Black Horn (A Creasy novel Book 4)

by A. J. Quinnell

  Michael nodded.

  ‘Yes. I used to play frequently and I still do occasionally.’

  Monday spread his hands and said, ‘I used to, as well, and I still follow the game worldwide on TV. The comparison between Karl Becker and Maxie MacDonald in the bush is that of a good club player to Pele on the football pitch.’

  Michael went back into thought and Monday waited patiently. Michael had to assume that Maxie and Creasy would capture Karl Becker. They would question him severely. Creasy’s decision would not be to take him straight to the police but to take him to his father, and also question the father. Creasy never liked involving the police. Michael suddenly felt young. He just wished he could communicate with Creasy — but on this occasion he had to make his own decision. Another minute passed. Then he made his choice. He would get to Binga, locate himself close to the Becker household and be ready, in case Creasy and Maxie needed back-up. He looked at his watch and said, ‘Monday, I would be grateful if you could arrange to get me into Binga unseen, by dawn tomorrow.’

  ‘That presents no difficulties. I have business there. In an hour, one of my trucks will leave Harare with a trusted driver and with you hidden in the back. It’s a twelve hour journey. He will drop you off within a mile of Becker’s house before dawn. Meanwhile I’ll have someone tip-off Commander Ndlovu that Mrs Manners is in great danger.’

  Michael stood up and held out his hand and the African rose to shake it.

  ‘Thank you, Monday. As you say, you are a man who pays your debts.’

  Chapter 21

  The stewardess served the duck à l’orange and refilled the champagne glass. Lucy Kwok gave her a conspiratorial smile of thanks.

  Wherever airline personnel travel in the world, they get massive discounts on their own airline and others. It is a kind of mile-high mafia. Lucy had flown Cathay Pacific to London, spent a free night at an airport hotel with the cabin crew and then got a stand-by flight on British Airways to Harare. When she boarded the plane, the senior stewardess had recognised her from a holiday she had enjoyed in Hong Kong two years earlier.

  She had whispered in Lucy’s ear, ‘Just wait by the staircase. I’ll get the others settled and then have a word with the captain.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Lucy was ushered into the luxurious cocoon of first class, and was given her first glass of champagne only seconds after settling into her comfortable armchair.

  There were only three other first-class passengers. A black politician and his wife, and a middle-aged white businessman who had tried to chat her up soon after take-off. She gave him the standard brush-off, explaining that her husband was waiting for her at the airport.

  The ten hours had passed quickly and comfortably, and with the good food and champagne, she should have been relaxed. But as the plane swept down from the dark African skies and landed at Harare Airport, Lucy’s mind was in turmoil.

  She had travelled widely in her work and on her subsidised holidays, but this was her first visit to Africa. There was a tension in her. She was not sure if she would ever return to Hong Kong. With the death of her family and then Colin Chapman’s death and the destruction of her family home, she felt that her links with the place were falling away. She mourned for her family with a constant inner pain and mourned Colin Chapman with a sense of guilt. She kept telling herself that the guilt was illogical, but there was no denying that he had died protecting her.

  The first-class passengers went through immigration and customs first and the wealthy white businessman looked somewhat surprised as he followed her out into the arrivals hall and saw her being greeted by a tall well-dressed African.

  Commander John Ndlovu shook Lucy Kwok’s hand and took her overnight bag, and nodded to the porter carrying her other luggage to follow them. Five minutes later, they were driving into the city, side by side in the back of an unmarked police car.

  ‘It’s more modern than I had expected,’ she remarked, looking at the first high-rise buildings.

  ‘Well, it’s not Hong Kong,’ the African answered, ‘but perhaps it’s the most modern city in Africa north of Johannesburg.’ He suggested that after she had settled into her room at the Meikles Hotel, they meet for a drink in the bar.

  Half an hour later, in the newly-opened Explorer Bar of the hotel, she sipped a highball and listened while John Ndlovu brought her up to date. It only took a few minutes for her to learn that Gloria Manners was staying in a hotel at Victoria Falls, that Creasy and Maxie MacDonald had disappeared into the bush for several days, and that Michael, who was supposed to spend a few days in Harare, had checked out that very morning and simply vanished.

