by Marion Leigh
He walked once more round the whole compound until he was certain he had spoken to everyone and covered every inch of ground. There had been no sightings of Petra either at the site, leaving the site or outside the site. And she had left no note, message or other clue as to where she had gone or what had happened in his absence. She had literally vanished into the dry thin air of Etosha.
He got back into the luridly painted camper Petra called Lucy, drawing some pitying looks and a few shouted Good lucks. He unfolded Petra’s map and stared at it for a long time as if it could answer his unspoken questions. Why had she left? How had she left? What should he do? Which way should he go? The picnic site was almost exactly halfway between Halali and Namutoni camps. Halali was isolated in the middle of the park, Namutoni close to the east gate and to several private lodges. In the developed world, if someone went missing on his watch, he made an urgent call and issued an alert. Here in the wilderness he had no phone signal, no radio, no back-up and no idea what to do for the best.
Carlo made up his mind. He left the site, turned right, and right again onto the main road. Petra knew they were due to spend the night at Namutoni. He hoped she was already there getting medical help. If not, the camp would have resources that would facilitate his search. He drove as fast as he dared. He ignored vehicles and animals on the side of the road and roared past waterholes. From time to time, he wiped the sweat off his palms on his grey shorts. When he reached Namutoni, it was four o’clock in the afternoon.
He drove through the gates of the old fort around which the camp was built, stopped in front of reception, and ran in. The wooden chairs around the walls were empty. Carlo went straight to the counter where the ranger in charge was dealing with a middle-aged couple. They reacted angrily when he interrupted, brandishing the photo. Quickly he explained what had happened. They studied the photo and the ranger showed it to his colleagues in the back office.
‘Nice-looking girl. She definitely hasn’t checked in. Try the museum and the shop.’ His expression was sympathetic but Carlo suspected that he didn’t believe his story. ‘Afternoon is always busy,’ the ranger added. ‘I can’t help you now. Come back later.’
For half an hour, Carlo prowled the fort and its facilities searching for Petra. No one had seen her. When he returned to reception, he was nearly frantic. He learned that the police had no local presence: the nearest station was in Tsumeb, over a hundred kilometres away. Ditto the hospital. The phone in the back office that they allowed him to use was a disaster. When he did get through to the police station, they refused to issue any kind of alert. Clearly they thought he was a nutter.
From time to time, Carlo had to remind himself that it was true – he was crazy. Petra had fallen sick. He had left her. And she had disappeared. It was his fault. He should never have left her to photograph the damned lions. If he couldn’t find her, how was he going to explain his conduct to the people who would need to be informed?
But it was no good wallowing in guilt. Action was what was needed. He tried using the phone again. This time he got a line and it was picked up by someone at Halali after six rings. He asked for the tall regal ranger who knew Petra. She had finished work at lunchtime and wouldn’t be back until the following week.
He dialled the number for the hospital in Tsumeb but couldn’t get a connection. There was no internet either. Finally, one of the rangers suggested he get a room at the Bush Hotel outside the park. It had a business centre and Wi-Fi.
Carlo made it to the gate just before it closed. First, he had to present all his receipts for the overnight stay at Halali and the park entrance fees to the gatekeeper. Then he told him his story and showed him the photo of Petra. The gatekeeper shook his head.
‘Can you give me a list of the vehicles that have exited the park since noon?’
‘No boss, not possible.’
After a rather heated discussion, Carlo decided that the records were probably incomplete and the gatekeeper didn’t want to get into trouble. Also the sun was setting rapidly.
In his frustration, Carlo nearly missed the turning to the hotel. The receptionist insisted that she hadn’t seen Petra and after a short battle, found him a twin room. He sat down on one of the beds and picked up the phone. On the third try, he got through to the hospital in Tsumeb. No one called Petra Minx had been treated that afternoon.
He said he would call again later and opened the can of Castle beer he had brought up from the camper. It was over five hours since he had left Petra at the picnic site and he was making no progress with his enquiries. There must be something he had missed.
He took a couple of swigs from the can, looked at his watch and decided to call Hubert in Paris. He would have to tell him there was a real possibility that he wouldn’t be flying back to Cape Town on Friday or Saturday with Petra, and definitely not without her.
Hubert’s voice was matter of fact as he ran through various scenarios with Carlo. ‘At this stage, you can’t discount anything. She felt sick so she could have had a fall, even a stroke, and passed out; if someone tried to help her, they wouldn’t have known who she was travelling with …’
‘I’ve thought of all that and contacted the police and the hospital. No joy.’
‘What about violent crime? It’s possible if unlikely.’
‘There was no evidence of that at the picnic site.’
‘How about abduction?’
‘Again unlikely. Petra wasn’t wealthy or well-known like my step-aunt Sandrine or a friend of ours, Mrs. Pinderally. She was a cop who had worked undercover and knew how to defend herself. And who would attempt an abduction in a public place in broad daylight?’
‘Was she pissed off with you?’
‘Probably, but she wouldn’t have gone farther than Namutoni without leaving me a message, I’m sure of that.’
