potholed road to his battered Land Rover. Once aboard, he pulled a phone from his pocket and dialled. A voice answered, slightly distorted by the encrypted line. ‘Status?’
‘The stone is legit. Twenty million, minimum.’
‘A satisfactory investment then,’ said the voice. But Mr Grey couldn’t tell whether the person on the end of the line was pleased or disappointed by the figure. ‘Have you secured means of export?’
‘Yes, I’m meeting the contact in six days for transport to Switzerland where it will be KP-certified.’
‘Fine work, Mr Grey. Everything else on schedule?’
‘Ahead, by all accounts. The coup appears imminent. The general’s hungry for war. He’s contacted me for more weapons.’
‘That’s easily enough arranged. But can we trust him to stand by our agreement?’
‘He knows the score if he doesn’t,’ stated Mr Grey. ‘But the general is a loose cannon, no ethics and no boundaries.’
‘Sounds the ideal candidate to ignite chaos,’ replied the voice. ‘What’s the status of the opposition?’
‘Unprepared, according to my source. But its army is well-enough equipped. I would anticipate heavy losses on both sides.’
When the voice replied, the pleasure was unmistakable this time. ‘A fight between grasshoppers is always a joy to the crow.’
‘Safari is Swahili for journey,’ explained Gunner, grabbing a small backpack from the rear of the Land Rover. ‘And the only way to truly experience Africa is on foot.’
It was now afternoon and the ranger had offered to take them on a walking safari. Enticed at the prospect of such a unique opportunity, Laurent and Cerise had decided to join them, the president and his entourage having returned to the lodge.
Connor shouldered his Go-bag, containing his water bottle, insect repellent, the first-aid kit and other critical supplies. In the side pockets of his cargo trousers, he stowed his smartphone and Lifestraw and, on his hip, his father’s knife. Although they were being guided by an experienced ranger and tracker, Connor was taking no chances. In the SAS survival manual, he’d read always to expect the unexpected – a motto equally relevant to a bodyguard’s philosophy. And, without the back-up of the presidential guard, he wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.
Henri was protesting loudly as his mother smothered him in factor-fifty sunscreen. Amber, in shorts and a T-shirt, her hair tied back by a bandana, rolled her eyes at her younger brother’s whinging. After applying some lip balm, she picked up her camera and water bottle, keen to get moving. Connor was just putting on his sunglasses and baseball cap when the ambassador approached.
‘How’s the trip so far?’ he asked.
‘All going very smoothly,’ replied Connor. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary to report.’
‘It seems my fears may have been unfounded,’ admitted Laurent, admiring the glorious expanse of open savannah. ‘Still, it’s good for Amber to have someone around her own age. She’s been a little down recently. Perhaps you can cheer her up? Keep her occupied while I
’m involved in diplomatic discussions.’
He gave Connor a pointed look and Connor recalled the awkward conversation between Amber and Minister Feruzi at the Boma dinner.
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Connor, sensing the ambassador wasn’t aware of his daughter’s recent break-up.
Once everyone was ready, Gunner drew the group together. ‘A few basic rules for this safari. Follow my instructions at all times, without delay or debate. Stick together and walk in single file. No talking, unless we’re gathered to discuss something of interest. And if we do happen to confront any dangerous game, whatever you do, don’t run. You’ll trigger the hunting instinct and become prey. Remember, you’re not in a zoo. This is Africa.’
‘Are you sure we’ll be safe?’ asked Cerise, putting a protective arm round her son.
‘Haven’t lost anyone yet,’ replied Gunner. ‘Though you are our first guests!’
He smiled to show this was a joke, then thumbed in the direction of a young park ranger, a rifle slung over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Barbier, Alfred’s here to protect us.’
Gunner nodded at Buju to lead the way, and Laurent, Cerise, Amber and Henri followed in single file, with Connor and Alfred taking up the rear. They tramped through the long grass in silence. Although Connor’s baseball cap shielded him from the blazing sun, the ground itself radiated heat like a mirror and, within minutes of the trek, he was drenched in sweat.
