He didn’t answer immediately, and Crys had an idea.
“Get in the back and let me drive now. I’ll do a wide arc to the left and come up directly opposite the elephant’s head. That should give you a good shot to the side—from about fifty yards. Will that work?”
For a moment Bongani hesitated. Then, leaving the engine running, he climbed over to the next row of seats. Crys slid over into the driver’s seat, put the Land Rover in gear and let out the clutch, making a smooth start. She eased forward, picking her way through the bushes so that they’d come up on the right side of the elephant. Her senses seemed sharpened by the night and the adrenalin. Somehow, her driving was better than it had been during the day.
When she reached the verge of the airstrip, she paused. They were more than a hundred yards away, and she could hear that the herd was very agitated.
“When I get close, I’ll turn around,” she said. “You can use the back seat as a rest. And if the elephants charge, going forward is a lot easier than reversing.”
“Okay. Good idea.”
As she moved the vehicle slowly forward, Bongani clambered over the seats to the back row. There, he rested the rifle on the seat-back.
At about seventy yards, the biggest elephant moved toward them again. Crys stopped. This time she didn’t have the light on its eyes. It would have a clearer view without the blinding spotlight. She didn’t dare move the Land Rover. The only sounds now were the rattle of the diesel engine and the injured elephant groaning. The trumpeting had stopped, and there was something ominous about the quiet.
After a few minutes, Bongani whispered that they should move ahead.
Crys nodded and eased forward again, as slowly as she possibly could. In the headlights she saw the elephant lift its trunk once more. Then it tossed its head and walked away. She relaxed a little.
At about sixty yards, she did a tight circle so they ended up fifty yards from the injured elephant, facing away from it, as they’d planned. She waited, idling the engine.
“Turn the engine off,” Bongani said. “I may only have one shot, and I don’t want the vibration.”
She turned off the ignition. The Land Rover shuddered as the engine cut. She prayed that it would start right up if they needed it to.
“Now turn it on, but don’t start it,” Bongani whispered. She did as he said, and the fuel pump came on again. That would make starting it easier. She was grateful that Bongani knew what he was doing.
She thought about him for a moment. From working on the anti-poaching squad, to leading a safari, to dealing with an injured elephant, he really was quite impressive. It made her feel a little better.
“Now, shine the spotlight on its head,” Bongani said.
Crys reached across to the passenger side and picked up the spotlight. She had to stand up so she could focus the powerful beam on the elephant’s head, which was writhing in all directions as the suffering creature struggled. Then she noticed the biggest elephant heading for them again. It wasn’t charging, but it was coming, with long determined strides.
“Quick, Bongani. The big elephant’s coming for us!”
Bongani took the shot; there was a crack, and he jerked back with the recoil. The big elephant stopped in its tracks, shaking its head. Crys’s ears were ringing, but she heard Bongani ask, “Did I get it?”
Holding the light in one hand, she checked with his binoculars. “It’s not moving. I think…Yes, I think it’s dead. Great shot.” She sat down, shaking, her pulse thudding in her ears, but managed to start the engine without stalling it. “Let’s get out of here and see if we can get to the plane.”
She was determined now to see what was in it.
Chapter 11
Crys had to navigate her way through the long grass in a circle away from the elephants to reach the far side of the plane, but she tried to keep an eye on them as she drove. From that distance, it looked as though they’d formed a ring around the dead one, all facing in, as though they were mourning. Crys had read that they did that but hadn’t really believed it. Now she felt her eyes prick with tears and had to blink them away. There was no time for weakness.
They edged up to the plane on the side away from the herd.
“We must keep watch,” Bongani said. “You wouldn’t believe how quickly they can move.”
Crys shone the spotlight over the plane and decided it was a Cessna 210. It was badly damaged. The right wing was bent backwards, probably from hitting the elephant. The prop was twisted, and what looked like dried blood was splattered over the cowling and windshield. The undercarriage was down, but the left wheel had collapsed so the plane was tilted over with the left wing almost touching the sand.
The registration number was C9-773. “Is that a South African registration?” she asked.
Bongani shrugged.
She thought that was strange—you’d think he’d know. Especially as he flew regularly in the helicopter.
She pointed the light at the ground. There were deep ruts in the sand curving toward the plane from where the elephants stood. The plane had probably spun to the right after hitting the huge creature. They were lucky it hadn’t flipped.
The right door of the plane was open—the passenger side. She shone the spotlight into the cockpit. There was no one in the passenger seat, but as she raised the beam they saw the pilot. He was slumped over the controls on the far side. And he wasn’t moving.
“The pilot’s hurt!”
Forgetting the elephants, they both jumped out of the Land Rover and ran to the pilot’s door. But no matter how hard they pulled and pushed, they couldn’t get it open. Giving that up, they dashed around to the other side, and Crys climbed in, pulled her flashlight from her pocket and shone the beam onto the bent-over figure. The pilot’s head was caked with blood. She gritted her teeth and reached out to feel his neck for a pulse.
