by Tony Park
Lourens indicated that they don headphones. ‘What’s the latest?’ he asked via the intercom.
‘I’ve got two police officers at the farmhouse,’ Theron said. ‘We’re expecting a raid on the farm tonight, with the intention of darting and taking the pack of wild dogs. As Richard predicted, the Nels have refused to leave their house while they still have staff out on the ranch. I’ve told our officers to stay with them, and the Nels are trying to contact all their rangers and other staff and tell them to move to secure areas. It’ll be another hour or two before I can get back-up from Phalaborwa.’
‘OK,’ Lourens said. ‘I think we should fly over the dog enclosure and check it out from the air, then put down at the farmhouse and check on the Nels. Richard, do you know the layout of the farm?’
‘I’ve been to the enclosure. It’s not far from the road. I can show you.’
They settled into silence as they crossed the Blyde River Canyon. ‘How do you like the Squirrel?’ Theron asked the pilot, using the common name for the Eurocopter helicopter.
‘Ja, she’s a lekker machine, hey. Do you fly?’
‘When I can. I flew Alouettes in South-West, back before I joined the police,’ Theron said.
‘Cool, man,’ Andre said.
‘Not at the time, but looking back on it, I had my share of adventures.’
‘I’ll bet. You’ll have to tell me over a beer once tonight’s over.’
Richard clasped his hands together to stop the shaking. He felt for the pistol stuffed in his belt and prayed that he wouldn’t have to use it. He remembered the shudders of the Vietnamese gangster dying on his hand as he drove the knife into him. It seemed like a long time ago, but what was it? Hours? Days? It suddenly all seemed hopeless. They’d been on the back foot from the start, ever since the prosecutor Mike Ioannou had tied them all to Liesl’s photo. Rwanda would claim them just as it had claimed a million other souls. It was like a vortex of death, sucking them all in.
‘Richard?’
He opened his eyes and saw Collette staring at him. She had her hand on his arm and he hadn’t even noticed her touch. ‘Richard, are you all right? You’re shaking, and your face looks pale.’
Theron looked at them, able to hear her words. Richard nodded to him. ‘I’m fine,’ he said to Collette. It was a lie. If they weren’t here he’d be on the floor of the helicopter, in the foetal position. The noise of the engine and the mixed smells of sweat, oil and old vomit reminded him of other helicopters he’d been in, in other third-world countries. He gagged on the tears that threatened to rise up and gush from deep inside him.
She touched him again, taking his arm in her hands, holding it tightly, and looked into his eyes. She held him like that for a few moments, steadying him, then moved one of her hands in order to remove her headset. Collette pointed at his headphones and he took them off. She leaned close to him and yelled into his ear: ‘I remember the last time you and I were together, before you came to Australia.’
He stared back at her.
‘You saved my life, Richard. Really. I wouldn’t have had all that I have now without you. I was crying and shaking, but you picked me up and you were strong for me, Richard. I’ll never forget that.’
He smiled at Collette and patted her hands, still clasping his arm. He was just pleased she had survived Rwanda and had studied hard and made a good life for herself. It seemed like saving her was the only good thing he’d done in his life. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He separated himself from her then donned his headset.
‘Five minutes,’ said the pilot over the intercom.
Musa grasped the cocking handle on his FN and yanked it back. Theron took his Glock from the pancake holster threaded on his leather belt, slid back the slide and checked there was a round in the breech. Richard knew his six-shooter was loaded, but all the same he checked it. They were going to war.
*
‘They have the dogs. Jan’s just going to finish the job now,’ Liesl heard Aston say.
Hess leaned over the veterinary examination table and slapped Liesl’s cheeks. ‘Liesl? Liesl, did you hear that?’
She kept her eyes closed and willed her body to be still, as though she was unconscious. The pain was like a blanket now. It rolled over her body, sheathing her, and was no longer confined to any one part of her. The burn and the jolt of the electric shocks, the lines of fire carved by blades and the seemingly endless slaps all blurred into one now.