All around, the savannah buzzed with life. Insects flitted from bush to bush, guinea fowl squawked as they scurried for cover, and brightly coloured birds darted between the trees dotting the landscape. The air, no longer tainted by the Land Rover’s exhaust fumes, was heavy with the scent of animal dung, dried grasses and the dust kicked up from the baked red earth.
The whole experience was totally different from riding within the safe confines of the Land Rover. Connor felt exposed and, for the first time, vulnerable. He was suddenly aware they were on an equal footing with all the other animals in the park. Were it not for Alfred’s rifle, they’d be poorly equipped to defend themselves against lions and other predators with teeth and claws.
Yet, at the same time, he felt a thrill at being so immersed in the wild. His senses seemed sharpened and he was alert to even the tiniest of details: a column of black ants marching across their path, the scrunch of dried grass beneath their boots, and a shiny beetle rolling a ball of dung three times its size up a slope. This was Africa in its rawest form.
Buju came to a halt beside a clump of thorn bushes. Gunner beckoned the group to join them. Peering over, they spotted a bull elephant feeding on the leaves of an acacia tree. Henri’s eyes widened at the sheer size of the animal no more than ten metres away from them.
‘The largest land-living mammal in the world,’ explained Gunner under his breath as the elephant entwined its trunk round a branch and ripped off the leaves, the twigs crackling in its grip. ‘They can spend up to sixteen hours a day foraging for food. The trunk is remarkable. Made up of over a hundred thousand muscles and no bones, it can tell the size, shape and temperature of any object. And its sense of smell is four times more sensitive than that of a bloodhound. Thankfully, due to Buju’s guiding skill, we’re downwind of this one.’
‘It’s magnificent,’ Cerise remarked as Amber focused her camera and took a photo.
‘What would happen if he noticed us?’ asked Connor, the thorn bush seeming an ineffective barrier against an elephant charge.
‘Most elephants are understandably wary of humans and will move off,’ Gunner replied. ‘But if threatened it would stomp the ground, fan out its ears and raise its head. However, you know you’re in real trouble when it pins back its ears, curls its trunk and issues a loud trumpeting. That means it’s about to charge. And, for their bulk, elephants are extremely fast and surprisingly agile. If on foot, as we are, I’d advise making for the nearest tree or embankment. Elephants seldom negotiate those obstacles.’
‘Are the elephants protected within this park?’ asked Amber, taking another photo.
‘They’re as safe as in any other national park,’ said Gunner. ‘They have no natural predators, apart from man, of course. But they’ve developed an extraordinary ability to differentiate between humans. They can tell a man from a woman, an adult from a child – all from the sound of a human voice.’
‘What about poaching?’ asked Laurent.
‘Armed rangers patrol the different sectors. However, with ivory fetching up to sixty-five thousand dollars per kilo – more than gold and platinum – I admit poaching is still a massive problem.’ Gunner sighed heavily. ‘The poachers of today are well-resourced and heavily armed. A few will be rich Europeans and Americans seeking the thrill of the hunt, but most are locals looking to make a quick buck. Organized crime gangs, rebel militia and even terrorist organizations are getting involved. But we’re fighting back, thanks to the funding from countries like yours.’ He nodded towards the elephant. ‘And if this one, with tusks his size, can survive this long, we’re doing a good job.’
Having had its fill of the acacia tree, the elephant lumbered off. Buju waited until the animal was a good distance away before continuing the safari. In single file, they crossed a dry riverbed and passed a herd of impala. The wind shifted slightly and the herd started as they caught the human scent. Buju paused beside an enormous tree that looked as if it had been planted upside down. The trunk was several metres in diameter and towered some twenty metres above them, where the leafless branches spread out like a profusion of roots in the sky. From these hung velvety pods the size of coconuts.
‘This is a baobab tree,’ said Gunner, patting the massive trunk. ‘Otherwise known as the tree of life.’
‘Why’s that?’ asked Cerise.
