Shoot the Bastards

by Michael Stanley

  “Are you certain that there’s no threat there? That they didn’t leave anyone behind?”

  “Just the man I shot, but he’s probably dead by now. I’m sure there’s no one else.”

  Mabula was silent for a moment. “You shot someone? How did you do that? No, never mind, I’ll find out later. There’s a civilian medivac helicopter nearly there. But I can’t let them land if there’s any danger.”

  “It’s fine. No danger. We’ve everything under control.”

  “Okay. I hope you’re right. I’ll call you back when they get there.”

  Crys and Søren stood on the porch and watched the dawn spread over the sky. They didn’t say a word to each other. What was there to say?

  About ten minutes later, they heard a chopper approaching. At the same moment, Crys’s phone rang.

  It was Mabula again. “Crys. All clear?”

  “Yes. And there’s a helicopter pad here. It’s on the north side of the house.”

  “I’ll let them know.”

  When she heard the chopper coming in to land, Crys realized with a shock that it’d been less than a month since she had flown in one from there into the Kruger Park. It seemed like a lifetime, so much had happened.

  The chopper touched down, and two men jumped out and ran toward the house, looking from side to side. Mabula had clearly warned them to be careful.

  Had they been there an hour ago, she thought, there would have been more casualties.

  “Where’s the injured man?” one called as they approached.

  “There are two. In the house. You’ll need a stretcher for one. I think the other can walk, if you help him.”

  They followed her into the house, and they went straight upstairs to Anton. The men gasped when they saw him.

  “What happened here? Who did this to him?”

  “The men Colonel Mabula is fighting right now. Is he still alive?”

  “He is right now. But we need to check him.”

  They applied a soft tourniquet above the wrist of his mutilated hand. Then checked his neck and other limbs. “He’s badly bruised, and he’s lost some teeth, but I think we can move him safely,” one paramedic said. “But I don’t know about internal injuries. With bruising like that, it could be bad.”

  The other nodded. “Let’s get him out of here. He needs to be in hospital.”

  They started strapping him onto a stretcher.

  “Can you take all four of us?” Crys asked.

  He shook his head. “Not more than two. You’ll have to wait for the police.”

  She followed them as they carefully maneuvered the stretcher down the stairs, then went to look for Bongani. He wasn’t in the living room, where she’d left him.

  “Where’s Bongani?” she asked.

  “He’s in the kitchen,” Søren said. “He refuses to go with them.”

  She found Bongani slumped on the kitchen chair. They’d tried to bandage his shoulder with a torn-up sheet, but now it was dripping blood again.

  “I can’t go with them, Crys,” he said. “They’ll say I helped the attackers. And I did. I thought they were just here for the horn. That Mr. Malan would give it to them, and then they’d go. But they’re not the ones who work with my people…the poachers…” He gasped, and his breath rasped. Maybe his injury was worse than she’d thought.

  “I couldn’t stop working for them, Crys. If I did, they’d kill my family.”

  “And if you die, your family will have nothing.”

  He shook his head. “The head man will look after them. That’s the way it works.”

  “Bongani, you saved my life and everyone’s here. We’ll make a plan.”

  He shook his head again. “No, Crys. This is how it is. Will you please help me? I’ll hide in the bush until I’m stronger.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Bongani. You won’t survive without medical attention.”

  “If that is what God wills…” He collapsed forward in the chair; Crys had to grab him to prevent him from falling.

  “Bring another stretcher,” she screamed. “Hurry.”

  A few moments later the medivac men ran in. They lifted Bongani onto the stretcher and strapped him down.

  “Quick,” she cried. “He’s been shot. It’s worse than I thought…”

  They hurried to the helicopter and secured the stretcher next to Anton’s. They put an oxygen mask over Bongani’s face. Then they put him on a drip.

  “Will they live?” Crys asked.

  “Not if we waste time here,” the one paramedic snapped. “Let’s go,” he said to the pilot.

  A few seconds later, they were airborne. She just had to hope they would both make it.

  * * *

  Once the helicopter left, she called Mabula.

  “They’re on their way to the hospital in Giyani,” she said. “What’s happening there?” And she held her breath, he pulse racing even though she was sitting down.

  “We’ve pinned them down and disabled their vehicle, but we can’t rush them or they’ll kill Malan and Davidson. We’ve got one of our choppers on the way, and more vehicles. Once they get here, it’ll all be over. It’s light now; they won’t be able to hide in the bush. We’ll pick them off. I have to go. Just wait there.”

  As though we have any choice, she thought.

  She wondered how far away Dinh’s men were, and whether they might try to get back to the house. Turning to Søren, she said, “Mabula says he has them pinned down, but I think they might double back. We should keep a lookout. Take one of the rifles and watch for anyone coming from the front gate.”

  “But I’ve never fired a gun,” Søren said, nervously. “And I don’t think I could shoot anyone.”

  “If someone’s going to shoot you, make sure you shoot first.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it, dammit. I’m going upstairs. The safe is open there, and I want to take a look before the police get here. Shout if you see anything.”

