Captive_A High-octane And Gripping African Thriller

by Tony Park

  Kerry took her phone out of her handbag and checked Facebook. ‘There’s already loads of news on here.’

  ‘What are they saying?’ Bradd asked.

  ‘The local police held a media conference just now and Sarah’s already shared it on Facebook. Oh, my word!’

  ‘What is it?’ Graham asked.

  Kerry held up her phone and clicked on a video. Graham and Bradd crowded next to her to see the screen. A South African Police Service captain was addressing a media conference.

  ‘This morning police, acting on information received from a member of the public, attended the Kwangela Game Reserve and a man acting suspiciously outside the reserve was taken into police custody.’

  ‘Has he been charged with anything, Captain? What can you tell us about him?’ a journalist asked off camera.

  ‘At this stage I can confirm a thirty-two-year-old American man is assisting us with our investigation. He was found to be in possession of a commercially unmanned aerial vehicle – a drone – and a quantity of pesticide poison. Police had received a tip-off that a man was going to fly a device over Kwangela and drop food laced with poison into the rhino bomas. By the time we arrived on the scene a rhino had already been reported as being in distress and a veterinarian was called.’

  ‘Hectic,’ said Bradd. ‘While you were working on Brutus I was listening to chatter on our radio system. One of the other guides was saying the police had been outside the wire and had arrested someone.’

  ‘Not just anyone,’ Kerry said. ‘Look at these comments and at this picture.’

  Kerry scrolled down through the comments and opened a picture that someone had posted of a man being escorted into a police station between two officers.

  ‘Eli Johnston,’ Graham said. ‘Eish.’

  Bradd was wide-eyed. ‘Him, a poacher?’

  ‘How well do you know Eli?’ Kerry asked Graham.

  ‘Reasonably well. Like a lot of Americans, he’s a straight shooter, not afraid to tell it like it is, which can sometimes get you in trouble in Africa. The people in charge don’t take kindly to foreigners telling them how to do things.’

  ‘He’s a man of action, then,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, or an arrogant arse, depending on your perspective. I still can’t imagine why Eli would want to sedate or even poison a rhino. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘He raises a lot of money, from what I’ve been able to see,’ Kerry said, thinking out loud.

  ‘Yes and he’s hardly going to try to sell humanely harvested rhino horn to raise money. I’ve been to his base camp in Mozambique. Eli takes the term “Spartan” in its literal sense. He lives out of his old army backpack, sleeping on a military stretcher and eating the same food as his men, pap and nyama. As far as I know he doesn’t have too many worldly possessions and the money he raises goes straight to the fight.’

  ‘If he needed money, though, for whatever reason, it would be far easier for him to kill a rhino in Mozambique or Kruger, wouldn’t it, rather than come all the way to the Cape to kill one?’ Bradd asked.

  Graham nodded, then something Kerry had said struck a chord. He took out his phone. ‘He puts all his effort into the fight. Eli’s up to something funny, and we need to find out what; I’m going to call the police and see if I can talk to him.’

  Bradd’s mobile phone rang and he moved away from them and answered the call. Graham was on hold and Bradd returned a couple of minutes later.

  ‘That was Riaan,’ Bradd said. ‘He said you two must stay here the night, in our luxury safari tents. The chopper had to return to Cape Town and the pilot’s been requested to help fly a search for a yacht that has gone missing. If you don’t want to stay I am to drive you back to the Table Bay.’

  Graham nodded to Bradd, then held up a hand for silence. ‘Thanks,’ he said into the phone, ‘for nothing.’ He ended the call.

  ‘No luck?’ Kerry asked.

  ‘The police are still questioning him. So, what do you think about spending the night here?’ Graham asked Kerry.

  ‘I’m happy to stay.’

  He nodded. ‘Me too. I’ve had enough of Sarah’s hospitality.’

  Bradd escorted them back to his Land Rover and they drove through the dark to the camp in the middle of Kwangela where overnight guests stayed. If there were any other people there they were fast asleep at this late hour.

