The Temple Covenant

by D C Macey

  Helen leant forward, tilted her sunhat back and pulled off her sunglasses.

  ‘What’s next, Sam?’ she said.

  ‘We move out first thing in the morning. I’d much rather have pushed on through the night, but the bush roads are just too dangerous after dark. Easy to get lost, easy target for robbers - and we might just run into some of them.’ He pointed towards the elephants.

  ‘Hmm, that would be more than scary.’

  ‘I’ve checked my map, there’s no sign of a runway in the area that Mauwled’s highlighted. It’s just bush, endless bush.’

  ‘Why isn’t it on the map?’

  ‘Mauwled’s not sure. But he is sure there’s a runway and he believes a support building, a warehouse or some such. Some of this bush activity is just so haphazard; it might just be the mining company didn’t bother telling the cartographers about the development.’

  ‘Or it’s not there.’

  ‘That’s an eventuality I’d rather not think about just now.’

  ‘Have you tried Google Earth?’

  ‘I tried with the lodge’s computer last night, after you’d gone to bed. No joy, I’m afraid. There is simply too much empty land to check - a million hectares, more, and the image scale available lacks the magnification on offer in Europe and the States.’

  ‘So, we’re counting on Mauwled.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve set a plan B in motion, but I’m not sure how we can implement it in the time available. If Mauwled’s got the wrong spot we could still be a day or two’s travel away from Bob, wherever he is. I called Rupert last night and got him to start looking for the runway too.’

  ‘Can’t they get a satellite to look and just tell you where it is?’

  ‘Well, I hope so that’s my plan B, but it seems there’s a bit of a resource conflict blown up. Rupert seems to think Tracy is having some problems calling in the additional resources she needs, and there’s no way he’ll have any resources to speak of available to him - anything he wants will have to go through a committee.

  ‘I’m guessing, once the first flush of reaction to the theft of ACE passed, there will have been a political argument over who pays the eventual bill for this mess. The British politicians are hopeless at stepping up quickly. This is a British problem, but if the politicians can shift any part of the recovery bill by stalling or passing costs elsewhere, they’ll try. Never mind the consequences of delay in the meantime for people on the ground.’

  ‘That’s an awful attitude to have.’

  ‘That’s a nice way of describing it. Rupert expects it will all be sorted quickly. But budget holders only want to spend according to guidelines and this is a case sure to be beyond any guidelines.’

  ‘What’ll happen?’

  ‘They’ll play poker eyes for a while, the Americans will sit tight on their satellite archive until the British fold and agree to pay their fair share - then both countries will pile in and do their bit to resolve the problem. I’m just hoping it won’t be too late. We’ve lost people in the past because of penny-pinching.’

  ‘How is that a way to protect a country?’

  ‘Hmm. Anyway, that’s out of our hands. I’m backing Mauwled right now. He’s what we’ve got here and now. If Smuts’ runway exists, there will be satellite photos of it somewhere. In the meantime, let’s hope Mauwled’s right - that’s our best, fastest option.’

  Helen waved beyond Sam and called out to Mauwled who had just emerged from his lodge tent. ‘Mauwled, we’re over here. Come and join us for a drink. Grab a chair and bring it over.’

  Mauwled waved an acknowledgement.

  ‘I’ll go and get you a beer,’ said Helen, standing. ‘Do you want another, Sam?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  Before Helen could move, there was the sound of an elephant trumpeting, just once, then silence. She glanced across the flat plain, which was suddenly still. The elephants had stopped. Another trumpet sounded, longer this time, more strident. She couldn’t quite work out where the sound had come from.

  ‘Someone’s not happy,’ said Mauwled, pointing towards the big adult female nearest the river. She was standing square to something that none of them could make out from up on the ridge. Ears out wide, trunk up and a further trumpet blast rang out; then the female began to retrace her steps, backing away from the water. Other leading females watching her took up the sound; shrieked alarm calls began to sound throughout the herds. Then the bush burst into life as the elephants turned and ran away from the water as one. Dust clouds kicked up across the plain and the sound of scores of pounding feet reached across the river and up the rise to meet them.

