Red Earth

by Tony Park

  Themba said nothing, he was too busy. He removed the last screw in the internal side panel in the right rear of the Toyota’s luggage area. Themba had a feeling – the same one he’d experienced when being an assistant car thief had been more or less his fulltime job – that he would find something there. He did.

  ‘What have you found, Themba?’

  Themba could feel fabric behind the panel. He pulled the whole piece out and looked into the cavity. There was a canvas bag, about the size of a school satchel. It wasn’t a tracking device, but someone had hidden it there for some reason. He undid the drawstring at the top of the bag.

  ‘Themba?’

  ‘Um, I thought I’d found it, but it’s not there. Still looking,’ he called back. Themba opened the bag and peered into it. He whistled under his breath. Inside were three long objects, each ranging in length between the tip of his fingers and the crook of his elbow. They were curved and smooth, though not man-made. Rhino horn. Themba did the calculation in his head; each horn, he had learned, could weigh two to three kilograms. If there were, say, eight kilograms of horn, at roughly 65,000 US dollars a kilogram, then the bag contained millions of rand or more than half a million dollars’ worth.

  He rummaged quickly in the bag; it also contained three rhino tails. Themba was sickened by the discovery. Although the tails had no direct value themselves he knew that they were proof that these horns had come from three different rhinos. The wealthy businessmen in Vietnam and the organised criminals who supplied them wanted proof from poachers that the horn they were supplying came from wild, free-roaming rhinos, and not from some vault where horns from animals who had died from natural causes were stored.

  At the bottom of the bag were two spare magazines of ammunition for the AK-47. Finally, his fingers closed around something smooth, round and heavy, about the size of a cricket ball. He drew the object out and when he looked at it he could hardly believe it; it was something he’d only ever seen in the movies.

  ‘No, nothing here, my mistake,’ Themba said to Joseph. He slipped the orb into the pocket of his school blazer. His heart was beating even faster as he started work on the opposite side panel, the drill buzzing in his hand. Joseph had made him leave the radio on while he had been driving and music had been playing in the background while he worked, but he had been too worried and too preoccupied to pay it any mind. Now the news came on and led with a story about a bomb going off in downtown Durban and killing the US ambassador. Most of the bulletin was devoted to speculation about the attack, and the chaos that had ensued. Themba tuned out as he worked, but the next item on the news made him stop the drill. The announcement said police were hunting for car thieves who had stolen a vehicle with a baby on board.

  ‘Police say a taxi driver was killed and a police officer wounded when they tried to stop the thieves. Two males and a female have been seen in the stolen Toyota Fortuner and both men in the car reportedly fired gunshots at a vehicle-tracking helicopter that was following them. The unidentified female is dressed in a school uniform and it’s unknown if she is part of the gang or, like the child, an innocent victim.’

  Themba slammed the drill down. ‘She’s innocent, we’re both innocent,’ he whispered to the radio. ‘And I didn’t shoot at anyone.’

  ‘What are you saying? Was that the news I could just hear?’ Joseph called.

  Themba ran his hand along the inside of the off-side rear compartment he had just exposed. ‘Nothing.’

  Finally, his fingers brushed over the small bump. Someone who didn’t know what they were doing, someone who hadn’t searched a score of Toyota Fortuners, might have assumed it was just another part of the bodywork. ‘Got it.’ He wrenched the bug free, got out, and tossed it so that it landed at Joseph’s feet.

  ‘All right, cousin, good work.’

  ‘You can go now, Joseph. No one will find you. Leave us. You know me, I won’t tell. The radio news was just on. It was all about a bomb in Durban. No one knows about you yet.’ The baby started crying again.

  Joseph appeared to consider the proposition for a couple of seconds, then looked at the child.

  ‘Leave the kid with us,’ Themba said. ‘You don’t want to get caught with it. We’ll leave it somewhere safe, anonymously, like at a hospital or a church.’

  Joseph said nothing, but moved his hand from where he had held it at his shoulder. When he looked at his palm it was slick with bright blood. He lowered his gun hand and stared at Themba.

