As they sat in enforced silence, the ache in their wrists and ankles growing steadily worse due to the tight bindings, Connor considered the implications of what Amber had just told him. It seemed as if they’d jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire – fleeing the rebels only to become prisoners of the poachers, a death sentence almost certainly hanging over their heads.
It was late when the poachers finally settled down beneath their makeshift tents, leaving the younger one beside the fire to watch over their prisoners. Amber lay contorted on the hard earth, her body twisted awkwardly by the bindings as she tried to sleep. Connor, however, was in no state of mind to rest. Through half-closed eyes, he observed their guard absently chipping away at the log with his father’s knife and tried to figure out how to free them both and get his heirloom back.
The Wolf and Abel had yet to return. With the other two asleep, Connor reckoned this was their best opportunity to attempt an escape. For, despite the Wolf’s initial care of them, Connor couldn’t trust the man to stay true to his word. Even if it was the hunter’s intention to release them to the authorities, his gang of poachers could well persuade him otherwise.
Their only chance of survival lay in running.
The sound of chipping wood ceased and Connor cautiously looked up. Their guard was beginning to doze, his head lolling, the knife left protruding out of the hacked piece of log. Connor waited another ten minutes, then, as quietly as he could, he shifted into a kneeling position. It took some time, his limbs being stiff and his muscles cramped, but eventually he got himself upright. Although his hands were numb, the blood supply half cut off, Connor was glad his bindings were tight. It would make them easier to break.
Bending over, he raised his arms up behind himself and, just as he’d been shown at his surprise birthday party, he brought them down hard on to his backside. But the impact failed to snap the plastic tie. Instead he lost his balance, toppled forward and landed face first in the dirt.
Spitting out bits of earth, Connor twisted his head round towards the guard. Thankfully the young poacher was still asleep. Convinced the technique had been easier in the company of his friends, Connor checked the tie’s locking mechanism was dead-centre between his wrists and tried again. It took two more attempts before the binding actually split.
After shaking the blood back into his hands, he edged his way over to the sleeping guard and reached for his knife. The young man stirred and Connor’s fingers clasped the hilt of the knife, ready to fight back. But the poacher didn’t wake and Connor relaxed his grip. Tugging the blade free, he sliced through the plastic binding securing his ankles. Then he crept back to Amber and placed a finger on her lips.
Her eyes flickered open and she flinched away, but immediately calmed on seeing Connor’s face in the firelight. Connor cut her ties, then signed for her to follow him. They passed the supply pile, where he grabbed a full water bottle and found his discarded Go-bag. Leaving the muted glow of the campfire behind, the night closed in around them until they could barely see in front of their faces. From the pocket of his cargo trousers Connor retrieved his night-vision sunglasses. Flicking the tiny switch on the frame’s edge, the world burst back into a ghostly light. Almost immediately he was confronted by a pair of huge round eyes and Connor almost cried out – but it was just a harmless bush baby hanging from a nearby branch.
With the copse now illuminated as if there was a full moon, Connor saw a track they could follow through the undergrowth without making a sound. But they’d only gone a few metres when Muscleman stepped out from behind a tree. Having just finished relieving himself, the poacher looked as surprised as they were. Before he could react, Connor drove a fist into the man’s gut with a stepping lunge punch; it was like hitting a solid brick wall. For all his martial arts expertise, his fist crumpled against the granite-hard stomach.
Muscleman grinned in amusement, his teeth gleaming like a half-moon in the darkness.
‘Encore!’ He laughed, opening up his arms to welcome another shot.
In the second that Connor took to consider his next best target, Amber stepped up and kicked Muscleman straight between the legs. The poacher’s eyes bulged and he bent double, expelling a pained gasp. Then she hammer-fisted him in the temple. Muscleman went down like a felled buffalo.
Connor stared at Amber in stunned admiration.
She replied with a shrug, ‘That’s what they taught me to do in self-defence class at school.’
‘Then remind me never to pick a fight with you!’
