Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  That terrible night deep in the bush seemed endless. Sleep was virtually impossible for the captives. Some managed to catnap, but not many. Only Thea, snuggled back into Sean, found any real peace. She was so exhausted it became impossible for her to stay awake. Troy would have slept but for an overriding determination to escape. He kept twisting his wrists, trying to loosen the lashings. It got him nowhere. ‘Can you try to untie the knots?’ he whispered to Angela.

  She wriggled around until they were back to back.

  Her scuffling alerted one of the men guarding them. Dozing off an excess of alcohol he raised his head and squinted in their direction. Satisfied that it was only someone trying to get comfortable, sleep soon returned.

  Fletch saw what Troy had on his mind and quietly asked Caitlin if she could do the same. It was no good. Their captors had knotted the rope in such a way as to make it virtually impossible to get free. ‘There’s still one hope,’ Troy whispered to Fletch. ‘The three who . . . ‘He could not bring himself to say the word. ‘They might not be so tightly tied. These bastards were pretty drunk when they brought them back.’

  Walter, Jutta and Josie lay about a metre away.

  ‘Not Jutta,’ Angela breathed softly. ‘She’s still in shock.’

  ‘I know. I wouldn’t anyway. She’s been through too much already.’

  Angela took in a shuddering breath of surprise. It was her firmly held belief that men had no idea of, or sympathy for, the pain and anguish they caused when some basic impulse made them lose control and abuse women. She felt Troy lean forward.

  ‘Ssstt!’ he hissed.

  Josie’s head raised off the ground.

  ‘See if Kalila and James can untie each other’s hands. Pass it on.’

  Josie attracted the attention of Billy. The message finally reached its intended target. In doing so, another dosing guard came fully awake, instantly suspicious. There was too much rustling and whispering. Ignoring the inevitable hangover, he rose and inspected everyone’s bindings. Satisfied that all was in order the fireside beckoned, and despite his best efforts not to succumb, sleep soon claimed him back.

  Both Kalila and James were in a great deal of pain. Now that the horror was over, at least for one night, embarrassment had set in. They had been publicly degraded, their privacy violated. Why them? Why had the others been spared? Questions, coupled with spirits so cowed that optimism had to be the furthest thing from their minds, meant that when the message did get through, neither was inclined to try for very long. Word came back. ‘We can’t.’

  Dawn broke and the miserable group were still bound hand and foot. In the cold light of day, their plight seemed far worse than yesterday. The men’s unshaven faces and bleary eyes, the women’s unkempt hair and tear-streaked cheeks, accentuated what was a totally desperate situation. Jutta’s, Kalila’s, Josie’s and James’ state of semi-nudity emphasised a terrifying probability that in a matter of hours it would be the turn of others. Despite everything, however, their bodies needed sustenance. Hunger and thirst were beginning to become another problem.

  Two terrorists moved among them, untying hands and feet. Leering faces and obscene gestures a further confirmation that none of the men holding them captive had any sense of remorse or conscience. In the minds of these rebels, their prisoners were nothing more than a means of extorting money. Human rights, if the soldiers had even heard of such a thing, were of no consideration whatsoever. Chester requested food for everyone. They were given water but nothing else.

  As soon as he was untied Fletch retrieved the garments discarded down by the fireplace. His actions were watched with amusement but no-one tried to stop him. He returned them in silence. Words were useless. Kalila grabbed at hers and dressed quickly. James turned his back to dress. Those who watched saw what he couldn’t. His buttocks were smeared with dried blood and encrusted with sand and dirt. Josie pulled her clothes on with quick, almost furtive movements. Jutta needed to be helped by her father.

  Troy massaged feeling back into Angela’s arms. She permitted him to touch her without a murmur, perceiving no threat, simply a desire to help.

  ‘Is that better?’

  ‘A bit. Thanks.’

  He rubbed his own arms, grimacing as feeling returned. Next to him, Fletch was stamping his feet and flexing strain out of aching limbs. ‘Tonight if they tie us up, try to keep your wrists slightly apart.’

  Fletch nodded.

