Zambezi

by Tony Park

  Hot blood dripped from his elbow onto the slick concrete. The man kicked him in the stomach and he doubled forwards onto both knees.

  ‘Your mother won’t recognise your face after I’ve finished with you,’ the man said, drawing his arm back for another cut.

  Jed turned over to one side, beer and blood soaking his shirt. The razor flashed within inches of his face. The man swung back in the opposite direction. Jed rolled towards the edge of the dance floor, sending other patrons scattering. He was against the wall now. No escape. He wished he had a gun. He grabbed an empty beer bottle by the neck and smashed it on the floor.

  The man laughed and lashed out with his booted foot, shattering the bottle easily. Jed threw the splintered remains at the man’s face, but he dodged to one side and the glass sailed harmlessly across the bar.

  ‘You’re finished, my friend, well and truly.’ The man raised his hand and the razor sparkled evilly as it caught the golden light from the low-amp bulb in the ceiling.

  There was the sound of wood snapping and the man dropped to his knees in front of Jed. The broken end of the pool cue landed at Jed’s feet and he looked up to see Moses Nyati, towering, hungover and smiling, holding the splintered other half in his hands. He held out a huge hand and Jed grasped it for a moment, then yelled, ‘Behind you!’

  Moses turned. The first man, blood streaming from the gash between his eyes where the pool ball had hit him, was drawing a silver-coloured revolver from his pocket. ‘I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, Moses. But this is how it ends.’ He cocked the pistol and started to raise it.

  ‘Wrong, asshole.’

  Jed looked around Moses’s bulk and saw Chris Wallis ram the muzzle of a Glock automatic pistol into the gunman’s temple. The man started to turn.

  ‘Drop it, motherfucker. Now!’

  Jed was as impressed with her profanity as he was with her timing – not to mention the accessory she carried. The thug kept the pistol in his hand and tried again to turn to get a look at the woman.

  Chris shoved the pistol so hard into the man’s temple that his head rocked across to his opposite shoulder. ‘I SAID DROP THE FUCKING GUN!’ Finally, the man got the message. The revolver clattered to the ground and Jed scooped it up.

  ‘Time to go, boys,’ Chris said to Jed and Moses.

  ‘Yes, madam,’ Moses said, then laughed.

  ‘Consider this man’s debt cancelled and the police will hear nothing of this,’ Jed said to the two men as he, Moses and Chris backed out of the gloomy bar, pistols raised and ready.

  ‘Get in the truck, quick,’ Chris said once they were outside.

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Jed opened the door of his vehicle and reached into his daypack for his Leatherman. He strode across to the black BMW that hadn’t been there when they first arrived. ‘This their car?’

  ‘Yes, but hurry,’ Chris said. ‘Here they come.’

  Jed unfolded the sharp knife blade. He stabbed the two front tyres of the Beamer while Chris kept the wounded gangsters at bay with her levelled Glock. The nose of the car sagged as the air rushed out.

  ‘OK. Moses, climb in,’ Jed said.

  ‘Let me drive, boss. You’re cut bad.’

  Jed looked at his arm for the first time and saw the guide was right. He reached in his pocket, also aware of the pain for the first time, and tossed Moses the keys.

  ‘I’ll lead,’ said Chris. ‘Let’s go!’

  Once they were out of Nyamhunga, Chris pulled over at a picnic site on the main road into Kariba and jogged back to Jed’s Land Rover.

  ‘Here, take this, it’ll slow the blood flow until we get back to the hotel.’

  Jed knew what was in the small green packet without reading the writing on the wrapper. It was a US Army field dressing.

  ‘Want some help, boss?’ Moses asked as Chris got back in her vehicle.

  ‘I can handle it. Just keep up with her … and don’t call me boss.’

  ‘Right, sah.’

  Jed ripped the dressing open with his teeth, placed the sterile pad on the cut and wrapped the bandage attached to it around and around his arm. He was sore, but his heart still thudded with adrenaline from the fight.

  They followed Chris back up to the Lake View Inn.