  Crys headed back upstairs to the room where she’d found Anton and the safe. There was no money or horn left in it, just stacks of papers and documents. She knew she shouldn’t be going through his personal stuff, but she was past caring. She was sure Anton was to blame for this mess, and now she wanted some answers.

  She pulled out the folders and flipped through them. Accounts, letters, title documents. Nothing of interest. Then she found a diary. She flipped through it. It seemed mainly blank with a few appointments filled in. She tossed it back into the safe.

  Then it occurred to her that keeping a diary in a safe was very strange—very inconvenient. Quickly she retrieved it and started looking through it more carefully. Most days were blank, but she found a couple of entries that just said “D’Oliviera.” Below them were two numbers. One was around twenty, the other much higher—over a million. Crys started to understand. She smoothed her hair as she thought about weight in kilograms and money in South African rands. Anton was getting nothing like the street price of rhino horn, but it was a lot of money all the same.

  She flipped to the current date. There was nothing, but as she looked back over the previous week, she discovered the biggest entry so far, with a huge question mark drawn at the side of it. The transaction hadn’t taken place, but the horns had been in the safe, waiting. Somehow Dinh must have known about that.

  That has to be Michael’s “something big,” she thought.

  Søren yelled from downstairs. “It’s Colonel Mabula on the phone. He wants to speak to you.”

  “Okay, tell him to hold on a second.”

  She quickly shoved everything back in the safe. Then she hurried down the stairs and took the phone.

  “It’s okay,” Mabula said. “They scattered into the bush, but we’ll find them once the helicopter arrives. We’ve moved their vehicle off the road, and w
e’re on our way. Don’t shoot at us!”

  “What about Johannes and Michael?”

  “Both are with us. Badly beaten up. I don’t think either is in any danger. Malan probably has some broken bones and maybe some internal injuries, but he’s walking. I don’t know about Davidson. He’s conscious, but very groggy. Malan says he was out for a long time. I hope it’s no worse than concussion.”

  “Michael’s tough. He’ll pull through,” Crys said. But it sounded like someone else saying the words. Her head swam. She felt weak with relief.

  It was over.

  Chapter 38

  Two police vehicles arrived, and men in body armor spread out to check the house and grounds.

  Trembling, Crys focused on the vehicles.

  And then, there he was—Michael, staggering out of one of the vehicles.

  His battered face broke into a grin when he saw Crys.

  She flew to him and hugged him, tears mixing with the dirt and sweat on her face.

  They held each other without saying a word. Crys felt a warmth and happiness that required no questions or answers.

  At last she let him go, stepped back, and looked him over.

  “I thought you were dead.” She choked back a sob.

  The side of his head was a mess of caked blood, and his face was so bruised and swollen that his left eye was invisible. His clothes hung on him as though they’d been bought for a much bigger man, and his skin was pale, almost gray. He was stooped and his usual glow of energy was gone. Crys was at a loss for words.

  “It’s so wonderful to see you…” she said at last. “Let’s go inside, I’ll help you get cleaned up before the medics arrive.”

  Next Mabula and Johannes climbed out of the vehicle, also looking the worse for wear. Mabula was exhausted and walked with a slight limp, and Johannes looked nearly as bad as Michael. His face was bruised, and he had a black eye that was badly swollen. He shuffled as he walked, half bent over, clutching his stomach—the result of Dinh’s vicious kicks. All three were covered with dust and scraps of vegetation.

  “We have to get a doctor for you all,” Crys said, still holding Michael’s arm tightly.

  Mabula nodded. “It’s arranged. Once the chopper has refueled it’ll come back and pick up these two. We have to wait. Everything else is tied up in Kruger.”

  He herded them onto the porch, instructing them to stay there until he’d checked the crime scene. When his men gave the all-clear, he went into the house.

  Johannes collapsed in a chair. “How’s my father? Is he going to be okay?” It was painful for him to talk.

  “He was alive when he left, but I’m afraid he’s in bad shape,” Crys replied, helping Michael sit down next to him. “He’s on his way to hospital now. How did you get away from Dinh?”

  “Dinh? That was his name?” Johannes paused, wincing with each breath. Crys guessed Dinh may have broken some of his ribs. “When Mabula’s team started closing in, his men ran away. He yelled at them, but they paid no attention. He shoved me into a knob-thorn bush and ran off himself. I’m lucky he didn’t shoot me. Bastard.”

  “They thought I was still unconscious,” Michael said, “so they just left me in the back of the pickup.” He looked at the ground. His voice was weak. “I’ve spent six weeks trying to talk Dinh’s men out of shooting me. I made up stories about knowing this house and its security. And I told them I knew how to open the safe. That’s the only reason they didn’t kill me right away.”

  So that was the reason, Crys thought. She couldn’t speak.

  In fact, no one said anything for a few moments.

  Then Johannes said, almost in a whisper, “He tortured my father. I hope they shoot the bastard.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Crys had a million questions, but the two men needed to rest. She could wait.

  “I was sure you were dead,” she said quietly to Michael after a moment. “Even after they found your note. And when I saw you lying on the floor in there…” Her eyes burned with fresh tears.

  “Could we get some water?” Michael asked. “I’m so nauseous. And dizzy.” Crys filled a coffee cup from an outside tap for him. He drained it, and she filled it again.

