The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  “Time to go,” I whispered.

  Our lower bodies were cramped and stiff from being seated for so many hours, but we waded quietly to the far side of the trench and slowly lifted ourselves out using the raised pole seat.

  Once again, I parted the grass at the rear of the latrine and crawled out. I paused for a moment to look and listen for any sign of danger. I could not see the guard from where I was, but I knew full well that he would be there. I signalled Hannes to come through which he did quickly and silently. Ahead of us was the darkness and safety of the hill from which we had viewed the camp the previous night. We were both desperate to get going but we purposely stayed where we were for five minutes in case of a patrol. Eventually, I closed the opening in the grass barrier and we made our way carefully towards the base of the hill. I glanced once towards the base of the tower light at the corner of the camp. Sure enough, the guard was there albeit fast asleep leaning on its base. Slowly and with great care we began the climb to the top of the hill not once pausing to look back. By the light of the moon we avoided all the loose rock and boulders on our ascent until finally we stopped at the summit to look down.

  “Let's get the fuck out of here,” I said.

  “Yes, let's do that,” said Hannes.

  We walked all through the night only stopping once to wash at the Pungwe River. The sun had risen by the time we approached the mine field and we passed without incident near the rocky outcrop through which we had come. By midday we had crossed the invisible border and had climbed up once again into the sweet cool air of the Inyanga mountains. The old Mercedes Unimog was parked on the rocky pass where it had dropped us. The young troopie who had been manning the twin MAG machine guns got the fright of his life at the sight of Hannes and I approaching.

  “Jesus! You guys are a bit late?” he said as we climbed into the back of the vehicle.

  “Ya,” I replied as Hannes and I took our position on the steel floor behind the cab.

  “Ran into a few problems. Nothing serious.”

  Chapter Two: London, Present Day

  I AWOKE TO THE USUAL sounds of my North London flat. With one eye open I reached for the glass of water and took a long drink. After a minute of lying motionless I swung my legs off the bed and stared at the pack of cigarettes that lay on the bedside table next to me. Don't do it Green. I cursed softly, stood up and walked to the bathroom to shower and shave. Afterwards, wrapped in my towel, I finally lit a cigarette and went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. With the hot cup in hand I walked into the lounge, turned on the television and opened the curtains. I shook my head in disgust at the sight before me. From five floors up the scene was bleak and grey. North London in mid-March with an Arctic chill descending. I stood sipping coffee staring at the desolate windswept urban decay below. With a sigh I returned to my desk to sit and smoke while watching the news headlines. The stories were the usual dreary bullshit that I saw every day, so I decided to browse my emails to see what the day had in store for me. One of the potential jobs grabbed my attention immediately. Thirty- seven-year-old Damon Mountford from Bethnal Green had claimed disability after he had been knocked from a moped on the high street. The insurance company had suspected fraud as he had an extensive criminal record and was also rumoured to be still actively coaching the local kick boxing club. I took a sip of coffee as I looked carefully at his picture. His hair was peroxided and stood up in gelled spikes. He had an arrogant pinched face and wore earrings on both ears.

  “I'll get you Mr Mountford,” I said under my breath.

  My contemplation was disturbed by an unusual report from the news reader. Immediately I stopped and focussed on the television screen.

  “A well-known Zimbabwean ivory trade investigator who pioneered efforts to combat elephant and rhino poaching has been killed in the Mana Pools national park in Zimbabwe. Johannes Kriel, 51, died after being shot by suspected poachers two days ago. His wife, Teresa, found his body. Mr Kriel, who had led global investigations into illegal wildlife trading since the 1980's was a charismatic and familiar sight at conservation conferences. Initial reports suggest that police believe the murder was part of a botched robbery but there are also concerns that the murder may have been related to Mr Kriel's work. A spokesman for the charity Save The Elephants has expressed shock and grief at his untimely passing.”

  I sat in stunned silence for the duration of the report. The picture of the man that came up briefly certainly looked like my old friend Hannes albeit thinner and without the beard.

