A Holiday to Die For

by Marion Leigh

  ‘Hold this, cara,’ he said, handing her an enormous lens the paparazzi would be proud of so that he could switch to an even bigger one. ‘Careful you don’t drop it.’

  ‘Mercutio, I’m not your slave. You want all this paraphernalia, deal with it yourself. I’ve got my binoculars and my own camera to contend with.’

  ‘Tsk, tsk. Touchy all of a sudden, aren’t we?’

  ‘Sorry. Blame it on the heat.’

  By the end of the afternoon, they had reached the last viewpoint that was accessible without a 4 x 4. Here the river’s course made a tight switchback. Petra approached the edge of the canyon and looked down. Pools of water allowed bright green patches of vegetation to flourish. To the left, around the fast-flowing Sulphur Springs, palm trees grew. She turned to ask Carlo a question.

  On the far side of the parking area, a dark green jeep stood next to a laced-up camouflage tent. Carlo was sniffing around it in a way that reminded her of Ed Spinone, her partner in the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

  ‘Pretty impressive,’ he said as he finished looking through each of the jeep’s windows. ‘A lot of equipment in there. I’d say the owner’s completely self-sufficient.’

  ‘He or she’s not worried about theft then?’

  ‘Not likely, there’s hardly a mortal soul here. I wonder why he’s got the tent. The park closes at sundown.’

  Petra walked to the canyon edge to take a final picture from a different angle with her point-and-shoot camera. A rugged track led down then disappeared behind a group of boulders that looked as though they might fall at any time. She beckoned to Carlo. ‘There’s your camper.’

  A man as wiry as any sailor Petra had ever met was labouring up the track wearing a bulging backpack out of which stuck a tripod. He was wearing army-style fatigues and crossed bandolier straps attached to which were various gadgets. He scrambled the last few metres to the top and swung his backpack onto the ground.

  His tanned face was leathery and his light blue eyes held that faraway look Petra also associated with sailors. He didn’t seem the least bit startled to see them or their painted vehicle.

  Without responding to Carlo’s ‘Howdy’, he got out his tripod and set it up on a rock facing south. He clipped the camera in place on top and busied himself with his light meter. Below them the kinks and coils of the Fish River receded into the distance. The pinks and reds of the sunset blended with a special kind of haziness that was neither cloud nor mist. He clicked and made adjustments for dozens of images while Carlo watched in admiration. Finally he stood upright and drew back his shoulders.

  ‘Just in time. When I went down, I didn’t think conditions were right. I’ve been trying to capture this for over a week.’

  ‘Camping here?’ Carlo asked.

  ‘Special permission. I’ve been commissioned to take unusual photos, to attract more tourists. It’s the second largest canyon after the Grand Canyon, but so few people come here.’

  He bent over his backpack and took something out of one of the pockets. ‘Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. One of the hikers must have dropped this eyesore.’ He waved a shocking pink phone in the air. ‘Are you guys staying in the area tonight?’

  ‘Yes,’ Carlo said. ‘At the Roadhouse.’

  ‘Will you leave this at Reception? Most of the up-market groups start and end their hikes there. This looks up-market to me.’

  ‘Can I see it?’ Petra asked suddenly.

  ‘Sure. I’m Rob by the way. Tell them I found it near Ai-Ais a few days ago. I’d forgotten all about it.’

  Petra took the phone and stared at it.

  ‘It won’t work here,’ Rob said flatly.

  She turned it over. ‘It’s Megan’s. I’ll take it.’

  ‘Who’s Megan?’ Carlo asked as they jolted back in the van towards the park exit.

  ‘Remember the two girls on their gap year we met in Cape Town? They were checking out of the hotel the morning we went to Robben Island.’

  ‘Of course! Two nubile young ladies, one with fair hair, one reddish.’

  ‘They were joining a Higher Ground Tour to Namibia. Megan gave me the brochure. Fish River Canyon was on their itinerary.’

  ‘That figures.’

