by D C Macey
‘You know I can’t do that. We are observing broadcast and telephone silence. No broadcast messages. You have never been able to call Ro Su-Ann; have always spoken face-to-face. The British spies will be listening for us from their GCHQ. No, never. They must not locate us! No phones!’ Park’s voice rose to a shout of indignant fury then lapsed into silence. His hand reached back to slap across Smuts’ face.
Smuts knew this was as bad as it gets. He glanced around, eyed the nearest thicket of undergrowth. If he could fight his way out of the vehicle, shake them off and make it there, he’d be able to use his bushcraft skills. That would give him an edge, weapons or not. The idea withered as the driver emerged from the thicket, cutting off his escape route. He wondered what the driver was carrying. As the man got nearer, Smuts saw he carried the trunks of half a dozen young saplings that had taken advantage of the thicket’s protection to gain a little height on the wildlife whose steady grazing constrained the growth of most trees and bushes.
‘Ah, good, he’s back. Now, Smuts, I think it’s time you shared with me properly.’
‘What’s going on? What are those poles for?’
Park did not bother answering; he smiled a cold little smile and watched through the window as his driver set to work. Smuts watched too.
The driver selected three of the poles, tested and flexed them. Content, he crossed to the vehicle and got a ball of strong twine from the survival box. Using a length of the twine, he bound the three pole ends together, forming a tripod that might have served as a rudimentary tent frame. Spreading the free ends apart, he pressed them into the ground, and then applied his weight to each in turn, ensuring they were secure.
‘There’s no need for all this, man. I can keep you in the loop, tell you everything.’ There was clear pleading in Smuts’ voice. He didn’t know what was planned but knew it involved him, and it didn’t look good. Park ignored him, concentrating only on his driver’s construction activity.
The driver took the three remaining poles and, one by one, tied them as supporting cross struts, from one leg to the next, locking the tripod frame. The man stood back and admired his work. The apex of the frame met at around twelve feet off the ground. The legs buried into the earth were equidistant apart. It was a solid construction. He turned and, with a smile, bowed his head very slightly to Park.
A barked order from Park had Smuts hustled out onto the ground.
‘What the hell?’ Smuts, now very frightened, protested and struggled as his wrists were tied together in front of him. The tone in his voice rose higher when the two guards produced knives and swiftly cut away his clothes. ‘No, no, please stop.’
From a few paces’ distance, Park watched impassively. For a moment, the struggle became fiercer as they pulled Smuts to his feet. When he realised he could not escape, Smuts stilled. The driver stepped forward with thicker rope he had taken from the vehicle.
‘What are you going to do, Park? Hang me?’ Knowing it was over for him gave Smuts a little confidence, things couldn’t get any worse.
‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ said Park.
His driver stepped up and secured one end of the rope around Smuts’ wrists. He yanked the other and the guards manhandled Smuts beneath the tripod frame. The driver threw the rope’s free end up and over the frame’s apex; he caught the falling end and began to pull. Smuts resisted but was distracted by a heavy blow in the midriff. As he gasped, the driver jerked the rope and Smuts’ bound hands shot up. Quickly, the two guards lifted Smuts up off the ground and the driver pulled again, taking in the slack. Then he tied off the rope on one of the supporting cross struts, leaving Smuts dangling naked, his feet no more than a foot off the ground.
One of the guards took hold of Smuts’ right leg, dragged it out to one of the tripod uprights where the driver bound the leg tight to the pole. The four men gathered in front of Smuts. His fear was visible, and they laughed while the driver accepted congratulatory claps on the back from the two guards.
‘Please, I beg you, stop this. Anything you want, I promise …’
‘We already have what we want.’ Park took a step towards Smuts. ‘You gave us our exit route, and we appreciate that. Mr Ro is very pleased with the runway. You should know a cargo plane has been organised, it will reach Burundi on Friday evening and fly into Simanjiro the next morning to collect Mr Ro and our cargo. You delivered, Mr Smuts. You have our thanks.’
‘So why this? What’s this all for?’ Smuts twisted his head up, looking at his hands bound tight above his head. ‘You have what you wanted, let me go.’