There was nothing. The man was dead. Her thoughts immediately turned to his family, wherever they were. What would they do without him?
A lump formed in her throat. She felt a need to see his face, to stop her thinking of him just as “the dead man,” so she gently lifted his head away from the controls.
And there, right in the middle of his forehead was a hole—made by a small-caliber bullet from the look of it.
Crys’s mind spun. She sat back and let his head drop gently onto the control panel. This man hadn’t died in the crash landing. He’d been shot dead. And it had to have happened after the crash.
For a moment she couldn’t speak. Then she found her voice. “Bongani!” she shouted. “He’s been shot.”
Bongani didn’t reply. She twisted round, but she couldn’t see his expression in the darkness.
What was going on with him? Why had he suddenly clammed up?
“Bongani,” she said urgently, “didn’t you hear me? There’s a shooter around. We have to get out of here.”
She was about to scramble out, but stopped. She had to see if there was anything—or anyone—in the back of the plane. But all the seats were empty. There were only blood spatters.
She climbed out and went to the cargo hold. She shone her light through the window. Other than bottles of oil and some rope, there was nothing. She turned to Bongani—he looked in shock, unsure what to do.
“Come on, Bongani, get with it! Push the door closed,” she said. “We need to stop animals getting to the body. They’ll be attracted by the blood.”
He closed the door while she shone her light around, looking for anything that could tell them what had happened. Then she saw it: a set of footprints led into the dark toward the other side of the clearing. And next to the tracks was a trail of blood.
“Let’s get out of here, Bongani. Whoever shot the pilot is still around, and I don’t want to end up like him. We need to get the police.”
They returned to the Land Rover, consta
ntly looking over at the elephants, whose rumbles and calls indicated they were still distressed and dangerous. It was only when Crys and Bongani were ready to go that she realized they’d need the location for the police.
“Hold it, Bongani,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “I need to get the co-ords for this mess.”
The Land Rover had a Garmin GPS mounted on the dashboard. Bongani had explained it was just for emergencies, and it was hardly ever used since the guides knew the area so well. Crys recognized it as similar to the one she’d used in the Minnesota Boundary Waters. She turned it on and waited impatiently while it booted and picked up satellite signals. Then she found the menu item that showed the coordinates and stored them before turning it off.
“Now they can bring in a chopper, if they want,” she said. “Okay, let’s go.
* * *
The drive back gave Crys a chance to think over what had happened. She was sure that the plane was being used for something illegal, but she didn’t know what. There were no clues at the crash scene, no sign of contraband goods. She also knew that someone wanted to prevent the pilot telling anyone what had happened. So much so, they had shot him. Crys could feel the itch to know more. She felt it could be a connection to the rhino-horn smugglers.
Just as puzzling as the crash itself, was Bongani’s behavior. From being on top of things in putting the injured elephant out of its misery, he’d gone to being almost catatonic—not answering her questions, not reacting to the murder scene. Then she remembered being puzzled about the time he’d returned to the camp. He was back much earlier than he’d said.
“Bongani,” she said.
He didn’t answer, but just continued to wrestle with the steering wheel.
“Bongani. Talk to me. Why were you back at camp so early? I thought you’d said you’d be back just before six.”
It took a while before he answered.
“Everyone was exhausted. Normally, we remember someone the whole night. But everyone was too tired to continue after about one. So, I headed back.”
That explained his unexpected return, but not his strange behavior. She was too tired to follow up on that right then. It would have to wait.
It was nearly five by the time they got back to camp, and streaks of red were beginning to appear in the east. Crys felt a wreck. She hadn’t had much sleep, and now her sky-high adrenalin had collapsed back to normal. But there was a lot to think about. The two of them were responsible for the guests.
“Bongani,” Crys said as they approached the tents, “we have to contact the police.”
He nodded. “We can drive up into the hills once we’ve sorted out the guests. It’s about an hour, but the road’s really bad.”
That was not what Crys wanted to hear. The track to the nearest hills would take them back close to where the plane had crashed—where a murderer might be hanging out with a gun. That made her think about the bloody trail they’d seen. She realized they didn’t know how many people had been on board when the plane crashed. Maybe the blood was from the shooter, who could have been injured in the crash, or maybe it was from another passenger on the plane, who might also be shot or seriously injured. There were hyenas around too: they’d seen a pack of twelve the day before—to say nothing of the mating lions.
With Bongani acting strangely, Crys realized she’d have to take responsibility. She could see only one option for what to do.
“We’ve got to get the guests out of here,” she told Bongani, trying to keep the concern from her voice. “They have to be safe. The best idea is to get them packed up and take them back to Tshukudu. Anton will know what to do then. And the police can contact them there if they need to.”
Bongani nodded. “Jacob, the cook, can drive them back,” he said. “He knows the ropes, and Mr. Malan might need him. As soon as they leave, we can go back toward Giyani and call Mr. Anton and let him know. And we can call the police from there too.”
