Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  ‘How many hostages were taken, does she know that?’

  ‘She thinks about twenty.’

  ‘How many were murdered?’

  ‘Twenty-seven on the pan. One at the lodge.’

  ‘Jesus! Okay, I’ll get onto Windhoek and alert the authorities. You bring the girl in, Buster. There’s a doctor staying here at the moment, we’ll see if he can be located.’

  By the time Buster drove back through the gates of Okaukuejo, the army, police and a private paramedical group, Medi Rescue International, had all been notified. The details provided by Megan were being taken extremely seriously and nothing left to chance.

  A Namibian Defence Force military base inside Angola was on red alert. Officers were attending an urgent strategic meeting to prepare plans for intercepting the terrorists. Armed incursions into Namibia would not be tolerated. The colonel-in-chief of the army sent a coded message from Windhoek giving his men in Angola permission to use whatever force was necessary to seek out and destroy a suspected UNITA unit illegally on Namibian soil. If the hapless tourists were hurt in the process, so be it. Jonas Savimbi and his arrogant dismissal of international boundaries would be taught a lesson he’d not forget.

  Military headquarters in Windhoek scrambled a task force of just over one hundred men. Led by a Major Eric Tully who had recently returned from a tour of duty in Angola, their brief was a search and rescue mission. The entire northern section of Etosha and beyond would be combed from the air and on the ground.

  The police were already en route to Logans Island. Two vehicles, carrying four armed constables and a detective. Until it was known for certain that they were dealing with a military crisis, the police were treating matters as civilian, the crimes murder and kidnapping.

  MRI – Medi Rescue International – had both their fully equipped and staffed Beechcraft King Airs airborne – one from Eros, the domestic airport in Windhoek, the other from its base in Walvis Bay. The private hospital, Medi Clinic, in Windhoek was on stand-by with extra specialist staff ready to report for duty if the need arose. MRI’s funeral service was in a state of readiness to repatriate any bodies to their countries of origin.

  Heading for Etosha in independent vehicles, having picked up news of the unfolding drama by routine monitoring of police and MRI radio messages, were television, radio and newspaper journalists eager to get there before the international media arrived.

  Preliminary Reuters reports had gone out to all corners of the globe. Namibia wasn’t strategically important enough for any but neighbouring countries to have permanent secret service staff, but each embassy and high commission had their ‘sleepers’, non-active personnel if it came down to the wire, but people who nonetheless kept an ear to the ground and reported any unusual activity back to their country’s government agency who dealt with the covert and the classified. Coded missives fanned out, spreading the word. Around the world, their recipients weighed the ramifications. Most passed a low priority message to their superiors but flagged the situation as potentially explosive. A ripple of alarm flowed smoothly through the networks until every major and minor power was aware that something was happening in Namibia which possibly implicated UNITA and more than likely involved foreign hostages. But since no-one, as yet, could say for certain who had been taken hostage, or even who was responsible, governments held their breath.

  International blackmail, no matter how high the ideals, inevitably caused severe political headaches. Private lines ran hot from continent to continent, country to country, as heads of government foraged for each other’s policy in such matters. Britain, Australia and South Africa were united. They would not bow to demands for ransom. France, Germany and a handful of other European countries held an opposing view. America sat on the fence. Most African countries spouted ambiguous rhetoric. And the country hosting this particular crisis, Namibia, remained tight-lipped.

  As the news broke around the world, possible relatives and ambitious journalists made urgent travel plans. The eyes of the earth turned quite suddenly to a country that only achieved independence in 1990. But most turned first to an atlas to discover where the bloody place was.

  Megan knew nothing of this. Exhausted, she was aware of only one thing. She was safe. Tucked into bed in one of Okaukuejo’s bungalows to await the visiting doctor and the arrival of the MRI aeroplane, her shocked system shut down and took refuge in the oblivion of sleep.

