by Tony Park
‘Charged?’ the officer asked, his face puzzled. ‘No, of course not. We were told that you were tourists staying in the camping ground who had gone to the aid of Parks officers who were under fire. Your actions may not have been the wisest, but you have committed no crime.’
Mike mentally thanked Samson for neglecting to mention they had been prowling around, unauthorised and armed, after dark. ‘We have information about the men who shot at us –’ he began.
‘Everything is in hand, Mr Williams. We spoke to the other ranger at Matusadona and we have also received some information from the South African Police Service. A watch will be put on our border posts at Chirundu and here at Kariba for some men we wish to talk to in relation to this matter,’ the inspector said.
Mike was relieved that Fanie had apparently been able to make contact with the local police, but he imagined Hess and Orlov were long gone by now. If the police were already aware of the suspects’ identities, there was no need to involve himself and Sarah in unnecessary paperwork. ‘I hope you catch them,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Mr Williams. Come see us around ten in the morning, if that is convenient, and we will get a formal statement from you about the shooting of the ranger and the poacher who was killed. Now, perhaps we can give you a lift somewhere?’
Mike thanked him, and he and Sarah climbed into the back of the Land Rover. They sat side by side on a padded bench seat as the old vehicle groaned its way up from the boat ramp and then down the hill out of the yacht club. Sarah moved closer to him until their legs were touching. Mike reached out and put an arm around her.
She laid her head on his shoulder and said, ‘You sure know how to entertain a girl.’
A short time later they waved their thanks to the policemen in the Land Rover and promised to see them later that morning. The bleary-eyed security guard at the camping ground let them in through the barbed-wire-topped gate and they walked over to Nelson, parked where Mike had left it at the far end of the camping area, under the high, shady branches of an apple ring acacia tree.
Mike patted the truck’s yellow metal bodywork affectionately. ‘Nice to be home,’ he whispered. ‘I need a beer,’ he said to Sarah.
‘I need a shower,’ she replied, looking down at her bloodstained T-shirt, ‘and a beer.’
‘Let’s combine them,’ Mike suggested.
‘Combine what?’
‘A beer and a shower. Nothing like it.’
He walked to the back of the truck, got down on one knee and reached under the chassis as far as he could. Above the rear axle, welded to the underneath of the cab floor, was a small metal box with a lid secured by a sliding bolt. Mike worked the bolt and fished inside for the spare set of keys.
Before leaving the truck he had run an extension cord from the external power socket on the right side of the cab to a power box mounted in the camping ground. He unlocked the main door to the cab and climbed inside. The car fridge was humming away contentedly. From inside he pulled four ice-cold bottles of Zambezi Lager.
Mike snapped the lids off two of the beers and handed one to Sarah. ‘One for now and one for just now. You’ve earned it.’ He unlocked the storage locker at the back of the truck, where everyone’s spare bags and backpacks were stowed.
‘Mine’s the light blue backpack. God, that tastes good,’ Sarah said, taking a second long swig of cold beer.
Mike passed down her pack and fished a towel, soap, clean shorts and underpants from his kitbag. He took his first sip of beer and toasted Sarah. She was right, it tasted good.
He finished the first bottle before they made it to the ablution block on the other side of the camping ground. Sarah, too, upended her bottle, draining the suds as they arrived.
‘See you soon,’ Mike said.
‘Soon,’ she said.
He walked into the gents side of the empty block, into the first shower stall. It was an old building and there was no curtain or door on the cubicle. Mosquitoes buzzed his ankles and ears, and moths and flying ants hovered around the bare light bulb over his head. Frogs and cicadas croaked and chirped in a ceaseless nighttime concerto outside the cubicle’s open window.
Mike stripped off his shorts which, like Sarah’s shirt and his hands, were stained with Patrick’s blood. He turned on the water, leaving red fingerprints on the chrome taps. The water was still hot and the pressure was strong. Mike realised he had left the bottle opener in the truck, so he laid the edge of the cap of the second bottle on the concrete windowsill and slapped down on the top with the palm of his free hand. The bottle top jangled on the concrete floor when it struck and Mike took a long, deep swallow of the cold golden fluid as he leaned back and put his head under the water. Bliss.