  Floods of forgotten memories washed over me as I googled the report with slightly shaky hands. The pictures and articles that came up confirmed my worst fears. There was no doubt it was Hannes. The gentle eyes and tall frame were the giveaway. A wave of sad nostalgia swept over me as I remembered our ill-fated mission to the base at Catandica in Mozambique. We had formed a very special bond that night all those years ago and this sudden unexpected news had touched a raw nerve deep inside me. Next, I went to Facebook and did a search. As I suspected there was no page for Johannes Kriel but there was one for his wife Teresa. I browsed the many photographs some of which were of their family and kids growing up enjoying holidays in the bush. Hannes had had two boys who were now in their mid-twenties. There were hundreds of posts from friends sending their condolences. It appeared the family were well known and dearly loved in Zimbabwe. I felt a deep pang of guilt that I had neglected to make an effort to stay in touch with him. The break I had made with the country of my birth in 1980 had been sudden and final. I began typing a message to Teresa Kriel.

  'Dear Teresa, You don't know me but I was in the Army with Hannes many years ago. We had a very special bond and I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.

  Sincerely, Jason Green’

  I hit the enter button and sat back to think. It was not thirty seconds later that a reply popped up on my screen.

  'Dear Jason. Thank you for your message. I cannot tell you how devastated we are at the loss of Hannes. He spoke fondly of you so often and always wondered where you ended up after the war. There will be a memorial at Highlands Presbyterian Church in Harare on Wednesday morning at 11.30 am. Thanks again for making contact. Teresa'

  I read the message five times over while drumming my fingers on the desk. Eventually I got up and took my coffee and a cigarette over to the window to think. I was suddenly overcome by a great sadness and a feeling of isolation. My old friend had died thousands of miles away in the Zambezi Valley he loved. Somewhere in the distance a siren sounded and below me in the street a woman screamed at her delinquent child who was refusing to go to the nearby pre-school. Fuck it Green. You have to go. With my mind made up I returned to my laptop and began to search for flights. I ended up settling for the Ethiopian Airways flight that evening from Heathrow. There would be a three hour stop-over in Addis Ababa then I would connect direct to Harare. It would give me around twenty-four hours to rest up before the memorial service. I left the ticket open as I hadn't been there in so long, I thought I might do some travelling afterwards. I then booked a Toyota Land Cruiser to hire and a plush looking lodge in the leafy suburb of Glen Lorne. Satisfied, I sat back and lit another cigarette.

  My sadness was mixed with excitement now at the prospect of returning to the country of my birth. I called the case supervisor at the insurance company to inform her I would be unable to take on any new jobs for the time being. Next, I dressed and started packing my bags. As usual I packed my work kit out of force of habit. I paused to look at the Christmas present I had bought for myself but never used. The drone had cost £1,600.00 but it had been too cold and I had been too busy to use it. It had remained forgotten in my cupboard. I decided that after the memorial I might do some travelling so I removed the expensive machine from its box and packed it in the bag. Next, I called my cleaner. I told her not to bother coming in until I phoned on my return. I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the flat and browsing the internet for possible places to visit in Zimbab
we after the memorial. It seemed that despite Mugabe's ruinous rule. tourism was flourishing in my home country and there were plenty of high-end lodges and resorts scattered all over the country. At 5.00 pm. I did a final check of my luggage and then headed out to Seven Sisters tube station. The frigid blast of air took my breath away as I made my way down the open walkway towards the lift. As usual the lift smelt of urine and I held my breath as it descended. The sun was setting as I made my way from the building towards the main road that led to the station. A group of noisy, foul mouthed kids were jumping on the rubbish bins to the left of the building. I wrapped my jacket tightly around me and walked with purpose through freezing wind up the rapidly darkening street.