  ‘What do you suggest I do?’ she asked the policeman.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do, Miss Kwok, except wait. I expect that Creasy and MacDonald will stay in the bush no longer than a week. If they haven’t come across anything by then, they’ll come out and everyone will go home. I suggest that you wait at Victoria Falls with Mrs Manners. It’s much more pleasant than Harare and she’ll be the first to know if anything happens. After all, she’s funding everything.’

  Lucy thought for a moment and then said, ‘What sort of woman is she?’

  The African made a gesture with his hands.

  ‘She’s in her sixties and obviously very wealthy. She spends her life in a wheelchair. She lost both her husband and her only child, so her immense wealth means nothing. I’d say she’s a bitter lonely woman.’

  ‘Sounds like good company,’ Lucy said ruefully.

  The African took a last sip of his drink and said, ‘Well you could spend time looking at the Mosi-Oa-Tunya.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Victoria Falls. The locals call it “the smoke that thunders”.’

  ‘I’m not here on a tourist trip,’ Lucy said.

  ‘I understand that. But there’s nothing you can do for the next few days except wait. That’s what Mrs Manners is doing . . . and that’s what I’m doing.’

  ‘Well, I can’t get to Victoria Falls until tomorrow. I checked in London and all the flights from Harare are booked.’

  He beckoned to the red-jacketed bartender and said, ‘Joseph, please give me the phone.’

  The bartender lifted the phone on to the bar. Ndlovu dialled a number and then spoke a few short words in Shona. Without waiting for an answer, he cradled the phone and said, ‘You are booked on the 8.00 a.m. flight in the morning to Vic Falls . . . Perhaps a tourist will have to wait another day before getting wet from the smoke that thunders.’

  ‘I’m very grateful to you, Commander.’

  He glanced at his watch and then reached into his top pocket and gave her a card, 'I have to leave now, Miss Kwok. Call me if you need anything.’ She took the card and thanked him and he asked, ‘Are you going to bed now?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve got massive jet-lag from flying East to West and then South, I’ll have a couple more drinks here.’

  He nodded solemnly and looked around the crowded room. It was filled with well-dressed men, both black and white, and only a few couples. Again, he beckoned the bartender, a huge East African.

  He turned back to Lucy and said, ‘Meet Joseph Tembo. He’s been head bartender here for many years. He will keep an eye on you while you are here.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’

  The African nodded.

  ‘A single woman in Harare would not usually drink in a bar on her own unless she is a little loose. Consequently, some of the men here might bother you. Joseph will not let them bother you, unless you wish it, Tembo is Swahili for “elephant” and he can sure charge at someone, if they annoy you.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I told him to tell them that you were my sister.’

  She lifted her head and, for the first time in a long time, laughed. ‘I doubt they will believe him.’

  ‘Perhaps not . . . but they will get the message.’

  Chapter 22 />
  Gloria Manners felt trapped and irritated. It was early evening and, with the help of Ruby, she had prepared herself to go down into the beautiful gardens by the River Zambezi to watch the famed sunset. Later they would have dinner al fresco. But five minutes earlier there had been an urgent knock on the door, it was Inspector Robin Gilbert. He explained that he had just received a tip-off from Commander Ndlovu that some criminals had left Harare to make an attack on her person. She was therefore to stay in her room together with Ruby and take their meals there until the criminals had been tracked down. Meanwhile, he had received reinforcements. Many of them were already on the grounds of the hotel. They were all in plain clothes or disguised as waiters or porters. The two men who would bring their meals would be his men.

  He had left without giving Mrs Manners a chance to argue. She remained in a bad mood throughout the meal, and until she finally fell asleep after drinking one scotch too many.

  She came sharply awake just after midnight.

  She turned and saw Ruby sitting up in the twin bed. They could hear gunfire just outside the building and much shouting. Abruptly, the window smashed and Mrs Manners pulled herself under the covers and shouted to Ruby to do the same as glass littered their beds and the floor.

  The firing stopped as suddenly as it had started. Then they heard footsteps running down the corridor outside. Gloria was filled with fear until she heard the voice of Inspector Gilbert shouting out to them to stay still and that everything was all right. Seconds later he was in the room.