Connor and Amber crept through a night alive with noise and unseen movement. The warm air pulsated with the ceaseless chirp of crickets and cicadas, the plaintive cries of bush babies and the soft flutter of bats flying overhead. Accompanying this nightly chorus of the African savannah were the rumbling vocalizations of elephants and the deep drawn-out roars of lions prowling the plain.
Connor’s eyes darted to every snap of twig or rustle of leaf in the darkness. But, even with the aid of his night-vision glasses, he rarely saw the culprit – the creature disappearing into the bushes or up into the branches before he could identify it.
Amber kept a firm grip of his hand, anxious not to lose him in the unnerving dark as he guided her through the trees bordering the plain. Every so often he’d check the compass on his watch and adjust their direction. Connor had made the conscious decision not to take the most direct route to the lodge, fearing that if they broke the cover of the trees, they’d be more easily spotted by rebel soldiers, or the Wolf, or else become prey to the lions they could hear hunting.
Neither of them spoke as they hurried away from the camp. Connor presumed that Muscleman must have come to and woken the others by now. But would they come after them in the dark and without the Wolf?
Connor heard another crack of a twig close by.
He stopped still and Amber became motionless by his side. Her laboured breathing was loud in his ear as he strained to listen for what animal or person was approaching. But the night noises gave nothing away.
Continuing on, they kept to a well-used animal trail. This made the going easier and quicker, as well as hiding any potential tracks they made among the spoor of antelope and other creatures. If the Wolf really did mean to hunt them down, Connor wanted to ensure he left as little evidence of their progress as possible.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement.
Connor spun in its direction.
‘What is it?’ Amber whispered, her eyes wide as a bush baby’s.
Connor shushed for her to be silent. He scanned the bushes, their edges glowing softly in his night vision. A branch was swaying ever so slightly but there was nothing there.
‘Just my imagination,’ he replied, keeping his voice low as he led Amber further along the trail. But they hadn’t gone far when they both heard a distinct rustling.
Was the Wolf on their trail already? Or had they run into a rebel patrol?
Connor slowly pivoted on the spot, searching the undergrowth once more. But it was just a shadowy wall of bushes and grass.
Then he happened to glance up.
Peering menacingly from the bough of a tree were two glassy green orbs.
Without his night vision the leopard would have been entirely invisible to him, a ghost in the night. But Connor could just about discern the sleek outline of the big cat, the white tip of its tail twitching … then a flash of its fearsome pointed canines as it opened its jaws and pounced from the tree.
‘I’m getting nowhere,’ explained an infuriated Charley to Colonel Black in his office. ‘Connor’s phone isn’t responding. The safari lodge is no longer answering. The Burundian French Embassy’s closed for the weekend and their emergency number goes straight to answerphone. When I did eventually manage to reach President Bagaza’s office in Bujumbura, the secretary said that she’d get back to me right away, but that was four hours ago and I still haven’t heard anything from her. What’s more, that office is about to close
too.’
‘That’s Africa for you, Charley,’ said Colonel Black, his expression both sympathetic and grim. ‘Have you tried the hospitals?’
Charley nodded. ‘There’s only one that answered and I spoke to some poor overworked doctor, Dr Emmanuel Ndayi … Ndayikunda, or at least I think that’s how you pronounce it. He said he’d check the records for me now. I’m still waiting for his call back.’
‘Don’t hold out too much hope,’ replied the colonel, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. ‘From my experience of Africa, “now” means some time in the next few days.’
‘So what can we do?’ Charley implored, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair in frustration. ‘Connor’s missed all his report-ins for the past twenty-four hours. Something’s gone drastically wrong. I feel it in my heart.’
‘I agree. A communication black-out of this length warrants emergency action.’ The colonel picked up the phone. ‘Let’s contact the Burundian commander-in-chief and establish if he has any news of the situation.’
Colonel Black dialled a number that took him straight through to the military headquarters in Burundi. After speaking with several subordinates, he eventually worked his way up the ranks and was put through to the man himself.
