Jackal's Dance

by Beverley Harper

  Chester had to keep Ace’s attention for as long as possible. He called out to Caitlin. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘She’s nearly stepped on a snake.’

  Before translating to Ace, Chester moved over to Josie and Caitlin, peered into the bush, dislodged some undergrowth, walked around and did the same on the other side. The waiting terrorist, when Chester finally told him the problem, shook his head in disbelief, looked skyward and turned away. In his opinion, women and snakes should not inhabit the same planet.

  Like Caitlin, Troy was expecting some kind of diversion. Already filled with tension, Josie’s sudden scream scared him half to death. Do it. Now. It took all his willpower to reach into Fletch’s backpack.

  Rum and brandy. His brain was churning at random. Not whisky. Where’s the bloody brandy? He didn’t dare look towards the soldiers. His fingers closed around the neck of a bottle. Brandy. Thank God. His hands shook and were wet with nerves. The bottle slipped, clanging loudly against others. Wiping his hand quickly against his shirt to dry it, Troy tried again, this time successfully. He unscrewed the lid. Rompun. Oh Jesus! It’s still in my fucking pocket. Fumbling, his shaking fingers found the pouch containing the ampules in his breast pocket. He needed two hands. The pouch was a wraparound kind, designed to protect the thin glass phials. Shoving the bottle between his knees, cursing all the while that he hadn’t thought of making the ampules more accessible, Troy unzipped the pouch and flipped it open. Removing one phial, he tried to take the plastic stopper out. His panicked mind knew that the way to remove it was with gentle pressure. No time, there’s no time. He gripped the plastic tightly and tugged it loose. The pressure broke the top of the ampule and fine glass sliced through his fingers. Blood welled immediately but he barely noticed. Problem. Problem. His mind screamed a warning. The bottle is too full. Empty some out. Christ! This is taking too long. With a quick wrist snap he slopped some of the liquor out and tipped half the tranquilliser into it, screwing the lid back.

  He could hear Josie yelling and several other voices. Come on, come on. Second bottle.

  ‘They’re all watching Josie,’ Angela hissed.

  ‘No-one can see us,’ Fletch added in a normal tone. ‘We’re well screened.’

  His calm voice took some of Troy’s panic away. The second bottle of brandy went back. Then a third. No more, no more brandy. Rum. Where is it? A bottle of doctored rum was put back.

  ‘How am I doing?’ he hissed.

  ‘Fine.’ Fletch was still composed. ‘Chester has their attention.’ Removing another phial of Rompun, it slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. Jesus! He couldn’t bend and pick it up so he stood on it, feeling the glass crush under his shoe. Hurry, hurry. Fifth bottle done. The sandy ground was wet from the discarded spirits.

  ‘Wind it up,’ Fletch suddenly said sharply. ‘Show’s over.’

  But Troy wanted one more bottle of rum. He pulled it from the pack. ‘Keep still,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Last one.’

  ‘Quick.’

  The chink of glass was shockingly loud. Fletch dropped one shoulder to remove the backpack and more bottles rattled.

  ‘Stop,’ Angela breathed. ‘They’re coming.’

  Troy gave Fletch’s arm a tap. ‘Done.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Six.’

  Fletch removed his backpack and placed it on the ground.

  Troy placed his next to it, then kicked sand over the wet splashes on the ground. Sweat poured down his face and blood dripped from his cut fingers. Four soldiers reached the haphazardly discarded backpacks. There was nothing Troy could do about the crushed ampule but keep standing on it. In response to a questioning look from Chester, he gave a brief nod. They’d done it. And in the nick of time.

  The hostages were moving away to sit down. Troy felt conspicuous standing next to the backpacks. ‘Angie, come here.’

  She responded immediately to the note of desperation in his voice.

  ‘I can’t move – dropped the last ampule.’ He knelt down and started to undo one of her shoes. Angela played along, pretending that her foot was sore.

  The soldiers seemed to take an agonising amount of time. First they rummaged in Dan’s pack for tinned food. Next they went to another, removing whisky and vodka. Troy’s heart sank. Head bent over Angela’s foot, he prayed. ‘Please, God. Please, please, God.’