  I picked up a newspaper outside the station and started reading it as I took the escalator down into the humid bowels of North London. The train arrived after five minutes and I managed to find a seat beside my bags so I could keep an eye on them during the journey to Heathrow. The train filled as we neared central London and the seat next to me was taken by a young man carrying a takeaway box meal from McDonalds. His jeans were half way down his waist exposing most of his red underwear as he sat. He wore Bluetooth headphones through which I could clearly hear loud rap music. He proceeded to noisily eat his burger and chips while intermittently slurping his Coke through a plastic straw right next to me. Fucking idiot. I hated the tube. Thankfully, he soon left and I could read my newspaper in peace.

  By the time I arrived at Heathrow I was more than ready for a smoke, so I hurried out of the station into the frozen night air to do just that. The wind howled as I huddled in my jacket. After a few minutes I left to make my way into the building to check in. That process followed by security took half an hour and finally I was through to the duty-free area. I made my way to the nearest bar and ordered a whisky. After my drink arrived, I turned to look around.

  The bar was busy but there was an unoccupied table in the far corner, I made my way over and sat down. Sitting at the table nearby were an elderly American couple who had just ordered some dinner.

  “I can't wait to get home to some real American food,” said the overweight woman loudly.

  “Not long now,” replied the husband as he browsed his phone.

  I shook my head and took a sip of the drink. An hour later I made my way to the departure gate to get my flight. The aircraft was boarding when I arrived and the crowd shuffled forward, documents at the ready. The plane was a clean modern Dreamliner and I took the window seat I had booked in Economy class. After loading the aircraft began its pushback and taxi to the runway while the safety procedures showed on the screens to the rear of the seats. I watched the freezing drizzle and the lights of the airport from my window. Soon after that the giant aircraft accelerated and took off leaving it all behind. I was feeling a mixture of excitement and sadness at the time. Once the plane had reached cruising altitude the crew began to serve dinner and drinks. I ordered the chicken with a lager and a bottled water to drink. The food was edible and I swallowed a strong sleeping tablet with the beer. Afterwards I adjusted my seat and began to watch a movie. Within half an hour the effects of the sleeping tablet kicked in and I drifted off into a deep dreamless sleep.

  I woke feeling stiff and uncomfortable seven hours later as the plane descended into Addis Ababa. To my left were the rolling green mountains of Ethiopia in the morning sunlight. After landing we filed out of the aircraft and into a bus that took us to the main terminal. The place was more like a factory than an airport with thousands of people of all nationalities milling around waiting for their flights. Feeling groggy I found a coffee shop and eventually managed to get the lazy and disinterested staff to serve me a cup. I sat in silence watching the world go by for two hours until it was time to head to check-in for the flight to Harare. The queue to the gate was chaotic and unorganized but eventually we boarded the aircraft and took off for Harare. I was still drugged by the sleeping pill and fell asleep almost immediately. The three and a half hours flight time flew by and I woke as we were coming in to land. From the window I looked out at the granite outcrops and the lush green countryside of Zimbabwe in the late rainy season.

  The sleeping tablet had done its job and I was feeling refreshed if a little stiff. The aircraft landed and taxied to the new main terminal which had not been there when I left all those years ago. Eventually we filed out of the plane and into the glass sided gangway that led into the terminal. The sun shone brightly and the air was warm and slightly humid. I was acutely aware of the portrait of Robert Mugabe staring down at me ominously as I entered the building.