‘Mike?’ Sarah called tentatively from somewhere nearby.
‘In here,’ he replied after swallowing a mouthful of beer.
‘The light’s out in the ladies. I’ll have to use one of the showers in here, OK?’
‘Sure,’ he said, placing his bottle on the window ledge and reaching for the soap. He closed his eyes and rubbed the cake of soap into his hair. Blindly, he replaced the bar on the ledge and massaged his scalp hard with his fingers. He heard footsteps in the corridor and turned to face the wall as he let the water wash the suds away.
With the soap gone and his eyes clear he turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. Sarah was standing motionless outside the cubicle, staring at him. It was hard for Mike to read the emotions in her eyes, in the set of her mouth, but he knew what he was feeling.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she said in a low voice. Still she stood there, immobile, hesitating. She held up the green bottle and added, ‘I need some assistance.’
He turned to face her, completely naked. She kept her eyes fixed on his as he walked towards her. He stood, dripping water, centimetres away from her and she looked up into his dark eyes.
Sarah blinked, twice, but there were no tears there, then bit her lower lip. It was as if she was giving herself one last chance to change her mind. Mike took the bottle from her hand and sat it next to his on the window ledge. He turned back to her, wrapped his wet arms around her and pulled her to his chest.
‘We’re safe,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he whispered, stroking her short dark hair. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face, then kissed her. It was a long, slow kiss, passionate but gentle. The kind lovers still enjoy after years of togetherness. He could feel the heat of her through her damp, clammy clothes.
The kiss broke and Mike whispered, ‘Let’s get you out of these.’ She raised her arms and he pulled the knotted T-shirt over her head. She ran her fingers through his hair as he bent to unzip and lower her denim shorts and pants. The woman smell of her filled his nostrils and he felt himself harden.
‘Clean me,’ she said, and they both stepped under the hard, purifying spray of the shower.
It was a long shower, punctuated with bouts of laughter and progressively longer, wetter kisses. They explored each other’s bodies, washing and teasing at the same time.
‘Not here,’ she whispered, nibbling his earlobe as he ran his nails down her long smooth back to the cleft of her buttocks.
‘No. Let’s go,’ Mike agreed.
They hurriedly dressed and he led her back to the truck, hand in hand. From the rear of the truck he pulled out two camp mattresses, a mosquito net, sleeping bag and two pillows and passed half the load to Sarah.
‘Follow me,’ he said. They walked to the back of the truck and he started to climb the tubular metal ladder welded to the rear of Nelson’s cab.
‘Up there?’ she asked, surprised.
‘No one will see us, and the view is unbelievable.’
The big truck rocked slightly as Sarah’s torso appeared over the top edge of the back of the cab. The roof was flat and there was plenty of room. Mike laid the mattresses side by side, and Sarah spread out the sleeping bag as he tied the mosquito net to a lo
w branch of the acacia tree.
‘The stars are incredible,’ she said softly and Mike turned to see her staring up through the trees.
Mike thought for a moment of Isabella and that first night of theirs on top of the UN four-wheel drive in Kruger. He looked up as well and wondered if there really was a heaven and if you ever really forget someone. He hoped he would never forget Isabella as long as he lived, but he also realised he had reached a turning point and that he really cared for Sarah. He wanted her sexually, but there was much more to his feelings than that. He knew what they were about to do was right – as right as it had been for him and Isabella.
She looked at him, kneeling on the opposite side of the mattresses. He moved towards her, on his knees also, and took her in his arms. They kissed again, hard and passionate. He laid her down and pulled her T-shirt off, urgently, lusting to see the firm white breasts he had so tenderly caressed just a few minutes before. Now he wanted to devour them, to consume every bit of her.
Her movements were just as frantic as his as she tore at the fastening and zipper of his shorts, hands reaching roughly inside.
