by Tony Park
The backside of the man guarding her was too big for the chair he sat on. He was overweight, but bulk was not to be underestimated and big men were not always slow. Thandi had been trained in unarmed combat in Mozambique decades ago; she hadn't used those skills in a long time, but she hadn't forgotten them either. She planned her attack, then reached for the pen with which she had been doing the magazine crossword.
Checking the guard was still engrossed in his paper, she raised the pen to her mouth and started to moan loudly. ‘Help … help, me …’
She knelt on the floor beside the bed and glanced back over her shoulder. The man had risen from his chair and had his face pressed against the glass.
‘Help me … I feel ill …’
The agent frowned, but made no move to open the door. This was one of the oldest prison ruses in the book, and Thandi knew she would have to up the ante if she was to convince the man to come in and check on her. She turned away from him again, steeled herself, then thrust the pen down her throat. She gagged, and pushed harder. Her lunch of sadza ne nyama – thickened mealie-meal porridge with a gravy of stringy beef – erupted over the bedspread. Thandi let herself slump to the floor, on her side.
She listened to the door being opened. Thandi was immediately encouraged by the fact that the man had not called for help. That probably meant he was alone. In her peripheral vision, through her lidded eyes, she saw him take the precaution of unbuttoning his suit jacket. There was a pistol stuffed into his belt.
Thandi groaned.
‘What is wrong with you?’ She moaned again and the man reached down for her, grasping her by the wrist. ‘Ah, this is disgusting. Get up, woman.’
Thandi made herself go limp and gave him minimal assistance. She wanted him using all his strength to lift her. Only when he had both hands on her left arm, heaving her up, did she suddenly find her feet. She lashed out with her right hand; fingers curled back to the second knuckle and punched as hard and as fast as she could into the man's throat. He gasped and let go of her, but Thandi was already balanced on both feet. As he straightened and staggered back she raised her knee into his groin and at the same time grabbed the pistol from his belt.
The fat man crumpled to his knees and Thandi jammed the pistol into the back of his neck. ‘Do not move.’ She lifted the back of his suit jacket and found his handcuffs. ‘Into the bathroom.’ The man stood and shuffled, still short of breath, to the ensuite, where Thandi ordered him to handcuff himself to the stout downpipe.
‘You can't do this to me,’ the man squeaked.
‘Really? I am a government minister and you arrested me on the orders of a criminal. We'll see who can do what to whom when I get back to Harare.’ She searched the man's jacket pockets and found his car keys. ‘Where is my handbag?’
The man sneered at her.
‘You need to learn to respect your elders, and women,’ she said. Thandi raised the pistol and brought it down on the side of his head, cuffing him hard enough to break the skin but not to knock him out.
‘On the kitchen table, inside … Minister.’
‘Much better.’ Thandi caught her breath, then rinsed her mouth while the man knelt at her feet. As she left she locked the door and went in search of her handbag, cell phone and George Bryant's card. She hoped she could get to him before Emmerson did.
*
Finally, they were approaching the rendezvous point, a tobacco farm not far from the main road, just north of the town of Karoi. The farm had been taken from a white family and had gone to ruin under its new owner, a senior government bureaucrat. However, the enterprising grandson of an old air force friend of Paul's had leased some land off the owner and had got the farm back on its feet.
Natalie eased her cramped, tired body down from the cab and walked to where the men and her grandmother were clustered around a fire burning in an old forty-four gallon fuel drum. A young white couple tended a braai made from another cut-down barrel just beyond the ring of light cast by the fire.
‘Hello my girl,’ Grandma Pip said. Her face was bright in the glowing light of the flames, but there was no mirth there.
Braedan stood to one side of the group, smoking. He nodded at Natalie and she returned the silent greeting. ‘How's everything going?’ she asked her grandfather.
‘We've made good time,’ Grandpa Paul said. ‘Braedan smoothed his way through a few roadblocks, and one of his group had to stop to change a flat tyre, but we're all present and accounted for. Not far now.’
There was enough time for the late arrivals to down a reviving cup of coffee and a boerewors roll prepared by the young farmer, Ross, and his girlfriend, Claire. Natalie thought the roll was the best thing she'd eaten in years.
Natalie looked at Tate and saw that he was staring at his twin brother. Braedan looked back at him, saying nothing. Tate set his cup down, squared up and walked towards Braedan.
‘What's up, boet?’ Braedan said.
Natalie watched and gradually other heads turned. Even the other drivers, who might not have known of the enmity between the two brothers, couldn't have missed the tension as Tate stopped just three paces short of Braedan. Natalie was struck by how different the two were, despite their physical similarities. Braedan had the look of a soldier still, confident and muscled, loose fists by his side. Tate had his arms folded.
‘What have you been saying about me?’ Tate said.
Braedan shrugged.
‘Answer me. Or aren't you man enough to say it in front of everyone here.’
‘Be quiet, Tate, you're making a scene.’
‘You're a bully, Braedan, you always were,’ Tate said, his voice rising.
Braedan snorted a laugh. ‘A bully? Newsflash, man, we left boarding school years ago. One of us grew up.’
