She could hear a murmur of voices from inside but couldn’t make out any words.
Then there was a shout from the other side of the house. Crys jumped, then froze, her heart pounding. Was it Søren? Was he in trouble? She waited, but everything had gone quiet. The voices had stopped.
After a few moments, she edged up to the open living room window. Her pulse was racing as she peeked in.
The first thing she saw was two men holding assault rifles. One man had his back to the wall opposite the door. The other was covering two men in the center of the room. One was spread-eagled on the floor. He was lying facedown, but she could see it was Johannes. Near him, Anton was also on the floor, clutching his stomach. A third man was standing over him, talking to him. As she watched, he kicked out, and Anton screamed.
When the man straightened up, she saw he was Asian.
Then, with a sickening shock, she recognized him. It was Dinh—the government official from Ho Chi Minh City.
Then it struck her. Dinh wasn’t trying to stop the smuggling! He was with one of the gangs. And she’d kept feeding him information.
She moved forward a little so she could see the whole room. On the right, against the wall, was another body.
Crys stifled a cry. Held her hand to her mouth.
Michael!
She was sure it was him. And he was either dead or unconscious—a pool of blood around his head. She simply couldn’t believe it. She pulled back a little, her mind reeling.
She clamped her hand tighter to her mouth. She was trembling.
What was he doing here?
But before she could think about what it could mean, a door burst open, and three more men came into the living room. One was Søren. He was being pushed—almost thrown—into the room by a man who also had an automatic weapon. And behind him was Bongani, with what looked like an old bolt-action rifle.
She gasped again. Bongani was working with Dinh.
Slowly, Crys edged back from the window, not knowing what to think. She’d found Michael but didn’t know whether he was dead or alive. And as for the other two, Søren wouldn’t give her away, but Bongani knew she was somewhere on the farm, and they would come looking. She had to hide, and she had to get help.
She had to get her cell phone, but it was back in her chalet—the first place they would look for her.
She worked her way back to the chalet using the trees scattered about the compound as cover. She moved quickly, looking about, but there was no sign of anyone following her. Then she heard another scream.
Who was it? she wondered. Was it Anton or Johannes? Søren? Michael?
When Crys reached her chalet, she worked her way around it. She couldn’t see in because the lights were off, and she couldn’t hear anything. She eased open the door and slipped inside. She stood dead still, listening and letting her eyes adjust to the darkness.
Suddenly there was a flash of light. She jumped and almost yelled out, but then she realized it was her phone, silently indicating an email. Gratefully, she grabbed it and slipped out of the door.
Crys still needed somewhere to hide, somewhere she could use the phone. She couldn’t think of anything better than another chalet, so she went to the one farthest from the house, hoping it would be the last they would search. She stepped inside, locked the door behind her, and made sure the curtains were closed.
Then she sat on the floor against the wall and scrolled straight to Mabula’s cell phone number and called it. Her heart was in her mouth. What would she do if he didn’t answer? He was her only hope. But he answered immediately.
“Colonel Mabula.”
“Colonel,” she whispered. “It’s Crys Nguyen. Tshukudu’s being attacked. There are armed men here, and they have the Malans. And Michael’s here also, on the floor. I don’t know whether he’s alive or not. We need help right away!”
“Slow down. Give me the details.”
She took a breath and told him what she’d seen.
“Do you have any idea who the attackers are?” he responded.
“Yes. Yes, I do. Bongani Chikosi is with them. And the leader is a Vietnamese man I recognize. His name is Dinh. He’s with the Vietnamese Department of Environmental Affairs and knows Nigel Wood at Rhino International.”
“Din? What sort of name is that?”
“It’s Vietnamese. He’s from Ho Chi Minh City.” She sat up and parted the curtains slightly with her finger but saw nothing.
“And he works with Nigel Wood?” said Mabula. There was a brief pause. “Does that mean Wood’s involved too? I’ll have him picked up for questioning.” There was a silence on the line. “I’ll grab some men here and leave at once. But it’ll take me more than an hour to get there.”
“But we need help now! I don’t think these men are going to leave anyone alive.”
“Yes, I understand, but all the police helicopters were seconded to Kruger. I’ll try and get one back here, but things are chaotic there right now. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to drive.”
“That could be too late.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in one of the chalets. I’m sure they’ll come looking for me. Bongani knows I’m here.” She couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice. She checked through the curtains again. Still nothing.
“Now listen. You must get out of there,” Mabula said. “Go into the bush. Then climb a tree—it’s safer, and searchers never look up. Don’t risk getting caught. I’ll be there with my men as soon as I can.”
“Okay.”
“Get going. Now. We’ll see each other later, I’m sure.”
She hoped he was right.
She turned the phone off; she couldn’t risk the screen lighting up. She needed a few seconds to get control of herself, so she closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and repeated her mantra five or six times. She needed to be calm when she decided what to do.
After that, she thought through her options.