  ‘Come to my room, Jed, I’ll fix you up there,’ she said, pulling a bulging green rucksack from the back of her Land Rover. Jed recognised the pack as a combat medic’s kit, again US Army issue.

  ‘Moses, why don’t you wait for us on the terrace? Have a cup of coffee, or a beer or something.’

  ‘Sure, just one thing …’

  Jed fished in his pocket with his good hand and pulled out some Zimbabwe dollars.

  ‘I’ll pay you back. By the way, can you tell me what this is all about?’

  ‘I’ll take the money out of your first day’s pay. The rest of the story can wait.’

  Moses thanked him again and headed for the terrace.

  ‘Excuse the mess,’ Chris said as she opened the door to her hotel room. ‘Once I left the military I promised myself I would never submit to neatness again.’

  ‘Did someone drop a grenade in here?’ Jed found it hard to believe one person could strew so much junk around in such a short time.

  ‘Get that field dressing off and run some water over the wound. Use the bathroom,’ Chris said as she unzipped the first-aid kit on the unmade double bed.

  Jed turned on the bathroom light and saw more clothes tossed around. He couldn’t help but notice she had washed out her underwear and left it hanging on the shower rail. There were two thongs, one black, one red, and a black sports bra. He thought she might look pretty good in them.

  He unwrapped the bloody bandage and peeled the dressing off the wound. The cut stung as he ran cold water over it, and fresh blood started to well up.

  ‘Here, let me help.’

  Chris was behind and, given the confines of the small bathroom, she had to reach around him to place a clean gauze pad over the weeping wound.

  ‘Turn around,’ she said. ‘There’s blood on your shirt. Let’s get it off.’

  He stood in front of her, holding the gauze in place as she unbuttoned his khaki shirt. He could smell her hair as she bent forwards to get the last couple of buttons. The scent of her shampoo and the sight of her underwear strung around the bathroom brought on an involuntary reaction. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.

  She looked up and smiled as she pulled the shirt off him.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ She ran the tip of her finger around a white puckered circle the size of a dime, just below his right collarbone.

  ‘Somalia. Lucky shot.’

  ‘Lucky for who?’

  ‘My buddy, who the bad guy was aiming for. For the bad guy, because he managed to hit at least one of us, and for me, because it missed the lung by an inch or so.’

  She let her finger linger for a second. ‘Exit wound?’

  He turned and pointed to a lump at the very top of his back, just below the ridgeline of his shoulder.

  ‘You were lucky. Through and through, too close for the bullet to start tumbling.’

  She touched him again and he shivered. He was facing the mirror and he caught her eyes in the reflection when he looked up. He turned around again, noticing that her nipples were straining against the fabric of her shirt.

  She turned and headed back out into the bedroom. ‘Come and let me see to that wound. Sit down on the bed.’

  She brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead and knelt on the carpet in front of him. ‘Hold your arm out for me.’ She squirted iodine around the wound and Jed winced.

  ‘Be still, big brave soldier boy. It won’t sting for long.’

  ‘I’ve had worse.’

  ‘I’m just going to put some of these butterfly plasters on it. That should keep it closed.’ When she finished she wrapped the wound in a bandage. ‘That should do it. We need to keep it clean where we’re going.’

  ‘That’s quite a first-aid
kit you have there, and you seem to know what to do with it,’ he said, flexing his fingers.

  ‘I did the combat survival course when I was with the 82nd and bought this kit from an Army and Navy store back home a couple of years ago. In the places where I work you need more than a packet of Band-Aids and some Tylenol.’

  ‘What else is in there?’

  ‘The usual. Saline, sharps kit, sutures, field dressings, splints, painkillers. But for now I prescribe a cold beer. I could certainly use one and you probably don’t want to keep your friend waiting.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, although he wouldn’t have minded sitting and talking to her in private for a while longer. ‘Thanks, Christine.’

  ‘Chris is better. And don’t mention it – it wasn’t exactly major surgery.’

  ‘No, I mean thanks for before as well. Those guys had us on the ropes. You were pretty cool, looked like you knew what you were doing. Are you always armed over here?’