‘You told the others I drugged a rhino and took its horn – sold it to help Mom out.’
Braedan said nothing.
‘How could you say something like that, how could you –’
‘Out of my way.’ Braedan sidestepped but when Tate went to block him he reached out and palmed him in the chest.
Natalie put her hand to her mouth, hoping Braedan wouldn't hurt his gentler brother, but then gasped when Tate fired a fast, sharp uppercut into Braedan's chin that knocked the big man's head back and set him staggering.
‘No!’ Natalie yelled.
Braedan looked as shocked as any of the onlookers, but his reflexes were fast. He neatly dodged Tate's next wild punch and retaliated with a jab into his brother's belly. Tate grunted and took a half-step back, then danced lightly to the left.
Braedan wheeled and raised his right leg in a furious kick-boxing move that connected with Tate's hip and knocked him to the ground. Braedan yelled a primal war cry and dived on top of his brother.
‘Dad, stop them,’ Natalie called, but George just sipped his coffee and shook his head.
‘They've probably been wanting to do this for thirty years. Leave them to it,’ Grandpa Paul said, but Pip came to Natalie's side and chastised her husband and son, telling them to break up the fight.
Braedan was putting punch after punch into Tate, who seemed to be done in already, but just when Natalie was about to go in herself and break up the fight Tate saw an opening and brought his knee up into Braedan's groin. Braedan yelped and Tate rolled from under him. Braedan got to his knees but Tate knocked him to the ground with a swinging punch.
Tate shifted his weight from foot to foot, fists clenched and up. ‘Get up.’
Braedan coughed and spat blood and started to get to his feet.
‘Enough!’ Paul yelled, pushing his way between the two men. Despite his age and his obvious frailty the old man clearly meant business. He put a hand on each of their chests. ‘Enough. We have to move these rhinos. You two can settle your differences after the job's done. I don't want to hear any more rumours about who did what. Understood?’
The brothers glared at each other, nostrils flaring, teeth clenched, but each eventually n
odded.
‘OK, everyone mount up and let's get going!’ The drivers and crew said goodbye to the farmers and climbed into their rigs. Blue-black exhaust spouted as engines turned over.
‘Sah,’ Elias called to Paul from the truck he and Braedan had been driving. ‘We have a problem. The engine, it is buggered!’
36
Braedan got out of the truck, opened the engine bay and was head down inside the compartment when an impatient Paul Bryant walked up to him. ‘What's wrong?’
‘Could be dirty fuel. I've just drained a span of water out of the fuel filter. Elias, crank the engine again!’ Braedan yelled.
Elias turned the key again and engine sparked to life.
‘There you go, all fixed,’ Braedan said.
Paul waited for Braedan to close up and get down. As Braedan was wiping his hands dry on his shirt, Paul leaned in close to him. ‘Son, if you darted that rhino and sold its horn, that's a terrible crime.’
‘Paul, I didn't … how could –’
‘Enough, enough.’ Paul patted his arm. ‘We all knew how tough your mother was doing it. I can't condone what you've done, even if it was for a good reason. You could have come to Pip and me and asked us for money. We've been supporting your mother off and on for the last few years anyway. We could have managed a little more.’
‘No, wait …’ Braedan began.
‘No, don't say anything. You don't have to confess. The rhino's alive and there are many people who would say that what you did is what we should have been doing all along – harvesting horn and selling it. But I'm not one of those people. You saved Natalie's life all those years ago, Braedan.’
‘I was just doing my job, sir.’
Paul shook his head. ‘No, it was above and beyond that, and this family owes you for that. I won't go to the police, Braedan, but I need to know two things. Firstly, are you with us?’
‘I am,’ Braedan said.
‘And secondly, do you really think we would have believed that your brother darted the rhino?’
Braedan shook his head. ‘No, sir.’
Paul clapped him on the arm. ‘Good man. We have work to do, so let's go.’
*
Tate and Natalie had taken the lead in the convoy for only Tate knew the exact location of the turn-off on to the old national parks access track that led deep into the Charara Safari Area, where he had found the last surviving black rhino.
Tate rubbed his jaw and gingerly fingered the cut under his eye. Natalie sat close to him, changing gears when he gave the command. ‘That fight must have killed you, with your sore ribs.’
He looked at her and gave a small smile. ‘Almost.’
Tate had to concentrate on the track, which had rarely been used by vehicles over the years and was badly washed away in places.
‘How far in will we go?’ Natalie asked.
‘We need to get at least five kilometres from the road, maybe even further if the track holds out. I walked it for ten kilometres and it gets worse and worse. Bottom line is we need to get these rhinos as far away from people as possible.’
‘Do you really think this is a good idea, Tate?’
‘No.’
He studied the track. He'd been quiet after the fight and she wondered if he was retreating into his shell again. As much as she had feared for him, part of her had been secretly proud and excited by the way he had confronted his brother and thrown the first punch. But the fight had ended without resolution and the tension was still there between the brothers.