The most sensible was to do what Mabula said—head for the safety of the bush. But that meant abandoning Michael. The thought made her dizzy. Her heart gave her no choice.
She needed to help him. And the others too.
She unlocked the door, slipped into the darkness, and headed back toward the house.
Chapter 35
Crys had no idea what she was going to do. They had assault rifles, and she didn’t even have her .22 target rifle. The best she could do was to pick up one of the stones that formed the border of a flower bed—bigger than a baseball, but smaller than a melon. It was a bit unwieldy for her, but better than nothing.
She kept looking out for people searching for her, but she saw and heard no one. That worried her. Was she walking into a trap?
As she moved closer to the back of the house, she heard shouting. She couldn’t make out the words, only the anger. That was followed by a cry of pain. Then more shouting. More pain. She couldn’t tell who it was.
Then everything went quiet. Somehow that was more ominous.
Had they killed someone? She prayed it wasn’t Michael.
Crys looked around, then moved up to the wall of the house, her heart thumping. She’d just reached the front corner, when there was another shout, followed by a string of shots. That had to be the assault rifle.
There was another shout, followed by what sounded like an argument.
She slipped around the corner, up to the open living room window where she’d been before, and peeked around.
Johannes and Anton were still on the floor, and so was Søren now. Michael’s position hadn’t changed. Crys’s heart constricted.
There was no way of knowing if he was still alive.
Dinh’s three men were looking on, guns at the ready. Bongani was close to the window, watching the proceedings, rifle in hand, and Dinh was pointing his automatic
rifle at Anton. She was so close she could hear what he was saying. She held her breath.
“I know you have many horns here. You open the safe now or you’ll be very sorry!”
He kicked Anton in the head. There was no reaction.
“Leave him alone!” Johannes shouted. “Our horns are in Phalaborwa, at a bank.” Dinh turned and kicked him too. Johannes groaned in pain.
“You know nothing!” Dinh shouted. “Your father brought all the horns here for his Portuguese friends. They are all here.”
“That’s not true!” Johannes protested, trying to sit up.
Dinh pointed his rifle toward Johannes and let off a burst that hit the floor just next to Johannes’s head.
“You keep quiet. Your father must give me the combination of the safe.”
“If you kill him, he won’t be able to tell you.” It was Søren. “And none of us know it.”
Dinh didn’t say anything for a few moments. “Get water. Give it to him,” he said eventually, pointing at Anton.
One of his men left the room.
Then Dinh turned toward Bongani and pointed his rifle at him. Crys jerked her head away from the window, hoping he hadn’t seen her.
“You think I am stupid, hey? I know you work here, and you work for the Portuguese man.”
Crys heard Bongani’s voice. “No, boss. Nobody tells me anything. I let you in because I hoped you would give me a little money. My family has no food. But I don’t know where Mr. Malan has anything.”
She felt sick.
“We will see who you work for,” Dinh said. “When the old man wakes up, if he doesn’t tell me, you will shoot his son. If he still doesn’t tell me, you will shoot the other man. That will prove you are my man.”
She peeked again. Dinh was now looking at one of his men trying to revive Anton. The man poured water over Anton’s head and tried to make him drink. There was no reaction.
“You’ve killed him, you bastard!” Johannes shouted and started to stand up.
Dinh sprayed another burst next to him. “Lie down, or I will shoot you.”
Johannes collapsed.
Crys pulled back again, desperately trying to think what she could do. Her stone was no use at all—she needed a gun. She had no idea where the Malans kept theirs, and the gun cabinet was probably locked anyway.
She wondered if she could lure one of the men outside and disarm him. She decided that wasn’t a good idea—the chances of success were close to zero.
The safe way was to wait for Mabula, but almost certainly that was going to be too late for the men in the house. Maybe for Michael, it was already too late. She choked back a sob.
Then it struck her that Bongani wasn’t with Dinh and his men. He’d helped them, but from what Dinh had said, he was dispensable. And she could see from his body language that he was upset after what Dinh had said to him. She realized then that Bongani was her only chance—it was a huge risk, but better than nothing. But how could she get his attention?
She could distract Dinh and his men by throwing her rock through the window of another room. But then they’d know someone was outside. She had no chance against assault rifles. She needed a firearm herself. Perhaps she could use fire again—as she had in Vietnam. But she’d have the same problem if she set a chalet on fire. Or one of their vehicles. She’d be dead meat without a weapon.
Her best bet seemed to be to try to attract Bongani’s attention from the window. Bongani was the closest to it, so maybe she could whisper to him or tap lightly on the windowpane. She wondered which would get the message across that it was her outside but cause the least reaction inside.
She took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. And a few more. Then she moved forward.
She peered around the window. Everyone was watching the man trying to revive Anton. She tapped the window lightly. No reaction from Bongani. She tapped again, a bit harder, hoping he’d hear. Still nothing. Now she was worried that one of the others would hear. She tapped again, harder still.