  We made our way down to the immigration desks where I was made to queue for twenty minutes and pay fifty dollars for my visa despite having been born there. Once I had completed that I headed to the baggage reclaim with the other passengers. My main bag was already out and I retrieved it quickly. One of my worries was the drone I was carrying and I noticed that everyone was being made to put their luggage through an X-ray machine near the exit. Sensing this might pose a problem I removed it from my bag and pocketed it prior to leaving. The drone, although powerful, was small and had foldable arms and easily fitted into a jacket pocket. My bags went through the machine without a problem and I walked out of the exit looking for the car hire rep who was due to meet me. I found him holding a sign that bore my name near the exit to the building. He accompanied me outside briefly as I wanted to have a cigarette. I stood there basking in the afternoon sunshine and made small talk with him as I smoked. Once I was satisfied, we went back into the building and to the car hire offices to complete formalities. This was quick and hassle free and within fifteen minutes I was led out to their yard to find my vehicle. The Toyota Land Cruiser was dark blue in colour and was fitted with off-road tyres. I thanked the rep as he handed me the keys. The interior of the cab smelled new and looked clean. It would suit my purpose well. The sun shone brightly as I drove out of the airport complex and I had to put the air conditioning on. Although the vehicle was fitted with Satnav I decided to try and find my way to the lodge without it. I saw the impressive skyline of Harare on the horizon as I drove and the memories began to flood back in. Although the road was new, I recognized the buildings I passed and I knew precisely where to take the right turn that would lead me to the northern suburbs. I found myself amazed at my instinctive sense of direction as I drove. The only thing of note was that the streets were slightly unkempt and littered. Otherwise they were pretty much as I had left them all those years ago. On the way to my lodge I decided to drive past the house I had grown up in. Although now behind a tall wall and electric gate I managed to get a glimpse of it from the running board of the vehicle when I stopped briefly outside. It looked exactly as I remembered it in the late afternoon sunshine only it seemed a little smaller. There were two young kids running around the swimming pool and diving in just like I had done as a child. The sight brought on a sense of melancholy that stayed with me through the afternoon.

  The lodge I had booked was plush and well fitted. The tropical gardens which my room overlooked were immaculate and the host was pleasant and helpful. I unpacked my bags and took a shower after which I sat by the pool to watch the sunset and have a few beers. I ordered a dinner of fillet steak and gratin dauphinoise to be served out by the pool. I sat in the cool African evening and watched the stars while listening to the cicadas in the garden. By 9.00pm. the food and drink had caused me to feel exhausted, so I retired to my room to relax and watch a movie. Before long I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt of the ill-fated mission to Catandica with Hannes and re-lived every terrible moment of it. In spite of my nocturnal horrors I awoke feeling fresh and invigorated the following morning.

  I took a half hour run through the suburb of Glen Lorne followed by a swim at the lodge and a shower in my room. After a full English breakfast served by the pool, I browsed the internet looking for places to go the following day. I decided I would take the five-hour drive to Bulawayo and stay in a lodge at the Matopos Hills before mak
ing my way through the Hwange National Park and on to Victoria Falls. The thought of the trip lifted my spirits on what was a rather sad day. Just go and pay your respects Green. Once that's done you can get on with your trip. At 10.40am. I dressed for the service. The day was getting hotter by the hour and there were ominous grey and black storm clouds gathering on the horizon behind the hills. The drive to the church was simple as I knew exactly where it was. I arrived to find the car park packed full of vehicles and I had to turn down a side road to find a parking spot. I crossed the main road on foot and made my way into the church yard. There was a large group of people slowly filing into the church. I kept to the back of the crowd not wanting to meet or speak to anyone. It was then I noticed something unusual. At the far end of the car park to the right were two black men in suits wearing dark sunglasses. Their suits, although expensive, were light in colour and they appeared somehow out of place showing no inclination to enter the church building. Instead they stood and observed proceedings from a distance whilst leaning on a new twin cab pickup truck with no number plates. From behind my sunglasses I watched them feeling slightly puzzled that they would be there. I was also sure that I saw the bulge of concealed hand guns under their jackets. I put the two men out of my mind as I entered the church building and took a seat on a bench to the rear. The church was filled with people of all races. There were at least ten game rangers in uniform sitting towards the middle of the building. It seemed my friend Hannes had been an extremely popular figure in Zimbabwe. The service was a sad occasion with hymns being sung and eulogies given by friends and family. When it had finished a choir sang 'Morning has broken' as the family made their way out of the church. I felt a stab of guilt and sadness as I watched Teresa and her sons walk past me in tears.

  Gradually the church began to empty with people stopping to commiserate with the family standing near the exit. You go pay your condolences and get the fuck out of here Green. I was one of the last people to leave the building and approached the two sons first. I was struck by how tall they were and how much they looked like Hannes.