by Tony Park
‘So have you done much wildlife filming, Jim?’ Sam said in between mouthfuls of runny egg.
‘Sure have. Been up in Chobe and Savuti the last month shooting lions – on video that is. Boom-boom.’
Sam smiled politely. ‘Lucky that Cheryl-Ann found you.’
‘I reckon. I was at Maun in the Mack Air lounge waiting for a plane back to Jo’burg and a month of no work on the horizon, when hurricane Cheryl-Ann here,’ he nodded to the producer, ‘swept in like Katrina on steroids.’
Cheryl-Ann chewed her food. Sam guessed that Cheryl-Ann wanted to slap the cocky cameraman, but was forcing herself to be tolerant in case he found out too soon what she was really like and decided to get back on the next plane to Maun. When he’d heard Ray was out of action he’d wondered whether the whole project would have to be shelved or, worse, cancelled.
Cheryl-Ann swallowed. ‘It was a stressful time. I thought Ray might have just dislocated his arm or something, but it was a bad break – all round. We were lucky that Jim was passing through at the right time and right place.’
‘To tell you the truth,’ Rickards said, with toast crumbs spattering the table, ‘I’ve mostly done news in the past, but I love wildlife filming and really want to get into more of it. I’m stoked to be working with you, Sam, and I’m not pissing in your pocket.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sucking up. Arse-licking … excuse my French.’
Sam nodded.
Stirling sat at the head of the table, a perpetual frown on his face. Sam wondered if the hatchet really had been buried, or if Stirling was still holding it behind his back. Tracey sat next to him, on his right, two away from Sam. She hadn’t acknowledged him since he’d arrived for brunch, and that was just fine by Sam. When he glanced at them he saw Tracey had reached out and laid her hand over Stirling’s in a gesture of loyalty – or was that propriety? Everyone’s eyes turned when Sonja said, ‘Good morning.’
When she’d found him she’d looked like an Amazonian guerilla, her face streaked with a camouflage pattern of dust and dried perspiration, her cut-off shorts grimy from her hours on horseback and her tank top mottled with dirt and body salts. The M4 on her shoulder and the bloodstained dressing on her thigh were the perfect accessories and matched her hard-arsed stare.
Now, however, freshly showered, barefoot and unarmed she was a different person. She smiled – a little self-consciously and definitely for Stirling, Sam noted – and introductions were made.
Sam pushed back his chair. ‘Hello again.’ He stood and all of the other men still seated at the table were embarrassed into following his gesture. Politeness cost nothing, Sam figured, and this woman was worthy of his respect.
He had already forgotten the names of the other half-dozen people either still at the table or taking their coffee further down the deck. Stirling had said, when introducing them, that they were mostly other lodge owners who had come to Xakanaxa the night before for a regular meeting about tourism and land-use issues. It explained why no one had been out game viewing this morning, as these guys, and the one woman in their midst, had seen it all before. He remembered her name, Sabrina. She was an environmentalist and he wanted to talk to her before she left.
‘Martin. Fancy seeing you here. What a surprise,’ Sonja said when Steele remained standing after the others had sat down again.
‘I could say the same thing,’ the Englishman said, ‘but I was fairly sure you’d come home to roost.’
‘You two know each other?’ Stirling said.
Genius, thought Sam, but he was just as intrigued as Stirling to find out the connection between Steele and Sonja.
‘Long story,’ Sonja said. ‘I’m sure Martin will tell you all about it, right after he’s told me what he’s doing here in the middle of the Okavango Delta.’
The midmorning sun caught the highlights in Sonja’s auburn hair, making it glow like polished copper. It was still a little damp, but that just added to its metallic sheen. Sam wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through the cool, damp softness. He glanced at Stirling and saw that he was following her too, with his eyes, as she walked to the buffet and filled a bowl with fruit salad.
‘You hit the gift shop early, I see,’ Stirling said.
Sonja found an empty seat on the other side of Jim Rickards.
‘No, I …’ She looked across the table at Sam, who gave a sharp shake of his head before Stirling could register. ‘I asked one of the maids if she could wash some clothes for me later, because all I had was what I was wearing, and she rushed off and came back with these. Sweet, hey?’