  Ace deliberately kept the pace slower than yesterday. He’d left nothing to chance and felt relaxed. They were well and truly away from roads now. Even if some tourist had ignored the ‘Residents Only’ sign at Logans Island, they’d be unlikely to discover any bodies. They might find the one in the bungalow, but so what? It would mean a drive to Okaukuejo to raise the alarm. The police would eventually come and investigate. By the time anyone worked out that they were dealing with an armed military incursion, Ace and his hostages should be long gone. Tomorrow would take them through some of the most desolate country in Namibia where there were no roads and very few people. Tough going on everyone. Might as well have an easy day today.

  Their hostages were holding up well. Most of them seemed pretty fit. The English actress had a problem with blistered feet and the German’s breathing was a bit laboured. Other than that, they were doing all right. Ace couldn’t actually have cared less about their wellbeing. If it became necessary to hurry them along he simply wanted to know that no-one would hold them back. The young girl showed no serious ill-effects from last night. Ace grinned. She was, by far, the men’s favourite. No doubt she’d be first choice tonight as well. Maybe this time she might enjoy it.

  Desire stirred at the memory. The little virgin had been very satisfying. Knowing that she had never been touched before gave Ace a feeling of power. He’d have liked a second go at her but she’d been much in demand. The man was almost as good. Tonight they’d take a few more for their pleasure. No reason why not.

  Once inside Angola, trucks would take them the near six-hundred kilometres to Bailundo, until recently a UNITA garrison town about two hundred kilometres inland from the coastal port of Lobito. Because of its drier climate, the Central Highlands town of Bailundo had once been favoured by the Portuguese colonials as a weekend retreat. Jonas Savimbi’s troops captured it in 1992. In September 1999, the Angolan government launched three major military offensives against UNITA in order to recapture the town. There was little left these days save for a few crumbling villas and shelled out buildings, but Bailundo was in the planning stages of reconstruction with ambitions of turning it into a tourist destination. The fact that UNITA guerrillas were still operating in the area, ambushing vehicles and laying new landmines made the chances of realising this dream slim indeed, even though the town was now protected by government soldiers and police.

  An infrastructure of sorts, however, meant access to telephones. A successful counteroffensive would get rid of the armed guard and drive away the builders. Any residents who had been brave enough to return would quickly switch allegiance in order to save their skins. They’d done it, after all, several times already. The hostages would be held there while negotiations for their release were conducted. For Ace and his men, tonight would be the last chance to enjoy themselves at their captives’ expense. Might as well make the most of it.

  They reached the place where they’d camped nearly a week ago on their way south. Three days had been spent here, biding their time, before moving closer to Logans Island. It was here that elephant had charged with no warning. Ace wondered idly if she was still alive. Since then, he’d only seen that one at the lodge’s waterhole. They’d heard lion at night, seen herds of springbok, zebra and the occasional gemsbok, but nothing else. To Ace, a reserve this size for animals, most of which didn’t appear to use it, was a shocking waste of land. Crops could have been grown here, enough to feed the entire UNITA army.

  Thinking of food made him hungry. He pulled an orange from his pocket. Had it occurred to him that his hostages might
also need something to eat, he still wouldn’t have offered it. Such was Ace’s nature that the thought didn’t cross his mind.

  Fortitude, as history has demonstrated time and again during a period of crisis, comes to those in need. The human psyche has a remarkable ability to deal with disaster. Some people become extremely efficient, taking comfort from action. Others resort to humour as a way of coping. There are those who find release by divulging hitherto closely guarded secrets. Acts of bravery, compassion or simply endurance visit ordinary men and women who never suspected such strength existed within them.

  Philip, Thea and Sean were of like mind, behaving as if they were enjoying a casual bushwalk. The danger faced didn’t go away, they hadn’t forgotten the terrible acts witnessed, but by shelving everything for a while, flagging spirits had a chance to recover.

  ‘Lion.’ Sean pointed to the ground.