Hess drew the tip of the scalpel along the sole of her foot and she couldn’t stop the reflex reaction. ‘Ah, I thought you were still conscious.’ He stooped, picked up the bucket and tipped the water over her face. Liesl coughed and spluttered, almost choking as some of the water slid back down her throat. ‘Did you hear what Aston said? We have your father’s wild dogs. We’re going for your parents next. We’re going to kill them.’
‘No!’
Hess laughed. ‘Now you’re awake. You can save your mother and your father, Liesl, if you tell me everything.’
‘Have . . .’ she coughed. ‘I told you everything.’ The tears came again. He’d been coming and going for hours. The waiting in between the sessions was almost as bad as the torture itself. Her mind reeled with thoughts of what he would do to her next. When she strained her head against the leather restraint tied around her forehead, she could see blood on her bared body, where he’d sliced away her clothes and tormented her skin, though she couldn’t tell just how badly she’d been mutilated.
‘What’s happened to the Englishman – the doctor – and the Rwandan girl, Liesl? You keep saying you don’t know, but I know you’re lying.’
‘I . . . told . . . you. He went to Australia. He left me.’ She cried. She really did still hate Richard for leaving her at Johannesburg. She’d thought he was going to stay by her side. She wondered if she would have got herself into this situation if he had stayed with her. Carmel had shut her out, and Richard had left her. She’d been foolish to go off by herself and now she was paying the price for her stupidity. Her tears were real. So why, she asked herself, was she protecting him?
Hess lowered his face to hers and whispered into her ear. ‘Liesl, I’ll make you a deal. I’m going to have to kill you, but I can save your parents. No, shush . . . don’t say anything yet. I want you to believe me. Aston has a man at your parents’ farm. He and his accomplices have drugged the wild dogs and they’re about to be taken away. Aston has told his man to go to the farmhouse and kill your parents, but I can rescind that order, if you let me.’
‘What? How?’ Her brain was fuzzy with the pain. She was beyond fantasising that she might be saved, but what if Hess was telling the truth? What if she could save her mother and father?
‘Liesl,’ Hess whispered. ‘I know Dunlop went to Australia and I know he met a Rwandan woman there. I want them both – the doctor and the woman. I am prepared to give your parents their lives in return for these two. The doctor and his friend have disappeared from Australia, leaving a couple of bodies in their wake.’
Liesl wanted to smile, for Richard. He’d told her that some guys had tried to kill him in Australia but he’d dealt with them. Richard had said nothing to her about a Rwandan woman, though. They’d all been compartmentalising information – Richard, Carmel and herself – hiding things from each other. Liesl knew Richard was in South Africa and, hopefully, he was on his way with the police to Letsitele to save her parents.
‘Is he in South Africa, Liesl? Is he on his way here?’
Liesl blinked through her tears. She tilted her head as much as the restraint would allow her. She saw Hess’s scarred, twisted face, just a few centimetres from her own. He smiled a crooked smile. Her parents had seen the photo. There was no way he would let them live. She hawked in the back of her throat and spat at him.
He wiped his face and then the pain came to her again, much worse than before. Liesl screamed.
‘Keep an eye on her,’ Hess said at last to Mutale. ‘I have to go. Make s
ure she doesn’t die before I get back.’
30
‘Captain, I’m in contact with your officers on the ground now, I’m going to put them through on the intercom,’ Andre said.
‘All right.’
‘Ja, Captain, are you there? It’s Warrant Officer Manzini, over.’
‘Go ahead Manzini, I read you, over,’ Theron said.
‘The Nels just tried to contact their head of security. No answer, hey. Last we heard from him he told them on the radio he was going to investigate the sound of a helicopter coming close to the property. You’re not close yet, are you?’
‘No,’ Theron said. ‘We’re still a few minutes out. It wouldn’t have been us that he heard. I’m worried, man.’
Richard, who was listening in, ran his fingers across his neck. ‘Get them out,’ he mouthed to Theron, who nodded. ‘OK, Manzini, listen to me. Get them out. Take them in your car or bakkie or whatever and get to Letsitele police station. Put the cuffs on them if you have to. We’ll do a low pass over the farm and see if we can see any intruders, then we’ll come to the station. Understood?’