‘For both wildlife and the local population, the baobab is a vital source of shelter, clothing, water and food. The bark is fire resistant and can be used for making cloth and rope. The fruit –’ he pointed to the hanging pods – ‘can be broken open and eaten raw. Its flesh, somewhat crumbly and dry, is packed with vitamin C. The seeds can be ground into coffee. And, if you’re thirsty, just cut out little sections of the trunk’s inner bark and suck them to get the moisture out. Mature trees are also often hollow, providing ideal shelter, and traditionally the children of Hadza tribe are born inside a baobab tree. So, with very good reason, it’s called the tree of life.’
As they rounded the colossal trunk, they were met by a cloud of black flies. They buzzed round the remains of a carcass that lay festering in the sun. The stench of rotting meat was overpowering and made Connor and the others gag.
‘What’s that?’ asked Laurent, holding his hand over his nose.
Gunner knelt down and inspected the ravaged remains. ‘A gazelle.’
‘Poor thing,’ remarked Amber.
‘In Africa only the strong survive,’ stated Gunner. ‘Every morning, a gazelle like this wakes up and knows it must run faster than the quickest lion or it will be killed. And every morning a lion wakes up knowing it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve to death. So, it doesn’t matter whether you’re a lion or a gazelle in this life; when the sun comes up, you’d better be running.’
‘Did a lion kill this gazelle?’ asked Henri, fascinated by the fly-infested carcass.
‘Most likely,’ replied Gunner. Then Buju said something and pointed to a patch of sandy ground. ‘Hang on, I might be wrong.’
They gathered round the tracker, who was crouched on his haunches.
‘See track here?’ said Buju softly. ‘Four toes, no claw marks, rear pad with three lobes. That’s the spoor of a big cat.’
Henri glanced up at Connor, his eyes wild with excitement.
‘It’s relatively small and circular in shape, so indicates leopard,’ said Buju.
‘A leopard killed the gazelle?’ gasped Henri. ‘I’d love to see a leopard.’
Buju pointed to another set of prints. ‘Here are lion tracks.’
‘How can
you tell?’ asked Connor, unable to spot any difference.
‘More oval and larger, because of the animal’s weight.’
The tracker’s eyes scanned the ground as if reading the scene that had played out. He waved a hand east. ‘Leopard made the kill on the plains. Dragged the gazelle here.’ He indicated the wide scuff marks and broken grass. ‘Tried to carry his kill up the tree, but three … no, four lions chase leopard off.’ He drew everyone’s attention to the cluster of paw marks by the base of the trunk. ‘Then hyena come and drive away lions.’
‘They look the same as leopard tracks to me,’ remarked Laurent.
‘No, see the claw marks,’ said Buju, his finger tracing the tiny points by the toes. ‘And only two lobes on the pad. Definitely hyena.’
‘So which way did the leopard go?’ asked Henri eagerly.
Buju cast his eyes around, then pointed north-east towards a craggy peak in the distance, atop which stood a single acacia tree. ‘That way, towards Dead Man’s Hill.’
‘Sounds a pleasant place for a picnic,’ remarked Amber as she took a close-up of a lion print.
‘It’s a known haunt for the leopard,’ Gunner explained. ‘Locals have always been fearful of the hill and its adjoining gorge. Superstition says those who venture there never return. But let’s see if Buju can track these prints for a little while. We might get lucky enough to come across the leopard if it’s settled in a tree, or otherwise the lions who stole its kill.’
At Gunner’s suggestion they swapped places in line to give everyone a chance upfront and Connor found himself behind the ranger. They trekked in silence as Buju paused every so often to examine the ground before heading off again, sometimes in a different direction.
‘Buju can read the bush better than anyone I know,’ Gunner whispered over his shoulder to Connor as the tracker studied a clump of grass. ‘By following tiny traces, he gains a sense of the animal’s direction, then assesses the landscape as a whole to gauge where it may have gone next, before searching for another sign. It’s much quicker than following each track slavishly.’
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 9