  Philip glanced down. The unmistakable doglike stool containing chunks of white matter didn’t appear to be fresh but he wasn’t inclined to have a closer inspection.

  ‘Couple of days old,’ Sean volunteered.

  ‘Many of them up here?’ Philip asked.

  ‘A few. There’s only one resident pride, the rest come and go following the migrating herds. At this time of year you’d expect a few interlopers.’

  ‘I haven’t seen much game.’

  ‘It’s here.’ Sean indicated tracks that Philip hadn’t noticed. ‘Impala and hartebeest passed this way not long ago.’

  ‘I suppose they hear us and make themselves scarce.’

  Sean nodded. ‘They’re pretty skittish.’

  ‘Nothing like having your own private ranger,’ Philip commented.

  Thea stumbled and both men were quick to steady her. It brought reality back.

  ‘Thanks. I’m okay. Not watching where I was walking.’ She looked flushed.

  Sean felt her forehead with the back of one hand. She was warm to his touch but no more so than could be expected in the heat. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Tired.’

  Sean and Philip each offered an arm. Thea took both.

  ‘Better?’

  ‘A bit. Thanks.’

  They fell silent after that. Sean was worried. The day was taking its toll on Thea. If Troy managed to spike the alcohol and his plan worked, they’d need to get away quickly. He wondered how she would cope, even with his and Philip’s help.

  Chester was having a hard time with his conscience. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that this was all his fault. How could he have been so stupid? That Portuguese pair at the lodge, irrespective of their claim to be in the hotel business, had asked some damned unusual questions. Could it have been a UNITA reconnoitre? Why didn’t he become suspicious? He watched Kalila walking in front with James. Would she be targeted again tonight? Everything depended on that student Troy.

  The African ranger understood why Kalila avoided him. Of everyone, Chester came closest to knowing how last night would have affected her. It wasn’t only the savage violation, though God knows, that in itself must have been terrible. It was her background. Any daughter of a chief would be brought up believing that she was in a class above most others. It was an attitude undoubtedly drummed into Kalila from birth. She would have matured, demanding and receiving due deference to her high-born status. Coming out of her ivory tower to spend a night with Chester was about as low as she could ever go. It surprised him that she had. If he had known who she was he’d have been too intimidated to make a pass. Perhaps Kalila, like many intelligent and modern Africans, was starting to question old traditions? Her decision to sleep with him may have been a form of rebellion. Under normal circumstances, she’d have gone home and her night with him would hopefully have remained a pleasant memory.

  Maybe not. She hadn’t exactly said no when he asked to see more of her. Perhaps Kalila really could have turned her back on entrenched custom. But now it was impossible. Now, she was experiencing one of two things. Outrage that someone of her rank could have been so defiled. Or shame. Either way, respect, something she’d always taken for granted and which had now been abused, would be foremost in her mind. She’d been willing to push her status aside to spend a night with Chester. After something as traumatic as last night, he doubted that she’d ever ignore it again. She would draw on it for strength, and become reliant on the system to stay strong. She was lost to him. Thanks to these bastards, the one girl he might have loved was beyond his reach, hiding inside a culture that would keep them apart forever. Chester blamed himself.

  ‘Troy?’ Angela’s voice was soft, timid almost. They’d been walking side by side in silence. His mind had been on the logistics of pouring Rompun into booze bottles without being seen. Angela, however, aware he knew she’d been raped, felt the floodgates of confession straining to open. She’d kept it hidden for so long, too ashamed to tell anyone. Now she absolutely had to let it out. ‘Can I talk to you?’

  He looked down and nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I don’t know where to start.’

  Troy had guessed what she wanted to talk about. ‘Take your time.’

  ‘No-one knows. Not even my parents.’ The prospect of rape was so uppermost in her mind that she didn’t think to explain what it was she wanted to tell him.

  What bastard would do something like that to her?

