by Tony Park
She shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
‘Yet you’re willing to risk your life to help them fight a war and blow up that dam on a “maybe”.’
‘Wait a minute.’ She raised her hands. ‘No one said anything about a dam or a war. Besides, I just told you, I’m not even staying here. I’m leaving. I was kidnapped off the road – just like you two.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ Sam said. ‘Jim was watching you at the dam and now that I think about it, I thought your behaviour was a little odd as well. You used us as a cover to get on to the construction site and you work for a mercenary outfit. What do you think about the dam?’
She chewed her lower lip again and sat with her elbows on her knees, staring into the fire once more. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’
‘You’re right. You don’t. But tell me, in case I get dragged into this thing any deeper, in your heart of hearts do you believe that dam should be destroyed?’
She looked across at him. ‘I don’t know if I believe in the CLA’s cause or if they have the right to take on an elected government in an armed struggle, but I do know that from what I saw in the delta – the lack of water in places that should still have had some, even in a drought – that the dam has to be destroyed or the world will lose a piece of its heart and its soul.’
Rickards shifted from foot to foot. ‘I want to be there when that fucker blows. The world will call the CLA environmental heroes – green commandos.’
She turned to Sam. ‘Do you want to be part of this?’
Sam stared at her and knew it was madness to go along with what Rickards had suggested. His answer would depend on hers. ‘Do you?’
She closed her eyes and nodded.
TWENTY-FOUR
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ Martin Steele said.
Sonja stood in the Caprivian general’s command tent and watched the men carrying on like bull elephants locking tusks, trying to assert their dominance. Steele’s comment, siding with Rickards, who had just put his proposal to the general and her father, surprised her. But then Martin was always full of surprises. It was partly what had attracted her to him in the early days – his ability to think outside the box.
‘We are not convinced,’ the general said. ‘Our Major Kurtz is right – the television man and his camera operator will get in the way, and if they are killed in action we will be blamed for their deaths.’
Sonja looked at her father and saw the slight nod of agreement and self-satisfaction. He was a different man to the one she’d seen teaching the recruits how to fire the machine-guns. She knew the drink would have taken a toll on him in the years she’d been away, but she’d been surprised at his long greasy hair, his stained beard, his knock-knees and his tatty shorts and T-shirt.
The man who glanced back, however, looked every inch the seasoned warrior. He, or his new African wife, had taken to his hair with clippers and reduced it to a steel-grey fuzz that flanked the tanned skin of his balding pate. His beard, too, had been trimmed to a neat, short, silvery goatee. She knew his father, her grandfather, had served as a German army panzer commander in Russia during the Second World War and emigrated to South-West Africa in 1946, and though the man had died before her birth, her grandmother had shown her crinkled black-and-white pictures of her grandfather in uniform. She saw that same cold, ruthless face again now. He winked at her.
He wore a camouflage fatigue shirt and trousers in the same pattern as the CLA recruits and a tan canvas South African Army assault vest with pouches on the chest bulging with curved magazines for the AK-47 that was slung over his right shoulder. Sonja guessed he had been, or would soon be, test-firing his rifle, psyching himself up for the coming battle. Sonja looked back at Martin Steele, who was wearing his old British Army disruptive pattern camouflage uniform, which he always wore on operations. Sonja knew both men had dressed for a private war. She gave her head an almost imperceptible shake at the theatre of it all.
Her father was the training officer for the CLA but she guessed – and the general had just confirmed it – that he also acted as a military adviser to the commander. Hans always claimed Sonja had inherited her stubborn streak from her mother, but in fact her parents were as intransigent as each other. By all accounts her father had been an excellent leader of men in the field in his day, as well as a ruthlessly efficient killer, and she was sure he resented the presence of Steele in the CLA camp. He may have even seen the mercenary as a threat to his position in the chain of command. Also, as an Afrikaans-speaking German from the old South-West Africa, he was, she knew, no fan of Englishmen.
‘General,’ Martin said, ‘when we take Katima Mulilo and we blow the dam, the rest of the world will turn its attention to the Caprivi. Without pictures – video – of our actions, which will mostly occur at night, your victory will gain a few seconds of air time at best or a news crawler at the foot of a CNN bulletin. With some high-quality images of your success and an interview with yourself, the world will know not only who you are and what you have done, but why you have done it.’
The general pursed his lips and nodded, contemplating both sides of the argument. Sonja hadn’t missed Martin’s careful use of pronouns. ‘Our actions’, as though he would be in the thick of the fighting – which she doubted; and ‘your victory’ – a deliberate sop to the bombastic little man’s ego.
‘We understand, Major Steele, but Major Kurtz has a valid point about the unpredictability of the media. What guarantee,’ he asked everyone in the command tent, ‘do we have that we will not be portrayed as criminals or terrorists?’
‘General … sir,’ Jim Rickards said, ‘as an accredited news cameraman I give you my word that Sam and I will report fairly and objectively on what we see. I can’t tell you what the world will think of whatever it is that you have planned, but I can tell you that without the words and images we want to take to the world they will have made up their minds by the end of the first Namibian government press briefing. The world can either see you explaining that you’re blowing up the Okavango Dam to save the environment, or they can see pictures of little babies dying because their mothers can’t get enough clean water to drink or electricity to lead a decent—’
‘What?’ Sonja’s father exploded. ‘Why is this bladdy TV man talking about an attack on the dam?’ He stared accusingly at Steele. ‘What have you told these people?’
