‘What sort of things is he looking for?’ asked Connor.
‘Grass that’s been trampled down. Vegetation that’s been broken or bruised. Soil or rocks that have been disturbed. But where he really comes into his own is ageing the tracks. Buju can determine how long it’s been since the animal passed by simply from how dried out a broken leaf or stem is, or by the moisture in the ground beneath a disturbed rock. A good tracker is like an expert crime-scene investigator.’
After half an hour of tracking with no sighting of a leopard or a lion, Henri declared, ‘I’m hungry.’
‘But we’ve only recently had lunch!’ his mother sighed.
‘Not to worry,’ said Gunner, bringing the party to a halt. ‘Out in the bush there’s always food. You just need to know where to look.’
He led them over to a fallen acacia tree, put his ear to the trunk, listened, then pulled back the bark. The rotting wood was infested with white worm-like creatures.
‘Rhino beetle larvae,’ said Gunner in delight, picking out a plump one between his fingers. ‘Cooked, they’re a bush delicacy, but you can eat them raw.’
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ said Amber, eyeing the creature with disgust.
Gunner shook his head. ‘Pound for pound such insects contain more protein than beef or fish; they’re the perfect survival food.’
He held the bulbous wriggling larva in front of Henri’s nose. The boy grimaced. ‘I think I’ll pass.’
‘Fair enough. But I’m sure you eat honey and that’s been regurgitated by bees countless times. So this food’s no more unsavoury.’ Gunner popped the larva into his own mouth and began chewing. ‘I have to admit, though, rhino beetle larvae do taste a bit like bogeys!’
Henri sniggered as the ranger washed down his live snack with a swig from his water bottle.
‘If that doesn’t appeal to you, then you could try termites,’ Gunner suggested, heading over to a tall earthen mound. He plucked a long grass stem and fed it into one of the small holes in the structure. ‘These are an excellent food source and if you chuck a piece of termite nest on to the embers of a fire it’ll produce a fragrant smoke that keeps the mozzies away.’
He tugged the stem from the hole, which was now swarming with pale brown ant-like insects.
‘Connor, perhaps you’d like a taste?’ said Gunner, offering him the stem.
‘I’m not that hungry,’ Connor replied, wafting a hand at the persistent flies that buzzed round their heads.
‘You can’t be too choosy in the bush.’
‘Go on,’ urged Amber, her green eyes watching his reaction.
Not wishing to be thought of as a wimp, Connor took the stem and ate a mouthful of termites. He felt the little insects crawling all over his tongue. After a couple of quick chews, he swallowed, swearing he could feel them wriggle down his throat. ‘They taste like … dirt,’ he admitted.
‘But they’re fresh!’ said Gunner with a grin. ‘Fried, the termites have a lovely nutty flavour. Well, if that’s not to your liking, we could always hunt for snake.’
‘Snake?’ exclaimed Connor, his stomach turning at the thought.
‘Yeah, a snake is steak in the bush!’ Gunner laughed. ‘Sixty per cent protein and that means energy.’
‘But aren’t most of them poisonous?’ questioned Laurent.
‘Only the end with fangs. Chop off the head, sling the body on some hot coals, skin and all, and you’ve got yourself a hearty meal. The only problem is killing the snake in the first place without getting bitten!’
He turned back to Henri. ‘So what will it be – larva, termite or snake?’
His face a little pale, Henri replied sheepishly, ‘Umm … I was hoping for something along the lines of a chocolate bar …’
‘They’re not doing very much,’ whispered Henri as he crouched with the others, peering through Connor’s binoculars. The pride of four lions lay listless under the shade of a tree, their tails flicking every so often at the buzz of flies.
Amber looked sideways at her brother and tutted. ‘You’re never satisfied, are you? Buju’s guided you to lions and all you can do is moan.’
‘But on TV they’re hunting or doing something exciting,’ Henri muttered. ‘Not just sleeping.’
‘Well, why don’t you go for a run and see if they’ll chase you?’ suggested Amber with a sardonic smile.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ cut in Gunner. ‘Lions are mostly nocturnal hunters, resting up to twenty hours a day, but they’ll still attack if they spot an opportunity. And you’d make a fine snack, Henri.’
