by Tony Park
‘I understand, boss. I must bring the Mozambican to you alive,’ the young tsotsi – criminal – had said into his cellphone.
When the killer had headed back up the road, scanning the ground, Luis had known he had limited time to get away. He couldn’t run, however, before saying goodbye to Miriam. He had crept to the wreck and found her there. Luis had pressed a knuckle to his mouth and groaned like a dying animal when he saw the blood on her hand where the bastard had cut off her finger. Luis had become desensitised to death and gore decades ago, but the sight of his wife’s severed finger lying on the blood-soaked upholstery of the mine truck had been too much for him. He had sunk to his knees, and might have stayed there if it hadn’t been for the buzz of the helicopter.
He had pushed himself deep into cover, shivering and shaking with rage and fear despite the heat of the day. The noise of the chopper blades took him back to the war years.
By the time the tremors had subsided the police were at the crash site, responding to the radio call of the privately operated tracking-company helicopter that hovered above the stricken Toyota and its grisly cargo of death.
When he saw the fat policeman and his underlings peering into the truck, Luis decided to give himself up. He could not run any more. He would surrender and tell them everything he knew about Wellington. With luck they would cart him in the back of a police bakkie with a dozen or more other illegal immigrants who had chanced their luck in this land of blood and gold and drive him back to the border crossing at Komatipoort. From Ressano Garcia, as the other side of the border was known, he would, perhaps after a beating from the police or army, make his way home to his son.
He had placed his palms on the ground and begun to raise himself up when the young man emerged from the bush and waved to the policeman.
‘Don’t shoot, baba,’ the thug called to the policeman, whose hand nonetheless went instinctively to the black Z88 automatic on his belt.
The police captain walked away from the others, grabbing the youth by the collar and taking him into the tree line. They stopped, not five metres from where Luis had lowered himself back into the grass.
The policeman backhanded him in the face, almost knocking him off his feet. ‘I just got the call from Wellington. You fucked up.’
The angry young man clenched his fists, though kept them by his side, and spat blood. ‘Danger fucked up.’
‘Your handiwork?’ The captain tossed his head back towards Luis’s dead wife and the other two bodies.
‘I didn’t kill the woman or the driver, baba. Like I said, it was Danger who screwed it for us.’
‘We need to find the Mozambican,’ the policeman said. ‘He’ll take the blame for killing Danger. We might even frame it as him setting up a hit on his wife.’
The youth nodded, smiling at the policeman’s guile, his hands relaxing by his side. ‘Yebo. That’s cool. But doesn’t the boss want the Mozambican alive? That’s what he told me, baba.’
The cop chuckled. ‘Yes, he does, and we’re going to deliver him that way. If the man’s wanted for the murder of his wife he won’t last long above ground. Wellington will keep him locked up underground like a caged pet forever.’
Luis had started shivering again as he lay in the grass, ants crawling over him. Wellington had the police captain in his pocket and was determined to destroy Luis’s life. If it wasn’t for his son, the man would have succeeded – Luis would have given up. But the dreadful thought of Wellington coming after Jose washed through his body and turned his insides to water. He clutched at the tufts of grass in front of him to steady himself. He was a fool. He should have accepted his lot in life and stayed underground, and not done anything to assist McMurtrie and Hamilton. He was making reasonable money as a zama zama and at least some of it had been getting back to Miriam and Jose. And now she was gone. He could not go on.
No.
He dragged a breath into his lungs. He had seen death, in the war, and he had survived. He would mourn for his wife when he could, but his priority now was Jose. He must be strong for him.
‘Go look for the Mozambican, boy,’ the captain said, belittling the carjacker. ‘And pray you find him before my dog squad arrives and catches him. You might be able to save your skin with the boss if you can deliver the Professor to him. Alive, remember?’
‘Yebo, baba.’
Luis had lain in the grass while the youth went in search of him. He’d watched the police search the bakkie, and the coroner’s men lift out the blood-soaked bodies of his wife and the driver, Sipho, and zip them into body bags.