  ‘Joseph? Come on, man, leave us.’

  Themba heard the noise of a vehicle engine coming from the direction they were headed in. They all turned to face the sound.

  Chapter 8

  Themba watched the black Audi Q5 accelerate towards them, a fantail of red dust trailing in its wake.

  Joseph took a couple of steps towards the car. Themba motioned to Lerato to come to him. Her face was contorted in fear. His heart lurched in his chest.

  As the vehicle came closer Themba saw the blue light flashing through the windscreen. He sighed and looked to the sky and thanked God. He again looked to Lerato, who had taken the child from its car seat and was holding it to her, murmuring over and over that everything would be all right. Themba wondered whether she was trying to soothe the baby or herself.

  ‘It’s over, Joseph.’

  His cousin looked at him blankly and swayed. The pistol hung loosely at his side. Joseph coughed and blood welled at his lips.

  ‘They’ll take you to a hospital.’

  There was no siren, but Themba thought the cops might be detectives, hence the unmarked Audi and the portable light placed on the dashboard. The Audi stopped a hundred metres down the road from them.

  ‘Thank God,’ Lerato said, echoing Themba.

  ‘Joseph, put the guns down,’ Themba said.

  Joseph looked from the car back to Themba. His eyes were glazing over.

  The doors of the Audi opened and three men got out and took up firing positions behind their respective doors. Themba noted that they all had rifles, military-style R5s. These men meant business.

  ‘Police! Put down your weapons, put your hands on your heads and move slowly into the open. Leave the child in the car.’

  The man calling the orders was coffee-coloured, as was one of the others, while the third gunman was African. There would be explaining to do, but Themba was sure when they heard his story he would be fine. The cops would see that Joseph had the AK-47, not him. The woman on the radio had said he had fired on the helicopter, which was not correct. Themba raised his hands.

  ‘He said put the baby down,’ Themba said to Lerato.

  She nodded, and started walking back to the car.

  Joseph stepped out from behind the Toyota and held his arms out to the side, his pistol dangling harmlessly from his finger by the trigger guard.

  The men from the Audi moved cautiously forward, rifles up. ‘Drop your guns, both of them,’ the man called.

  Lerato was soothing the baby as she put it back in its car seat and buckled it in.

  Joseph let the pistol slide from his finger and it fell to the grass, then he unslung the rifle and lay it down. Themba followed his cousin, moving from the rear of the Fortuner to the front, where Joseph stood, unsteadily. Themba kept his arms raised. He was so pleased Joseph had not decided to go out fighting, like some gangster.

  ‘Clear,’ said the man who had done the talking so far. One word.

  The first two gunshots, fired in quick succession by the man who was giving the orders, punched Joseph in the chest, but before he’d even hit the ground more rounds were plucking pieces off him.

  ‘No!’ Themba felt something tug at his blazer as a bullet passed through the heavy fabric. Something burned the side of his chest. He tripped over his own overly large feet as he tried to run, and his stumble probably saved his life. He fell behind the car.

&nbs
p; Themba’s brain couldn’t process what he’d seen. Joseph had dropped his gun and both he and Themba were clearly no threat to the three police detectives.

  Lerato crawled to him. ‘Themba? Themba, what’s happening?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Forward,’ called one of the men. ‘Finish them. Mind the child.’

  Themba looked at his cousin Joseph, staring up at the blue Zululand sky. His people were the children of heaven, the literal meaning of the word ‘Zulu’. Themba was sure Joseph was not headed there, but he hadn’t deserved to die this way.

  Lerato got to her feet and waved a hand in the air. ‘Don’t shoot, I was a hostage. Don’t –’

  Themba heard the gunfire and grabbed Lerato’s other arm and dragged her back to the ground. Peering under the Toyota’s chassis he could see the three pairs of legs moving through the grass, closing on them.

  ‘They tried to kill me,’ Lerato hissed.

  ‘They’re not cops,’ Themba said.

  ‘You think? But what are they after, why are they trying to kill us?’

