Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  ‘Yes, perfectly thanks.’ Felicity was still nursing the last of her cognac.

  Dan left them to it.

  The rule for the waterhole was absolute silence. Which was just as well. Suddenly alone, neither Felicity or Philip could think of a damned thing to say. Felicity sipped her warming liqueur with excruciating slowness, unwilling to end the evening. Philip watched the waterhole as though his life depended on it.

  A lone bull elephant materialised, huge and ghostly grey in the spotlights. It drank, sniffed at the night air, and ambled away. One black rhinoceros also put in a brief appearance. The presence of these animals at least justified why two consenting adults were sitting in the African bush in the middle of the night, nervously racking their brains for something to say to cover up for the fact that each lacked the guts to make a first move towards the only thing that was actually in their heads.

  Philip’s proximity was more than a little disturbing. How do I let him know? What if he isn’t interested? Is he just sitting here out of politeness?

  Felicity had only known one man during the past twenty years. Despite The Turd’s wandering habits, she had remained faithful. That was accepted. But now, with her marriage over, she would probably meet other men. Right now, the thought of being with a stranger was scary. Sharing her body with someone else was a very intimate act. This one might turn out to be Jack the Ripper. She might fall in love and he’d bugger off back to Australia. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone. You’re a wimp, Honeywell. He’s an attractive man. It’s only sex. You’ve got to try it with someone else sooner or later.

  The question revolving round and round inside her head was loud and clear. Do I or don’t I? If she were to indicate interest, would the man sitting next to her . . . Oh, come on Honeywell, don’t even think it . . . But she did . . . rise to the occasion?

  Felicity and The Turd had ceased making love several years before he walked out. He’d been gone nearly five months. A long time to remain celibate. Too long. A night with this man might be deliciously satisfying. Or it could turn out to be a disaster. She knew practically nothing about him. Would he have any protection with him? Oh, for God’s sake! Get your mind above your navel.

  With an effort, and rather reluctantly, Felicity decided that now wasn’t the time. Maybe tomorrow night. Maybe never. Who would know? Not her, that much was obvious. The decision made, Felicity realised with some surprise that she was feeling positively cranky.

  Not surprisingly, Philip Meyer’s mental meanderings reflected exactly the same doubts. Was Felicity expecting him to make a move? If so, would she welcome it? He was horribly out of practice at pick-up lines. Come to that, he’d never been particularly good at them. What do I do? Turn and say, ‘How about it? My place or yours?’ No. She’s sophisticated. Probably expect something more elegant. You are very beautiful and I want to . . . ‘What?’ Forget it, Meyer, you’ve lost the art.

  A knot of tension sat in his stomach. He had to say something, couldn’t keep sitting here like a dressmaker’s dummy. The knot tightened. Oh God! He needed to fart. Charming! That will certainly get her attention. The urge subsided. Philip racked his brain for something to break the silence. Anything would do.

  Felicity rose. ‘I’ll say goodnight. See you in the morning.’

  ‘Sleep tight.’ Anything but that. But it was too late. Philip watched her walk into the darkness. Was she disappointed? Relieved? Or had sex been the furthest thing from her mind? Probably the latter. Philip stood, stretched, and made for his own bungalow.

  As she walked away Felicity found herself thanking God that she hadn’t said or done anything foolish. Philip Meyer was obviously not interested.

  Ace Ntesa and the men with him watched as the last guests retired to bed. They’d reached Logans Island just after ten. A thorough reconnoitre pinpointed where everyone was or were likely to be when the time to act came. Ace was well satisfied. He had enough men for the job and felt confident that all would go according to plan. Scouts were posted at strategic points with orders to report back once they were certain that everyone was asleep. Ace and the rest took cover close to the pan’s edge, keeping well away from any illumination around the waterhole. Tension grew when an elephant appeared. Their last encounter with the species had been more than enough. But they were downwind, the unconcerned animal did not pick up their scent and wandered off towards the distant mopane scrub.

  At eleven-thirty one of his men reported that the group of five singing around their fire at the camp site had retired. By midnight, the African staff quarters showed no sign of activity. Just before one, the pair at the waterhole left separately.