‘Unfortunately, you broke the rules. You spoke with Cameron and we’re still not sure what you said. That’s dangerous for us.’
‘I’ve told you, I’ve told you. He’s a big-shot businessman who wanted some hunting arrangements. I didn’t know his name was Cameron, or anything else. All I agreed was that I’d arrange it for him. There’s nothing for Ro to worry about.’
‘Mr Ro to you - show respect to your betters. And Cameron is not a businessman. He’s British; he’s come across the border from Kenya. He’s here, and he’s looking for our cargo. Mr Ro is concerned about Cameron.’
Smuts dropped his head. ‘Oh hell.’
‘Yes, oh hell! I need to know exactly what you told Cameron.’ Taking another pace forward, Park let his hand gently caress one of the tripod poles. ‘You are going to die today Smuts. The only question is how. You can choose, easy or hard.’ Park smiled, he could see tears of fear running down Smuts’ face, hear a little moan of fear. He stood quietly for a minute listening.
‘This framework is my driver’s speciality. Let me tell you. Normally he would light a little fire beneath your free leg. The foot would get hot and you’d struggle to keep it from the flame. The stronger you are the longer you can keep it away. Keeping your free foot away from the flames, lets the heat rise up and reach your manhood. Very painful.’ He stepped within the frame and cupped Smuts’ genitals in his hand, squeezed and jerked, watching Smuts convulse in pain, bringing a murmured ripple of approval from his men.
Park stepped back and allowed Smuts a moment to compose himself. ‘I tell you, in the end you would choose to let your foot burn. But it’s only a little fire. It won’t be quick. Once the flames kill the nerves in your foot, you won’t feel anything there, but you will smell your own flesh as it roasts off the bone. Then you’ll feel the heat move up your leg and the pains grow again and will slowly keep spreading up and up. And then, no matter what you do, your manhood burns. You will scream and cry and beg, and still it will burn.
‘For a strong man like you, I’ve seen my driver make that process last an hour, more. Once it reaches your belly you’ll die, but by then that is what you will want more than anything before in your life.’
Smuts lost control of his bladder and the driver spotted it. Pointing and shouting, the guards joined him in applauding Smuts’ fear.
‘God, just shoot me, man. Have a heart.’
‘But I haven’t finished. I could shoot you, if I was certain you’d told me everything, but I’m not. So today my driver has a different plan for you. Something new.’
Smuts raised his head eagerly. ‘Yes, what? I’ll do anything, just say the word.’
Park smiled and pointed up. Smuts looked into the sky and baulked, turning away quickly. High in the sky were several black dots, describing a slow circle around the beach. Vultures: they had spotted the commotion. In the bush, commotion means death, and they were circling, waiting for their share of any leftovers.
‘Please don’t do this. I’m yours, forever, anything you want, any damned thing.’
‘I can make it quick,’ Park waved his pistol. ‘Or you can take the slow route. I just need to know what you told Cameron.’
‘I’ve told you, told you everything.’ Smuts was shaking his head, crying and forcing his words out between sobs. ‘Please, just end it. I … I—’
‘Yes, you what? Last chance, Smuts.’
Smuts jerked his head up. ‘I did tell him something else …’ Smuts let his head drop again. ‘I told him there was a runway, one he could fly into, when he came for a private hunting party.’
‘Where? Where did you say it was?’
‘I didn’t. I promise, I didn’t need to. Why would I? He didn’t need to know the details. Now you know everything. Please, just shoot me. Please!’
Park nodded. He accepted Smuts had nothing left to tell. Glancing along the beach behind Smuts, he saw the clan of hyenas had come from a thicket where they had been sheltering from the sun. The sounds of distress interested them, they hovered perhaps a hundred paces away, weighing up the situation.
Park pointed to the clan and his men greeted its appearance with excited murmurs of anticipation.
‘What is it? What’s there?’ Smuts’ voice took on a whole new level of fear. ‘Tell me, what is it?’ He tried to turn but couldn’t. He looked at the guards and fear coursed through him as they began to yip, yip. He knew exactly what was there.