  ‘Whenever I go on long journeys outside the national parks. Four-footed predators I can deal with – it’s the two-legged variety you can’t always predict.’

  She picked up her keys. ‘Come on, let’s go see your friend.’

  An hour ago Jed would have resented the fact that she was inviting herself along to see Moses – he would have felt she was intruding on him, shadowing him. Now, after the scuffle with the thugs, it was as though they had broken through a barrier. She had got him out of a tight spot and he was man enough to cut her some slack as a payback.

  Jed carried his blood-stained shirt back to his room and Chris waited outside as he put on a fresh one. When he emerged, they walked together to the bar.

  Moses sat at a table by the wrought-iron railing. A lithe young waitress was standing close beside him, laughing at something he had just said. He stood when he saw Jed and Chris approaching.

  ‘What would you like to drink, boss? Madam?’

  Jed smiled. ‘Beer, please.’ He noticed Moses was drinking Coke, and appreciated that the man hadn’t used his first advance to get hammered.

  ‘Same for me,’ Chris said. ‘And Moses, it’s Chris. Call me madam again and I’ll shoot you where you’ll feel it most.’

  He laughed. ‘I do believe you would, Chris.’

  They all sat down and Moses looked expectantly at Jed.

  ‘OK. Can you tell me now where we’re going? Is this trip for business or pleasure?’

  ‘Business, I’m afraid,’ Jed said.

  ‘I’m a man looking for business. But it’s been very slow. Even the hunters are going elsewhere these days.’

  Jed leaned over. ‘I don’t want to be rude, Moses, but first up, what were those men after you for?’

  ‘Money. Nothing illegal. I fell behind on payments on my Land Cruiser. I took out a loan from one of them to cover my original repayments. Stupid, I know, but I had a hunting contract lined up, just needed to cover things for a few weeks until the client arrived. He was a German. He never showed.’

  ‘How much do you owe them?’

  ‘Two million dollars.’

  ‘For a Toyota?’ Jed asked, eyes wide.

  ‘Zimbabwe dollars. It’s about two hundred of your American dollars.’

  ‘And they were coming after you with a gun and a razor for a couple hundred bucks?’

  ‘That’s a lot of money here. They would have repossessed my truck, except I’ve hidden it.’

  ‘How much do you charge as a guide?’

  ‘Fifty a day.’

  ‘Zimbabwean dollars?’

  Moses laughed. ‘No, American.’

  ‘I don’t know if what I’m offering will stretch to four days, but if you want the job, it’s yours,’ Jed said.

  ‘Sure, what is it?’

  Jed explained about Miranda’s disappearance and his desire to repatriate her, one way or another.

  ‘I read about her in the newspaper. It’s hard to lose a child, I know.’

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Chris said. ‘You’re married?’

  Moses nodded. ‘I have a wife and one son. We had a daughter. She was two years old when she died. In another country, a trip to a hospital might have saved her. I had the money – they ask you to pay in advance in Zimbabwe – but the hospital didn’t have the drugs. I had to cross the border into Zambia, using a temporary travel document, and get a bus to Lusaka. By the time I got home, my daughter was dead. My wife and I… it got hard for us after the girl died. Being out of work hasn’t made it easier.’

  ‘I want to know for sure what happened to my daughter,’ Jed said to Moses.

  ‘I can’t offer you false hope. If your daughter wasn’t killed by a lion and she hasn’t shown up by now, she probably died from some other cause. I don’t think we’re going to find her lost in the bush.’

  Jed took a sip of his beer and stared out over the shimmering lake. ‘I know, Moses. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I hope to find, or even what I’m looking for. If nothing else, by spending some time in the African bush at least I’ll get a feeling of what was so important to her these last few months.’

  ‘The African bush I can certainly show you.’

  ‘Excuse me, please, I want to watch this,’ Chris said suddenly.

  She hurried between the tables and stood in front of the bar, staring up at a television mounted on a shelf above the spirit bottles.