  Mabula joined them a few minutes later. A few of the Tshukudu staff had arrived, and Mabula asked for coffee, water, and cereal to be brought out. And any fruit.

  “But please don’t go into the living room or upstairs,” he ordered.

  Then he turned to the group. “Good news. They’ve got Dinh and one of his men. The other one tried to take out the helicopter with his AK-47, and they flattened him. Good riddance.”

  Mabula turned to Crys. “I also got an update from Kruger. What you deduced was correct, Crys. All three rhino-horn stores in Kruger were attacked last night. Even though our people were ready for them, there were casualties on both sides. But there was no attempt to hold tourists hostage or to harm them. In any case, all the attackers are dead—including your Portuguese friends, we think—or in custody. But it will take quite a while to sort it all out.”

  Crys was pleased to hear that. She could write her story now, but somehow that didn’t seem important anymore.

  One of the policemen came up. “I found a body lying under a tree near the chalets,” he said. “He’s been shot in the chest.”

  Mabula looked at Crys, and she nodded.

  “Let’s get some drinks and something to eat. Then you’d better tell me your stories,” he said.

  * * *

  They went through to the dining room and settled down with coffee, fruit, and cereal, and then Johannes began the story of what had happened that night.

  “My father woke me about four. He said he’d heard something downstairs and was going to the gun safe to get weapons. But then an Asian man appeared with an automatic rifle and he forced us downstairs. There were three more men in the living room. One of them was Michael”—Johannes nodded in Michael’s direction—“but I didn’t know who he was. I’ve no idea how they got past the entrance gate or into the house without waking us.” He winced and took a few moments to catch his breath. “My father shouted something about Chu Nhan saying the deal was off, so why were they there. I didn’t have the faintest idea what he meant, but one of the men—who seemed to be the leader—just laughed and said the delivery had been moved forward, and then, for no reason, bashed my father with his rifle. Bastard!”

  “That was Dinh,” Crys put in. “They’re from Vietnam. He’s with the government…but he obviously uses that as a cover for his other activities.”

  “I told him we had nothing here,” Johannes went on, haltingly, “but he told me to lie on the floor facedown and shut up unless I wanted the same treatment as my father. Then he told him to open the safe.” He pointed at Michael and glared at him. “God knows how you knew about it.”

  Crys reached under the table for Michael’s hand. He grasped it.

  “Your father showed me around when I was here,” Michael said, “and I spotted it hidden behind the desk. I had no idea how to open it, but I had to tell them something to make them keep me alive. So, I pretended I knew the combination. I went upstairs and moved the desk and fiddled with the handle and the combination dial a bit, but of course I couldn’t open it.”

  “So, he came downstairs,” Johannes continued, “and told this Dinh character that my father must have changed the combination. The man went ballistic. I thought he’d shoot Michael on the spot, but instead he turned his AK-47 around and slammed the butt into his face. He dropped like he was a sack of mealies. I thought Dinh had probably killed him.”

  “I only came to when the pickup started bouncing around,” Michael added, “but I just lay there. Seemed best to play dead.”

  Johannes picked up the story. “Just after that there was a commotion, and a fourth man came into the room with Søren at gunpoint. And Bongani
was behind him, also with a gun. I was shocked. First Michael and then Bongani—both apparently working with them.”

  Crys then related how she and Bongani had tried to join forces, and how Bongani had been shot in the process.

  “After that, the Vietnamese were nervous,” Søren said. “They turned out the lights and demanded to know who was outside. I said it must be the farm’s security guards, and Johannes backed me up, but Dinh didn’t buy it. He threatened to shoot me if Johannes didn’t tell him the truth, so Johannes told him it was just a woman reporter. Dinh laughed and said he knew her and that she wasn’t going to be good security. He sent one of the men out to find her and bring her back alive. He said it would be very easy.”

  “That was a mistake,” Crys said. Michael squeezed her hand.

  Mabula smiled slightly. “It was,” he said. “I could’ve told him that.”

  “Then the bastard started torturing my father,” Johannes said, his eyes tearing up. “He demanded the combination of the safe. Dad kept telling him there was nothing in the house, that everything was at the bank, but he wouldn’t believe it. But Dad refused to open the safe. They started hacking off his fingers, one at a time! Even when Dad said he’d open it, Dinh kept on. It was so awful. I could do nothing.”

  Johannes put his head in his hands and sobbed. None of them said anything. Crys stood and put her arm around his shoulders.

  When he’d recovered, he took a deep breath and continued. “Eventually they dragged him upstairs, and I guess he opened the safe.”

  “And he did have horn up there,” Søren said.

  “No doubt about that,” Mabula said. “A lot of horn. Worth millions of dollars on the street. We found it in their vehicle, as well as—”

  He was interrupted by his phone ringing. He answered it and listened for a few moments without speaking, and then passed the phone to Johannes. “It’s the Giyani hospital. They need to talk to you.”

  Johannes must have known what was coming, because he struggled to his feet and shuffled into the garden, his shoulders slumped.

  “Mr. Malan died in the helicopter. They didn’t even manage to get him to the hospital,” Mabula said quietly.