In a way, Crys was grateful that they hadn’t been able to call the police as soon as they’d found the body. Police all over the camp harassing the tourists would have complicated things further. It was better to keep things as simple as possible.
And she’d have time to try to figure out what was going on.
* * *
They needed to get the guests together and make an announcement. They were going to be upset that their trip was being cut short, but that was the least of the problems.
Bongani found Jacob and asked him to wake the guests and lay out a light breakfast. A few minutes later, Jacob went from tent to tent. As usual, he stopped in front of each tent and played a short tune on a small, handheld xylophone. He called it a dinner gong. It was pleasant to hear, but loud enough to break through a deep sleep.
Twenty minutes later the group had assembled around the breakfast table, helping themselves to something to eat and drink. They were still expecting the morning game drive and chatted quietly about what they might see.
Bongani grabbed some cereal and a coffee and ate quickly. Then he went to the head of the table. “Can I have your attention, please?” he said loudly.
It took a few moments for the group to quiet down.
“I have some bad news. Something happened last night that may put you in some danger. So, you all have to go back to Tshukudu this morning. Jacob will drive you.”
Immediately people started talking and asking questions, alarm on their faces.
Bongani held up his hand. “Please, please. Let me explain. Last night, I heard a plane crash in the bush not far from here.” There was a buzz from the group. “Of course, that’s not a danger. But Crys and I went out, and when we got there, we found the pilot dead.” He paused. “Not from the crash, but from a gunshot.”
That caused quite a stir.
“There was a passenger on the plane, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Our guess is that he shot the pilot and headed into the bush.” He looked around at the group. “So, you see why I need to make sure you’re not in any danger.”
The group was full of questions, but gave Bongani no chance to respond. He looked confused, not knowing which question to answer first.
What was up with him? Crys realized he needed help again.
She jumped up and shouted out, “Listen everyone, we have to do what Bongani says. Do you want to stay here and possibly get shot?”
Everyone stopped talking.
“Okay. Let’s go,” Bongani said firmly, pulling himself together. “Please pack up as quickly as you can. We’ll leave the tents here. You’ll be settled and safe back at Tshukudu very soon.”
* * *
With the guests grumpy and scared, but safely in the vehicle with Jacob and on their way back to Tshukudu, Bongani and Crys drove back toward the airstrip.
Crys kept a careful lookout as they bumped along. This time she wasn’t that concerned about elephants, but if there was an armed murderer around, she very much wanted to see him before he was too close. The rifle was between the two front seats. Loaded. Every time they came to a blind bend, she put her hand on the stock, half expecting to see a man in the middle of the road pointing a gun at them.
After about two miles, Bongani turned off onto a side road that led up into the hills. In reality, it was more like the bed of a river that had rushed down the hill, clearing away the soil and vegetation, leaving rocks and potholes. But after about ten minutes of grinding along in low-range gear, they came to an open spot with a view toward the north. They could make out the airstrip in the distance.
Bongani stopped the Land Rover and switched on his cell phone.
“Ask him how Johannes is doing if you can,” Crys said.
He nodded, then after a few seconds he said, “I’ve got a signal.” He punched in a number. Pretty soon he was telling Anton the whole story. It was a broken, frustrating few minutes. They kept getting cut off,
and Bongani had to dial again and again, and repeat himself several times. But at last he managed to convey everything that had happened.
He disconnected, shaking his head.
“What did he say?” Crys asked.
“He’ll phone the police and get them out here, but that could take several hours. He says we should wait for them at the camp, because they’ll want to question us. As soon as they’re finished, we must head back to Tshukudu. He said we shouldn’t go back to the plane. Too dangerous. And he’s already made a plan for the tourists.”
“And Johannes?”
“He’s doing okay.”
“That’s good news at least,” Crys said, trying to find some relief in the situation. “Let’s get back to the camp then, and wait for the police there.”
But Bongani shook his head. “I have to try and find that man—the one who’s hurt. I can’t leave him for the hyenas like…” He broke off, but Crys knew what he was thinking.
Crys didn’t like that proposal at all. She thought Anton’s instructions made sense. They shouldn’t go looking for a murderer, no matter how injured he was. They didn’t even know if he was alone. They didn’t even know it was a man, for that matter. They knew nothing. As a reporter she was really keen to find out, but as the person tracking down an armed murderer, not so much.
“I don’t think you should do that, Bongani. You could get shot. I think we should do what Anton said.”
“But there may be other passengers who are alive. They may need help.”
Crys felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. “But is that up to us, Bongani?”
Bongani paused, thinking. “Who else have they got?” he said without looking at her. “The police won’t be here for hours.”
Crys thought it through. What Bongani was saying was true, but it never made sense to risk a life to save another, especially when there was so little information. And the only information they had was that at least one person out there was a murderer.
Shoot the Bastards Page 10