‘Ja, affirmative, Captain. We’re leaving now.’
‘Roger. Take care, Manzini.’
*
Jan looked left and right down the main road that divided the game farm from the Nel’s citrus farm. There was no traffic. He sprinted across the tarmac and took cover under the first of the decorative palm trees that lined the long driveway up to the grand farmhouse.
When he was sure there were no security guards patrolling the gate or fence line, he moved forward, darting in bounds from tree to tree. He paused when he heard a car engine. Jan brought his rifle up into a firing position as he saw headlights flickering through the trees ahead of them. He closed one eye and took aim. As the vehicle rounded a bend, he saw the lights on the top of the double-cab bakkie. It was a police car. Shit, he thought. The cops must had arrived after he’d left his surveillance position and gone to meet the veterinarian. This wasn’t good. The vehicle was accelerating.
As the vehicle came closer he could see two black faces in front. Perhaps the two officers were making a check on the Nels. There had been extra patrols earlier, so this might be routine. He was about to lower his weapon and move back into the shadows of the palm’s trunk when he saw the white face appear between the two policeman. It was old man Nel, leaning forward to say something. The driver slowed a fraction and glanced back to answer the farmer’s question. Jan knew that he would have one chance, and it had just been presented to him.
He stepped into the open to ensure a clear shot, curled his finger through the trigger guard and thumbed the selector switch to automatic. Jan steadied his aim and pulled the trigger, loosing off a four-round burst.
The first two shots slammed into the radiator, bringing forth an immediate geyser of steam. The bakkie slewed as the driver returned his attention to the front, swerved and then overcorrected. At least one of Jan’s bullets starred the windscreen. The bakkie looked as though it might slide off the raised embankment on the side of the driveway, but the driver regained control and floored the accelerator. Jan fired at the tyres and first one and then the other blew out as the vehicle passed him. The officer in the passenger side had his pistol out and was firing blindly out of the window. The driver lost control and weaved, overcorrected again, and then slammed into a tree. The horn started blaring.
Jan ran up to the vehicle and fired more shots into it from behind. The policeman in the passenger seat opened his door and dived out. As he rolled he raised his gun arm and started firing. A bullet plucked at Jan’s sleeve, forcing him to dart behind another tree.
The police officer who had escaped the vehicle popped up out of the grass searching for a target. Jan fired and hit him. The man dropped to the ground. Jan ran towards the truck again, moving to the next tree. He saw the officer wriggling on the ground, wounded but not dead. The horn was still sounding its screeching single note, and Jan hoped that meant the driver was lying dead on the steering wheel. He was almost there.
Jan shifted his aim to the wounded officer and was about to deliver the coup de grâce, an easy shot from just twenty metres away, when a bullet slammed into the tree beside him. Four more shots bracketed him, driving him to take cover behind the tree. He peeked around the trunk and saw old man Nel fire off a shot at him from behind the bakkie.
Nel was a bushman of note, Jan knew, and had been an accomplished professional hunter before dedicating his life to conservation. Jan fired two quick shots in return and dropped to the ground. He started leopard-crawling to the next tree, his R5 in the crook of his arms. He used the long grass at the edge of the road as partial cover. As he crawled he heard the clatter and whine of a helicopter. He looked up and saw the beam of a landing light snaking up the road towards the farm. What was the fool of a pilot playing at? He should have still been orbiting out of range until the veterinarian called for a pick-up.
Jan reached the base of the next tree and peered around it. He had a better view of the crippled bakkie now. It was empty, but he saw Nel’s head poke up from the other side. Jan fired a snap shot, but missed. The wounded policeman was crying in pain, not far from him.
The helicopter was heading straight towards him. Bloody vet must have panicked and called in the chopper too early. The pilot was coming in to land, flaring the nose up as he approached the stricken truck and sending a hail of sand and grass and twigs into Jan’s face. ‘Idiot!’