  Two lights remained on – one ranger, one guest. A scout confirmed that the park employee was still awake but bungalow six contained a single sleeping woman. Sounds of love-making came from three sources – a ranger’s room and two guest bungalows. That was okay. Ace didn’t intend to make his move until three.

  At two-fifteen, Mal slipped silently from James’ bungalow, back to his own. The light in number six remained on but the ranger’s room fell dark at two-thirty. Around about the same time, all sound ceased in number seven. Only the black ranger and his friend were still at it.

  Ace decided that three men could cope with the camp site. He’d expected it to be empty and had been surprised to learn it wasn’t. There were altogether six, possibly seven, down there. One old and two young men. Three girls, one of whom was a cripple. His men could handle that easily. There was an extra tent but the occupant had not been seen.

  The lodge’s African staff quarters probably housed around twenty. Ace knew from experience that the reputation of UNITA was such that it usually rendered captives frozen with fear. Just to be sure, however, he selected five of his men to cope with any contingency.

  Ace joined the remaining three. They’d take care of the rangers. He’d kept his best men for that. The targets looked pretty fit. Once they had been rounded up and secured, the guests would not be a problem. At two fifty-five he gave the order to move.

  Eben, as usual, hadn’t zipped up his tent. When a hand clamped over his mouth he thought he was having an asthma attack, struggled for breath and tried to reach under his pillow. Some kind of adhesive tape replaced the vice-like hand. It happened so fast that the professor was barely awake. He lashed out, connecting with a strong, solid bulk. Eben heard a grunt then felt a jarring pain as he was hauled roughly to his feet. Whoever the intruder might be, he hadn’t seen soap and water for a while. The smell of unwashed body as Eben’s hands were grabbed and forced behind him was appalling. He was frogmarched from his tent to the ablution block where another faceless figure waited in the darkness. Eben felt both wrists being quickly and efficiently taped together.

  Forcing his brain to work, the professor tried to make sense of what was happening. A good old-fashioned get-rich-quick robbery seemed likely, but for one thing. The second man smelled, if at all possible, worse than the first. These two had been in the bush a while. Banditry couldn’t be ruled out but the silent efficiency of these intruders smacked more of a well-planned military operation. Who? The answer came to him almost immediately. UNITA. For some time Angola-based bands had been active along the Caprivi Strip. Could it be that they had extended their horizons?

  One of the men muttered something and left Eben with the other. He began to panic about the tape over his mouth. It was wide, strong, and ran from jaw to jaw. What if an asthma attack came on? He’d never be able to breathe. Eben became aware that the fly of his pyjama trousers gaped open but was powerless to do anything about it.

  Fletch, a light sleeper, heard the zip of his tent’s mosquito netting. He registered only that there must be a problem and someone was coming to tell him about it. His mind managed the pleasant thought that Caitlin had come calling. No. The ranger couldn’t possibly smell that bad. Fletch propped himself on one elbow and was about to say something when he was yanked so hard by the feet that his upper body actually left the ground. He h
ad no time to shout. Tape stretched taut over his mouth as he was hauled to his feet and propelled towards the ablution block. Fletch’s hands were secured behind his back before two vague shapes melted into the darkness. One remained – his nose told him that. He could hear someone humming, straining to speak. Fletch wasn’t sure but he thought it sounded a bit like the professor.

  Troy didn’t stand a chance. As with his sex, sporting and academic lives, Troy’s sleeping ability bordered on an art form. He could fall asleep in a bath full of cold water if the need ever arose. Once in the land of the sandman, that’s where he stayed. The only sure-fire way he could be woken part way through the night was by a wandering female hand. He didn’t hear the zip, didn’t feel the grip around his ankles, didn’t even register that he was exiting the tent, feet first, at a rudely rapid rate. His mouth taped, Troy had been hauled upright before the curtain of sleep even started rising. It wasn’t until he joined Fletch and Eben that the fact that he was stark naked filtered through.