  ‘If they left Cape Town straightaway, Carlo, when do you think they’d have been here?’

  ‘I don’t know, a week or so ago? Anyway, how do you know it’s Megan’s phone?’

  ‘I saw her taking pictures with it. There’s a fancy M sticker on the back.’

  ‘Proof enough. So what are you thinking of doing? I can see your mind working.’

  ‘I’ll check the itinerary and see where they’re supposed to be now.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘If they’re anywhere near us, I’ll be able to give it back to her, won’t I?’

  ‘As long as it doesn’t involve extra driving.’

  ‘She must be mad at losing it,’ Petra said a few minutes later.

  ‘You’re not fretting about someone’s phone, are you?’

  ‘Not really. Ever since I read that Higher Ground tour brochure, I’ve had a peculiar feeling, one that won’t go away. And the brochure Ana gave you the day we left Vredehof was just as disturbing.’

  Carlo pulled into the forecourt of the Roadhouse. It was full of rusty old vehicles that made Petra wonder if they had come to the right place. They checked in and found their campsite at the back beyond the pool.

  ‘Let’s get a drink in the bar,’ Carlo said. ‘If they have internet, I can put Hubert in the picture.’

  Petra found a seat next to a vintage truck and began to study the Higher Ground tour brochure Megan had given her.

  The ultimate eco-adventure with

  Higher Ground

  19 days from Cape Town, South Africa,

  to Katima Mulilo, Namibia

  Week 1

  Cape Town, Springbok, Fish River Canyon, Lüderitz

  Week 2

  Sossusvlei, Swakopmund, Cape Cross, Damaraland

  Week 3

  Etosha National Park, Zambezi Region, Katima Mulilo

  Week 4 +

  opportunity to do volunteer work in a local village

  It was a much longer trip than hers and Carlo’s and the girls were visiting far more places. Petra made some quick calculations. By now they would most likely be in Swakopmund. As far as she could tell, the only place where they might have a chance of catching up with them would be in Etosha.

  Carlo joined her, bringing two frothing glasses of beer.

  ‘Any luck?’

  His face said the contrary.

  ‘No internet, and the phone line’s down today. We probably won’t have decent communications until we get to Swakopmund. So there’s nothing I can do. How do you fancy oryx or kudu steak for dinner?’

  ‘Couldn’t we eat something less beautiful?’

  ‘What about eland?’

  ‘I’ll go with that. They’re more ox-like.’

  ‘You see! I told you you’d learn the difference.’

  Chapter

  49

  The wild horses at Aus were black specks in the distance – three of them trudging in a line across the sand. The waterhole in front of the observation shelter was half-full but bereft of animals. Then Petra spied movement. She grabbed her binoculars.

  ‘Something’s there, Carlo!’

  ‘Well it’s nothing very big.’

  ‘It’s a jackal, a black-backed jackal! That’s strange, they’re most often seen at dawn and dusk.’

  ‘Cheat! You’ve been reading the guidebook you bought at the Roadhouse.’

  ‘I like to be well-informed
, Mercutio.’

  ‘Goes with the territory, I guess.’

  ‘Actually, there are two of them if you look carefully.’

  Back on the road, Petra fell silent. Carlo let her be for a while then threw her a quizzical look.

  ‘What’s up, cara? Are you feeling OK?’

  ‘When will we get to Etosha?’

  ‘In about four days’ time.’

  ‘What about Swakopmund?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  ‘But that’s no good, Carlo. Megan will have moved on.’

  ‘Look, she’s managed without her phone so far, and as Rob said, it’s unlikely to work here. Have you tried yours?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what’s all the fuss about?’

  ‘I have to make sure the girls are all right.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t they be?’

  ‘There is definitely something weird about this Higher Ground organization. I don’t know what it is, but …’

  ‘You can feel it in your bones.’