Jan blinked away the grit and saw old man Nel get up and grab his wife by the hand and stumble towards the helicopter – the Nel woman must have been ducking down in the back during the firefight. Fools, Jan said to himself. They thought the chopper was their salvation. He stood and ran to the police bakkie, leaning across the bonnet to steady his aim. He put the red dot of the sight on top of his R5 in the centre of Nel’s back.
Bullets ricocheted off the metalwork of the vehicle and Jan’s first shot went wide. He ducked as he saw a beefy man with a grey moustache leaning out of the helicopter’s rear cabin, pointing a police-issue Z88 pistol at him. It wasn’t the vet or anyone Jan knew. As he blinked again he saw the helicopter was painted in the orange and green of the South African National Parks. Jan raised his rifle and fired a burst at the helicopter, but a second man was now firing at him and bullets pinged off the bakkie dangerously close to him.
Jan knew he had no choice but to retreat; he was surrounded and outnumbered. His face was blackened and he hadn’t been close enough to the Nels for them to identify him. The veterinarian would lie low, if he was smart, or try to escape on foot, which was what Jan now planned on doing. He could survive for days in the bush. His only fear now was of failing their overlord, Karl Hess. Hess and Mutale had been counting on him to steal the dogs and eliminate the witnesses. The presence of the national parks helicopter told him the smuggling part of the operation had probably been compromised. It was time for him to disappear, perhaps across the border into Mozambique, and hopefully start a new life as far away from Karl Hess as possible.
Jan turned to run at a crouch, remembering as he did that he had to at least finish off the wounded police office. The black warrant officer had raised himself, painfully, into a seated position. He raised his arm and the last thing Jan Venter saw in his life was the flash from the muzzle of Manzini’s Z88.
*
Richard leapt to the ground just as the skids touched. He sprinted to the police bakkie, Theron’s .38 in one hand and the helicopter’s medical kit in the other.
Tokkie Nel had his arm around his wife’s shoulder. ‘Liesl? Is she all right?’ Tokkie yelled over the noise of the helicopter’s engines.
‘I hope so,’ he called back, but he couldn’t stop to talk now. They had seen the gunman fall and Richard prayed there wasn’t a second lurking somewhere. He put his fingers to the neck of the officer slumped over the blaring horn and ascertained he was past help.
Richard ignored the man in the camouflage fatigues who’d
been shooting at them moments earlier – he had a bullet hole between his eyes and the shocked look of a man killed because he had underestimated his foe. He ran to the African policeman who had slumped onto his back. The man’s eyes were closed. The name tag on his shirt said Manzini. This was the warrant officer Theron had been speaking to.
‘Please,’ Richard said to no one in particular. He’d brought this on these brave men. Richard checked for a pulse and found one, though it was weak and erratic. The man was bleeding out from the hole in his stomach.
Richard ripped open Manzini’s shirt and the first-aid kit. He tore open a dressing with his teeth and placed the bulky pad on Manzini’s injury. He rolled him over to tie the bandage ends of the dressing and searched for an exit wound at the same time. There was none. This was bad.
Theron, Lourens and Musa had quickly swept around the farmhouse and were now standing over Richard. The Nels joined them. ‘OK, let’s get him on the chopper, quickly,’ he said. ‘We’d better take him to Phalaborwa – that’s the nearest hospital. We can radio them when we’re in the air. What about the other officer?’
‘Dead,’ Lourens said.
‘We will pray for both of them,’ Elize Nel said.
‘Ambulance, coroner and more local police are on their way, finally,’ Theron said. ‘They’re close.’
By the time the four men had carried Manzini to the waiting helicopter, sirens were heralding the belated arrival of the local authorities.
‘We’re staying,’ Tokkie Nel said.
‘We need to talk to you,’ Theron said.
‘Then you can come back here and talk to me and my wife later. This is our home. Thank you for arriving when you did – you saved our lives, but I’m not going to be scared away from my farm. I have staff here I need to take care of, and my game-farm manager is still missing.’
Theron cautioned Nel not to go anywhere without a police escort, and briefed the two cars of detectives and uniformed officers that had just arrived. ‘Let’s go,’ Richard said.