  ‘Here’s your stop,’ Bradd said.

  ‘Thanks, Bradd, this looks fine,’ said Kerry. Her time in Africa had made her surprisingly used to the unexpected by now. She would soon be in danger of losing her reputation as a control freak if this kept up, she mused.

  Bradd showed them to two permanently erected green canvas tents, set on elevated timber platforms. Each had an en suite.

  ‘These are lovely,’ Kerry said. ‘Please pass on our thanks to Riaan.’

  ‘Will do. I’ll leave you in peace.’

  *

  Graham found his way to the shower, stripped off and let the hot water pummel him. Ever since his days in the army he’d been a quick washer and he was out in less than three minutes.

  ‘Graham?’

  He quickly wrapped a towel around himself and walked into the main part of the tent.

  ‘Sorry,’ Kerry said. ‘There are no towels in my tent. I was wondering if I could borrow one of yours.’

  ‘Must be because they weren’t expecting guests.’ They stood there, looking at each other. Graham ran a hand through his wet hair. She had taken her stockings and high heels off, and he couldn’t help but notice her smooth bare legs and her feet, which if anything looked too small and dainty for a woman of her height.

  ‘They’re little, I know.’ She smiled.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘Graham . . .’

  ‘What is it?’ He noticed that despite her smile her eyes were misted, and her lip was quivering.

  ‘Graham, I’ve killed two men in Africa. I was almost raped. And now . . .’ She sniffed and a tear rolled down her cheek, ‘And now this poor, innocent animal was drugged and put at risk by a man I thought was really nice.’

  Little things, such as a quick shower in a tent, could bring back memories of his military service, but so, too, could blood and loud noises, the smell of cordite from a freshly fired rifle and the clatter of a helicopter’s rotors. Kerry had probably been through more trauma in the last couple of weeks than in her entire life, and it was only here and now, back in relative safety and tranquillity, that it was finally hitting her. Graham drew a breath. He knew he should comfort her.

  She decided it for him, coming to him and putting her arms around him.

  He couldn’t not hold her. She felt tiny in his arms and her tears were wet on the skin beneath his collarbone. He breathed in the scent of her and while she hadn’t yet washed she was no less attractive or arousing.

  Don’t, he told himself.

  But his fingers found the zipper at the back of her cocktail dress.

  ‘Shower here. I’ll wait outside for you.’

  She tilted her head and looked up into his eyes. ‘Just look after me, Graham. Please. Just for a bit.’

  His heart, which he’d thought of as a mass of scar tissue, opened up and threatened to drown him from the inside. He kissed her and she returned the tenderness and desire.

  Graham lowered her zip and helped Kerry shrug off her dress and step out of it. Her skin was pale against the lacy outlines of her black bra. He kissed her neck, tenderly, forcing himself to take it slow as he undid the clasp behind her.

  Kerry gently prised herself away and, with her back to him, took her pants off. She walked towards the shower, but trailed a hand behind her, which he took. Graham let the towel fall from his waist and followed her.

  She reached in and turned the water on, and while it warmed up he put his arms around her and spooned her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being me.�
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  She turned her head to look back at him and reached up and stroked his still-damp hair. ‘Don’t be. It’s what I like about you.’

  They kissed then Kerry stepped under the water. As she lathered her hair with shampoo Graham washed her back and then let his hand trail down over the swell of her bottom, massaging it with soapy hands. Kerry arched her back invitingly.

  Graham stayed behind her but reached around to wash her front with a bar of soap as she melded to him.

  Their mouths met again when she turned to face him and she stroked him, not that he needed any encouragement. He’d been worried for the briefest of moments, that his regimen of too much booze and not enough sleep might have sapped him, but he stirred proudly.

  He touched her and it was glorious to be this close to a woman again. He and Sarah had been together a few times, but she’d seemed distant when she’d contacted him from Australia, as if it was OK for her to let herself go when she was visiting Africa, but back home she had too much else on her mind. Perhaps, he thought, she had someone else. It didn’t matter.