  ‘Exactly. Plus I feel responsible for them. They’re so young and vulnerable. There are so many predators out there …’

  ‘Exactly. Lions and leopards and cheetahs and caracals …’

  ‘Can’t you take anything seriously, Carlo? Megan and Hilary don’t realize how exposed they are in a strange land without family or friends to help them if they need it.’

  ‘Stop tormenting yourself. Enjoy the trip.’

  A car, the first one they’d seen for half an hour, was coming the other way. Carlo pulled over to the left to give them more room. The driver tooted as they passed and the woman in the passenger seat pointed a finger at them.

  ‘Can’t we get there sooner?’

  ‘Only if you want to miss some of the best sights in Namibia. And I must say I don’t.’

  ‘What are we seeing today?’

  ‘Duwisib Castle then on to Sesriem.’

  ‘Why do we want to see a castle?’

  ‘It has turrets and battlements and is a hundred years old. Is this a new inquisition?’

  Petra poked around in the bag by her feet and found her guidebook. ‘Right, page 200.’

  Carlo began to whistle.

  ‘We’ll skip the castle.’ She buried her head in the book again. ‘OK, the dunes at Sossusvlei are not to be missed.’

  ‘Not for Megan or Hilary or Julia or Vicky Dunlin or anyone else you’ve taken under your wing and are agonizing over?’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Mercutio.’

  ‘Well what is it you’re doing apart from spoiling our holiday?’

  ‘I know I should just relax and enjoy it – it’s wonderful and I’ll never have the opportunity to do this again – but I can’t. As you said, it goes with the territory.’

  ‘I do understand, cara. I’m a cop too and if I smell a rat, I have to track it down. But I don’t know how you expect to find Megan and Hilary in Etosha. It’s a huge area with five camps inside the park and numerous lodges near the entrance gates.’

  Petra looked crestfallen. ‘I’ll find a way.’

  After a few moments’ silence, she added, ‘Talking of tracking down, I promised to keep A.K. informed. He’ll be furious that I haven’t been in touch. Especially when I tell him I haven’t found Vicky Dunlin.’

  Petra and Carlo pulled up in front of the campsite office at Sesriem. Their van drew a number of curious stares. Petra got out and adjusted her tie-dye top. A couple of wolf whistles acknowledged her success in embracing the hippie look. In answer she twirled the strings of coloured beads she had bought at the Roadhouse curio shop and followed Carlo into the office.

  While he checked them in for two nights, Petra wandered about. On the far end of the counter, she found a guest book. Idly, she leafed through it. The campsite had a steady flow of visitors, most of them staying a day or two to visit the dunes at Sossusvlei. Lots of South Africans and Germans and other individuals on holiday she noted. But some were tour groups.

  The circuits in her brain fired up. Sossusvlei was on Higher Ground’s itinerary. She tried to remember whether there was anything in the tour brochure to indicate where they would camp overnight. The campsite at Sesriem wasn’t the only one in the area but it did offer easy access to the park. For a lot of groups this would be a big plus.

  She turned back to the beginning of the book. The first entry was dated just over a month ago. She ran her finger down each page fixing the name Higher Ground in her mind so that it would jump out at her. Safari Adventures … GoCamp Travel … Wilds of Namibia Tours … they were regular visitors. No Higher Ground. Of course, not everybody wrote in guest books but most tour operators had standing arrangements with the same places. The staff should know.

  Carlo was still at the desk, discussing the merits of two different pitches with a female ranger. Petra approached and nudged him in the ribs.

  ‘Hi,’ she said to the ranger. ‘I’m hoping to meet up with a friend of mine. She’s on a camping trip with Higher Ground Tours. You wouldn’t know if they were here earlier this week, would you? I can’t see anything in the guest book.’

  ‘The tours are usually in too much of a rush to give us feedback. Anyway, I don’t think I’ve heard of – what was it you said – Higher Ground?’

  ‘Why are you bothering this lovely young lady with that, Petra?’ Carlo said. ‘Even if she had booked in a Higher Ground group, what would that prove? You already know we’re basically following in their footsteps.’