Park and his team retreated to the vehicle, followed all the way by Smuts’ cries, begging them to end it. Park blanked him. Once safely on board, the driver manoeuvred them closer to Smuts and came to a halt. The occupants opened their windows for a better look, and the driver cut the engine. They were close now, within spitting distance, as proven by one of the guards. Park leant out of the window with his pistol and pointed it at Smuts.
‘Oh, thank you. Thank you. Do it now. God bless you,’ Smuts was almost euphoric at the sight of the pistol.
Park took careful aim and fired. The report startled the hyenas who had been edging closer. They darted away along the beach; their alarmed yipping still filled the air after the sound of gunfire had subsided.
‘Damn you! Damn you to hell, Park …’ Smuts’ words faded into a groan as he struggled to come to terms with his fate. His tied leg was now dripping blood from a calf wound.
One of the guards opened a cool box and passed out bottles of cold beer, and the men sat back to watch the show. Thick cigarette smoke billowed through the windows as they lit up their smokes.
Smuts glared at Park, and then his focus shifted to his immediate environment. In the still air of the afternoon, he could hear something behind him. He tried to turn, to see but could not turn far enough. Then the pain that was coursing up his leg from the calf wound suddenly diminished, his mind distracted by a peculiar bristling sensation he felt sweep over the back of his bound ankle.
He felt warm breath stroke his calf and something rough and wet ran across his skin, removing the blood that had already started to congeal on his leg. Absolute fear had him attempting to turn again, and this time, he twisted just far enough to see a big hyena jump back, startled at his movement. A few paces off, it stopped and gave its yipping laugh as it reappraised the situation. His heart sank when human bio-mechanics compelled his head to return to its starting position, and he lost sight of the beast.
Inside Park’s vehicle, the driver and guards were excitedly exchanging bets. What part of the body would be bitten first? Would Smuts put up a fight? How long would it last? Enthralled, the men watched carefully as another round of beers was distributed.
Smuts lifted his head and looked towards Park in a final desperate appeal then he let his eyes drop again. It was clear Park would not relent; he was filming the event on his phone - fulsome evidence for Ro of Smuts’ punishment.
Smuts wondered where the hyena had got to, knew he didn’t have long. Then a shadow crossed his head and a rustle sounded above him. He looked up to see the first vulture had landed and decided to get a head start on the hyenas by hopping up onto the tripod. It was now perched on the apex, its long neck arched out and down projecting its bald head and cruel beak to assess the food. A second vulture fluttered up on to one of the tripod’s cross-supports, close to Smuts’ tied ankle. For some moments, the air was filled with the deep throaty hiss and cackle of the vultures as they appraised each other. The noise ended in a sudden flurry of retreating feathers when the hyenas returned.
The big female worked her way round the tripod and was followed by two youngsters. The rest of the family completed the encirclement from the other direction. Some emitted their laughing yips. The big female stayed silent until finally baying out her identity call as she came to a halt, square in front of Smuts.
He felt a tugging on his hanging leg and looked down to see one of the youngsters was nuzzling his foot. Instinctively he kicked out and the youngster gave a cry and scurried away behind its mother. She paced forward and Smuts knew what was coming. Throat or groin? It couldn’t reach his throat. He looked once more towards the vehicle, a final plea for some release. The occupants had fallen silent, fascinated; along with the rest of the hyena pack they watched, waited.
The big female gave her call again and closed in. Smuts felt her breath hard in his groin. Felt her enormous head twist for position, sensed the mouth open and then the firm contact as she took full advantage of her trapped prey to position her teeth for maximum affect. Smuts cringed up and back. The female moved a little forward, repositioning her open mouth. Then gravity took effect and returned Smuts’ body to its starting point, so pressing his groin more firmly into the grateful beast’s gaping mouth. For just a moment, all along the beach, only Smuts’ frightened wail of anticipation could be heard.
Then she bit. Accompanied by a throaty growl her jaws enclosed Smuts’ groin. The lower jaw teeth reached far between his legs to sink into a buttock, the upper jaw teeth cutting into his lower belly. The bite clamped hard and her shoulders started to shake as she backed away ripping at Smuts’ groin. Smuts let out a fearful cry as the hyena reversed, tearing the flesh from his body, her little ones pressing and nuzzling at her mouth hoping to share in the feast. The pack closed in, and bit and snapped at Smuts’ legs and belly.
