Zambezi

by Tony Park

  ‘You have been compromised? They know your identity?’

  Jed Banks would never forget him. Miranda was probably still alive. Everyone knew he was part of the plot to kidnap Calvert, but the man on the other end of the line would not risk a rescue mission if he knew the truth. ‘No. No one saw me. They do not know my identity. However, if I am caught, it will not be good for any of us.’

  ‘You should take the martyr’s way,’ the man replied.

  Easy enough for you to say, thought Hassan. He knew he could never go back to his old life, but he was planning on staying alive long enough to construct a new one. Also, he was already looking forward to a time, maybe years in the future, when Jed and Miranda Banks had thought it safe to drop their guards. ‘Pick me up or I will tell them how to find you.’

  ‘Coward.’

  ‘No. I’m a realist. I can help you, if you rescue me. I still have access to offshore bank accounts that no one else can touch. We can continue our fight. Without me, it is all gone.’

  A pause at the other end. Hassan prayed that the one truly tangible deity of the modern world, the US dollar, would save him.

  ‘All right. Be at the river. Call in two hours and give me a GPS reading. We will bring you out.’

  ‘Thanks be to Allah,’ Hassan said.

  ‘Thanks be to your bank manager.’ The line went dead.

  Above him he heard the amplified mosquito buzz of an ultralight.

  His night vision was good. He could see the target, leaning against a tree, looking skyward. In fact, they could both see him now. They worked well as a team and he found he was comforted by the fact that she was close to him.

  The trick was to keep the target in sight and not lose him in the thick, dark bush. He needed to be able to see him to kill him. It helped if the target was moving. They circled a couple of times, searching in the bush for the slightest movement.

  At last, the target moved again. The fool thought he was still invisible, but the movement made him stand out.

  From his hiding place under an overhanging branch Hassan saw the ultralight pass over and head away from him. He wasn’t sure whether he had been spotted or not. Either way, now was the time to make a run for it.

  He held his shattered left arm close by his side. It was a little easier to carry the AK-47 in his right, although blood still oozed freely from the wound in his shoulder. He summoned his last reserves of strength.

  His plan was to follow the edge of the river, so he turned back towards the Zambezi and ran as fast as he could. He needed to be under cover again if the ultralight turned back to make another pass.

  The hunters bided their time. The target had been spooked and it was obvious he was heading for the river. Slowly, in no hurry, for they didn’t want to let him know they were on his tail, they circled.

  The bush thinned out as they came closer to the river. The target’s tracks would be visible in the sand. They saw him again, in the distance, and she increased her speed.

  In a matter of minutes they were close enough for the kill. The target had no way of outrunning them.

  She was the boss – that was how it really was with most couples – but the killer instinct was guiding him. It didn’t matter who was in charge. Now that the target was in sight, and in range, he was going to do the killing. It was a matter of honour, and a matter of life and death.

  Without warning, without a reason other than pure survival, it was done.

  In the ultralight, thirty metres above the valley, Jed Banks spoke into the microphone attached to his headset. ‘See anything?’ The frustration was plain in his voice.

  ‘Nada,’ Chris said as she scanned left and right. ‘This is harder than I thought. We might never see him down there. Wait a minute. There’s a boat coming up the river, a long way off.’

  ‘Got it. Radio it in to the Zambian police. Maybe it’s his pick-up. No one else would be out at this time of night.’

  ‘The chopper pilot just called. They’re on their way If it is bad guys in the boat the marines can take care of them.’

  ‘Roger that. Let’s make another couple of circuits.’

  ‘We can’t keep searching all night, Jed. Fuel won’t last. I think we should head back. Besides, we don’t want to get caught in a firefight.’

  Jed knew she was right, but the need to find and kill the man who had hurt his daughter burned his insides like a draft of acid. ‘I want that bastard, Chris.’

  ‘I know, Jed, and there are people ready to go get him. You’ve done all you can, and Miranda needs you now.’

  He stared down again at the silvery Zambezi, the black tufts of the tops of the trees. They wouldn’t find a man down there in a million years if he wanted to hide and knew what he was doing. He was torn between wanting to finish the fight and returning to his daughter. For once, he realised, he was making the right decision.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Epilogue

  Sunday morning, around eleven. The newspapers by his side, a half-drunk cup of coffee in his hand.

  Virginia spring sunshine on his face, eyes closed, rocking in the swinging chair on the porch. For many Americans this was a normal scene, something they took for granted. But Jed had been here too few times in his life, and he was making the most of it.

  A normal scene? Maybe. A normal life? Not really They were a careful family More careful than most. Part of that had to do with their occupation. However, if you discounted checking for bombs under the SUV and sleeping with a loaded Glock and a pump action shotgun under the bed, they were living a pretty quiet life.

  ‘You look relaxed. Teaching’s suiting you. If you get any more laid-back you’ll pass out,’ Chris said.

  He opened his eyes. She was so beautiful he sometimes felt short of breath. Her face was fuller, as were her breasts, which he thought was sensational. Though she looked a little pale. ‘Sick again, baby?’

  ‘Baby? Don’t say that word,’ she said in mock anger. ‘I haven’t thrown up this many times since I was in college.’ She eased herself into the swinging seat next to him. She smiled when he put his arm around her. She had never felt more fulfilled, happier or more in love in her life. ‘Got something interesting to show you,’ she said, holding up a sheet of paper.

  ‘What? Your resignation from the Company?’

  ‘Ha ha. You’re just jealous because I’ll be on maternity leave soon.’

  ‘I’m picturing myself as a stay-at-home dad, who carries the kid in one of those chest rigs and does all the housework.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ she laughed.

  ‘And I’ll be waiting at the front door, naked with a rose between my teeth and a roast in the oven for when you get home in your sexy spy-lady business suit.’

  ‘On second thoughts, you’ve got the job. Now, be serious for a second. I just checked the emails …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Luke and Miranda will both be able to make it here for the wedding. She says Canada is great and polar bears are a lot scarier than lions. He’s only got a couple more months in Africa before he gets a posting to the International Press office in Washington. They’re meeting in New York for a few days together before they come here.’

  ‘Mmm, I’d better make sure the shotgun’s loaded.’

  ‘For the bears?’

  ‘For the reporter. So, what’s the good news?’

  ‘Not sure if it’s good or bad. It’s from Africa. From the National Parks ecologist in Mana Pools, Zimbabwe. You didn’t meet him.’

  ‘No.’ The hairs on the back of Jed’s neck started to rise. ‘He was away when everything happened.’ Thoughts of his domestic idyll were expelled from his mind and replaced with the last sighting he’d had of Hassan bin Zayid as he’d tossed his lighter at Miranda. Miranda’s burns had healed and, once her final operation was carried out next month, she would carry no more scars. But all of them had their own painful memories.

  ‘I’ve kept in touch with him off and on. Here,
read this.’

  Jed took the email and read it.

  You’ll be interested to learn that it appears we have another man-eater in the park. Just last week two rangers came across some human remains – not much, just a skull pan and a femur. There was a rusted AK-47 and some military-looking web gear nearby. By the state of the kit they reckoned the kill was about three months old – possibly dating back to the time of your high adventures in the valley. They thought the remains were probably those of a poacher, though one of those terrorist chaps did get away, didn’t he? I’ve been monitoring a small pride in the area – an extremely old, scarred male, and a mature lioness. She’s just had a litter of three cubs. I’m fairly sure the male is the brother of the one you shot, although I only ever saw that pair a couple of times, so I can’t be certain. It is highly unusual for a pride to start this way – a battle-scarred old male almost past his prime, and a lone female who may have lost her way. Just goes to show that there’s hope for us all, I suppose.