  ‘Tonight!’ Near hysteria sounded in Angela’s voice. ‘It’ll be too late by then.’

  Troy looked at the fear on her face. Whatever she had gone through, and he had no doubt that it must have been every bit as traumatic as what the little German girl endured, he sensed that Angela’s vulnerable mind would not survive a second time. With nothing more than a need to comfort her, Troy held out his arms. ‘Come here.’

  She saw genuine concern and, with no hesitation, fell into them.

  He held her closely.

  Angela cried against his chest, trembling so much Troy thought she might fall over.

  ‘I’m sorry for what I said on the bus,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I didn’t understand.’

  She shook her head, sniffing and snuffling, her hands clutching at the sleeves of his shirt. ‘I’d rather die, I’d rather die, I’d –’

  ‘Ssshhh,’ he soothed. She had tapped into the soft centre he usually reserved for four-legged animals. Angela was like a frightened and trembling puppy, one who knew nothing but cruelty. Troy’s heart went out to her. His hands stroked her back as he held her. ‘If it’s at all possible, we’ll get away today.’

  ‘How?’ It was a cry of the deepest despair.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said honestly. ‘But believe me, Angela, if I have to die in the process, I’ll do everything I can to stop those bastards hurting you.’ He meant every word. Keeping Angela safe had become the focus of his attention, the most important thing in his life. Surprisingly, she had given him strength, something to work towards.

  Angela pulled away suddenly. ‘What’s that?’ Her cheek, resting against his chest, had encountered something hard.

  Troy felt the pocket of his shirt. It was the one he’d been wearing when the rogue elephant found them. The heavy bush shirt had been casually thrown at him when he was ordered to dress. The pocket bore the manufacturer’s label, a leather shield sewn onto the fabric. The small glass phials were still snug in their special carrying pouch. ‘Rompun,’ he whispered. ‘I’d forgotten about it.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Four ampules.’

  Angela stared at him, eyes registering hope. ‘Troy –’

  ‘Way ahead of you.’ Excitement surged through him. ‘Hey, Fletch.’

  Fletch looked over.

  Troy jerked his head. ‘Here.’

  Fletch moved closer.

  ‘I’ve got two hundred mills of tranquilliser in my pocket.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  ‘You thinking what I am?’

  ‘The booze. How much would it take?’

  Troy calculated quickly. ‘Half an ampule per bottle should do it.’

  Fletch and Angela nodded agreement.

  ‘Should knock them out for about an hour.’

  ‘That’s all very well but we’d still have to get free,’ Angela pointed out.

  ‘They’ve got knives. If we could just get hold of one. It’s worth a try. Fletch, you stay close to me. Somehow I’ll doctor some of the bottles. When we stop tonight it must be your pack they open.’ Troy gave Angela a brief squeeze. ‘It’s not foolproof, Angie, but it’s better than nothing.’

  She managed a wan smile. The odds were still against them.

  Sean looked with concern into Thea’s face. She was pale but a degree of determination glowed in her eyes. Mentally at least, she was bearing up. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Weak.’ She looked down at his shirt which was still tied around her waist. ‘But a bit better. Sort of exposed, though. Where are my jeans?’

 
; He retrieved them from the bush where he’d draped them to dry. ‘They’re still damp. So are your shoes and socks. At least they’re clean.’

  With no outward show of embarrassment, Thea pulled them on.

  Sean claimed his shirt back. Thea’s blood had stained some of it but he wasn’t bothered. ‘I have to ask. Are you still bleeding?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘If it gets worse let me know.’

  ‘Yes, Dr Hudson.’

  Sean smiled slightly. Her humour was another good sign. ‘I mean it. Though God knows what I can do about it.’

  ‘You’ll think of something.’ Thea zipped up her jeans. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll manage.’

  ‘I’ll help.’

  ‘You already have. More than you know. I’ll never forget all you’ve done. Thank you.’

  ‘I had no choice,’ he said simply. ‘I love you.’

  Thea held his gaze. ‘I don’t know how I feel about you,’ she admitted at last, ‘but I know this much. If we make it out of here alive, you’ll certainly have my attention.’ Her look was almost apologetic. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘It’s more than I ever hoped for,’ Sean responded. ‘Under the circumstances, I’ll take it.’