  Graham looked into Kerry’s eyes and wondered if he could do this. Not the act itself, but he didn’t know if he could – what was the word – inflict his troubles on her.

  She turned off the taps. ‘Come with me.’

  Kerry took a towel and walked through to the bedroom. It was African, down to the leopard-print cushions, which she tossed on the floor, and the mosquito net suspended above the king-size bed. She turned back the covers.

  ‘Just hold me for a bit, OK? I’m anxious.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He lay down on the crisp, cool sheets and suffered another pang of doubt, this time that he might fall asleep from the exhaustion and after-effects of his sly drinking at the fundraiser and the night spent treating Brutus the rhino. His body, however, overruled him.

  Graham did as she asked and spooned her, marvelling at the slim, smooth body in his arms.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said into the pillow, and he felt her begin to sob. ‘I’m really sorry, Graham.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ He stroked her hair with his hand. ‘Sleep.’

  In time his body succumbed as well and he drifted off to sleep.

  *

  Kerry stirred and for a moment didn’t know where she was. She smiled to herself and drifted back to sleep.

  When she woke again and checked her phone she saw that it was just before ten in the morning. Graham was on his back, his mouth half-open, snoring lightly. He looked at peace and she realised it made him appear a completely different man. Even when he was cracking jokes there was a nervous edge to him, as though he was hiding from something through his attempts at humour.

  She propped herself up on one elbow. What had she been thinking before they drifted off to sleep? She remembered leading him to the shower, naked, teasing him. Did she really want to have sex with him?

  There was no doubt he looked way more handsome since she had persuaded him to get a shave and a haircut. His chest rose and fell.

  He blinked, then looked at her and smiled. She felt self-conscious.

  ‘I was watching you sleep,’ Kerry confessed.

  ‘I was dreaming about you.’

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  He rubbed his face. ‘Me too.’

  ‘I’m not talking about food,’ she said, and even as she uttered the words she wondered where they had come from, who had said them.

  Graham’s eyes widened, but he had the good grace and good sense not to make a joke.

  Kerry leaned over and kissed him and he reached for her. He was, she recalled from before falling asleep, a good kisser. His lips seemed to meet hers perfectly, which was a novel sensation considering some of the men she had been with.

  ‘I love your mouth,’ he murmured in between kisses.

  It was an odd thing to say but she felt the same way, and just that simple contact was having an effect on the rest of her body. He took nothing for granted, yet he wasn’t passive. His hands roamed over her body – her back, her shoulders, her forearms and the backs of her thighs. It was as if he was teasing her, or maybe he just liked the feel of her skin.

  She reciprocated, exploring, mapping him, but avoiding direct arousal. Above his groin, which was still under the top sheet, though nicely outlined, she found a scar where his pubic hair began.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Cut myself shaving,’ he said.

  She slapped the skin. ‘The truth, Baird.’

  ‘Shrapnel. Angola. I was lucky, some others weren’t.’

  It was her turn not to push it, even though she wanted to hear more about him, about his history, his life. Maybe there would be time, maybe not. Her world, her life, were orderly, predictable, and while she’d thought she liked it like that, Africa had turned her upside down.

  She felt his fingers on her waist, squeezing. There was urgency in his touch, desire, and it spread through her. Kerry moved so that she was on top of him and he looked up into her eyes.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  She didn’t want to say anything in case she changed her mind or he made a wisecrack. Instead, she nodded, and let her body reply.

  He was ready for her, as was she for him, and she closed her eyes, savouring the feeling as she lowered herself down on him. When he was inside her, completely, she kissed him again.

  ‘Tell me this is right. It can’t be wrong,’ she said, opening her eyes.

  He looked at her and gave his head a little shake. ‘I’m not saying a thing. I don’t want to spoil this. I don’t want it to end.’

  Neither do I, she said to herself as she started to move.

  Chapter 26

  Kerry and Graham made love a second time and then she fell back to sleep. When she woke, Graham was gone.