‘Nice threads,’ said Rickards, using the news as a chance to inspect her chest. ‘I’m James – my friends call me Jim, or Jimbob.’
‘Sonja. Mine call me Sonja.’
‘And where do you fit into this merry little menagerie here at Kaka-whatever?’
‘I’m just passing through,’ she said.
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Martin Steele and the others at the table looked at him.
Cheryl-Ann wiped her mouth with her linen serviette. ‘Martin here was just telling me, Sam, that we should seriously consider taking some security with us on our trip into the Caprivi Strip.’
Sam chewed his bacon, then swallowed. ‘Some?’
‘Someone,’ Steele said. ‘Since the failed attack on the Okavango Dam the Namibian Army and police have been on high alert. My organisation has been monitoring the situation in Caprivi and we believe there are still irregular forces of the Caprivi Liberation Army on the loose and active in the region.’
‘I’m sorry, Martin. Your organisation?’
‘Corporate Solutions.’
‘No shit.’ Jim Rickards nearly choked on a piece of sausage. He gulped a quick mouthful of orange juice and croaked: ‘The mercenary mob?’
Steele smiled and shook his head. ‘Security risk assessment consultants.’
‘Right,’ said Rickards. ‘War dogs. Cool.’
‘Think what you might, but I’d say a well-heeled, well-equipped film crew carrying, what … tens of thousands of dollars worth of gear …’
‘Try hundreds, dude,’ Rickards interjected.
‘Very well, hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of gear might be just the sort of target the guerillas in the Caprivi region are after. They’re short of funds and they need to re-equip after their recent defeat. They haven’t resorted to K and R yet, but … who knows?’
‘K and R?’ asked Gerry, who had so far been content to eat in silence.
‘Kidnap and ransom,’ Steele provided.
‘What do you think, Stirling? You know the area,’ Cheryl-Ann said.
Sam had been glancing at the lodge manager during the conversation. At first he thought Stirling would dismiss Steele’s concerns. He’d noticed Stirling closing his eyes and, almost imperceptibly, shaking his head when Steele explained the possible threat. Was Steele just a sharp businessman who spotted a way to make a fast buck from a bunch of naive Americans?
‘I think I can see where Martin’s coming from.’
Cheryl-Ann frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
‘There’s also the question of a guide – someone who knows the lie of the land, the local languages if needs be. Cheryl-Ann, you told me earlier that your helicopter pilot was going to double as your guide for the trip to Namibia.’
She nodded. ‘That’s right. We do have to find another, in a hurry. Stirling, I don’t suppose you’d be interested?’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Cheryl-Ann, but as soon as you all leave I’ve got back-to-back bookings for the next two weeks.’
Interesting, thought Sam, as only a few days ago Stirling was bemoaning the state of business. Sam was relieved, though, because he didn’t fancy the idea of spending any more time with the man than was necessary.
‘Surely time’s a factor as well, Cheryl-Ann?’ Steele cooed.
She frowned again and nodded. ‘Yes, we’re already way behind on the shooting of the survival scenes – we
’ll have to make that up on the road somewhere – and we’ve got to fly back to Maun, pick up our transportation and try and find a safari guide, all in the next two days.’
Steele sipped some coffee and laid his cup down on its saucer. ‘It seems to me that the answer to all your problems is right here.’
Sam looked up and down the table and his eyes, along with Steele’s, came to rest on Sonja, who was staring back at the Englishman with a look that pleaded with him not to say …
‘Sonja is just the right person for you and your team, Cheryl-Ann.’
‘Hey! Great idea. I didn’t know you were a guide, Sonja,’ Sam said.
Before she could speak Steele pressed home his attack. ‘She is. A first-rate one at that. Knows the African bush like the back of her hand. Born in Namibia, grew up in Botswana, and speaks German, Ovambo, Afrikaans, Tswana and a smattering of Lozi, if I recall correctly.’