  Megan, like Fletch, heard the intruder. She too presumed there was trouble of some kind. ‘What is it?’ As if in answer, she was pulled outside, sleeping bag and all. There was time for one small shriek before a hand closed off her mouth. The attacker was straddling her body, knees firmly pinning both arms in the sleeping bag. Megan heard tape being unrolled and a second shadow appeared. With incredible speed, the hand was removed and her mouth sealed shut. Unceremoniously tipped out of the sleeping bag and pulled to her feet, Megan’s lurching stumble caught whoever it was by surprise and she was roughly yanked upright, forced to stand on her good leg. Pushed forward, she again stumbled. A strong arm lifted her off the ground and she was carried to the others.

  Megan’s tiny scream had woken Josie but she was unable to identify its source. Listening for a minute and not hearing it again, she assumed some animal had made the noise. Deciding that it would be a good time to go to the toilet, she located her torch, found a tampon and unzipped the tent. Josie played the torchbeam on the ground in front of her to avoid stepping on sharp stones. Halfway to the toilets, she was grabbed from behind, a hand held firmly over her mouth.

  Angela lay half in and half out of the sleeping bag, one leg on top, one inside. Instantly awake at the feel of a hand on her exposed ankle, the ever-present demons that chased through her dreams had suddenly come alive. She kicked and thrashed in silent desperation. Dragged outside, her teeth found flesh, both arms flailing wildly. Her struggles were to no avail. Taped into submission, her only thought was that that thing was going to happen again. Even when she saw the others and realised she had not been singled out, the numbing terror of her predicament was so great that Angela wet herself.

  Kalila’s tent was opened and an exchange in a language no-one understood took place.

  Although the generator had been turned off by Sean before he went to his room, there was enough stored power in the batteries to last seven or eight hours. A light outside the ablution block came on and the captives could see who was responsible. The men were like none they’d ever seen before. Ragged, unkempt, dirty and dangerous. Eben’s suspicion that these were UNITA rebels was confirmed. The AK47s were all the proof he needed.

  Angela saw Troy’s nakedness and turned away, only to be confronted by Eben’s gaping fly. She settled for staring at the ground and realised she was standing in a puddle of her own urine.

  Their three captors wasted no time. Each tent was searched thoroughly. Watches, jewellery and money went straight into pockets. Fletch and Troy could only stand helpless as their clothing was picked through and pilfered. One by one, the captives were escorted to their tents, hands released and, with gestures, ordered to dress. They had no privacy. One man rummaged in the tent for suitable clothing which, once located, was flung through the flap. Another stood guard outside while their captive dressed. Torchlight ensured that none of the prisoners escaped intense scrutiny.

  Megan’s breasts came in for some lewd handling before she could cover up. With her mouth taped shut, she could only utter muffled screams of protest. One man pressed his body against her and Megan was shocked to discover he had an erection. His grinning face so close to hers revolted her. At a sharp word from his companion, the man stepped away. Angela, shaking and crying, was not touched. She was too pale and skinny to be of interest. Josie, outrage and fear giving her an almost rebellious expression, suffered the same fate as Megan. Troy’s nakedness provided a diversion. His penis was lifted by the flat of a knife, then dropped. The perpetrator rolled his eyes and said something to his companion. Both laughed. Troy breathed a shuddering sigh of relief when he was allowed to dress. Fletch, like Angela, seemed to be of little interest. His deep red hair and white skin were repugnant to the Africans. Eben’s gaunt frame, hairy and wrinkled, caused considerable mirth.

  Each of them felt in some way violated when, dressed, they were regrouped.

  Eben thought it likely that their captors would understand Portuguese but he spoke not a word of it. Still, he tried desperately to communicate. Realising the old man was probably in charge of the group and thinking he might have useful information, one of them ripped off the professor’s gag. It was a futile attempt on Eben’s part. He gulped in air thankfully, and asked, ‘English?’

  The terrorist shook his head.

  ‘Afrikaans?’

  Another shake.

  ‘German?’ Without his false teeth, Eben’s lips had collapsed inwards, making diction fuzzy.