‘What about friends? Missing teenagers are often found among their peers.’
‘It would be a coincidence if she ran into friends in the middle of Etosha National Park.’ Carlo sat up straight. ‘But she was trying to find a couple of English girls she met in Cape Town.’
‘There you are! Were they driving in Namibia?’
‘They were on a tour, a company called Higher Ground. Actually, my step-aunt’s son Florian acts as a guide for some of those tours.’
‘OK, so it’s friends and family. Chase that down and I bet you’ll find her. By the way, everything’s set for the sting.’
Chapter
62
Everything was hazy and obscure and muffled. Her eyes were locked shut. It was as if the muscles had atrophied so that they would never open again. She tried to see through the fog inside her eyes and her brain. She strained to move some part of her body, any part. But she couldn’t feel. A huge distance separated her from herself. She mewled like a kitten.
A far-off voice said: ‘I think she’s coming out of it.’
‘Give her some more then.’
Something brushed Petra’s arm. She tried to shake it off. The needle sank in and she gave a convulsive twitch.
‘That’ll keep her quiet.’
Through the cotton-wool in her ears and head, Petra heard a faint rushing sound. Like wind in the trees or air through a tunnel. She felt hot and sweaty. She wanted to sit up and throw off whatever it was that was weighing her down. But she couldn’t. She had no strength and no willpower.
The rushing sound was still there, like wind in the trees or air through a tunnel. And now there was vibration. For the first time in who knew how long, she sensed that she was lying down. Flat on her back on a hard surface. Her nose was stuffy, her eyes gritty beneath the heavy lids. If she lifted her hand, she could rub them. Then they might open. The information from her brain failed to reach her hand. Her head began to spin. The next minute she was flying.
A voice echoed in the darkness surrounding her. ‘We have to stop for pet
rol.’
‘I’ll give her another shot.’
‘Has she moved?’
‘Not even her eyelids.’
‘Then there’s no need. He doesn’t want her out cold when we get there.’
‘I’ll watch her.’
The rushing noise had abated but the vibration had increased. Gradually Petra realized that she was in a vehicle. One that was now travelling more slowly over rutted ground. The jarring didn’t help as she tried to piece together what was happening.
She couldn’t remember how she got where she appeared to be: in a car or van with two other people, a man and a woman. Every time she tried to bring a shadowy recollection into focus, it eluded her. The effort caused her to sigh.
Petra felt the vehicle come to a stop. Her normally sharp hearing was fuzzy, but a scraping noise suggested a gate being dragged open. A dull thud followed by a sliding noise warned her that they were coming for her. It wasn’t difficult to keep her eyes closed and her leaden limbs motionless.
She felt herself being lifted, on the same hard surface. Panic gripped her as the surface tilted. Her world revolved about her ears.
‘Watch what you’re doing.’
‘She’s strapped. She can’t fall off.’
She felt as though she was falling down a long rabbit-hole, like Alice in Wonderland. Then she was lowered and everything stabilized. She was flat on her back again with something lumpy under her head.
Another voice, distorted yet familiar.
‘Welcome to the fold, my lovely. Let me wake you with a kiss.’
Chapter
63
Petra felt something land on her face and tried to swat it away. Now it was on her lips, brushing them gently. Then it began to press harder. She squirmed uncomfortably. Whatever it was, it was a nuisance. Something she wanted to get rid of but couldn’t. Her body was tingling as it might if she had come into contact with an electric fence. She had no strength with which to resist so she surrendered herself to the touch that was setting her nerves on fire. When it stopped, she moaned softly and slept.
Several times she awoke to the sensation of someone standing over her, watching her, studying her. Once she felt a weight on top of her and in the beginning struggled to push it off. But it was so smooth and smelled so good and was so like a protective mantle that she clasped it to her and inhaled deeply before falling into oblivion.
At last she opened her eyes.
Florian was standing at the foot of the bed, holding a lock of black hair. Her hair. ‘Welcome again, my lovely.’
She closed her eyes and the vision was gone.
When she woke later, Petra found that she was lying on a cot, naked under a rough blanket that was scratching her skin. Images flooded her brain. Rage engulfed her, then fear. Her body felt violated yet whole.
Had Florian really been standing at her feet? She had no recollection of undressing herself. Surely he hadn’t done it? Where was she? What had happened after she and Carlo had seen the lions? She wished she could remember but she had felt so deathly sick and her memory was a black hole.
She heard a rustling sound and looked up. Above her, a thatched roof rose to a peak. Where the thatch joined the wooden walls, vents had been created to let in air and light. And a large lizard was clinging to the thatch. If it fell off, it would fall on top of her.
Petra flexed her fingers and when they responded reasonably, she threw back the blanket and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. Keeping an eye on the ceiling, she sat for a few seconds wiggling her toes. The floor was made of bare concrete. She stood up and looked around the room for her clothes. Realizing they had gone, she wrapped the blanket round her middle like a sarong.
She began to take stock of her situation. The hut was built of rough planks. It had a door (locked from the outside, as she suspected) but no window. Light came from the air vents. An unlit oil lamp and a dish containing a couple of matches stood on a square table against the wall. Also on the table were a basin and a pitcher of water, and on the shelf underneath a small towel. A bucket with a lid stood in one corner.