  ‘I managed to get one shot off,’ he said. ‘And of course it had to come through your window. Is anybody hurt?’

  ‘No,’ Gloria said. ‘What about the man who did it?’ ‘They’re both dead, Mrs Manners. Please don’t move. There’s glass everywhere. I’ll have some maids here in a couple of minutes to clean the place up and move you to another suite. You can spend the rest of the night in peace.’

  ‘Peace!’ she said. ‘I doubt I’ll ever find peace in this country,’

  Chapter 23

  They moved fast about a kilometre in from the lake itself. They would not be stopping to trap that night. They simply chewed on strips of biltong. Maxie’s plan was to skirt behind the village of Binga and come in at right-angles to the ridge where the small white community lived. The country was very sparse and dry and they sweated under the rising sun. They walked side by side, but there was very little conversation. They trudged on with an air of impatience.

  It was late afternoon when Maxie reached out a hand to stop Creasy.

  ‘Someone’s tracking us,’ he said.

  Creasy wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand and grinned.

  ‘I was waiting for you to tell me,’ he said, ‘I picked it up ten minutes ago.’

  Maxie grinned back.

  ‘You’re a smartass, Creasy. I picked it up an hour ago, and deliberately took us close to that bunch of baboons to give them a fright. They got another fright, fifteen minutes later and I heard their chattering. Then, whoever was behind us disturbed some crowned plovers and ten minutes ago, they disturbed the very noisy honey-guide — that’s what you heard.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I wanted to be sure. I needed to establish a pattern from the disturbances behind us and the timing of them. There’s no doubt now that whoever’s tracking us is keeping about a k behind. He’s probably waiting for us to camp and then he’ll close in.’

  ‘Do you think it’s those two Batongkas from last night? Maybe they’re looking for more Krugerrands.’

  ‘I doubt it. First, they know I’m an ex-Selous and I tracked them, even though they took great care. They know what I’m capable of. They also know where we’re going, which is why I’ve taken this route. You may have noticed that we kept to high ground, to avoid the chances of being ambushed from the front. If they were tracking us, they would not have been so clumsy. My guess is, that by now, they’re back in their village, getting drunk out of their minds.’

  They were walking again. Maxie said, ‘Don’t look back. Whoever is behind us is over-confident.’

  ‘Let’s do a buffalo circle on him,’ Creasy said.

  Maxie shook his head.

  ‘Creasy, you’re brilliant in most terrains and especially in urban situations. There’s no one better than you in the desert.’ He smiled to take away any offence. ‘But this is my territory and here, I’m ever so slightly better than you.’

  Creasy grunted in half-agreement. ‘Maybe. But you’re sure as hell enjoying that fact. So let’s do a buffalo circle.’

  Again Maxie shook his head.

  ‘A wounded buffalo circles back on its tracker and waits in thick bush, just a few metres from its own track, and then charges the tracker. The problem is, we don’t have any thick bush in this vicinity. We just have those mopani trees and sparse shrub.’

  They walked in silence for a while, and then Creasy said, ‘There’s a low hill a couple of k’s in front of us. So when we pass out of his sight, I’ll just pop off to the left and wait for him.’

  ‘Do you want to kill him or catch him?’ Maxie asked.

  ‘Catch him, of course.’

  ‘Then you don’t just drop off to the left. We have to assume that, even though he’s arrogant, he’s a good tracker. On this loose soil, he’ll be tracking at least fifty metres ahead. He will see the tracks diverge and then he’ll back off fast.’

  ‘So what do we do, smartass?’

  Maxie turned and grinned at him. After three days in the bush, they both looked and smelled like tramps. Maxie was enjoying his rare moment of superior knowledge.

  ‘We do sticks and boots,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve heard about it but never been involved in that situation. Explain in detail.’