She'd watched her grandfather approach Braedan afterwards, and she thought that if he had made peace with Braedan, then perhaps she should too. But if, as Tate believed, Braedan had stolen the live rhino's horn to care for his mother, did that justify the crime? At least Braedan had done something to alleviate Sharon's poverty. Tate espoused radical ideas, but he didn't do anything. She shifted slightly away from Tate. Two could play at that game.
The portable radio her grandfather had given her squawked on the dashboard. ‘Paul to Natalie, over?’
Natalie picked it up and pressed the transmit switch. ‘Go ahead, Grandpa.’
‘Natalie, Braedan's truck has broken down again. Your grandmother and I are going to wait with him, but you carry on. Tell Tate we'll be there eventually. If worse comes to worse you can release your rhino then come back and we'll try and move Braedan's from his truck onto yours, over.’
‘Roger, Grandpa.’ Natalie looked at Tate, who nodded to show he had heard and understood the message.
The sky was just starting to lighten in the east and Natalie yawned and stretched in the cab of the truck. She wondered what would happen to her grandparents when the rhinos had been released. She imagined they would have to leave the country for Australia. They had nowhere to live in Zimbabwe and they would face the wrath of Emmerson Ngwenya and whoever else wanted to get their hands on the rhinos. She would help them pack, quickly, then take them back to Australia and write her book. She had a dramatic story to tell now, something that could have come straight out of a novel.
The Quilter-Phipps brothers would exist as characters in a book and memories only. She knew in her heart of hearts that Braedan would be disastrous for a long-term relationship, and Tate was so closed off that he was unknowable. Back in Australia she would bemoan the lack of single men and go back to trawling through online dating websites, in the knowledge that she had left two handsome men behind in Africa. Her mood sank.
The truck bucked and rolled as Tate aimed for the least eroded sections. Natalie could only imagine what Chengetai was making of the sickening motion. They came to the crest of a hill and Tate veered off to the left, onto a large clearing. ‘This is it,’ he said.
Natalie and Tate got out, and as the rising sun started turning the hills around them from purple to a glowing red-gold, she couldn't help but be uplifted by the moment. For the first time she could appreciate the grandeur and the wildness of the place her grandfather had chosen to release the rhinos. There was nothing here but rolling hills covered in trees and bush: miles and miles of African wilderness. There was no guarantee the rhinos would be safe here or anywhere else in the Zambezi Valley, but there was an awful lot of Africa here for them to get lost in.
And that was the idea. The plan to kidnap and release the rhinos in a different part of the country was so mad that it just might work, Natalie thought. There had to be a change of regime sometime and the overwhelming majority of people in Zimbabwe who simply wanted to go to work, feed and educate their children, and live in peace under the rule of law would surely, one day, be able to elect government which respected that. If that day came, then her grandparents' rhinos could be ‘rediscovered’ and the proper resources put in place to either monitor them in their new home or move them to other parts of the country where they might be better able to live and breed.
At least that was the theory.
*
Makuti stopped and sniffed the air.
There was danger about and his first instinct had been to run. On the faint morning breeze he'd caught the oily, smoky smell of vehicle exhausts. Humans. It had happened every now and then over the years, when speculative poachers ranged deeper and deeper in the wilderness where he lived. Usually Makuti would move on and by the time he returned there were just the old cooking fires and occasionally the stinking corpse of an elephant left as evidence of the two-legged ones' foray into his domain.
But this was different. There were too many smells on the wind. There were vehicles and humans and … It had been more than twenty years since Makuti had smelled another rhino, and maybe twenty-five since he'd smelled a female in heat, but there were some things that could not be erased. He sniffed again.
He had lived this long, by himself, in isolation in the hills above Kariba because he had honed his senses and his instincts. In his youth he had sought out other bulls to fight, and had rutted as he pleased, but these days he was cautious. But he had not smelled a female in so long.
/> Makuti took three paces, head high. It was unmistakable. But when he sniffed again there was a different scent. It was also a rhino, but not female. He grunted and shook his head. He couldn't interpret this sudden influx of strangers. In his small brain the primal urges that ruled the world battled for supremacy.
Fear.
Aggression.
Procreation.
If it had been anything else on the wind he would have run, but this was not the time to flee, to show fear. This was the time to fight … and to find that female.
*
‘You should go, Mr Bryant,’ Braedan said.
‘Nonsense,’ Paul said. ‘We'll wait here with you. If we have to, we'll jolly well push this truck, or let the rhino out here. We don't want to be seen by passing cars.’
Elias turned the key again and the starter whirred, but the engine refused to catch. Braedan wiped his oily hands on his shirt and straightened his back. ‘I just don't know if I'm going to be able to get it started. Tate's in position and already getting ready to let his one go. Don't you want to be there, to see it happen?’
Paul hesitated. Braedan was right. He and Pip did want to be there for the release of every one of the rhinos, including the young male, Gomo, who was jostling restlessly in his crate on the back of their truck right now.
‘All right, Braedan,’ Paul said, making his decision. ‘George and Pip and I will get up to where Tate is, release our rhinos, and then head back down here. If you're still stuck, we'll offload yours, dart it again, load it into one of the other trucks and take it further in to the bush. I just hope like hell no one sees you from the road and comes to take a look.’