Moving right along: she had no clothes and no shoes. She was hungry and thirsty. She was locked up and had no idea where she was. On the plus side, her mind was working, she appeared outwardly uninjured, she had a blanket, a bed and a lumpy pillow, and water to wash in even if she didn’t want to drink it. Oh, and the bucket.
She lifted the lid off the bucket which was more like an old-fashioned milkmaid’s pail. To her great astonishment, her fringed leather shoulder bag was stuffed inside. She pulled it out, shook it and emptied the contents onto the bed. Out fell her wallet, her keys, her camera, passport, a packet of tissues, a comb, a double roll of Polo mints Tom Gilmore had given her in London, a small bottle of drinking water (half full), a high energy health food bar, and a sealed pack of disposable panties.
Petra sat on the bed next to the pile of loot and took a few sips of water. She ate the health food bar and sipped more water, taking care to leave some for later. Then she picked up the bag and felt deep down inside. Before leaving Canada, she had created a special pocket in the stiffened base. It was invisible unless you turned the bag inside out.
This she did. She opened the pocket, extracted her cross and hung it round her neck. The blanket round her waist had come untied. She let it fall to the floor and began to open the pack of disposable panties. They were made of the same sort of blue and white material as kitchen cloths. Her RCMP colleagues, roaring with laughter, had presented her with them as soon as they heard she was going on safari. Petra blessed them now. With Florian around, anything to cover her nakedness was better than nothing.
She had one foot in a pair of the panties when she heard the door open and shut behind her. She whirled round. Florian, wearing black jeans and a rock band T-shirt, stood with arms crossed and a mocking smile on his face.
Petra turned away from him and pulled up the paper panties. She grabbed her cross and waited, trying to calm her breathing and gather her strength. Tom Gilmore had taught her a few down and dirty tricks that she hoped would work.
‘The back is even more desirable than the front. Of course, I’ve already seen the front and the unknown is always attractive.’
Petra couldn’t do anything to prevent the rush of blood through her body as Florian cooed his greeting. She knew what she wanted to do – or at least what she had to do – but her body was not cooperating. And she had forgotten how like a cat he was: silent and stealthy until the time came to pounce.
Before she was able to take hold of her emotions, he seized her from behind and began kissing her neck. She arched her back as he moved lower with his mouth and tongue, all the while keeping an iron grip on her shoulders. He pressed against her so that she could feel him like a rock in her back.
Fury stoked by desire left Petra temporarily incapable of movement. Florian laughed and began again at the base of her neck. Her hand fell away from her cross.
Suddenly he spun her round to face him and grabbed the tip of the cross, pulling the chain taut.
‘Father John wants this. As his reward for saving you. You could have died if he and Gina hadn’t rescued you. I knew you’d find it among the little treasures in your portmanteau. I told him I’d get it for him.’
While Florian talked, Petra took an imperceptible step forward to relieve the tension on the chain which she knew would not break without a great deal of force. At the same time, she reviewed her limited options and prayed that her assessment of Florian was correct.
‘Never,’ she said, steeling herself for what she had decided to do next. ‘At least, not yet.’
She lifted her chin, gazed adoringly into Florian’s oh-so-blue eyes, put one hand round the back of his head and drew him towards her. His initial surprise turned to merriment then to annoyance as she covered the cross with her other hand and lunged for his g
roin with her knee. He was fast enough on his feet to retreat before the blow could connect.
Petra put as much space between them as she could. She crossed her hands over her chest, hiding her necklace as well as her bare breasts. She watched him like a hawk and held her breath. Would he accept the blow to his male pride or turn violent? For what seemed like an eternity, her safety hung in the balance. Then he regarded her coolly.
‘It’ll be fun taming you. And believe me, I will. But there’s no rush. I have plenty of girls to cater to my needs while I wait for you. Father John will marry us tomorrow.’
‘Father John is a phony.’
Florian laughed. ‘Does it matter? All my girls are married to me, and to him, and to our philosophy. I’ll send him over to claim his due. He’ll be pleased to know that you have his measure.’
Petra kept quiet.
‘You can stare silently at me all you want,’ Florian said, a touch of irritation in his voice, ‘but by tomorrow afternoon you’ll be mine. Get your beauty sleep.’ He opened the door and picked up a bundle that he had left outside.
‘I know you’re crying out for it. You caught the bouquet, remember? Now catch this!’
Chapter
64
‘Leave me alone, girl! The cucumber is not correct. You have no training.’ Mrs. Pinderally lifted the cucumber slices off her eyes and glared at the masseuse who backed hurriedly towards the door. ‘How can I meditate with these limp discs? Fetch your manager!’ Mrs. Pinderally threw the cucumber slices onto the floor and closed her eyes.
A tap on the door roused her some time later.
‘What is taking you so long?’
‘I came quickly, Madam, when I heard the news.’ Ali picked up the cucumber slices and placed them on the masseuse’s trolley.