  The soldiers returned to the fire with vodka and scotch but an argument broke out and one of them came back, eventually reaching Fletch’s pack. A cheer rang out from the soldiers when the rum was found. Then Troy’s prayers were answered. The three doctored bottles went back to the fire. The brandy remained where it was.

  Troy let out a shaky breath. ‘Bingo,’ he muttered to no-one in particular. ‘Three should do it.’

  Josie and Caitlin hadn’t moved and the Jewish girl was still staring at the bush. ‘It’s gone, but what if there are others?’

  ‘You can ease up,’ Caitlin told her. ‘That was terrific.’

  Josie shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. It was an Egyptian cobra. They’re as deadly as the black mamba. I’m terrified of them.’

  Caitlin shut her eyes briefly. Someone up there was on their side for a change. ‘Come away. I promise you, after that scream and all Chester’s bashing about, the snake will be more frightened than you are.’ The ranger led Josie back to the others. ‘She really did see one,’ Caitlin said to Fletch.

  ‘If I could find it, I’d kiss it.’ Instead, he dropped a light kiss on Josie’s head.

  She looked up and gave a small smile.

  As before, the terrorists fed themselves. Ace told Chester that food for the hostages depended on their cooperation. The glint in his eye left Chester in no doubt over what the rebel leader meant. There was no point in translating for the others. Each and every one of them would rather starve. One at a time, they were escorted into the darkness to relieve themselves – a strangely courteous gesture, considering the way they’d otherwise been treated. As soon as each returned, they were bound hand and foot.

  The fire had been allowed to die down. Sitting outside its circle of flickering light, the captives became shadowy and indistinct.

  ‘Troy, I’m so scared.’

  ‘Ssshh, Angie.’ He managed to unearth a shard of glass from where he’d buried it. ‘Hold this steady.’

  They sat back to back while he sawed at the rope.

  The soldiers were drinking. Vodka. Troy was pleased about that. If the tranquilliser had any taste, a gut full of undoctored alcohol would help disguise it. At the edges of the firelight he could just make out Fletch, Dan, Philip and Chester working on their bindings. Other hostages had positioned themselves in such a way as to hide the movements. Not given to prayer, Troy sent a second message skyward. ‘Please, God, let this happen.’ He wasn’t certain how long the drug would be effective, or even if it would work. There was no way of knowing what mixing it with alcohol would do to the soldiers. Kill them with any luck. The rope parted and Troy’s hands were free. He gave a small nod to Dan. One by one, the others nodded back. So far so good.

  Some of the soldiers were now drinking rum. A bottle passed from hand to hand. No-one had noticed anything different about the taste. A second soon followed. Nothing. No result.

  Ace snapped a command and four men rose and made their way unsteadily towards their captives.

  ‘Please God, please God, please God.’ Caitlin knew.

  ‘Nein, nein.’ Walter knew. Jutta began to scream.

  Felicity knew. As she watched the men approach she bit her lip so hard her teeth met.

  Two more men came forward.

  Caitlin, Jutta and Felicity were dragged to the fire. Of the three, only Jutta made any outward show of resistance. The other two realised it was a waste of time. ‘Bring the African girl and the boy with dark hair,’ Ace said. ‘We will have a feast tonight.’ He walked to stand in front of Jutta, a cruel smile on his face. She seemed unable to drag her frightened ey
es off his and watched him approach, trembling and moaning. Lazily, he pinched one breast. ‘Tonight, my little dove, my men will have you screaming with pleasure.’

  Felicity’s stomach heaved with revulsion when a grimy hand roughly explored between her legs. Even through her heavy denim jeans his fingers inflicted pain.

  Caitlin too felt sick at the sight of one man’s erection which he brandished in front of her while making obscene licking actions with his tongue. Then his hands were on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees in front of him.

  The third bottle of rum was being passed around. One man bent to slash through Felicity’s ankle bindings and fell, face first, on the ground. The rest laughed and shouted at him. Several turned to fetch Kalila and Troy but their actions were suddenly sluggish. Expressions of confusion crossed their faces. The soldier in front of Caitlin, with no warning, fell backwards. Then, as if a switch had been turned off, one after the other succumbed to oblivion. Ace was the last to feel the effects. Suspicion, rage and, finally, understanding crossing his face as he did. Unfocused eyes turned towards the hostages. A hand hovered over his machine gun. His finger failed to find the trigger as the tranquilliser kicked in.

