by M A Moore
Paul must have read her mind because he looked sheepishly at her and the rest of the women in their group and drawled, “James and I will just sit on them and wait for the cavalry to show up.”
Amy laughed along with the others. “I’m sorry I worried you all.”
Paul replied, “Don’t be. We’ll all keep a special eye out for you. No one is going to take you away again.”
Amy smiled and thanked them for their concern. All of this attention would just make it harder for her to get away if she needed to.
That morning’s game drive was uneventful except for the animals they saw.
They gathered as dawn approached layered up to shut out the cold they remembered from the day before. Herds of impala and a couple of Cape Buffalo grazing too far into the woods to provide good views were all they found the first hour. Andrew discovered a drying mudflat with another herd of cheetah fast food. What made it interesting was the flock of Maribou storks standing among them. They were as tall as the impala with bulbous sacs hanging from their necks. They were carrion eaters and their featherless heads made what passed for avian hygiene much easier. Amy thought they were ugly beasts even when comparing them to their cousins, the white-backed vultures. They reminded Amy of a bunch of balding old men. Gray blotches on their pink beaks resembled liver spots. Wisps of feathers rimming their necklines could have been stray hairs that needed trimming. They shuffled along on the damp ground in slow motion looking for toads. In contrast, a sounder of banded mongooses darted between the feet of both the impala and the storks. The black and gray banding that covered their entire backs reminded her of raccoons without the bushy tails. They scurried among the Maribou and impala like boisterous children chasing each other just for the fun of it all.
For a few hours Amy put aside her concerns about her cousin and her assignment. She felt a kinship with the beasts here and considered it a privilege to be able to see them.
Amy was much more relaxed now that the meeting with Robert was over. The compartment in the bottom of her backpack held the hectorite sample Robert wanted assayed. She would wait until they got back to Johannesburg before she tried to do anything with it. Mike was still suspicious, but she stuck to her story and he gave up trying to get any more information out of her. She had always been good at evading unwanted questions with awkward answers. The rest of the group didn’t interrogate her either, and for that she was grateful.
African safari tours always promised its clients views of the Big Five, and this morning was their last chance at seeing the most elusive of them. They had already seen elephants, lions, rhinos, and a pair of Cape buffalo. The Big Five were not named for their size, but rather for the danger they presented to the hunter. Cape buffalo were at the top of the list. Most animals gave warning signs when annoyed and preparing to charge. Elephants postured menacingly, but until they trumpeted, no attack was eminent. Cape Buffalo presented the greatest threat to safari jeeps. Their behavior was unpredictable, and that’s what made them dangerous. They could attack without warning, and every driver made sure to keep his distance. They might be grazing by the side of the road, and suddenly turn and charge with the massive horns on their heads down to do battle.
They had seen lions, rhinos, elephants and Cape buffalo, but the most elusive of the Big Five, the leopard, had not yet made an appearance. Leopards are solitary and stealthy hunters. They would track their prey for hours and wait for the perfect moment to attack. Mike Stone told stories about previous tours and their leopard sightings. All he managed to do was whet the group’s appetite for an encounter of their own which might never happen.
All local animal guides kept in contact by radio, and would give a heads up when a good sighting was in progress. Other drivers found leopards, but they were always gone before either Niles or Andrew could get his jeep to the spot. Andrew was especially beside himself for failing to deliver the last of the Big Five.
A call on the radio reported a leopard sleeping in the river bed a couple of miles from their position.
“Hold on,” he yelled to his passengers as he put the jeep into warp drive and flew to the location. Everyone held on to their seats as the vehicle crested the steeper hills and temporarily went airborne.
They were fifty meters from the riverbed. Andrew camouflaged the jeep behind a tangle of low bushes. Down in the dried edges of the river bed, shaded by a stony ridge, slept a full grown male leopard. One needed binoculars to see the cat in the shadows, but the feline sprawled elegantly in the cool of the rock face. The leopard woke up, but just raised his head and surveyed his surroundings with a yawn. The jeep was far enough away and well hidden. Paul got a picture with his telescopic lens, and even Mike was impressed with the view once Amy relinquished her binoculars. Andrew was much relieved.
Amy sat behind him that morning, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and said, “Good job, Andrew.”
Andrew let out an enormous sigh. He had delivered what he promised -each of the Big Five had made an appearance.
Everyone kept a special eye on Amy’s whereabouts. Even at the morning rest stop Mike was never more than a few feet away, and it was beginning to get on her nerves.
“Are you going to walk me to the restroom?” she asked him a bit sarcastically after she had finished her coffee.
“I’m considering it,” he replied nonchalantly.
In the end it was Maxine and Debra who accompanied her there. Mike was still suspicious of the whole business, and his response was to be hyper vigilant. His nerves were wearing thin. He hadn’t lost a tourist yet, and he promised himself that Amy would not be the first. Her descriptions of the men who abducted her and the questions they asked seemed too vague for someone claiming she was a scientist. Instead of sleeping he spent his nights going over the whole kidnapping scene as Amy described it. It didn’t make sense. He also hadn’t heard from Francoise since the day before yesterday and the lack of contact made him a little crazy. This was one group of tourists he would be happy to see get on a plane back to the States and be of no further concern to him.