He moved between her opened legs, running his hands the length of her body, over her tanned arms and legs, her creamy white pelvis and breasts. He tasted her clean, soap-scented skin, from the base of her neck to the tight curls between her legs. She encircled him with her fingers, pulling hard and fast. They both needed release and she was hot and already pulsing with desire as his fingers opened her.
‘Now,’ she pleaded in his ears, guiding him towards her. She closed her eyes as he entered her, and bit down hard on her lower lip. Her muscles tensed for an instant, then relaxed as he slid home with a thrust that made her gasp with pleasured surprise.
There was no slow build-up to their first lovemaking. She clung to him fiercely, digging her nails painfully into his back, her long legs wrapped tightly around him, as he plunged in and out of her. Beneath him, she arched her back and gripped him tighter and tighter with her arms and her unseen muscles, bringing them both to the brink of climax.
‘God, I need you,’ he whispered breathlessly in Sarah’s ear.
‘Me too. I’m yours tonight.’
25
‘I’ve got work to do today,’ Sarah said, sitting upright and clutching the sleeping bag to cover her bare breasts.
‘Thank you,’ Mike said, as he lazily ran a finger down the ridges of her spine.
‘Oh. Thank you, too,’ she said, smiling brightly as she looked down at him. She fumbled under the covers for her T-shirt and added, as she pulled it on, ‘Mike, I’ve got calls to make. Can we talk later?’
He wasn’t expecting flowers or a champagne breakfast, but he could guess from the excited look in her eyes what she wanted next, and it wasn’t sex or a lazy lie-in. Besides, the sun was up and campers were wandering around, to and from the shower block. There could be no hanky-panky on top of a bright yellow truck in daytime, nor any shared showers.
‘I’ve got a friend on The Times, Mike. He’s on the foreign desk. I’ve got to call him now. The story is too good to miss, and it might be my ticket out of travel magazines.’
Mike rubbed his eyes. By the time they had made love a second, slower, time, it was only a couple of hours before dawn and they had woken with the sun. He, too, had calls to make before the rest of the group arrived.
After showering, separately, they each bought phone cards at the camp shop and took turns at feeding them into a hungry payphone just outside the entrance gate. While Sarah waited for the newsdesk of The Times of London to call her back, Mike squeezed in a long call to Rian. Mike explained everything that had happened, from the real purpose of his meeting with Theron at the border, up to last night’s mayhem.
‘Christ, Mike, you could have ruined me if anything happened to the tourists!’ Rian said angrily. ‘Is it safe to go on? They haven’t caught these people and they might track you down!’
‘I know, that’s why I’m cancelling the trip, Rian.’
‘Cancelling it?’
‘I’ve got no reason to think they know who I am or what I’m driving, but the other passengers will have been shaken up after last night. I’m going to drop them at Lusaka. Can you and Susie arrange for their flights to be rescheduled?’
‘Ja. It’ll cost us, but you’re right – their safety has got to be our priority. There’s a flight to London tonight. I know some people at BA. I’ll see how many seats I can book. It was bloody foolish of you to even agree to help the police in the first place.’
Mike knew Rian was right. In truth, however, his only regret about the preceding night was that he hadn’t had a clear shot at Hess or Orlov with Patrick’s rifle.
Mike explained to Sarah what Rian had said. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘How long will it take to get to Lusaka?’ she asked.
‘It’s only about a hundred and thirty kilometres from here. We’ll get going as soon as we pick everyone up from the houseboat. With the border crossing, probably about three hours. We’ll be there by four at the latest, I reckon.’
The payphone rang again and Sarah snatched it up. She outlined what had happened to her and Mike, talking up the danger and mentioning the nationalities of everyone in the tour group. Mike listened in uneasily.
‘Pictures? You bet I’ve got pictures! A crusty old ranger being treated for a bullet wound, hero tour guide dragging him to safety.’ Sarah winked at Mike, but he didn’t smile back.