  In Themba’s mind the pieces slotted together, just like a jigsaw puzzle. The rhino horn, the AK-47 hidden underneath all the clothes and possessions. Whoever owned the vehicle Joseph had stolen was on the run, moving house, maybe moving country, with a load of cargo worth millions of rand and an AK for protection. These tsotsis wanted what was in the car and would not want to leave witnesses, but they also wanted the baby alive. Maybe they were crooked cops. Maybe, Themba thought, the child belonged to one of them.

  Themba crawled to where Joseph had fallen.

  ‘What are you doing, Themba?’

  ‘They’re not going to let us live. They’re gangsters, Lerato. They’re after the rhino horn.’

  ‘What horn?’

  Themba could hear the rising panic in Lerato’s voice but he didn’t have time to explain. He took the discarded AK-47, lay on his belly and aimed the rifle under the car. He saw the legs getting closer. Themba flicked the safety catch to automatic, lay the assault rifle on its side and pulled the trigger. The AK bucked and he could barely control it. He heard a man scream and saw a couple of pairs of legs go sideways as men hit the deck. The baby began wailing in the back of the Fortuner. Themba had no more moving targets he could see, so he swung the rifle towards the parked Audi. He held it as steady as he could, then pulled the butt tight into his shoulder and fired again, leaving his finger depressed until the magazine was empty. When the cordite smoke wafted away on the warm breeze he had the satisfaction of seeing steam hiss from a punctured radiator and the Audi settling onto four flat tyres.

  ‘Up!’ called the man to his comrades.

  ‘Get in the car and lie down on the floor in the back,’ Themba said to Lerato. ‘Get the baby, cover it.’

  ‘I’m scared, Themba!’

  ‘Me too, but we can’t stay here.’

  ‘You’re out of bullets.’

  ‘Get in,’ he said again.

  Lerato pulled herself up and crawled into the back of the Fortuner. The baby was screaming, its pink mouth wide and its fat cheeks red.

  Themba reached into the pocket of his school blazer and pulled out the hand grenade he had discovered in the bag of rhino horn.

  He waited until Lerato was in the back of the Fortuner. His heart swelled when he saw how she took the child out of its seat and placed it under her torso; she was shielding it. How had this happened? He pulled the pin out of the grenade.

  ‘Outflank him,’ called one of the men.

  Themba knew he had to do it now, before they split up. He stood and immediately heard the whizz of a bullet past his face and the thunk and ping as another ricocheted off the Toyota, leaving a silver gash of bare metal on the roof a metre from him. He saw that the men were already moving apart so he lobbed the grenade towards the two closest to each other. He dropped.

  ‘Can’t see the girl, she must be in the truck,’ one of the men called. The shooting stopped.

  ‘Grenade!’ yelled another.

  They would be hitting the deck, Themba told himself. He hauled himself up and into the front of the vehicle. He doubled over in the driver’s seat and turned the key, put the car into gear and floored the accelerator. A noise like a shower of hailstones sounded along the right-hand side of the four-by-four and the window behind him shattered. Lerato screamed. Themba glanced around and saw a plume of smoke. Two of the men were already getting up, but one was still on the ground writhing in pain. Themba saw smoke rising from his body, which had been peppered with shrapnel.

  ‘Stay down,’ Themba called back to Lerato. The baby was screaming hysterically. He looked in the rear view mirror and saw that the two able-bodied men were aiming their rifles at him still, but there was no fusillade of fire. He did hear a bullet hit somewhere in the rear. They were taking carefully aimed shots, he realised. They did not want to hit the baby; they must be aiming for his tyres.

  Themba hauled on the steering wheel and the Toyota jinked left, and then he turned right again, zigzagging away. He wouldn’t give them an easy target to hit. Again, though, he heard a round thud its way into the bodywork. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m still alive, if that’s what you mean,’ Lerato said.

  They crested a hill and in the dip on the other side they were momentarily out of sight of the crazy men who had tried to kill them. Themba spied a rough dirt track off to the left, more of a cattle trail than a road. He turned onto it.