‘Nothing,’ Steele fired back. ‘But they’re not stupid. They know the strategic and political importance of the dam, and so too does the Namibian government. That’s why they’ve got the dam protected by mortars and armoured cars. The Namibians know we want it – you tried once before, after all.’
Sonja saw the red fill her father’s face and his hands ball into fists. For a moment she thought he might grab his AK and shoot Martin. Kurtz gritted his teeth, biting back the anger, and exhaled, slowly. There was no hiding his attempt to control his rage. He fixed Steele with his green eyes. ‘Yes, we tried, and we failed, thanks to a traitor.’
The general tapped his swagger stick lightly on his desk. He, alone, was seated. ‘Please, gentlemen. We are all on the same side here. Major Kurtz, you know we dealt with four traitors who supplied details of our attack plans to the NDF.’
Kurtz squared his shoulders. ‘We don’t need you, Steele.’
‘No, but you do need the grenades, RPGs, mortars, other heavy weapons, uniforms and helicopters I’ve brought with me. This offensive wouldn’t be happening without me and my backers from the Okavango Delta Defence Committee.’
Sonja wondered if her father would explode, or if he had truly learned to control his temper. She saw the rage bubbling beneath the tight skin of his hard-set face. Her father and Martin faced each other off, but they were at a stalemate.
The general slapped his cane hard on the desk this time. ‘Enough! We are not amused.’
Out of the corner of her eye Sonja saw Jim Rickards quickly raise his hand to his mouth and fake a cough to cover his laugh. Sonja
turned away until she could force the smirk from her face.
‘We have made our decisions.’ The general cleared his throat. ‘Major Kurtz will lead the attack on Katima Mulilo and the M’pacha airport and air base. Major Steele will coordinate air support, as previously agreed, and assume command for the covert team that will target the Okavango Dam.’
Sonja’s eyes flitted from man to man and she saw that both Steele and Kurtz seemed placated.
‘Mr Rickards and Mr Chapman will be travelling with neither assault force,’ the general said. Rickards began to speak, but the general silenced him by lifting and pointing his swagger stick first at the cameraman and then at Martin. ‘Major Steele will assume responsibility for our television crew. Mr Rickards and Mr Chapman will be flown to Katima Mulilo when and if Major Kurtz deems the situation safe enough for a helicopter to land. You will film our valiant troops moving through the town and taking control of the police station, government offices and the NBC broadcasting studios.’
‘What about the dam?’ Rickards interrupted.
The general looked annoyed, and flicked his head as if trying to shoo away a wasp. ‘Without revealing the details of Major Steele’s plans, an exfiltration helicopter will be in the near vicinity of the dam when the wall is breached. Filming will be possible from the air.’
‘Awesome. Thank you, your generalship,’ Rickards said.
‘You now know too much for us to let you leave this place until our offensive begins,’ the general continued. ‘You will consider yourselves as our honoured guests. You are free to move about the training area, but you will be escorted at all times; and if you try to leave you will be shot.’
The general had obviously given some thought to the public relations opportunities the attacks provided – right down to camera angles. Everything was in place and they had all agreed upon their parts in this operation. Steele hadn’t briefed her, but Sonja assumed that as he hadn’t arrived with an army of Corporate Solutions mercenaries – in fact, he had come alone – then she was going to be the one to blow up the dam. Sonja looked around the tent, from man to man.
They were fucking mad. All of them.
*
‘Hello my girl.’
‘Mum? Where are you? What’s all this about?’ Emma said into the phone.
‘I’m not too far from where you are. I’ll explain everything when I see you. Are you all right?’
‘’Spose. Uncle Martin was great. At least he treats me like an adult. He met me at the airport at Maun and flew in the light plane with me to Kaka – whatever this place is called.’
‘Xakanaxa. It’s where I grew up.’
‘Whatever. Anyway, Uncle Martin organised me this luxury safari tent. You should see this place. Oh, right … you lived here. Was it like this in the old days?’
‘I’m sure Uncle Martin organised everything just fine. I can’t wait to see you again.’
‘Are you working with him? Is he with you now? And why was I virtually abducted from school? Not that I’m complaining.’
She didn’t want to start answering any more questions over the phone, no matter how secure it might be. ‘Did you meet Stirling?’
‘Who? Oh, you mean the manager guy?’
‘Yes. What do you think of him?’
‘He’s treating me like I’ve got fucking herpes or something. Can’t stand to be around me. He’s been quite rude, actually. I told Martin, and—’
‘OK, OK. You can tell me all about it soon.’
‘Is Uncle Martin all right?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I know you don’t tell me half of what you get up to when you’re away working, doing your bodyguarding or whatever, but I assume it’s dangerous – like, if people need protecting or whatever. And if Uncle Martin’s there, I just want to know if he’s safe.’
It might have been nice if she had spared a thought for her mother’s safety as well. ‘Whatever.’