  ‘What caused that?’ said Helen staring intently, hands on hips. ‘Wow!’

  The elephant herds continued their retreat as Sam and Mauwled stood beside her to watch.

  ‘Maybe lions at the water. Maybe nothing. Who knows? Elephants do as they choose,’ said Mauwled. He shrugged and smiled at the same time.

  Helen laughed. ‘I wouldn’t try to stop them for sure. Now, a beer for you.’

  27.

  Friday, 1st November - AM

  They had risen early, eaten breakfast and were driving away from Ridge Top Lodge just as the sun was coming up.

  After an hour’s driving, they moved out of the reserve and joined with a transit road that Sam was reluctant to credit with the name ‘highway’. Mauwled headed in a south-easterly direction, and as the road deteriorated into a rutted track, the landscape quickly adopted a familiar pattern. From time to time, the vast expanse of bush would suddenly be broken by a fencing line that separated the wild rangelands from great cultivated fields; today just tracts of barren earth, cleared of bush by fire and bulldozer then ploughed and, Sam assumed, seeded. Now, as with everything else, just waiting for the rains. No sooner did the fields come into view then they were left behind, nature and the bush closing all around them again.

  ‘Why are some of the field fences broken? Is it elephants?’ said Helen.

  ‘Well, I suppose it might be. But I think some of the people here feel cheated. This is the land they need for their cattle, and little by little, it’s being fenced in,’ said Sam.

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  Mauwled explained that much of the bushland here was home to the Maasai pastoralists - people who lived semi-nomadic existences, moving their cattle through the bush in a traditional seasonal pattern as they followed the available pasture and water. Their home was the bushland that their families had used and protected for generations. Now, sometimes, as the seasons changed, and they returned to their bomas they might find some of their family’s ancestral land had been taken for farming.

  Occasionally, the travelling trio would get a fleeting glance of a boma set back from the track - the traditional homesteads comprising of a mixed cluster of rectangular and round huts, their thick wicker walls coated with dung. Each roof was formed using a framework of branches over which were fixed thick bundles of dried grasses, tightly packed to exclude rainwater. Frequently, the huts were contained between two concentric circles of thorn tree bushes, reinforced with more cut boughs, woven into high impenetrable fences to keep out predators. The inner circles were empty by day but, at night, served as a corral in which to pen the livestock safely.

  Sam leant forward between the driver and passenger seats. He thrust out his arm and waved a map of Tanzania in Mauwled’s direction.

  ‘I’ve given up looking for the runway, Mauwled. I’m going to have to rely on your local knowledge; there is just no sign of anything like it in the Simanjiro District.’

  ‘Probably, once the mine company went bust, there was nobody to report the runway was ever built.’

  ‘Well, wherever it is, it’s well hidden.’

  The morning continued in a never-ending round of rocking and bumping as the Land Rover slowly worked its way along the dirt road, jockeying from one side to the other in a bid to pick out the least rutted route. Eventual
ly, the land started to rise in a gentle incline that continued unbroken to the horizon. The sun had climbed high in the sky and it beat down incessantly; in spite of the air conditioning, it was hot, sticky and dusty inside the Land Rover. It was exhausting enough as a passenger, and Sam recognised the effort Mauwled was making as the driver.

  Just before midday, they reached the top of the escarpment and Mauwled pulled in to the side. ‘Here’s a good view for you,’ he said, opening his door and climbing out. He stretched and groaned even as he beckoned them out.

  Helen and Sam joined him. Nothing moved in the simmering midday heat.

  Helen looked forward, towards their destination, and caught her breath. Immediately ahead, the road dropped away and started a precarious zigzag, working its way down the face of the escarpment. She couldn’t gauge how far it dropped - hundreds of feet, maybe much more - the heat-driven rippling in the air made focusing difficult.