  Jed turned and strained to hear what was being said. He saw pictures of westerners carrying bags filing onto buses outside an office building. The caption on the bottom of the screen said US embassy staff evacuated from Tanzania.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Moses asked.

  ‘Another bomb threat, I guess.’ After six months in Afghanistan Jed had ceased to be surprised by the reach of global terrorism.

  ‘The sooner we get to the bush, the better,’ Moses said, raising his Coke bottle.

  ‘Amen to that, Moses.’ Jed clinked his bottle with the guide’s, but his enthusiasm for their coming safari was hollow. He was, after all, looking for proof that his only child was dead.

  Chapter 8

  Hassan bin Zayid wiped his sweaty palm on his Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt then returned it to the grip on the throttle of the outboard motor.

  The inflatable Zodiac tender bore the name Faith in white on its sleek, grey rubber flank, the lettering the same as that on his forty-foot motor cruiser. Underneath the name was the port of registration, Zanzibar. While Hassan spent most of his time these days at his private game reserve in Zambia, he would always consider the aromatic island off the coast of mainland Tanzania his real home.

  It was to Zanzibar that he had retreated to deal with the shock of the news that had come by telephone a few days earlier. As he had sat in the cool, dark interior of the lodge’s bar, nursing three fingers of Scotch on ice, he had realised that the one person left in the world whom he truly loved was dead.

  He had summoned Juma, the lodge’s manager in his absence and his personal valet while Hassan was in residence. Juma was a devout Muslim, so Hassan did not insult him by offering him alcohol.

  Instead, he poured the tall African a glass of orange juice as he walked into the bar.

  ‘Sit, old friend,’ Hassan said.

  Juma nodded and seated himself on a bar stool. ‘I am sorry for your loss. I feel your pain.’

  ‘Thank you, Juma. Things have changed for me with this news. I must leave the lodge.’

  Juma nodded again. ‘You will go to Zanzibar?’

  ‘Yes. And I may not return.’

  Juma’s eyes widened. His whole adult life had been in the service of Hassan bin Zayid and Hassan’s father. His mother had been Hassan’s mother’s maid. He and the handsome, pale-skinned heir to the family fortune had played together as children. Hassan’s schooling abroad had separated them, but the bond between them could never be severed, not even when they had inevitably settled into a master-servant relationship. ‘Am I to stay here?’

  ‘For the time being. There
are things we need to discuss, you and I. You have served my family, served me all your life.’

  ‘Yes. Willingly’ Juma suddenly feared that his employment was about to be terminated, along with his association with the sad-eyed man opposite him.

  Hassan forced a smile, but only a brief one. ‘Don’t worry, old friend. I’m not giving you the sack.

  In fact, I need you now more than ever. I need to know if you will help me through this difficult time.’

  ‘You know I would die for you.’

  There was an awkward silence. Neither man was given to emotional outbursts – not in front of another man, at least – and the declaration took them both a little by surprise. Hassan felt tears welling up behind his eyes, but blinked them back. ‘Thank you, Juma, but I hope it won’t come to that.’

  Their conversation ended with a set of orders. Once Juma had left, Hassan dialled the number of a travel agency in Dar es Salaam. The owner answered the phone. They exchanged the briefest of pleasantries.

  ‘You are coping … with the news?’ the man asked.

  ‘I am. I’m planning a trip, away from here for a while. I’m leaving late tonight or early tomorrow.

  I’d like to catch up with you.’ He paced around the stone floor of the bar as he spoke into the portable phone.

  ‘That could be difficult. I’m going to be very busy in the next few days.’

  Hassan panicked. Having made his decision, and enlisted Juma’s support, he could not afford to be brushed off. ‘Remember you asked me something a year ago, when you came to stay at my lodge?’

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. ‘This is not a good time to talk, Hassan.’

  ‘That’s why I want to see you in person. But you do remember the conversation? The business proposition you put to me last year?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I want in.’

  ‘It’s not as easy as that. I’m not even sure you would fit into our organisation.’

  Hassan’s worry turned to annoyance. ‘You were keen enough when you wanted my money.’