  Chester went to Kalila as soon as he could. There were no words he could think of, nothing that covered the way he felt, or the way she must be feeling. He’d witnessed rape before. It left him disgusted yet strangely detached. Not this time. Kalila was a girl who had seriously stirred his interest. A person, an individual, with feelings, opinions and ambitions. He felt connected to her. The savage violation so recently witnessed affected Chester as if it had happened to him. ‘You are still the daughter of a chief.’

  She would not look at him.

  ‘Hold your head high.’

  ‘How?’ Her voice trembled.

  ‘The same way as always. You are no different now. Let them see it.’

  Her mouth twisted bitterly but she said nothing.

  ‘Look at me.’

  Kalila just turned away, answering an almost obsessive need to stick close to James.

  Chester felt helpless. Through the night, a fear that he might be responsible had been growing inside him. He was beginning to suspect that, however unwittingly, he might have been the source of Ace’s intelligence about the lodge.

  Some weeks ago a Portuguese couple had come to Logans Island. They spoke very fragmented English and so, when it was discovered that Chester could converse fluently in Portuguese, they attached themselves to him. He had been surprised by the depth of their interest in the lodge but learned that they were involved with the hospitality industry in Portugal. An opportunity to swap notes was always of interest.

  Ace had made an interesting comment the night of their capture. In his own language, he’d said, ‘At least we don’t have to worry about looking for that professor and his students.’ At the time, Chester was surprised that the terrorists’ leader would have known about a group camped in the bush. Thinking back, he remembered mentioning to the Portuguese pair that Wits University had a special arrangement with the Department of Nature Conservation.

  They’d shown a great deal of interest in when the lodge would close, how many guests were booked in for the last days, what staff were needed to run the place and was it normal for tourists from other parts of the park to visit the island? He also remembered that, for all their attention to the lodge itself, they were remarkably uninterested in game drives.

  If the two of them had been collecting intelligence, Chester had provided them with more than enough. He’d been a gullible, willing piece of putty in their hands. Could he somehow be responsible for everything happening now? The likelihood sickened him. All those people out on the pan, Matt Grandville and Mal Black. They would all be alive. Kalila, James and little Jutta unharmed. None of them would be in this mess.

  Chester succumbed so deeply to self-blame and remorse that he wasn’t thinking straight. Having targeted Logans Island, gathering information was never going to be difficult for UNITA. Who would expect they were desperate enough to penetrate so far into a neighbouring country?

  In dawn’s grey light, the waxen body of Matt Grandville appeared as some aging mannequin in a shop window. Gayle remained by the stretcher, gazing vacantly at his handsome face. It was such a familiar sight, and yet it was not. His soul, the essence that had been uniquely Matt, had gone, leaving behind only the mask it once wore. Without a spirit, that inner something that had made his eyes glow with love, humour, or even anger, was long gone, leaving the outer casing, a stranger.

  Dan tried to prepare Gayle for the fact that Matt would not be coming with them.

  She turned lacklustre eyes to him. ‘What?’

  ‘He’s of no use to them now. We’ll have to leave him here, Gayle.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll get Chester to ask if we can bury him.’

  ‘Out here? All on his own? No.’

  Dan realised that reason had temporarily deserted her. ‘You’ve seen what these men are capable of, Gayle. Don’t expect kindness from them.’ Dan’s next words mirrored her thoughts. ‘Matt has moved on. He has no need of his body. It was only a facade for what lay underneath. He’s a free spirit now, not earthbound like the rest of us. In some ways, he’s the lucky one. You have to let go, Gayle.’

  She was nodding, though Dan couldn’t tell if she agreed, or even if she heard him. Encouraged, he called to Chester who was still standing next to Kalila with a stricken expression on his face. ‘Ask if we can bury Matt.’

  Chester translated Ace’s response. ‘Africa takes care of the dead. Permission denied.’