‘If lions hunt for themselves, why did they steal the leopard’s kill?’ questioned Laurent.
‘Because out of every five attempts a lion will only make one kill. That’s why scavenging is a vital food source for them.’
‘I feel sorry for the leopard,’ said Cerise. ‘It did all the work and these lions reaped the benefit.’
‘Don’t be. Leopards are the great survivors,’ said Gunner. ‘They may be slower than a cheetah and weaker than a lion, but they’ll beat them all in the end.’ He pointed to the grassland surrounding them. ‘At this very moment there could be a leopard only a few metres from us and we wouldn’t even know.’
As if there’d been a sudden drop in temperature, the atmosphere within the group became tense as their eyes darted from bush to grass to shrub, wondering if there really was a leopard nearby.
‘They’re superbly camouflaged hunters. Also excellent swimmers and climbers and they can leap long distances,’ Gunner went on. ‘A male leopard can drag a carcass three times its own weight – including small giraffes – up a tree. No prey is safe from a leopard. Believe me, of all the cats, a leopard is the most cunning and dangerous. The perfect predator.’
‘Would they ever attack humans?’ asked Cerise anxiously.
‘Absolutely,’ replied Gunner. ‘A leopard is easily capable of killing any one of us. It might drop out of a tree or pounce from behind a bush, then seize you by the throat and suffocate you between its jaws.’ Connor could see that the ranger was enjoying the looks of horror on their faces. ‘Leopards eat whatever form of animal protein is available, from termites to snakes to waterbuck. But, when there’s a shortage of regular prey, a leopard may resort to hunting humans. A few are true maneaters, having got their taste from scavenging on human corpses during the civil war. Such leopards are truly to be feared.’
Connor and the others were stunned into silence. The savannah no longer seemed a perfect paradise – rather a hunting ground where they were the prey.
Gunner checked his watch. ‘Well, time to head back,’ he announced cheerily. ‘Dusk is only an hour off. And we don’t want to become dinner for these lions.’
With uneasy looks at the surrounding trees and bushes, Connor and the others hastily followed him. Buju led the way, guiding them back along the banks of the Ruvubu River. The late afternoon sun had turned the waters golden, and hippos wallowed in the meandering current, snorting and making strange muh-muh-muh sounds. Every so often Connor would spot the snout and black slit-eyes of a crocodile as it broke the water’s surface. A few basked on mudbanks, their saw-toothed jaws wide open.
‘Those crocs are trying to cool off as they sweat through their mouths,’ explained Gunner. ‘They’ve the strongest bite of any animal in the world and one of the quickest too – able to snap their jaws shut round prey within fifty milliseconds!’
‘It seems everything in this country is lethal,’ remarked Connor.
Gunner laughed. ‘Survival of the fittest, my friend. Oddly enough, though, the muscles that open a croc’s jaws aren’t so powerful. A reasonably strong person like yourself could hold a croc’s mouth closed with just their bare hands. The problem is most victims never see the croc coming, since it uses surprise rather than speed in an attack. That’s why you should never take water from the same spot twice on a river. Crocs watch you the first time, then get you the next –’
‘Ow!’ crie
d Amber.
Connor spun, fearing the worst. Then he saw her camera strap had become entangled in a thorn bush. Amber struggled to free herself but merely became more entwined within its branches.
‘Careful, that stuff’s like barbed wire,’ said Gunner, heading back along the trail to help her. ‘It’ll rip your clothes to shreds, as well as your skin.’
With great care, the ranger began to work her free, unhooking the thorns one at a time. Connor tried to help too, but only succeeded in pricking his own thumb.
Amber gritted her teeth as the thorns scratched at her bare skin.
‘Sorry,’ said Gunner. ‘This is why it’s called a wait-a-while bush. The South African Special Forces used it to snare prisoners and stop them escaping.’
‘I can believe that!’ said Amber, inspecting the blood seeping from her cuts.
When she was finally free, Connor took out an antiseptic wipe from the first-aid kit and offered to clean up her scratches. She willingly let him hold her arm and wipe off the blood. Amber smiled at him – her first with genuine warmth. ‘Thanks.’