That afternoon the group was traveling from Botswana into Zimbabwe and Victoria Falls. Border crossings always took time in Africa. First there was the exit from Botswana, and then immigration and customs into Zimbabwe. Mike knew better than to try and accomplish this without the help of a local guide and driver. Ralph Toomey, a Zimbabwe national, had been a colleague of Mike’s for years. They had worked together during Mike’s military service. Mike tried to hire him any time he needed assistance in Zimbabwe. It was a strained friendship in many ways because of racial and economic issues. Zimbabwe was study in contrasts. Tremendous mineral resources should have made the general population financially comfortable -maybe even affluent by African standards. But the money never trickled very far down the political power structure. This crossing always went more quickly when Toomey handled it. Mike was not aware if any cash exchanged hands -it would be hard to believe it didn't. Knowing for sure wouldn't be of any benefit. He just didn’t want to spend endless hours in lines waiting to get passports stamped if it could be avoided. Toomey used the bus ride to explain a few things to the group.
“First,” Toomey began. “Please put your cameras away and out of sight. Absolutely no pictures of either border crossing are allowed. If anyone gets caught with a camera, and any official even thinks someone has taken a photograph, not only could the camera be confiscated and NOT returned. The group might be denied entry into Zimbabwe.”
People started removing their camera gear and stuffing it in backpacks.
“Secondly, I feel very fortunate to have a job. In Zimbabwe the unemployment rate is over 75%. A few years ago inflation was so bad that our money was basically worthless. If someone had the cash to go to a restaurant, one paid upon entering, because if you waited until the end of a meal, the price would have already gone up. Although our country is rich in mineral resources, very little of that wealth has trickled down to the common people. We presently use the American
Dollar as our currency and inflation is not so bad anymore. However, the walls in Zimbabwe have ears. Please do not talk politics in public areas. One never knows who may be listening.”
The usually jovial group was much quieter as they approached the border. Although the road ran through a national park, the only living creatures they saw were a small group of Southern Ground Hornbills. Their black bodies and enormous curved beaks with bright red faces and throats made identification easy. They strutted along the grassy roadside looking for insects or rodents to eat. The bus stopped for a few minutes as the photographers in the group dug out their cameras. They stowed them away again before they reached the border crossing shortly after. Amy didn’t take any photos, she was busy consulting her birding guide, but she marveled at the diversity of life here in the bush. However, she wondered how long it could compete with the human population.
The egress from Botswana went smoothly. The emigration officer did not even insist that the group get off the bus and present themselves individually. Mike collected their passports and passed them on to Toomey who returned five minutes later with the necessary exit stamps. Entry into Zimbabwe, three hundred yards down the road, did not go as well.
The parking lot overflowed with trucks carrying produce and construction materials waiting to cross the border into Botswana. A large bus transporting local citizens to places unknown had gotten there before them and the line at immigration was long enough to trail out the door into the worst heat of the day. They had no choice but to stand out in the sun and wait their turn with the emigration officer. Minutes dragged into a half hour and the line hadn’t moved. A trucker who had gotten there before them had a problem with his papers.
A troop of baboons patrolled the parking lot looking for anything edible and their antics provided distracting entertainment for a while. The humidity was unbearable and they were all a bit dazed with the heat. Debra started swaying unsteadily on her feet. Amy caught her as her knees collapsed and eased her to the ground. Mike rushed over to help. Debra’s skin was flushed but dry.
"Are you okay?" Amy asked her.
She didn't respond and her eyes had trouble focusing on Amy's face -borderline heatstroke. Mike and Amy each took an arm and led Debra to an open shelter that served as the customs depot. Mike left Debra with Amy and went in search of water. The corrugated metal roof provided some relief from direct sun. Amy set Debra down on a crate and fanned her with her hat. Debra was conscious but stared straight ahead. She seemed not to know where she was. A uniformed guard came over to the two ladies.
“What is going on here, ma’am?” the officer asked.
“She’s had too much sun. Our tour manager has gone to get some water,” Amy replied. “I think she’ll be fine once she cools down.”
The guard nodded. “A man in the parking lot said you dropped this.”
In his extended hand was a cell phone.
Amy froze and then her heart started racing. “What man? Where?”
“Just a man in the parking lot.”
Amy's first instinct was to run out to see who it was, but she was reluctant to leave Debra alone. She wondered how far Mike had to go to find a bottle of water. By the time he returned Debra was much better, but the guard who gave her the cell phone had left.
Another damn phone, Amy lamented as they re-boarded the bus and made their way to the Victoria Falls Hotel.
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Victoria Falls Hotel was once the only lodging in the area. The original was a wooden structure used for housing railroad workers in 1904. When that one burnt to the ground a few years later they replaced it with fire resistant white brick. Its many additions over the decades kept the feeling of old world charm and recalled a bygone age of European colonial rule in Africa. It served passengers on the rail line that Cecil Rhodes dreamt would one day link Cape Town, South Africa, to Cairo, Egypt. The station was still across from the hotel’s rear loading zone, and one could reach Cape Town from there in four days. The British Empire didn’t have the political power to connect rail lines down the length of Africa until after World War I, but the war had drained the coffers of the empire where the sun never set. After World War II national political struggles in Africa made it impossible. The dream still existed, but so did the problems.