This time Bongani looked around.
She moved so he could see her face and put her finger to her lips. Then pulled back. She was worried he may raise the alarm.
She held her breath, half expecting Dinh’s men to come running outside. She didn’t hear anything.
She peeked around the window again. Bongani had moved closer, blocking Dinh’s view.
It was all the indication she needed.
“Bongani,” she whispered, “nod your head if you can hear me.”
Bongani barely moved his head, but it was a nod. She was sure.
“I’m going to throw a rock through the kitchen window.” She saw his head move again, almost imperceptibly.
“Run to investigate, then try to escape through the front door. I’ll wait there. Bring the rifle.”
Another tiny movement of his head.
“I’m going.”
Another nod.
Crys slid along the walls of the house to the back, where the kitchen was, and picked up another rock. Her heart was pounding, her body tense. This was it.
She took a few paces back and threw one rock as hard as she could at the biggest pane of glass.
There was a crash and the sound of falling shards.
As Crys ran around the house to the front door, she could hear shouts from inside. As she reached the porch, the front door opened and Bongani started to run out.
There was a burst of automatic fire, and Bongani crashed to the ground. His rifle slid from his hand. Crys grabbed it and ran into the darkness. As soon as she reached one of the trees, she hid behind it and looked back.
No one was following. Yet.
She started to sob. Bongani was her friend and trusted her, and now he was dead because of her.
But what else could she have done? she asked herself.
She wiped the tears from her face and then checked the rifle. It was the same as she’d been given on the poacher hunt. A .303 bolt action. She checked that the safety was off and tried to remember how many bullets it held. Was it four in total, or four in the magazine and one in the breech? Damn! She couldn’t remember. Better to assume four in total. Not enough…Now what should she do?
She took a few deep breaths to try to calm herself and assessed the situation. Dinh now knew there was someone outside. He could find out who by coercing Johannes. She wondered what his reaction would be when he found out it was her. If he was a typical, traditional Vietnamese man, he’d probably discount her abilities. That was good. It gave her an advantage. Almost certainly, he’d send one of his men to find her. And she was pretty certain he’d enjoy hurting her. Maybe that would stop his men from just killing her if they found her. Also good. Another advantage.
He had also probably written off Bongani. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t go looking for the rifle. If he did, though, he’d know she was armed. She wanted to go and help Bongani, to see if he was alive. But she didn’t dare do that if she wanted any chance of rescuing the others—of saving Michael. She just had to hope Bongani would survive.
Mabula was probably still forty minutes or so away, so he wasn’t going to be of any help. And she didn’t know where the Malans’ emergency network was to alert the neighbors. So, no help there.
What was Dinh going to do to his hostages? If Anton didn’t recover, she was sure he’d kill them all and leave. But even if Anton opened the safe and gave him the horns—if there actually were some—Dinh would take them and then still kill everyone. He was in too deep to leave any witnesses.
So, her first priority had to be Dinh. If she took him out, there was a chance the others would run. Hopefully. That was a lot easier to think about than to actually achieve.
As she was trying to decide what to do, she glanced back at the house. There were no lights on now. Dinh wasn’t taking any chances of her picking him off
from the outside. He wanted her to go into the house, where he would have a huge advantage.
She definitely wasn’t doing that!
* * *
For what seemed like an hour, but probably was no longer than five or ten minutes, Crys did nothing other than peek around the tree.
She’d heard nothing from the house and seen no one moving outside it. She was sure, though, that Dinh had stationed someone in a strategic position to spot her if she tried to get close. Could she flush that man out and take care of him without exposing herself? Running anywhere was out of the question because of the firepower he would have. It didn’t take a marksman to neutralize someone when using an assault rifle.
She had to tempt him out of hiding so she could see him and not the other way around. Then Crys remembered what Mabula had said: “Climb a tree—searchers never look up.” If she could lure him close to her tree, maybe she could shoot him before he shot her.
She looked up. The tree was reasonably big, but it had a lot of leaves, which would make seeing him difficult. She took a breath and moved to the next tree, keeping low to the ground. This tree was much better. The leaves were thick and started higher up. And it looked as though she could climb to the lower branches quite easily.
Now to get the man’s attention.
She was about to reveal her position. Crys hesitated. She’d been in real peril these last few days, but usually by accident. Now she was calling danger to her.
Am I mad? she thought. And immediately the image of Michael came to her, the blood around his head. And she knew why she was doing this.
Again, she was tempted to follow Mabula’s instructions. But finally, she steeled herself, squared her shoulders and took a big breath of African night air.
“Throw down your gun,” she shouted. “You are surrounded. You’ll die if you don’t.”
As she hoped, the answer was a burst of firing in her general direction. She aimed where she thought the man was and fired a single shot.
Three bullets left.
She wondered if he realized she was alone.
Another burst of fire answered her shot.
Shoot the Bastards Page 30