  ‘Well, we’ve got to make him think that he’s tracking the same two men and not just one.’ He gestured ahead. ‘When we pass out of sight, around that low hill, we stop and have time to pull a couple of small branches from a tree. We tie one end of the branches to your boots. You wrap your feet in your shorts and your shirt and you tiptoe your way to the left, for at least half a k and then circle round behind our tracks and slot in behind him or them. Beyond that small hill, there’s a series of three more, so I’ll be out of sight. I’ll make camp beyond the third hill. All the way, I’ll be carrying those sticks with your boots on the end and I’ll plant your bootprints next to mine. You need to be close up behind him, or them, by the time they get near to my camp, which will be about four k’s from here.’ He glanced to his right at the evening sun. I’ll time my arrival for dusk and set up a rough dummy by the fire to impersonate you. They won’t move in before dark, by which time you’ll be right behind them. Now, keep looking behind you, once in a while, like you normally do as the backmarker. When we get round the edge of that low hill, do exactly as I tell you.’ He turned and grinned at Creasy again, who grunted something inaudible.

  Twenty minutes later, Creasy carefully followed the instructions. They had walked alongside a mopani tree.

  ‘Stand still and don’t move,’ Maxie said. He reached up and pulled himself into the tree and climbed through it and around it. From the back, he stripped down two branches. He climbed back and handed them down to Creasy, and very carefully lowered himself so that his own feet descended exactly on to the last two bootprints he had made. Then he issued instructions.

  ‘Carefully take off your shirt and your shorts, but each time you lift a leg, make sure you put your boots back on to exactly the same spot. Lay the shirt and the shorts on your left, side by side, then step out of your boots, leaving them exactly where they are and put one foot on your shirt and one on your shorts. Do not lower your rifle to the ground.’

  Creasy handed him back the branches and looked down at his boots. They were Fellies, much beloved by white Zimbabweans, made of suede and laced up to the ankle. He took off his green cotton shirt, placed it beside him, and then stepped out of his green shorts and placed
them next to the shirt. He was naked except for dark blue briefs.

  ‘Very tasteful,’ Maxie commented. He received another grunt and then Creasy was unlacing his boots. He stepped carefully out of them and on to his shorts and shirt, then watched as Maxie went to work. He had chosen two branches with a cluster of smaller branches at the ends. He picked up one boot and forced it over the small branches and then took twine from several loops around his waist and tied the boot firmly into place without running any of the twine under the sole. He repeated the process with the other boot, and then placed both boots exactly on the spot where Creasy had stepped out of them. He said, ‘For the past few minutes I’ve watched your spoor and I know exactly the length of your stride. You tend to walk on the sides of your feet, like a cowboy. I’ll duplicate your spoor, I know only one man who could ever have noticed the difference between the spoor that I’ll make and the genuine article.’

  ‘Maybe he’s the one behind us,’ Creasy said.

  Maxie shook his head.

  ‘Definitely not. He was a tracker for ZAPU. I killed him eighteen years ago. About twenty k’s from here.’ He tapped his left side. ‘He left me with a little trademark. That scar under my ribs.’

  ‘OK. I’ll see you in about an hour. Get going.’

  He watched for a couple of minutes as Maxie moved across the ground, reaching out with his hands far to his left and planting Creasy’s boots in an exact rhythm. Creasy bent down, wrapped his shirt and shorts round his feet and fastened them with twine. Then, as though walking on cut glass, he moved away to his left.

  Karl Becker tracked with assurance and pleasure. He loved his work, but he infinitely preferred tracking humans to animals. The end result gave more satisfaction.

  It had not been difficult. He had spotted them early in the morning, moving in the direction of Binga. The Envoy L4A1 rifle was slung from his right shoulder. He padded along confidently. He did not track the twin spoors from behind, but criss-crossed them in a zig-zag manoeuvre which took him four to five hundred metres away from the spoors on either side. It was a tiring and time-consuming way to track, but it diminished the possibility of an ambush. He knew what he was up against and it sent a sudden thrill through his body. He was tracking a Selous Scout and a man who he knew was a legend among mercenaries. He felt no fear. He was on his own territory. His rifle was on his back and his instincts were honed. He knew that he had not been spotted. He could have tried two long-shots, but they had moved through open country on the high ground and his approach would have been difficult. Now dusk was coming and soon they would have to camp in a more bushy terrain. He would have cover enough to get within one or two hundred metres. He would shoot the Selous Scout first and he would shoot him twice, to be sure. He felt more confident about having to track down the mercenary.