  ‘It would confirm how far ahead of us they are. Idiotic as it may sound, I’m getting more and more anxious about the girls. They went off in a huge rush on that Higher Ground tour.’ Petra chewed her lip. ‘And it’s not just Megan and Hilary. Florian’s somewhere in Namibia with his group.’

  Then she had an idea. She delved into her shoulder bag and brought out her camera. One thing about digital cameras, you could take hundreds if not thousands of shots before you had to download them. She scrolled back while the ranger leaned forward to talk to Carlo again.

  ‘There! You might recognize this guy. He’s one of the Higher Ground tour leaders. Has he been here?’ She held out her camera so that the ranger could see the picture of Florian at the wedding.

  ‘Oh yes, I remember him.’

  ‘Blonde hair, blue eyes?’

  ‘Yes, and the most amazing eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a guy.’

  Petra smiled triumphantly. Women never forgot Florian. ‘When was he here?’

  ‘A couple of months ago. He said he’d see me again.’

  ‘Was anyone else with him?’ Petra asked, thinking of Father John.

  The ranger nodded. ‘Six girls and a guy.’

  ‘Was he tall, rather wild hair, dressed in a black robe like a priest?’

  ‘He didn’t look like a priest, that’s for sure.’

  Carlo cut in. ‘OK, we’ll take that pitch you recommended on the edge of the campground.’

  The ranger turned back to her computer to finish the registration process.

  Petra was curious. If it wasn’t Father John with Florian, who was it? A driver? A guide? A friend? How big was the Higher Ground organization? Diego had gone off with Florian, the two Spanish girls and the two English girls after the wedding. Clearly he hadn’t been with Florian two months ago, but a question about him might jog the ranger’s memory.

  ‘Did he have a beard?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The guy who came here with golden boy.’

  ‘No, but he had a bit of a limp. And a Mohawk.’

  A shadowy picture formed in the back of Petra’s mind. She went to the door of the office and stared into the distance. Suddenly the picture came into focus.

  Cape Town airport. The day of her arrival nearly two weeks ago. A skinny guy with a Mohawk-style haircut. Wearing a bl
ack T-shirt and black jeans. Watching her. Then limping away.

  At the time, she had felt his interest in her to be odd enough to commit his face to memory. Why had he been watching her and what was his connection with Florian?

  Chapter

  50

  ‘What’s the matter, Petra? You’ve been fiddling with your camera ever since we got into the car. Concentrate on the scenery.’

  ‘Yessir!’ Petra laid the camera in her lap and covered it with her hands. In the early morning light, the flat plains on either side of the car were a pale grey-green. Strange circular patterns surrounded occasional tufts of weeds in the same greenish tones. She caught sight of a jackal but couldn’t be bothered to point it out to Carlo.

  What she didn’t want him to know was how angry with herself she was. Florian had crept back into her psyche. He had peppered her dreams during the night and she hadn’t been able to banish him this morning. Worse, while Carlo had gone to do his ablutions, she had started scrolling back through pictures of the wedding. There were more of Florian than she had realized. Florian with Tony Broselli and the golf carts, Florian as tour leader, Florian with Sandrine … She wasn’t a keen photographer but on a trip such as this she had taken plenty.

  She stared at the distant dunes. The sun was just beginning to bathe them in a golden glow. It didn’t help. The kaleidoscope in her mind kept flashing from image to image, the ones she hadn’t taken – Florian swinging the incense burner, Florian dismounting from his horse, Florian watching her swim, Florian bending close to kiss her … Her body shivered in remembrance.

  How many other girls had he kissed that week? Betta and Julia for sure, probably all of them, at least with his eyes as he always did. And how many had he slept with? Petra felt anger rise within her. He couldn’t help himself, that was it! Not that that was any excuse. Women threw themselves at him, fell over themselves to get close to him, just like the way the ranger had reacted to his photo. He could do anything he wanted with those women.