‘Any time,’ replied Connor, putting his first-aid kit back in his Go-bag.
‘Right, let’s move on,’ said Gunner.
‘Wait, where’s Henri?’ asked Cerise.
Connor glanced around. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Connor had been so absorbed tending to Amber that he hadn’t kept an eye on her brother. He cursed his lapse of concentration.
‘Henri!’ called his father. But he got no answer.
Connor retraced their steps back down the trail. But the tall grass and thick undergrowth meant anyone straying even a few feet from the path could easily disappear from view and become lost.
‘Buju and Alfred, spread out,’ instructed Gunner. ‘Everyone else stay with me. We don’t want to lose anyone else.’
Cerise started to sob. ‘You don’t think he’s been taken by a –’ she glanced at the bushes – ‘a leopard?’
‘Don’t fret, Mrs Barbier,’ said Gunner. ‘He’s probably just wandered off. My men will find him.’
But it was Connor who spotted Henri first, through a gap in the bushes. He was standing on a mudbank overlooking the river. A crocodile’s head broke the surface.
‘Henri! Stay back from the water!’ shouted Connor, rushing over to him, the others close behind.
‘I found another dead gazelle,’ said Henri, oblivious to the panic he’d caused and the predator eyeing him.
Connor peered over the lip of the bank. A carcass was washed up at the water’s edge. It wasn’t much more than a bloodied ribcage with a few flaps of skin hanging off. Then Connor realized the skin was actually khaki-coloured and made of cloth.
‘I don’t think that’s a gazelle,’ said Connor, drawing Henri away from the dismembered corpse.
‘A dead body isn’t exactly good PR for the park,’ said Minister Mossi sarcastically, turning his gaze on Minister Feruzi, slouched in the leather armchair of the lodge’s smoking room. ‘Come to Ruvubu, swim with man-eating crocodiles!’
‘It wasn’t a crocodile that killed the man,’ stated Gunner, who stood beside the stone fireplace, his safari hat in his hands.
‘What do you mean?’ said President Bagaza, stiffening in his chair.
‘He was shot first. Before the crocodiles ate him.’
Minister Feruzi stubbed out his cigarette in a silver ashtray. ‘How did you come to that conclusion?’
‘Buju found a bullet embedded in the ribcage.’
A haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air as the president and his ministers sat silent, contemplating this fact.
‘So do we know who the victim is yet?’ asked Minister Rawasa quietly. ‘A local villager?’
‘Impossible to tell for certain, considering what’s left,’ replied Gunner, his expression grim. ‘But I am guessing it’s either Julien or Gervais. The khaki cloth matches our park uniform and both rangers have failed to report back.’
‘This is a disaster! The last thing we need on the ambassador’s first visit.’ The president got to his feet and gazed pensively out of the window across the valley. ‘Who do you think did it?’
‘Poachers, most probably.’
‘What sector were the two rangers patrolling?’ asked Minister Feruzi, lighting up another cigarette.
‘Sector eight, north-east,’ replied Gunner.
‘Keep your men clear, Gunner.’
Gunner frowned. ‘What about catching these murderers?’
‘We will. But wait until we’ve the necessary reinforcements.’
‘It’ll likely only be a small group of poachers,’ pressed Gunner. ‘I can lead a unit of rangers; while their tracks are still fresh, Buju can follow them to their camp.’
‘Let us decide on the best course of action,’ said Minister Feruzi firmly.
Gunner’s jaw tightened. The president came over and laid a reassuring hand on the ranger’s shoulder. ‘I promise you, Gunner, we will find these criminals. But your job is to ensure the French ambassador and his family have the best safari possible.’ He led Gunner towards the door. ‘When you do confirm the body’s identity, pass on my condolences to any relatives and, if there’s a wife, inform her that she’ll be suitably recompensed for her loss.’
‘Yes, Mr President.’
‘Oh, and Gunner,’ called Minister Feruzi, ‘I’d advise against saying anything to the ambassador and his family at the moment. Leave that to us. No need to worry them unnecessarily.’
‘Understood,’ said Gunner before leaving the room.