  Before Ace’s head hit the ground, those with free hands went into action, slashing through ankle bindings and releasing others. Panic was a catalyst in all of them. The need to escape overrode logical thought. At the fire, desperate to leave their proximity to the soldiers and still on her knees, Caitlin sobbed, ‘Hurry. Get us free. Hurry.’

  In everyone was the fear that the tranquilliser’s effect would be short-lived. Within a minute they were all released from their bindings but it seemed to take much longer.

  Troy helped Angela. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘Wait.’ Dan ran back towards the soldiers. Fletch, Philip and Troy saw what he was up to. They joined him, removing the terrorists’ machine guns. No-one but Chester thought of ending it there and then.

  Chester snatched a weapon from Philip and turned it on the unconscious men, releasing the safety catch. Without even thinking about it, he was braced and ready to kill. His eyes were glazed and his lips drew back into a snarl. Blood pounded in his head. Thought and reason drowned in it. Nothing was left but instinct, a fundamental need to protect himself, and it was as if the years rolled back and he was, once again, in the jungles of Angola. His finger curled around the trigger and he squeezed, tensing his body against the inevitable kickback.

  Nothing happened.

  Cursing as he hadn’t done since his years with UNITA, the madness of killing lust slowly dissipated, leaving Chester weak from its intensity. Looking down, he realised the weapon had jammed – probably from lack of cleaning. The moment had passed and Chester felt a rush of shock that he could, so quickly, revert to the violence he believed he’d left behind forever. He saw Philip staring at him with a mixture of horror and hope. Chester threw his head back, expelling the last of his tension in a huff of breath. When he looked back at Philip he shook his head weakly. ‘I could have.’

  The writer nodded, blowing out his own shock. ‘Part of me wanted you to.’ Philip glanced skyward briefly – almost in apology.

  Then the panicked shouting of the others broke through – everyone was yelling at once which increased their inability to think rationally.

  Jutta was screaming, slapping her father’s hands from her, out of her mind with terror. Walter, in fear and desperation, was shouting back. Dan was roaring orders about tying the men up. Billy was trying to pull Josie with him as he turned to flee and she was screaming at him to stop.

  It was Troy who broke through the hysteria. ‘Let’s go,’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘I don’t know how long we’ve got.’

  It worked. Everyone heard him and while his words increased the panic, they also cut through frozen brains. Action was immediate. No-one needed prodding. Taking nothing but the guns they set off at a pace as fast as the darkness would allow. Fear lent strength and speed. They ran for fifteen minutes, eyes soon accustomed to the conditions. No-one thought of hungry lions as they put distance between themselves and the terrorists. It was Dan who called a halt. ‘We can’t keep this up. Better to maintain a steady walk. Help each other if necessary.’ He looked towards the south. ‘See that bright star? That’s our direction. The moon will be up in about an hour. Come on, everyone. We’re free of the bastards. Let’s stay that way.’

  Dan’s words spurred them on. Quickly and in silence, seventeen frightened yet determined people stumbled through the African night. They had only one thought between them. Escape.

  Somewhere nearby, jackal started their eerie night calls.

  THIRTEEN

  The game tranquillising drug Rompun was pre-mixed with an anaesthetic called ketamine hydrochloride. As a result, Ace and his men were in a trance-like state. Paralysed muscles prevented movement. Sensation had been suspended. The soldiers had lost touch with their surroundings. But they could still hear.

  In order to ensure the drug’s effect and concerned that alcohol would dilute it, Troy had been slightly heavy-handed. Ketamine hydrochloride, among other things, causes the larynx to flatten. In controlled hospital use, a tube is inserted into the windpipe to prevent asphyxiation. The UNITA soldiers could thank the alcohol that they were still alive – breathing was difficult but possible. Two of the soldiers had collapsed into the fire. Aware of what was happening but unable to move, or even feel pain, their heads were burned beyond recognition.