‘Not much at all,’ Sonja said. ‘And Martin, no, I don’t—’
‘What Sonja’s saying is that she doesn’t mind at all. You’ve heard from Sam what a fine job she did saving him from the jaws of hell. She’ll be able to give you a wealth of ideas for your survival segment, as well as navigate you around the wilds of Namibia. She’s also a qualified close personal protection operative. Bodyguard, that is.’
Sam had forgotten his food. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘I thought you were a professional hunter?’
Sonja glared at Steele. ‘Martin. Please …’
‘Who do you work for, Sonja?’ Sam asked.
‘Sonja,’ Steele said, ‘works for me.’
Damn him, Sonja thought as she looked out over the river and the gently swaying pampas grass. She slapped the wooden railing of the deck. ‘Fuck.’
‘The girl who left us all behind never used the F-word,’ Stirling said.
She turned and faced him. After Steele had offered her services, with as much subtlety and thought for her reaction as a pimp, she had excused herself from the table, saying, ‘Can we discuss this later, Martin?’, and strode along the deck near the lounge area. She still loved Martin, in a platonic sort of a way, but he infuriated her sometimes with his Sandhurst officer’s arrogance and his unflinching assumption that she would do as he commanded. What irked her more than anything was that he was usually right.
‘I’ve changed, Stirling. There’s lots you don’t know about me. That’s why I came back here, to talk to you.’
‘You did?’
‘Stirling, I …’ She was lost for words. How could she tell him why she was here when she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure herself, particularly since she’d arrived to find him shacked up with a poppy almost young enough to be his daughter. What should she say? ‘Stirling, I’ve come here to say you should ask me to marry you and we should live out our days with my seventeen-year-old daughter – who I haven’t told you about – happily ever after here in the swamps’?
‘… I was hoping we could spend some time together.’
Stirling had brought a bread roll with him from the brunch table. He ripped off a chunk and tossed it over the railing into the water below the deck. Some bream appeared and began feeding. He stared out over the water. ‘I cried after you left, Sonja. Not very macho. Not very safari guide. There were women, a long time later, and quite a few before Tracey, but none of them lasted long. I suppose I was always waiting for you to come back, but it’s been a hell of a long wait.’
Sonja looked back, past the jackalberry tree that the new deck had been constructed around, to the dining area beyond. A few of the guests lingered there and she saw Tracey looking at her, and at Stirling. ‘Is it serious?’
‘With Tracey? I think so. We’ve been together for three months. She’s living with me here.’
He thinks so. ‘She’s very pretty.’
‘And young. I know what you’re thinking.’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Sonja said.
‘I know why Steele has offered you to the Americans as a bodyguard,’ he said, changing the subject.
‘Really? Then perhaps you can explain it to me.’
He looked around. ‘You’re a mercenary.’
‘Says who?’
Stirling shrugged. ‘Word gets around. Everyone knows you went off to join the army, but you left after only a year or two. You know how Maun feeds on gossip. Do you remember Heyn, the South African guide who drove his Land Rover through the wall of the Sports Bar that night we snuck in?’
She nodded, knowing what Stirling was going to say next. She recalled the night – they were both still underage – and, years later, meeting Heyn, the Afrikaner, in Kabul. He was working as a security contractor. The last person she expected to meet there was someone from the dusty safari town of Maun.
‘He said he saw you in Afghanistan. That you were carrying an assault rifle and wearing body armour.’
‘I do close protection – bodyguarding – sometimes.’
Stirling shook his head. ‘I think it’s more than that. You show up here carrying a rifle and pistol, with a bandaged leg after sneaking onto a concession and into the game reserve like a poacher. I don’t think you’re a bodyguard, Sonja.’
She looked down at the water. The snout and eyes of a crocodile broke the surface. ‘Hey! That’s not Popcorn, is it?’
‘Don’t change the subject,’ Stirling said.
‘Why not? It was OK for you to do so when I was asking about Tracey.’
The crocodile was about two metres long. It propelled itself deftly through the shallow water and took a piece of bread in its mouth.
‘Yes, it’s Popcorn. He was just a baby when you left.’
‘Ja. I used to get mad at my old man feeding him popcorn when he was little. And now you’re doing the same thing.’