She listened to the caller, nodding her head and making notes in her spiral-bound reporter’s notebook. At last she hung up. ‘Right, I’ve got an hour to write the story, then they’ll call back and I’ll dictate it down the line. Depending on the pics and the comments we can get from your chum in the South African Police, they may even want a follow-up and a weekend feature!’
‘How will you get the pictures to them?’ Mike asked.
‘Um, Mike, I’ll be in London.’
‘You’re leaving? Of course . . .’ Although he had instructed Rian to cancel the tour and arrange flights home for everyone he had half expected – hoped – that Sarah might want to stay in Africa for a while longer.
‘Mike,’ Sarah said, placing a hand on his arm, ‘this is my big chance. They’ve offered me a few days on freelance rates to follow up the story, but there’s not much I can do from the back of a truck on the road in the middle of nowhere. If I get home and do a good job there might be a full-time position in it. Nicholas hinted as much and said they were looking to hire people at the moment.’
He didn’t know or care who Nicholas was. ‘What about the job you’ve got now? Don’t you like travel writing?’ he asked.
‘Sure, it’s fun, but I want to do hard news. I want to be sent overseas to cover coups and great events, not travelogues and advertorials for tour companies. Anyway, I’m not giving up my job right now. My magazine will be happy for me to do the stuff for The Times as long as they mention who I work for – it’s great publicity for the mag. But if something better comes up, then I’d be mad not to jump at it.’
‘I’m sure you’re making the right decision,’ he said. ‘Now, I’ve got to pick up the rest of the gang from the wharf. You’d better start writing.’
He turned and walked to the truck. He allowed himself a quick backward glance. Sarah was still standing by the payphone and she was staring at him, lost in thought. He smiled and she smiled back. She turned and walked to a picnic table in the camping ground, sat down on the wooden bench and started to write in her notebook.
On his way to the wharf where the houseboat would dock, Mike stopped in at the police station, located on the top of a hill with panoramic views over the lake and township of Kariba. He gave the police a written statement on behalf of himself and Sarah, who, he fibbed, was too distraught to come to the station. Then he continued on to the wharf and found another payphone. His mobile phone still wasn’t picking up a signal. He dialled Fanie Theron’s number and was surprised when the detective answered
the phone.
‘It’s Mike Williams. I’m glad I’ve got through to you and not your voice mail.’
‘I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Are you OK?’ Theron asked.
‘I’m OK, but we cut it close last night,’ Mike said. He talked Theron through the events in Matusadona National Park.
‘I heard about that. I’ve been on the phone to the Zimbabweans this morning.’
‘How did you find out so quickly?’ Mike asked.
‘I can’t go into that now. Did you see Hess or Orlov? Can you stand up in court and testify that they were in the park after hours, with weapons?’
Mike hesitated as the thought of lying crossed his mind. Perjury seemed a small crime compared to the trail of blood Hess and Orlov had left in their wake, but he could also imagine the difficulties of mounting the case against them. ‘I’m sorry, Fanie. It was dark, and they were the ones with the night sight, not us.’
‘Ja, I understand,’ Theron said.
Mike could hear the disappointment in his voice.
‘Anyway, it’s over for now, Mike.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re leaving. Orlov is probably on his way back to Russia right now.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Again, I can’t say, but trust me – it’s over. Look, I can’t talk now. Contact me when you get back to South Africa so I can debrief you in more detail. Goodbye.’ He hung up.
So that was that, Mike told himself. No thanks for risking his life, and no chance of catching the men who had killed Isabella and nearly finished off Sarah and him. He was disappointed and angry, but he had other people to worry about now.
Everyone spoke at once as they hopped off the moored houseboat and onto the concrete dock.
‘Quiet, please!’ Mike called above the hubbub, raising his hands for silence. He made his apologies to the stern-faced captain of the houseboat, and shepherded the group into the back of Nelson for some privacy from the labourers and deckhands milling around the wharf. When the tourists were seated, he repeated the long story he’d told Rian.