Park’s vehicle echoed with cheers and cries of excitement as bets were won and lost, and he finally switched off the camera phone. He turned with a big grin towards his team. They were grinning back when suddenly one of the guards pointed him back to the tripod.
The boldest of the vultures had realised Smuts’ head was beyond the hyenas’ reach and hopped back to the tripod apex from where its long neck carried the unforgiving butcher’s beak down and into line with Smuts’ face. The hyena bites below were tearing the life from his body; he had no capacity to resist the vulture. He just closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable strike. It came, accompanied by renewed cheering from the men in the vehicle.
Park’s men finished their beers then he gave a brief order. Break-time over, the men returned to a more balanced demeanour, bets were settled, and the driver got the vehicle going. He retraced their route, heading back to Smuts’ vehicle and the women.
• • •
An hour had passed since Mauwled had steered the orange Land Rover off the main road and onto a dusty track. Since then, it had been heavy going along the deeply rutted route. Now, he was guiding it carefully up a gentle slope between thorn trees and a scattering of bushes. The land seemed empty of animals. All that could, were lying low, sheltering from the unforgiving mid-afternoon heat. Helen took a mouthful of water from her bottle and returned her gaze to the passing countryside. The land had levelled out into a little ridge that ran at right angles to the track. About thirty paces ahead the track ended, and the land fell away in a steep escarpment, dropping almost sheer to a small river that was not much more than a trickle while the land waited for the rains.
‘We’re here,’ said Mauwled, pointing along the ridge to their left. A little way along was a welcome site and Helen let out a cheer, Sam picked it up and Mauwled joined in. Ridge Top Lodge was exactly what they needed - a safe place to stay the night ready for an early start next morning in their push towards Simanjiro District.
• • •
Park stared straight ahead while nodding an acknowledgement to the guard who had leant forward between the driver and front passenger seats. The man
’s finger pointed to Smuts’ abandoned vehicle. They were back where it had all started; Park wondered what they would find.
As they approached, he looked for the two women. They were still sat in the back seat where he had left them. He witnessed their initial joy at the approach of a vehicle, saw it turn to despair when they recognised it was his.
Park’s driver gave a long blast on the horn. It shocked in the vicinity but was quickly lost in the vastness of the crater.
‘Goodbye, women. Night is coming!’ Park laughed. He knew that, at this time in the afternoon, there was no prospect of rescue. The few, if any, safari trucks that ventured to this remote corner, so favoured by Smuts, would be long gone. By lunchtime, they would have begun working their way steadily towards the crater’s distant exit track. He shouted an order and the 4 x 4 started to pull away to a series of horn blasts and the taunting cheers of his men.
The noise had disturbed the nearby reed bed residents. Now, sandy gold coloured fur worked itself imperceptibly to the edge of the green. Yellow eyes watched Park’s vehicle retire up the slope. In the ensuing quiet, attentive ears focused on the renewed distress and crying from across the clearing. Sensitive noses twitched in response to the scent of fear drifting on the air.
26.
Thursday, 31st October - Evening
Helen and Sam sat in easy chairs, carefully positioned on their private veranda to provide the best of views. As the sun dropped low in the sky, they had a perfect sightline over the ridge and down the steeply sloping flank, across the shrunken little river and out over the level stretch of plain beyond. The plain was dotted with scrubby bushes, stands of broad-topped acacia trees, and the occasional baobab - dark, solid and heavyset, their leafless boughs stretching up into the sky like overstated caricatures of ghoulish Halloween witches’ trees.
Enthralled, they watched as the whole landscape appeared to shift. Two or three elephant herds were moving in close proximity, all eager to get to what little water still trickled along the riverbed. Sixty or more animals moved in unison through the landscape - great matriarchs, heavily pregnant females, teenagers and youngsters. Unconcerned babies would appear from behind bushes, darting here and there, only to vanish from sight behind the next, their location always signposted by the looming presence of protective mothers and aunts.