  ‘I was fourteen.’

  Younger than Jutta.

  ‘He was old, a neighbour, about my dad’s age.’ Angela took a steadying breath. ‘Do you promise not to tell anyone?’

  ‘You have my word, Angie.’ Troy bent his head and listened, while Angela poured out the circumstances surrounding her rape. Hearing her soft voice retelling the pain and fear of her experience stirred something masculine and protective within him. Watching that beautiful face struggling against tears, seeing the nervous pluck of fingers on her shirt, Troy discovered a brand-new emotion running through him. He would keep this girl safe if it cost him his life.

  As Angela spoke of the thing she was terrified would happen again, Troy could sense her drawing strength from finally bringing it out into the open. He had never thought very deeply about rape until last night. Newspaper and television reports of it inevitably brought on a fleeting feeling of pity for the victim but it all seemed so far removed from his world that he couldn’t really identify with what it might do to those who actually experience it. Now he knew. Last night’s savagery was something those three were unlikely to recover from. In a way, the one-time betrayal by a trusted neighbour made matters worse. James, Kalila and Jutta would have to deal with what happened to them. Angela not only had to do that, she blamed herself for it.

  ‘What is it about me?’ she asked.

  Her eyes were on his and in them he saw genuine confusion. Troy felt a surge of fury against the sadistic swine who had stolen this girl’s innocence with no regard for the emotional damage he had caused. ‘It’s not your fault, Angie. It’s his.’

  She gave a small shake of her head. ‘No. All boys want the same thing.’

  ‘That’s not true, Angie. We should discuss it once we’re out of this mess. For now, let me just say that boys will always try. Ninety-nine per cent, more probably, accept no as an answer.’

  ‘Please, talk to me some more now. Please.’

  Panic was suddenly back in her voice. Incredible as it seemed, Angela actually needed this conversation. Troy suspected it might be a way of preparing herself for what probably lay ahead. If so, it was amazingly brave of her. He didn’t know how else to help. No-one could realistically prepare for the kind of thing that took place last night. All Troy could do was talk and hope she found comfort, or strength, or whatever it was she was seeking.

  ‘Have you ever had a boyfriend, Angie?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you must have broken a few hearts.’

  ‘Relationships never get that far.’

  Troy remembered his words on the bus. And her reaction. Completely understandable n
ow he knew the truth. How many others had blundered into her no-go zone without being aware of it? Angela hadn’t been flirting with him as he’d first thought. Her vivacious behaviour was either a cover-up for nerves or a desperate attempt to be liked so he wouldn’t want to hurt her. ‘You mean most boys behave like I did on the bus?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Have you ever stopped to think that it might simply be because you’re attractive?’

  ‘It’s more than that. There’s a look you all get.’

  ‘And it scares you?’

  She nodded, head down.

  Why wouldn’t it? He wondered if total honesty would help. ‘You’re a very beautiful girl, Angie. A man would have to be under ten or over ninety not to notice. The moment I saw you I was attracted to you. I thought you were flirting with me. So my natural instinct was to come on to you. I’m sorry about that. I won’t lie, though. I would love to have a relationship with you. That was my rather stupid way of saying so. But Angie, only if you want it too. A relationship isn’t simply sex. It’s about having fun, enjoying each other’s company, being together, talking, having someone on your side, someone who understands you. Sex is a part of that, a way two people can show each other how much they care. It’s a very beautiful experience, a complete sharing of bodies and minds.’

  She was listening, so he went on. ‘I’ve never forced a girl to have sex. What happened to you was a crime. The man should be in prison. He took what he had no right to take. It wasn’t your fault, Angie.’ He hesitated. Why not relate it to what happened last night? Troy was undoubtedly out of his depth but he could not see how Angela would recover from her past while still believing she’d brought it on herself. ‘Do you think the three last night were to blame?’

  ‘No.’ Her voice was small. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So why was it different in your case?’