  Beyond, the bushlands stretched out into the distance. Perhaps five miles off, she could see a break in the bush where a vast flat pan imposed itself, a clearing devoid of any plant growth; it appeared a little over a mile wide and she couldn’t guess how long - more than five, perhaps nearer ten miles in length. The far side of the pan was tightly fringed with taller trees and bush, and even from here, she could see they were greener than the surrounds - a riverbank.

  Beyond the line of green trees, the colour faded back to browns as the dry bush reasserted itself, running away unchanging into the far distance until it merged into the smudge of a black line of hills that defined what she took to be the other side of the valley.

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Helen. ‘Beautiful and very lonely.’ From their vantage point she could see nothing was moving, anywhere.

  Sam put an arm round her shoulder; she leant into him a little. ‘It’s hard to imagine such empty places still exist in the world,’ he said.

  Mauwled stuck out his arm, pointing to beyond the furthest end of the flat pan. ‘Moypo is over there,’ he said. ‘We should go.’

  Sam switched on the satellite phone. There was a message from Rupert - confirmation that Mauwled’s information about a runway was right. They were heading in the right direction. And news of an abandoned flatbed like the one locals had seen near Nanyuki on the day of the abduction. Sam punched the air in delight.

  ‘So we’re on the right track then?’ said Helen.

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘What’s so special about the flatbed truck?’

  ‘Apparently the ACE vehicle has a very distinctive shape. A flatbed would be great for moving the ACE quickly and discreetly. Cover it with a tarpaulin and nobody would ever guess what’s under - untraceable.’

  ‘But why abandon it?’

  ‘ACE is a modified Land Rover, excellent for rough terrain. The flatbed probably dropped it off before the Kenyan border post, let it run through the bush with some other 4 x 4s and planned to collect it again further south in Tanzania before making a dash for Burundi. Once the Tanzanian authorities closed their borders Ro had to change his plan - stay out of sight in the bush. From that moment on the flatbed was useless to him.’

  ‘We’re really going to catch them?’

  ‘Maybe, whether we get there in time will depend what flight arrangements Ro has made so we need to keep going while we can.’

  28.

  Friday, 1st November - PM

  The drive down the side of the escarpment had taken well over an hour as the Land Rover wove back and forth following the line of the track. Mauwled didn’t speak. This was a drive that demanded complete concentration. Finally, they reached the bottom, he visibly relaxed as the ground levelled out and he pushed on, slow and steady, the only way to be sure of not breaking the suspension or an axle on the rough bush track.

  The winding track they followed through the bush was sunk half a man’s height below ground level, having been hollowed out by countless journeys to and fro across the soft-packed sandy earth that dominated here. It gave a sense of the bush closing in on them, limiting their horizons to just a strip of vivid blue sky.

  Suddenly, the bush cleared and the heavily rutted track they were following split into various separate routes, dispersing in a dozen different directions across the flat pan that Helen had admired from the top of the escarpment. One by one, the individual tracks faded to nothing, each disappearing into the emptiness of the pan. Mauwled drove a short way out onto the pan and stopped.

  Now they were on the pan, Helen could see it was not pure white. An underlying light sandy colour was coated in a greyish surface layer of what she thought might be salts. Where the powdery surface had been broken by previous tyre tracks, the disruption was superficial. Beneath was a hard-packed layer that gave nothing to passing vehicles. Looking across the pan, she could now clearly see to the far side where the river’s course was marked with a line of verdant trees and bush.

  Mauwled pointed along the length of the pan. ‘We’re going that way.’

  Viewed from ground level the far end vanished into a flat sameness. It seemed the pan had no end. ‘How long is it?’

  ‘More than ten miles. You want to drive a bit?’ he looked at her with a grin. ‘It’s fun.’

  Helen let her eyes scan the pan. It really was flat, empty, a surface unbroken other than by an occasional stunted tuft of some tough grass. In the distance a dust devil spiralled up from nothing. It filled and moved across the pan, leaving a trail of dust behind it. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, it faded down and out.