  Shake.

  ‘Swahili?’

  Shake.

  ‘Zulu?’

  Shake.

  That exhausted the spectrum of Eben’s linguistic talent. With a despairing look at the students he subsided into silence. The tape was replaced.

  The six prisoners were made to form a line before being prodded and pushed towards the lodge.

  Billy couldn’t sleep. He was tossing and turning, not used to having the bed to himself. He’d been dozing on and off. No-one bothered to lock their door on Logans Island so, hearing it open followed by footfalls coming towards the bedroom, Billy assumed Thea had returned. Not wanting any more argument or discussion, he feigned sleep. Suddenly the smell hit him. It was too late. Tape silenced any protest.

  The rebels sent to capture the lodge manager and rangers enjoyed much better pickings than those down in the camp site. While Billy dressed, covered by the menacing muzzle of a Kalashnikov, a second man helped himself to anything with a value which could be easily carried. He even demanded the wedding ring off Billy’s finger.

  Caitlin had been dreaming of Scotland. And, in the way of dreams, the out of place noise of her door being opened became part of that illusion. Still asleep, her mouth was taped shut. She came awake quickly enough when a hand was thrust down the front of her sleeping shorts. Rolling off the bed, Caitlin found her feet, fingers turning to claws as she crouched defensively against the intruder in her room. Being dark, she didn’t see the second man. Ace grabbed her from behind and held on, deftly avoiding her kicking legs. The other sought and switched on a light. When Caitlin saw who she was dealing with, resistance seemed like a waste of energy.

  Clothes were thrown at her and she dressed in front of the pair. Their silent scrutiny of her body was the most terrifying thing Caitlin had ever known.

  Next door, Sean had not been asleep. He’d turned off his light half an hour earlier and lay staring at the ceiling. Possibilities for a future with Thea kept him awake. Not being able to reveal his feelings had been frustrating but now that she was free – after a fashion anyway – the knowledge that he might still lose out seemed even worse. Sleep was impossible as he relived every word Thea had said, trying to read more meaning into them and failing dismally. She’d been, as usual, totally honest. Sighing, Sean turned on his side. He heard a thump from Caitlin’s room, followed by what sounded like a scuffle. Sean sat up instantly. What was that? Light suddenly illuminated the tree outside his window. He relaxed. Caitlin must be going to the bathroom. But her door open
ed and the light went out. What on earth’s going on? It was too early for Caitlin to be taking a game drive. A clandestine visitor perhaps? Or was she going for an early morning jog around the island? She did that sometimes. But never this early. Sean was half out of bed, planning to investigate, when his own door opened.

  He knew then that something was very wrong. Thoughts that it might be Thea in need of company, or Billy seeking revenge, were discarded. Thea would have knocked. Billy knew the layout of his room and would not be hovering at the door. Without stopping to think, Sean propelled himself off the bed and ran straight at the shadowy figure, never seeing the AK that was swung at his head. He was dragged, semiconscious, from his room, blood leaving a trail across the wooden verandah.

  Dan, after his previous night’s session with Doris Delaney, remained deeply asleep. The first he knew of trouble was when somebody pulled him from his bed. He was throwing punches even before he woke up. It made no difference. The element of surprise had given Dan’s unwelcome visitors too much of an advantage. He was quickly overpowered. When the light came on and Dan saw their weapons, he gave them no more trouble. Dressing quickly, he shrugged when his watch was confiscated, handed over a near empty wallet and went quietly outside when gestured to do so.

  Completely oblivious of the drama going on all around them, Chester and Kalila were preparing for round four. So preoccupied were they with each other that neither noticed the door open. Ace and his companion knew exactly what was going on. They waited until the pair inside had reached the point of no return then stepped into the room. Silencing them was child’s play. Kalila and Chester thrust at each other twice more before the realisation hit home. Chester was unceremoniously dragged off and light flooded the room. Kalila, eyes wide, breasts still heaving from unsatisfied passion, tried to cover herself and was prevented from doing so. The man with Ace licked his lips and reached for her but a sharp command stopped him in his tracks.