The bus entered the hotel grounds through lush tropical gardens with small gatherings of wandering warthogs reminding their group they were still in Africa. A major domo greeted them in his crisply pressed if somewhat thread worn white uniform covered in buttons and pins from all over the world.
The hotel was elegant, but it belonged in some other place and in some other time. The walls of the corridors hung with life-sized oil paintings of past British royalty in military dress. Photographs and memorabilia from the hotel’s long history lined the hallways. The theme changed as one traveled to different wings or up to another level. A photograph of a matronly Queen Mother stood in front of her portrait painted when she was a girl. The royal suite in the oldest section of the hotel had a canopied bed and a nicely appointed sitting room adjacent to it. No queen had ever stayed there, but Hillary Clinton had in her capacity as U.S. Secretary of State.
The falls themselves were one of the natural wonders of the world. It was always hoped that the present British royal family would pay a visit someday. It was unlikely to happen, but a suite was reserved for Prince William, Kate Middleton and their children if they chose to make an appearance. The surroundings were far more elegant than Amy was used to. She felt a bit self-conscious walking the corridors in her khakis and bush attire. There were men and women in white uniforms constantly patrolling the hallways delivering linens or luggage to various rooms. They pressed themselves against a wall and nodded politely when she passed, but they all seemed unnaturally thin to her.
She had an early dinner on the Stanley Terrace with Maxine and Debra. Massive pots of blue morning glories decorated the brick walkways overlooking the impeccably mowed lawn. Not a dead or wilted blossom ever showed on the vines. Diners had a view of the bridge that crossed the Zambezi River and the mists that hung over the falls. A formal dining room, The Livingstone, was only open for special occasions. It could accommodate over a hundred at tables already set with white linens and enough silverware to confuse even the most familiar with four star restaurant experiences. Amy could imagine women in low cut ball gowns and men in white tie and tails sipping champagne in fluted goblets. But the place was empty. In fact the whole establishment seemed empty. She counted more hotel employees than paying guests.
Tomorrow morning they would hike the trail on the Zimbabwe side of the falls. The rainy season had just ended and the volume of water going over the falls was impressive. The guide book said that now and for the next month close to a million gallons of water would fall over the precipice each second. The natives called the falls “The Smoke that Thunders.” From the Stanley Terrace one could not hear the thunder, but the smoke -spray from the falls -was impressive. Great plumes of mist hovered over the slit in the Earth where water from the shallow and wide Zambezi River fell into a gorge over three hundred feet below. The river made a sharp left turn before continuing on a zigzag path down through several gorges. They would hike the Zimbabwe side, only a few hundred meters across from the plunging waters.
They were at the Visitor Center early the next day. Toomey promised that the falls were most impressive in the morning with the sun just rising in the northeastern sky. The hike would be a wet affair for all of them. Rain gear was recommended, but the weather had turned very warm and plastic ponchos seemed a bad idea to Amy. She donned her well-traveled bug hat to protect her eyes from the falling mists. She wore her bush safari clothes from Chobe -the clothes that needed washing anyway.
Mike led them down a short trail to the western edge of the cataract. He stopped at a dry spot next to a super-sized statue of David Livingstone commemorating his discovery of the falls in 1855. After explaining to them that the rim
hike was about a kilometer long, he sent them on their way. Side paths led back to the main trail if the hike became too difficult for any of them. These side trails would lead back to the Visitor’s Center.
Mike watched the group as it headed off. He had seen the falls many times before, and would wait for his group in relative dryness near the Livingstone statue. He would be there at the other end in the forty-five minutes or so that it would take them to get there. Mike sat on the short wall surrounding the monument and checked his cell phone. He wanted a message from Francoise and his daily picture of his new born daughter. Once again there was no word from her and he was becoming concerned. He was sure his mother-in-law could handle any situation that might come up, but if there was some trouble he would prefer to know about it before he got back to Cape Town later in the week.
A shadowy presence fell over the display of his phone. He looked up and was not happy with whom he saw.
“Hello Mike. Long time no see.” The white man in the suit and tie smiled and put out his hand. Mike didn’t take it.
“Hello, Bonner. Not long enough as far as I'm concerned.”
“Still holding a grudge about the Namibian affair?”
“Good guess. What do you want?” Mike returned his phone to his pocket.
“We have a rather delicate situation that you have the expertise to handle.”
“You know I don’t do that kind of work anymore,” Mike replied coolly.
“Yes, I'm aware of that. You promised your wife. Will you just listen before turning it down?”
“Sure. I’ll be sorry I did, but I’ll listen.”
“It has to do with one of the members of your tour group.”
“Amy Mohr,” Mike stated without further comment. Stanley seemed surprised.
“Yes. The company who sent her here is missing one of their employees. We lost contact with him two months ago, and he happens to be her cousin. We are relatively sure that he will try to reach her on this trip. In fact he may have already done so.”