He didn’t cry for his dead wife. Instead he let his anger and grief and his hatred of Wellington fuel him. In his mind, he was back in the bush again, during the civil war. He had killed for stupid, outdated ideologies that had delivered his country nothing but poverty, even in victory. But he had killed.
Luis felt the fear and the adrenaline surge that followed it. He looked around him for a weapon. There was none, but that did not matter. The tsotsi had taken his orders over the phone, from Wellington. That phone was a link to the man who all but destroyed his life.
Luis edged backwards, away from the police, and went in search of the criminal. The young one had moved quietly and Luis glimpsed the back of his white T-shirt before he heard him. Luis, too, could move as quietly as a leopard through the bush, though it had been many years since he had needed such a skill. He placed each step carefully.
Slowly, he closed in on his prey.
With a knife or a gun he might have simply held him up and taken his phone or scared him into revealing what little he might know about Wellington’s whereabouts. But that was not an option. He vaguely recalled this young enforcer delivering a beating on Wellington’s orders a year or so ago. A zama zama had been caught sleeping during his shift. The man’s head had hit a rock when the youth had knocked him to the ground the first time. He had died quickly. It might have been forgivable, as an accident, except Luis had seen how the unfeeling young man had pounded the dead man’s skull to a pulp under his work boot, in the hope of winning a smile from Wellington. Luis didn’t know if psychopaths were drawn to each other, or if they were nurtured by men such as Wellington.
Luis closed the distance between himself and the tsotsi and reached out and wrapped one arm around his neck, squeezing the cry of pain and alarm before it could form. He placed his other hand behind his quarry’s neck and pushed his arms against each other. He heard the snap of the enforcer’s neck and felt the body go heavy in his grip. He let the dead boy slide to the ground. Luis stood over him for a second, his breath blowing hard through his nose as he fought to keep the rising tide of red rage under control. He dropped to one knee and quickly, efficiently searched the body as if it was just another dead Renamo man. He found the .45 stuffed down the boy’s jeans, under his T-shirt, and transferred it to his own belt. In his back pocket was the telephone. Luis pushed a button and the screen lit up. He found the menu and then selected recent calls. The last incoming call was from a cellphone number beginning with +258, the country code for Mozambique.
Luis pocketed the phone and headed back to the road, leaving the boy’s body for the police or some wild animals to find.
When Cameron had pulled up in his mine company Toyota the police had been distracted by his arrival. Luis had leopard-crawled through the grass and under Cameron’s Hilux. Emerging on the far side, out of sight of the assembled police, he had been able to quietly open the rear door of the double cab and slide inside.
The hum of the highway was softening now, the vehicle slowing. Luis crossed himself, in the baking darkness in the back of the pickup truck, and prayed that the white people who were helping him would hold their nerve.
*
Kylie wasn’t used to breaking the law and she was feeling slightly nauseous as Cameron drove through one side of Barberton and out the other, then turned left to climb the narrow dirt road to his home high in the hills. They had already stopped at the Diggers’ Ret
reat on the way back from the crime scene for Kylie to quickly pack up and load her luggage.
He glanced over at her. ‘You look a little pale.’
‘I’m fine. No, actually, I’m not fine.’
Cameron turned his attention back to the road. ‘So do you have a better plan? We know from Luis the local cops are crooked – I could have told him that, but now it looks like they were in on the plan to kill his wife and capture him. He’s also our best lead to Wellington. We need to get him in front of someone at the National Prosecuting Authority.’
Kylie exhaled. She didn’t know how to function in this country. She was out of her depth, but bubbling underneath her uncertainty was the bitter bile of anger. She, too, wanted this Wellington out of business – permanently – and she knew, deep down, she was willing to do whatever it took. ‘You said we were going to take Luis somewhere safe. Not to your home?’
‘No. I just need to pick up Jess and some stuff. My wife’s parents own a holiday home near the Kruger Park. We can go there. I doubt Wellington or his people would know of my connection to the place; we’ve only stayed there a couple of times.’
They turned into his driveway and Jessica opened the door and came out to greet them at the sound of the engine.