When the door closed, President Bagaza looked to his ministers. ‘So, how should we handle this?’
Minister Feruzi coughed into his fist. ‘Tragic as it is, a dead ranger might give us leverage in requesting more aid to combat poachers.’
‘I don’t think that’s the point here,’ responded the president. ‘What if the rangers stumbled across the diamond field and paid for it with their lives?’
‘We should send in a unit of soldiers to search sector eight,’ suggested Minister Mossi.
‘Isn’t that a bit of overkill?’ argued Minister Feruzi, flicking ash from his cigarette.
‘I agree,’ said Minister Rawasa. ‘We don’t want the ambassador spooked by an increased military presence.’
‘I hear you all,’ said the president, ‘but the priority is to secure any diamond field within the park. If the rumoured return of Black Mamba is to be believed –’ he glanced round at his ministers – ‘we need to take steps now to protect our country’s interests.’
‘They’re insisting there’s nothing to worry about,’ Connor relayed to Charley back at HQ. ‘A tragic accident, but one they say is all too familiar over here.’
‘I suppose swimming in a river has its dangers, especially within a national park full of wild animals,’ replied Charley, her image pixelating on the phone’s screen as the internet connection slowed. ‘Do they know who the victim is?’
Connor shook his head. ‘They’re guessing it’s a local.’
‘You don’t look so convinced.’
Charley read him too well. ‘I get the sense they’re hiding something. Or at least not telling the whole truth,’ he explained, keeping his voice low even though he was alone in the lodge’s reception. He walked over to the entrance just to make sure. ‘I didn’t study the corpse for too long, but bits of clothing looked very much like the park rangers’ uniform. Plus our ranger appeared more concerned than I’d expect him to be for someone he didn’t even know.’
Charley pursed her lips thoughtfully. ‘Maybe there is more to it, but remember this safari is meant to be a goodwill exercise for the Burundian government. They’re probably wanting to gloss over the incident and move on. How are the Cubs taking it?’
Connor glanced back into the lodge’s lounge area where Henri was playing a game on his phone and Amber was reading a book. ‘Only the youngest got a good look. He’s a little shocked but otherwise fine. Cub One kept her distance. I think
the parents are more upset than them, the mother in particular. But Cub Two is already asking when the next outing will be.’
‘And when is it?’
‘Tomorrow: a sunset safari. The tourism minister suggested we spend the day enjoying the pool before heading out.’
‘Well, let’s hope this next trip’s a little less eventful. By the way, I’ve pulled some information on the snake you mentioned.’
Connor felt his stomach tighten. And, by the grave look on Charley’s face, he had every reason to be concerned.
‘Black Mamba is the nickname for the notorious rebel fighter, General Pascal,’ revealed Charley. ‘Born in Burundi, he began his fighting days aged sixteen, alternating between being a rebel and a soldier both in his own country and the Democratic Republic of Congo. At the age of eighteen he joined the FDD – Forces pour la Défense de la Démocratie – but deserted them a few years later to wage war on behalf of the Union of Congolese Patriots. Eventually he founded his own rebel group, the ANL – Armée Nationale de la Liberté – who gained infamy almost overnight for killing three hundred refugees in a United Nations camp on the Burundian border. Most of the victims were women, children and babies, beaten with sticks, shot dead or burnt alive in their shelters.’
Connor sat down heavily in one of the reception’s leather armchairs. ‘He sounds like a monster.’
‘That’s barely scraping the surface,’ sighed Charley. ‘His group attacked the capital Bujumbura, leaving three hundred dead and twenty thousand people displaced. He sparked a rebellion that led to several massacres amounting to genocide, and it set back the peace process by several years before the ANL were defeated and pushed back into the Congo. Responsible for countless atrocities, the Black Mamba has also been indicted by the International Criminal Court for recruiting child soldiers.’
‘Children?’ said Connor, almost unable to believe what he was hearing. ‘Kids like us?’
Charley nodded solemnly. ‘His tactic was to abduct them and force them to kill their own parents. Those who refused were beaten to death. Those who obeyed had sacrificed all ties to home and family. With nothing to go back to, their new family became the ANL.’
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 10