  He reckoned he had disabled the Audi, but he wasn’t slowing down for anyone. He pushed the vehicle onwards, ignoring Lerato’s yelps from the rear as she and the baby bounced up and down over the rough terrain.

  Lerato poked her head up and looked out the rear window, then met Themba’s eyes in the rear view mirror. ‘Where are we going, Themba?’ She picked the baby up and, cursing as she was rocked to her side again, put it in its car seat.

  Themba held her gaze for a second before returning his eyes to the rutted track. ‘I have no idea.’

  Chapter 9

  Banger arrived in his security patrol car, alone, just as the paramedics were loading the wounded policeman into the ambulance. There were still no police in attendance.

  ‘Babes, thank God you’re safe. I’m sorry I’m late. I dropped Sipho at his home and I couldn’t get a phone signal for ages.’ He ran to her and hugged her, then held her at arm’s length. ‘Sheesh, are you sure you’re all right? All this blood …’

  Nia nodded towards the departing ambulance. ‘It’s his. I’m fine. Sort of.’

  He clasped her tightly again and she let herself melt into him, or get as close as she could, given he was wearing a bulletproof vest and had a nine-millimetre pistol in a holster velcroed to his chest. He smelled of sweat and gun oil. She looked up into his eyes and he kissed her and ran his fingers through her hair, gently massaging her scalp at the same time. He knew how to soothe her.

  Nia just wanted to go home and get into a bath, but there was unfinished business here, plenty of it. Reluctantly, she broke the embrace. The vulture man had disappeared into the nearby hut and kraal. He was walking back to them now, wiping his bloodied hands with a fistful of grass. ‘Banger, this is …’

  ‘Mike Dunn.’ He came to them and held out a closed fist. ‘Don’t want to get blood all over you.’

  ‘Angus Greiner. Everyone calls me Banger.’ He bumped fists with the older man then looked from Dunn to Nia. ‘So, someone tell me what’s going on here.’

  Nia ran through the series of events and as she spoke the emotion welled up from deep inside her. By the time she got to the part where she was being shot at she could barely form her words. She fought to remain controlled.

  ‘It’s OK, babe.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘Have the police been and gone already?’

  ‘No, they haven’t got here yet. It’s this bomb in Durban or wha
tever,’ she said.

  ‘But I heard, on the radio news, that a tracker helicopter had been fired on and that the police were investigating,’ Banger said.

  Nia shook her head. ‘No, I told John that a kid had pointed an AK-47 at me and told him to pass that onto the police. It must have got lost in translation.’

  Banger nodded. ‘It sure got my attention; when I spoke to John he told me it was you in pursuit. I want to get these bastards.’

  ‘We should wait for the police, Banger,’ Nia said.

  Mike looked up the dirt road, in the direction the Fortuner had headed, then back at the kraal. ‘The kid I was telling you about, his name’s Themba …’

  Nia nodded.

  ‘Just as I thought, that’s his home over there. I found a couple of his school books in there with his name on them. I knew he lived around here somewhere, just not where exactly.’

  ‘You think he’s one of the car thieves, that he’s gone back to his old ways?’

  ‘Who is this?’ Banger interrupted.

  Nia brought him up to speed.

  ‘We don’t know he’s a criminal,’ Mike said. ‘You said he was wearing a school uniform?’

  Nia put her hands on her hips. ‘Yes, he was. Maybe the hijacker brought the Fortuner here to hide it. He certainly left with the kid.’

  ‘And a girl. You think she’s in on it?’

  Nia shrugged. ‘Who knows? All we do know is they’re gone and they’ve got a child with them.’

  ‘All right, I’ve got to go and get those kids,’ Banger said.

  Nia turned from him and walked to her helicopter. A flush of anger burned her cheeks. It was irrational to be mad, she knew, but it really irked her that Banger had no sooner showed up than he was going again. Behind her, she heard Mike saying something; it was hard to hear exactly what it was that he muttered, in his deep voice, but she thought she heard him say, ‘go to her’. That riled her even more.