‘Dad, I heard about Sipho.’ She wrapped her arms around her father and looked past him at Kylie.
Cameron kissed his daughter on the top of the head. ‘Jess, this is Dr Kylie Hamilton, my boss, from Australia.’
‘Hi.’ Kylie took Jess’s hand and was surprised by her firm, confident handshake.
‘Nice to meet you, Dr Hamilton.’
‘Call me Kylie, please.’ The teenagers she knew in Australia, including her nieces and nephews, were uniformly surly, noncommunicative and spoilt.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Jess asked her.
‘Jess,’ Cameron interjected, ‘we can’t stay for tea. I want you to get some clothes and stuff for a couple of nights in the bush. Kylie and I are going to stay at Ouma and Oupa’s place at Hippo Rock, and I want you to come with us.’ Jess had always referred to Tania’s parents, who were Afrikaners, as grandma and grandpa in their mother tongue.
Jessica raised her eyebrows. ‘What about school?’
‘You can use a couple of days off, after all the drama we’ve had going on in our lives. Come. It’ll be fun. Kylie, if you don’t mind, there’s a camping mattress rolled up in the garage – you might like to put it in the back of the bakkie.’
‘What do we need to take the camping gear for, Dad? That house is fully furnished,’ Jessica said.
‘Never mind, I’ll explain later.’ He looked back at Kylie, who nodded to him, signalling she understood what he wanted. Cameron bustled Jessica inside.
Kylie opened the tilt door of the garage and saw shelves on the far wall neatly stacked with camping and fishing equipment. She saw three mattresses and took one outside to the bakkie. She unhooked the vinyl covering down one side of the truck and peeled it open. Luis blinked up at her. His eyes were red. ‘I’m sorry, Luis. I’m not at all sure where we’re taking you, but Cameron has a plan. Here, this will make the ride a bit more comfortable.’
She undid the strap around the canvas-covered foam mattress and with Luis’s help unrolled it. He shifted and then lay on it, nodding his thanks. He said nothing, just stared up at the sky. Kylie heard Cameron and Jessica talking and partially closed the cover again. Luis made no complaint. Kylie walked across the lawn and met Jessica halfway. Cameron’s daughter had a carry bag and Cameron, she saw, had his gun bag again. ‘Let me help you with those,’ she said to the girl.
‘I can manage.’
Kylie heard the defensive note in the reply, but smiled. ‘I know you can, but I’m sure you need to lock up the house, right?’
‘Oh, OK, sure.’ Jessica handed Kylie her bag and she and Cameron went to the truck.
‘Couple of hours,’ Cameron said to Luis. The Mozambican just nodded again. Cameron unzipped the gun bag so Luis could see the shotgun inside. ‘It’s loaded.’ He laid the bag next to Luis, along with the rest of the luggage. Cameron was securing the last of the stays on the cover when Jess pulled the back door to the house closed and jogged across to them.
They got into the vehicle, with Jessica in the back seat. She took out her cellphone from the pocket of her jeans. ‘I’m warming to the idea of a couple of days off school. Wait till I SMS Mandy, she’ll be so jealous.’
‘Keep her guessing, Jess. I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone where we’re going. I’ll call your school and tell them you’re sick.’
‘Why all the secrecy, Dad?’
‘I’ll tell you the full story once we’re there, Jess. Now I need to focus on the road.’
They drove down the hill to the main road, back to Barberton and turned left towards Nelspruit. Kylie asked Jessica questions about her school and her life in Barberton, partly to deflect her curiosity about their trip, and partly because she was genuinely interested in the replies. Unlike her taciturn father, Jess seemed bubbly, outgoing and personable. Like her father, she was also smart.
‘I’d like to go into mining when I finish university,’ Jess said, ‘even though Dad doesn’t want me to.’
‘My father was against it as well, but there are plenty of opportunities for women in mining,’ Kylie said.
‘I’d really like to hear about how you got to such a senior position. Is your doctorate in engineering? People say it’s a man’s business, but I’m fascinated by building stuff and how things work.’