  The refusal got through to Gayle. Tears rolled down her cheeks, finding tiny crevices, spreading laterally as well as down. Without make-up, her face streaked with sweat and hair tangled, Gayle didn’t much resemble the glamorous screen figure known to millions. For the first time in her life, she looked her age. Even if she had known, such was her misery that she wouldn’t have cared. Leaning over Matt, Gayle kissed the cold forehead. ‘Oh, my darling. My poor darling.’

  Dan eased her away. ‘There’s nothing more you can do, Gayle. Matt would have understood.’

  She sobbed against him. ‘It’s my fault. All my fault. He always understood. Now he has to do it again. He’s forgiven me so many times . . . all the dumb things I’ve done. I hope he knows how sorry I am. Mattie, can you hear me? I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.’

  Dan stroked her hair gently. He understood what she was going through.

  A little distance away, Billy approached Thea with an unexpected apology of his own. ‘I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe me,’ he added.

  Thea looked at the man she had been prepared to spend her life with. Now she felt nothing – no hurt, no love, no regrets. In his eyes was a genuine plea for forgiveness. It would be easy to turn away, to make him suffer and leave him with his guilt. But what was the point? No-one forced her to marry a man she hardly knew. Relationships were a lottery at the best of times. To forgive would cost nothing. She could do that too. ‘Thank you.’ Sean’s nearness was reassuring.

  Billy cleared his throat. ‘Losing your baby. Will you be okay?’

  ‘I’ll manage.’

  He didn’t push it. He’d made it clear enough that the baby was hers and hers alone. If Thea chose not to talk about her feelings he’d have to respect that. It was the least he could do. But she had to know he was sincere. ‘I’ve behaved like a shit. I apologise.’ His eyes found Sean’s. ‘Take care of her.’ Billy turned and walked away. He was as surprised by the uncharacteristic need to apologise as Thea.

  Caitlin was trying to make sure that Walter understood the danger Jutta still faced. ‘You’ve got to make her get up. If she doesn’t, things can only get worse. You’re the one worth something to them, not Jutta.’

  ‘Worse,’ Walter sneered. With his hands untied he was, at last, able to hold his daughter close. And that’s what
he was doing. If it had been at all possible, he’d have absorbed her into himself to keep her safe. ‘What more could they do to her?’

  ‘Please, Walter. I know how hard this is for you but it really could be worse, believe me. If she holds us back they’ll kill her. They won’t hesitate.’

  Walter felt a tremor run through Jutta. Caitlin’s words got through to him as well. He knew she spoke the truth. Much as he realised his daughter was in pain, he had to make her stand up. ‘Okay, baby, okay. Papa is here.’ He spoke quietly in German. ‘Try to get up, baby? Papa will help.’

  Jutta did not respond. Her father sensed the tension in her body increase. It told him that she was deliberately rejecting his attempt to make her move. He had to insist. Doing nothing meant running the very real risk of losing her. Walter rose, pulling his daughter with him. Jutta moaned a protest and her legs sagged. She’d have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her. But she stayed upright.

  ‘That’s my girl. Come, try to walk with me.’

  Ever since she’d screamed for her father the night before, Jutta had not uttered a word.

  ‘Good girl, that’s a good girl. You’re doing fine. Can you stand on your own?’

  Jutta remained mute, leaning against him, head hanging.

  ‘Speak to me, baby. Say something to Papa.’ Her anguish and agony were breaking Walter’s heart. Jutta had always been the light of his life. That those filthy pigs had degraded his precious only child was a nightmare he’d carry with him forever. His little girl, her innocence. To have been robbed of that so brutally, what would it do to her? ‘Talk to Papa, baby. I’m here. Right here.’

  And the tears came. Swollen drops that dripped off the end of her nose. She began to tremble, making small whimpering noises. Then gasping, fighting for breath as the sound grew to a growl. It had such an animal quality that Caitlin felt the hair bristle on her neck. Suddenly, Jutta was screaming. Loud, endless, soul-destroying suffering that went on and on until, desperate, Walter slapped her face. In the silence that followed he pulled her hard into his arms, clinging on as tightly as he could. Tears streamed down his own cheeks as sobs racked Walter’s body.