‘Major-General Tabu Baratuza here,’ barked the commander-in-chief over the speakerphone. ‘How can I be of assistance, Colonel? But please be quick. I was due at a formal dinner an hour ago.’
‘My apologies for disturbing you this evening, General. However, we’ve a legitimate cause for concern regarding the well-being of your president and the visiting French ambassador and his family.’
‘Go on,’ said the major-general, the softening of his tone indicating that the colonel had captured his full attention.
‘We have a security operative protecting the French ambassador’s children,’ Colonel Black explained. ‘For the past twenty-four hours we’ve had no contact from him and we can’t reach the party by any other means. This is highly irregular. Have you had any recent communication with the president or his guard at the Ruvubu safari lodge?’
The major-general paused a moment before replying, clearly evaluating his own answer. ‘Yes. I received a request from the president the other day to send some soldiers into sector eight of Ruvubu National Park.’
‘For what reason?’
‘I’m not at liberty to divulge such information. But this morning that request was cancelled.’
Colonel Black frowned. ‘Isn’t that rather unusual?’
‘Not really. The president is known for changing his mind.’
The colonel leant back in his leather chair, a deeply pensive expression on his face. ‘Before we lost contact, our operative mentioned rumours of the Black Mamba. I am wondering if this is somehow connected to our operative’s lack of comms.’
The major-general cleared his throat. ‘I’ve heard those rumours too. But I can assure you that they’re just rumours. However, Colonel, I’ll look into your concerns now now and ensure someone gets back to you. Have a good evening.’
As the Burundian commander-in-chief cut the connection, Colonel Black raised a surprised eyebrow at Charley. ‘He’ll look into it now now! If we’re lucky, that means we might hear back within an hour. Don’t hold your breath, though.’
But they only had to wait half that time before the major-general himself called them back.
‘Colonel, we’re getting zero response from the presidential guard or any of our soldiers stationed there,’ he informed them. ‘Hopefully it’s just a comms issue, but to be sure I’m dispatching a unit of troops to the park immediately. They’ll be there at first light.’
A spine-chilling growl. A slash of razor-sharp claws. A dead weight landing on his shoulders, knocking him to the ground. Amber pinned beneath him, screaming. Claws raking into his back. Snarling jaws ripping apart his Go-bag. His vision filling with a blinding fire. Then blackness …
Connor parted his eyes. The early glow of dawn was visible on the horizon. Birds sang softly from the trees and insects hummed in the long grass. The embers of a campfire smouldered gently, sending up a plume of hazy grey smoke. In the middle was a flat rock upon which three plump white sausages sizzled, browning as they cooked.
Lying prone on the ground, Connor felt as if his back was on fire, cooking like those sausages. Then someone pressed a smooth paste into his wounds, soothing the burning sensation. As the pain subsided, Connor sighed and closed his eyes. But the relief was short-lived. All of a sudden he felt a sharp pinch on his shoulder as if he’d been bitten.
Looking for the source of the attack, he saw a young black girl with rounded cheeks and bright eyes kneeling beside him. He also spotted four raw bloody lines across his left shoulder, scored by the claws of the leopard, one gouge particularly deep. The girl applied more red-brown paste to this cut, then held a wriggling driver ant between her fingertips and brought the insect near to the wound.
‘No!’ he croaked, but was too late to stop her.
The driver ant’s pincers bit either side of his cut, closing the wound. As soon as its jaws had clamped on to his skin, the girl ripped the ant’s body off, leaving the head behind. Too stunned and too weak to protest, Connor watched as she methodically stitched together his injury with live driver ants. Soon he had a neat row of ant heads, like black sequins, across his shoulder.
‘Who are you?’ he groaned when she’d finished.
‘Her name’s Zuzu,’ replied Amber on the girl’s behalf. ‘She’s from a nearby Batwa tribe.’
Connor turned his aching head the other way. Amber was sitting on a rock, picking at the dry white flesh of a baobab fruit and chewing contentedly. ‘You saved my life yet again,’ she said.