Kylie talked about some of the difficulties she’d encountered in the still predominantly male workforce, but told Jess she should follow her dreams regardless of what other people told her, and without worrying about preconceptions. It was nice to talk to another female. Cameron, she noted, was content to stay quiet and concentrate on the road. As well as they were getting on, Jess was going to be in for a shock when they eventually let on who was in the back of the bakkie and why.
The drive took them across the N4 at Nelspruit and Kylie recognised the countryside they had passed through on their way to Lion Plains, through the pine and gum plantation-covered hills around White River. ‘Is this place we’re going to near the Sabi Sand Game Reserve?’
‘It’s only a few kilometres from it,’ Jess answered for her father. ‘My grandparents own the house and it’s lekker. I just wish we’d been to Hippo Rock more often. I guess this’ll be the last time, hey Dad?’
Cameron shrugged. ‘Your gran might still be happy for you to use it. She hasn’t asked for the spare keys back.’
Kylie had heard the sadness dulling the girl’s bright mood. She wondered if Cameron’s mother-in-law was angry at her daughter for leaving him and Jess. ‘What is this place we’re going to, anyway?’ Kylie asked.
‘It’s a wildlife estate, on a private nature reserve,’ Cameron answered. ‘It’s an old game farm that was given to the local community during the land redistribution program. Some developers hooked up with the local people and they built holiday homes on it for rich people from Jozi and Cape Town. It’s pretty cool – there are zebras and wildebeest and giraffe and stuff on the estate and it borders the Sabie River, so it’s technically part of the greater Kruger Park.’
‘But there are no dangerous animals around the houses, I’m assuming?’ Kylie said.
‘No, not really. Just a couple of leopard,’ Jess said nonchalantly. ‘But there are no fences around the houses, so don’t go walking about at night.’
‘Just a couple of leopard?’ The concept sounded weird, yet quite exciting. Kylie couldn’t imagine a housing estate in Australia where dangerous animals patrolled the neighbourhood.
They wound their way through hills covered with pine and banana plantations and Cameron stopped at the bustling town of Hazyviewto pick up some meat and groceries at the Checkers supermarket. Kylie tagged along behind Jess and her father, who seemed to know where everything was and what was needed for their stay. She left them a
nd wandered outside and leaned against the bakkie, ready to load the food in before Jess could look inside. She would learn the truth of what they were doing soon enough. It was insane; they were hiding a fugitive from the law in order to protect him, and themselves possibly, against a crazed killer.
With the supplies packed and Jess none the wiser, they drove another thirty-five kilometres, passing through the town of Mkhulu, which Cameron said had grown in leaps and bounds in the past seventeen years. He slowed and Kylie saw a sign to Hippo Rock Private Nature Reserve on the right.
‘A few of these places have sprung up over the past thirty or so years – Marloth Park, Mjejane, Elephant Point, Sabiepark. They’re residential or holiday home estates where people come to try and get away from real life for a while.’
Kylie checked the wing mirror again – she’d noticed Cameron doing the same throughout the drive. She was sure no one had followed them. Cameron slowed and turned right.
A security guard in green uniform and canvas and rubber combat boots stepped out of a brick and thatch gatehouse and saluted. Cameron greeted the man and took out a plastic laminated identity card. The guard gave him a clipboard with a registration form on it and Cameron filled it out.
‘The security is really tight here,’ Jess told Kylie. ‘We get an ID card because of my mom.’
From the car, Kylie saw half-a-dozen warthogs down on their knees, rooting around in a green lawn watered by a sprinkler. The bush beyond, however, was dry and brown.
Cameron handed the clipboard back to the guard and they set off again. He took it slow on the narrow dirt road and they passed a series of houses, constructed in the same brick and thatch as the gatehouse, nestled away in the bush.
‘Zebra!’ Kylie couldn’t help but cry out when she glimpsed the black and white through the dull green bushes.
Jessica laughed at her childish excitement. Kylie wished she had her camera, but then remembered Luis lying sweltering in the back of the truck; the man had just lost his wife. She felt guilty that she could be distracted so easily when Luis was suffering so much.