‘Not me. I drop the bread in and he takes some, not to eat, but to use as bait. Watch him. He’s clever.’
Sonja stared intently at Popcorn, who submerged himself just below the surface, a piece of bread sticking out the tip of his snout. He kept himself stationary and after a short while the bolder of the fish began moving towards him, scenting the bait but unaware of the fisherman. A bream began nibbling and Popcorn struck, flicking his tail to propel himself forward like a torpedo. Water splashed as his jaws snapped shut and he disappeared into the depths of the river with the dying fish flapping in his mouth.
‘He’s clever,’ she agreed. ‘But you’re still giving him an unfair advantage.’
‘I know. I’m worried about Steele and this mad plan of his.’
Sonja didn’t know what Stirling was talking about so she asked him to explain. Indecision creased Stirling’s face. He took a deep breath and rested both hands on the railing. He exhaled and moved closer to Sonja, lowering his voice: ‘He’s going to blow up the dam on the Okavango River.’
‘What?’
‘And that’s not all.’
As he explained the plan to destroy the dam and foment an insurrection in the Caprivi Strip Sonja had to work hard to concentrate. The smell of his aftershave was competing with his words. He’d worn it the first day they made love – the first time she recalled him using aftershave. It was Old Spice. He told her later it was what he thought a man should wear, and he was still using the same brand. It was an outdated scent, something the hero in a Wilbur Smith book would have worn, but she would forever associate it with first-time sex, with love. It still did the trick.
‘Thanks for letting me know,’ she said to him honestly. Martin had a flair for the dramatic when it came to handing out assignments and he didn’t like to give his operatives too long to think before accepting a job.
‘Surely he won’t get you to blow up the dam while you’re there with the Americans?’
She looked back at the dining table. Martin was talking to Cheryl-Ann and Sam, who was nodding his head enthusiastically. Tracey made no attempt to hide the fact that she was watching her and Stirling. ‘No. It’ll be a CTR.’
‘Stop talking li
ke a soldier, Sonja.’
‘Sorry. A close target reconnaissance. I’ve got to hand it to him, it’s a good cover for me to go in with the TV crew. They’re expected and they’ll get unfettered access to the construction site.’ Very clever, she thought, looking down again at the water. Martin Steele was a canny predator as well. CTRs were one of her specialities. A woman could go places a man couldn’t, and charm her way past officials. In the past she’d played the part of a nurse, a wildlife researcher, and a teacher to scope out potential targets. She caught a flash of Tracey’s orange T-shirt in her peripheral vision, then heard her sandals on the floorboards. ‘Can we talk, later, in private somewhere, Stirling? It’s important.’
He looked around and saw Tracey. ‘Not sure. It might be difficult.’
Fuck, she thought again. After all these years he couldn’t even spare her the time to talk.
Tracey took hold of Stirling’s arm. ‘Babe, Bernard and the others are going to catch their flight. I thought you’d want to see them off.’
Babe? Stirling looked at her and smiled an apology as his partner – or whatever Tracey wanted to call herself – led him away. Martin left the Americans and their new cameraman to discuss things among themselves, and walked over to join her at the railing.
‘Crocodile,’ he said, looking down at Popcorn. ‘Nasty things, but ruthlessly efficient and devilishly cunning.’
‘Like you.’
‘Let me walk you back to your tent, we have things to discuss,’ Steele said.
‘So I hear.’ They left the deck and took the sandy pathway. A female bushbuck looked up at them but, sensing they were no threat, carried on nibbling on some grass. Its coat was mangy and Sonja wondered if its condition was due to the drought.
‘I should tell you what we’re up to,’ Steele said.
‘You’re going to blow up the dam on the Okavango and start a civil war in Namibia.’
Steele cleared his throat. ‘I do hope Stirling isn’t going to tell all his old friends about our plans, otherwise I might have to kill him.’
‘I’m not interested,’ she said.
Steele laughed. ‘Why must we always go through this hard-to-get act, Sonja? The best thing you can do for your daughter is make more money, and I’m the only one who can give it to you. We both know that.’