  She got out of bed and checked the en suite, but there was no sign of him. Kerry felt a moment of relief when she noticed there was a message on the screen of her phone, however when she checked it she found it wasn’t from Graham, explaining where he had gone, but rather a missed call from Eli.

  Kerry got dressed. Outside she saw a few lodge guests strolling about, and a ranger, whom she approached and asked if he knew where Graham Baird was. The man didn’t but he radioed Bradd, who was nearby.

  Kerry went to the dining area of the camp and was served coffee. Bradd arrived a few minutes later.

  ‘Where’s Graham?’ she asked without preamble.

  ‘Oh, I thought you knew,’ Bradd said. ‘One of the other rangers gave him a lift to Cape Town an hour or so ago. He said he was on an earlier flight than you and not to disturb you. Riaan had already organised your transfer. A driver from a local tour company will come fetch you after lunch.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Bradd.

  ‘Not your fault.’ Kerry finished her coffee and then tried ringing Graham. The call went through to voicemail. She went back to her tent and tried to make herself look presentable. When the car came to fetch her she got in and tried Graham again – still no answer.

  As the driver hurtled down the N2 towards Cape Town, Kerry called Sarah.

  ‘Graham’s gone,’ Kerry said when Sarah answered.

  ‘I know, I just saw him at the hotel. He was checking out, heading to the airport early. He threw his toys out of the cot and walked out on me.’

  ‘I’m not surprised he was upset. You’re going into partnership with a rhino poaching kingpin. Are you crazy?’

  ‘No. This is your first trip to Africa, Kerry, and like every bloody do-gooder you reckon you know how to solve the world’s problems. I used to live and work in Mozambique. I know how things work there, you don’t.’

  ‘I’m not doubting that, but you’re plonking this thing right in the poachers’ backyard. Fidel Costa tried to kill me, and my father, and Eli Johnston, and Graham. For fuck’s sake, Sarah, you have literally done a deal with the devil.’

  Sarah sighed. ‘Costa’s a businessman. He knows a good deal when
he sees it. The breeding centre and eventually restocking the Greater Limpopo Transfrontier Park are not just about showing the rural poor that there is monetary value in wildlife and tourism, it’s about showing the elite, like Costa, that there’s a buck to be made in conservation.’

  ‘Converting him, you mean, from poacher to gamekeeper.’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Sarah said.

  ‘No, but you as much as confirmed that you know that Costa is the Don of Massingir. He’s just going to double dip on this deal – take your rich donors’ money to build this breeding centre and then send his men in to kill its occupants once their horns are big enough to cut off.’

  ‘We’ll be de-horning all the rhinos in the centre and eventually releasing some of them into the wild.’

  ‘Releasing de-horned rhinos into the wild won’t work; poachers will still kill them,’ Kerry countered.

  ‘Oh, so now as well as being an expert on Mozambique after one brief visit you also know all there is to know about rhino conservation, is that it?’

  ‘On that brief visit, I was imprisoned by Costa’s thugs, and when I got back to South Africa I was almost raped and killed by one of his hired guns. Seriously, this is the sort of man you are going into business with? The horns you cut off will be smuggled out of the country and sold abroad. You know it and I know it. That’s if you can even find a buyer for farmed rhino horn.’

  ‘What do you know about the debate on the legal trade in rhinos anyway?’ Sarah said.

  ‘I know it’s a fallacy that the market can be supplied by the horns of captive-bred rhinos, legally or illegally. Graham told me that poachers have been caught not only with the horns of rhinos they had slaughtered but also the animals’ tails and ears. The buyers in Vietnam are demanding proof that the horn comes from wild free-roaming rhinos that were killed – they don’t want farmed stuff or horns from de-horned rhinos that are still alive. I can’t believe you don’t know all this.’

  ‘I know more about this than you ever will, Kerry. Thanks for your support for Animals Without Borders, but I think we can do without your well-intentioned advice from now on. There is a bigger picture here that needs to be focused on.’