  ‘What formed all this?’ she said.

  ‘It’s the flood plain. The river bursts its banks upstream over there and washes out. Normally twice every year, so it’s kept clear and flat and baked dry by the sun. Leaving a crust of silt and salts - nothing gets a chance to grow. Drive. It’s safe; go as fast as you want.’

  ‘Okay, I will,’ said Helen. The chance to drive like a madwoman, ignoring every rule in the book, no roads, no restrictions, and knowing nobody would get hurt, was just too tempting.

  Helen started off slowly, making sure she had full control then she opened up, pushing the Land Rover faster and faster across the smooth and unbroken surface of the pan. She gave a whoop of pleasure and gunned it still harder.

  ‘You’re throwing up a real dust storm behind us,’ said Sam as he peered out of the back window.

  ‘I can’t see it.’

  ‘Look in your mirror.’

  Helen looked in the rear-view mirror and could see nothing but grey. Glancing to either side, the pan was flat and clear and topped by the bright blue sky right across to its distant edges. ‘I can’t see a thing behind.’

  ‘Do a loop,’ said Mauwled, laughing. ‘A big loop, and maybe a little slower?’

  Helen looked at him and smiled enthusiastically. She glanced over her shoulder towards Sam, ‘Hold on to your hat. Here we go!’ She turned the wheel just a little and the Land Rover veered slightly off to the right, describing an enormous circle. As the turn progressed, Helen continued to glance through her side window. At first there was nothing to see but as the turn continued she spotted the dust cloud, rising and billowing to hang in the still air, hovering above the track of their journey and stretching back into the distance, marking the exact course they had followed.

  Helen whooped again and laughed out loud. Sam and Mauwled joined in. As the turn continued, Helen realised they would cut across their own track and run through the dust cloud. She glanced at Mauwled, raised a questioning eyebrow.

  He nodded, smiled again, and with a shrug pointed towards the looming dust cloud. ‘Go for it. But make sure your window is shut tight.’

  She kept the slight turn on the wheel and moments later they plunged into the wall of dust and visibility vanished. No phased loss, no gradation, just plunged into greyness. Mauwled had leaned over and switched off the ventilation just before they reached the dust cloud, which helped to keep out most, but not all, of the dust.

  For a moment, Helen’s foot
waivered on the accelerator - it was disconcerting to have no visual cues.

  ‘Keep going,’ said Sam, from the rear seat. ‘You’re doing great.’

  She restored pressure on the pedal, and suddenly, they burst out of the dust cloud and into bright sunshine. Helen kept the turn on the wheel a little longer, bringing them back onto their original track. ‘Now that was fun,’ she said. ‘Again?’

  ‘I think we’d better keep going now, we are running against the clock,’ said Sam. He cracked open a small bottle of water and passed it forward over Helen’s shoulder. ‘Here, take a drink.’

  She took the bottle and settled into the first period of smooth driving they had experienced in quite a while.

  • • •

  Park stood beside his vehicle, binoculars in hand. He looked down the escarpment into the valley. He cursed to himself; in the distance, out on the flat pan, he could see a dust cloud. It stretched far off. Like the vapour trail of a jet plane, it reached out from a moving needle point source, expanding to mark its route.

  He brought his binoculars up and focused on the distant vehicle. It was too far away to make out details. But one thing he could be sure of, it was orange in colour.

  Another movement caught his eye as he lowered his binoculars and he quickly brought them back up to check it out. Far below, another vehicle had just emerged from the bush track onto the pan. He watched its progress for a few moments before turning towards his vehicle and ordering the long drive down to begin.

  • • •

  As they approached the far end of the pan, Mauwled had got behind the wheel again and manoeuvred the Land Rover towards an almost imperceptible track that fed from the pan back into the bush line. While driving the length of the pan, they had also traversed it from side to side. They were much nearer the river now.