Sam stood outside Sonja’s tent and heard her on the phone. He wanted to talk to someone, and to get away from Jim Rickards and his incessant enthusiasm for five minutes.
Rickards had convinced their guard, a man who looked to be in his late teens, to pretend to be patrolling through some bushes while Jim filmed him to get some B-roll to go with his report.
‘I’m just going to see Ms Kurtz,’ Sam had said to their guard, and pointed to Sonja’s tent. The man had smiled and waved, obviously enjoying his new role as a television star.
‘Good luck, soldier,’ Rickards had said, before returning his eye to the viewfinder. ‘Take one for the team.’
Sam waited until he heard Sonja finish her phone call. Knocking didn’t seem to be the right thing to do on canvas, so he cleared his throat.
‘Who’s there?’ Sonja appeared at the entrance to her large canvas safari tent and gave him a small smile. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi. I guess you’re busy …’
She shrugged. ‘Not really. I was going to wash my hair as soon as I’d finished cleaning my AK.’
‘Oh, right, well I’ll come back …’
She laughed. ‘Just kidding. Don’t take everything so seriously, Sam. It’s not like you’re going off to war.’
It was his turn to smile now. He thought again how much her face changed when she was happy. Was she happy now? Was it possible, he wondered, to be relaxed and contented the night before going into battle?
‘I was wondering if you’d like to … actually, what I mean is I’d really like to talk to someone and …’
‘Other than Jim?’
‘You got it.’
She laughed again. ‘I was just talking about you, actually.’
‘Really? I thought no one was supposed to know we’re here.’
‘You’re right. It was my daughter. I’ve just had her taken out of school and flown halfway around the world to be with me. I mentioned you were here in Botswana and it turns out she’s a fan of your programs. It’s possibly the longest conversation I’ve had with her in months – it lasted all of three minutes and most of it was about you. She wants an autograph.’
He smiled. ‘I’d like to meet her some day. Anyway, what I really wanted to ask is whether you have any tips for … well, to be quite honest, for surviving.’
She looked at him and he could tell she saw the fear in his heart. ‘Well, the first thing I’d suggest is you stay as far away from Jim as possible.’
‘That’s going to be a little hard, since he’s my cameraman. Do you want to come outside … maybe get some fresh air?’
She poked her head out of the tent a little further and saw Rickards directing the young soldier. ‘Pretend you’re fighting. Guns up!’ they heard the Australian say.
She shook her head. ‘Come in here, if you like. I don’t want to get shot by Rickards.’
She moved a stack of magazines about guns and four-by-fours off one of the two military stretchers in the tent and motioned for him to sit down.
‘I don’t trust him, Sam, and neither should you. I’m not saying he’s dishonest, but I’ve seen a thousand guys like him. He’s a glory hound. He’s not afraid to die to get the best possible shot and he’s going to take you down with him if you’re not careful.’
‘Aw, c’mon Sonja. He’s mostly talk. You heard him say he’d covered plenty of wars in the past.’
She shook her head again. ‘I heard him and read between the words. He’s shown up late, after the massacres and the shooting were all over. He’s never been in a real fire fight, apart from what happened at Divundu, and his first battle is probably going to be his last. He can’t wait to get in among the bullets.’
Sam thought about it and realised he probably had the same opinion of Rickards. The cameraman had been foolish to go off after Sonja, and Sam was a fool to have followed him, even though he’d done it for different reasons.
‘Did you come here for me?’ she asked him.
He looked at the pile of magazines on the floor of the tent. ‘You r
ead this stuff?’
‘Ja, my subscription to Cosmo ran out last month.’
He laughed.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘I was worried about you … after those men tried to kill you – tried to kill us.’
‘You killed a man, Sam. You and I both know the smartest thing for you to do would have been to get on the first plane home to the States.’
He picked up a copy of Magnum magazine, which seemed to be about handguns, and flicked the pages, though he wasn’t at all interested in the merits of the .357 versus the .44. ‘Why do you do what you do, Sonja?’
She leaned back on her stretcher, placing her palms behind her on the canvas. ‘Because I hate typing and I was a lousy waitress. Why do you make TV shows instead of camping out on the prairies researching coyotes?’
He shrugged. ‘This way I can get messages about conservation and endangered species out to a much wider audience than if I was just doing my research. And the money is good, too.’
She gave a small smile and nodded. ‘I’d be lying if I said it was just for the money.’
‘Don’t you ever want to stop?’
‘Don’t you? We both whore ourselves, you and me, but we both secretly enjoy it. Are you judging me, Sam?’
‘No. No, no, not at all. It’s just that …’
‘What? You don’t think a woman can be a mercenary? You don’t think a woman can kill for a living?’
‘No. It’s just that I don’t want to think of you maybe not being around any more the day after tomorrow.’
She was ready with another retort, another salvo of the same old ammunition she’d had to use every time some damned man tried to tell her she had no place being where she was. His words, however, were like hearing your firing pin click on an empty chamber. It was chilling – terrifying. You were supposed to count your bullets and never be caught off guard. She didn’t know what to say. She liked him … really liked him, and she didn’t want him to come into her world and get hurt.