  Rendered helpless, Ace knew that his hostages were escaping. He heard them talking, taking the machine guns. It took nearly an hour before the fact bothered him. It was another twenty minutes until he could do anything about it. The hostages had a good eighty-minute start on them. The soldiers made no effort to bury their dead. They would become a part of Africa’s voracious food chain.

  At first, the pursuit was lethargic. Before the drug kicked in, each man had rapidly drunk at least half a bottle of alcohol. The combination of booze and Rompun made them unfocused and clumsy. None had any idea how long they’d been knocked out, but as the minutes ticked away, a sense of urgency overtook them. Prodded on by Ace, they gradually picked up speed and determination.

  Their leader was in a towering rage. Outsmarted and outgunned, not to mention outdistanced by God knows how many kilometres, Ace had no doubt that he could recapture the hostages. He just didn’t appreciate the need. Revenge would be harsh and sweet. At least they still had pistols. If he ever found out who doctored the alcohol, he or she would pay dearly. As it was, Ace intended to make an example of two in retaliation for his dead soldiers. The red-headed boy and the ranger who gave trouble back at the lodge would do nicely.

  It was beyond Ace’s comprehension why, when they had the chance, the hostages hadn’t killed him and his men. That’s what he would have done. It never crossed his mind that normal, decent people don’t think that way. He was incapable of understanding the effects of extreme trauma. Ace wrote them off as cowardly idiots. They’d been so frightened that they’d even forgotten to take the pistols.

  The near full moon was well up, providing more than enough light to see. The fools were heading directly back the way they’d come. Good. He wouldn’t have to waste time reading their spoor. They’d be like sheep, blindly scurrying for safety. The lodge, most likely. Ace knew he could overtake them in a matter of hours. His men were used to moving silently and quickly through the bush. Ambush was a UNITA specialty.

  Their sense of urgency increased as the fuzziness left their bodies. All knew that the reprisal for failure would be swift and probably deadly. If they were unable to retake the hostages, Ace was well aware of what he could expect from his men. Desertion. What the hell! He’d probably go with them. But a successful conclusion to his mission would mean accolades, promotion and special privileges. Not money. He hadn’t been paid in six months. But the approval of Jonas Savimbi meant more to Ace than anything else. It was this, and this alone, that kept him determin
ed. If he revered anything it had to be UNITA’s leader. Most of his men were the same. To be declared a national hero was something they all craved.

  But only up to a point. Disgrace was preferable to death. Africa was a big continent – and if this mission went belly-up UNITA wouldn’t see Ace and his men for dust.

  Major Eric Tully pushed north with ruthless determination. He knew exactly how far it was to the perimeter fence. What he couldn’t be certain of was whether or not the terrorists would walk through the night. He didn’t think they would, still confident in his earlier assessment that they’d spend another night inside Etosha before tackling the rough country further north. Tully knew a bit about Ace Ntesa. The man’s loyalty to Dr Savimbi was not in question but he’d been known to put personal safety first on more than one occasion. Someone like that would always consider his own needs before those of others.

  Experience told Tully what to expect when the hostages were found – he’d seen Ntesa’s handiwork before. In the rebel’s mind, use of captured men and women was part and parcel of daily life. The only time he’d come close to being caught was on a single occasion when he’d dallied a little too long at the scene of an ambush, enjoying the spoils of war. It was his main weakness. He’d not pass up the opportunity tonight. Once his captives were in the hands of others, Ntesa and his men would have to look elsewhere for carnal pleasure. No. They would not walk through the night.

  It was nothing more than a gut feeling that he’d got it right. Over the years Tully had learned to trust such instincts. Which brought him to his immediate problem. What the hell to do with two platoons of men he didn’t need? If he stood them down and went on with a handful and the mission went wrong, his cock would be well and truly on the block. On the other hand, failure was virtually guaranteed with so many wet behind the ears novices blundering around in the bush. Oh, his force might get the terrorists, but they sure as hell wouldn’t be bringing back any live civilians. Irrespective of Windhoek’s desire to show how Namibia deals with UNITA, Tully knew that a bungled rescue that resulted in dead hostages would make less sense to the rest of the world than it already did to him.