‘Did I?’
Amber smiled. ‘Don’t you remember?’
Connor shook his head. For him the whole experience of the leopard attack was a fragmented series of flashing nightmares.
‘All I heard was this terrifying roar,’ she explained. ‘I couldn’t see a thing. But you wrapped yourself round me, shielding me from the leopard. You wouldn’t let go, even though the leopard was ripping you to shreds.’ Amber shook her head in disbelief at his courageous act. ‘Now I know what you mean by body cover!’
She winked at him and took a sip from the water bottle stolen from the poacher’s camp.
Connor tried to sit up, but pain flared across his back.
‘Is it bad?’ he asked, imagining his skin flayed and the flesh stripped to the bone.
Amber glanced at his wounds and grimaced. Then she asked Zuzu, ‘Est-ce qu’il va s’en sortir?’
The girl replied in French and Amber translated, ‘Zuzu says they have a saying in their tribe: From every wound there is a scar. And every scar tells a story. A story that says, “I survived.” So I think that means you’ll live.’
Amber held up the tattered remains of his Go-bag. ‘But I’m afraid your backpack isn’t leopard proof.’
She then showed him his bloodstained shirt. Four claw marks were ripped across one shoulder, but the rest of the fabric was undamaged. ‘What saved you was your shirt! I’ve no idea how, but it’s a miracle your back wasn’t torn apart.’
‘The shirt’s stab-proof,’ Connor explained, groaning as Zuzu helped him into a sitting position. ‘Unfortunately, it doesn’t stop you from being beaten to a pulp. But how on earth did we escape the leopard?’
Amber directed her gaze to Zuzu. ‘That’s thanks to our new friend here. Zuzu was camped nearby. She heard my screaming and came running. She chased off the leopard with a flaming branch from her fire.’
Zuzu rattled off some more words as she lightly rubbed the oil from a split aloe-vera stem on to Connor’s bruises and scrapes, delivering instant relief. Connor looked to Amber for a translation.
‘She says we’re extremely lucky to have survived the attack. That particular leopard’s known among her tribe as the Spotted Devil. It’s a man-eater!’
As Amber told him t
his, there was an incongruous smile on her face.
‘What are you looking so happy about?’ asked Connor, perplexed by her upbeat mood. ‘We could have been killed!’
Her smile widened. ‘Henri’s alive!’
Any pain Connor had been feeling was washed aside by a wave of elation. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d given Henri up for dead.
‘How do you know this? Where is he?’ Connor asked hurriedly.
‘Zuzu saw a group of rebel soldiers taking a white boy with red hair towards Dead Man’s Hill,’ Amber explained as she passed him the water bottle. ‘It can only be my brother.’
‘We should have known that rebel was lying to us!’ muttered Connor, shaking his head bitterly at the man’s callous deceit. Taking a swig from the water bottle, he knocked back another antibiotic and a couple more painkillers. ‘We have to reach the lodge as soon as possible and –’
‘No,’ cut in Amber. ‘We’re going to Dead Man’s Hill.’
Connor blinked, stunned at her unexpected announcement. ‘But we don’t even know where that is from here.’
‘Zuzu does. She says it’s that way,’ responded Amber, pointing north across the plain. ‘And she’ll guide us there.’
The bush girl nodded emphatically as she finished tending to his back.
‘But that’s the opposite direction to the lodge,’ said Connor. ‘Besides, what are you planning to do when we get there?’
‘Rescue my brother, of course.’
Connor stared open-mouthed at Amber, wondering if she’d lost her grip on reality. ‘Look, we’re tired, hungry and hurting. We’re in no state to launch a rescue mission. More to the point, those rebels won’t let us simply stroll into their camp and take your brother from under their noses. Not without a fight.’
‘I know that,’ snapped Amber, glaring at him for even suggesting she was so naive. ‘But if we don’t try to rescue him now, we might never find him again … alive, at least.’
Bodyguard: Ambush (Book 3) Page 20