by Tony Park
There was a cough behind them. Kylie looked over her shoulder and saw Luis, with the shotgun.
‘I will stay outside, until Mr McMurtrie comes back.’
‘No, it’s too cold, stay inside and have dinner with us,’ Kylie said.
‘Thank you, but no. Perhaps when he returns.’
Jess eased herself away from Kylie and wiped her nose and eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Here.’ She unzipped Cameron’s bag and pulled out a nylon rain jacket with a fleecy lining. ‘This will help keep you warm.’
Luis took the jacket, nodded his thanks and left them.
*
Luis could not explain to the woman and the girl why he felt uneasy. It had not been like this last night. McMurtrie was correct: he had been through hell yesterday and he was exhausted to the point of passing out. It was the mix of adrenaline, anguish, sorrow and hatred. It had left him feeling limp, and if it hadn’t been for Jose he would have taken McMurtrie’s gun and joined his beloved Miriam.
He had slept and been annoyed to wake the next morning and find that Cameron had not roused him for his shift. But then he had not felt like this last night.
Perhaps it was being back in the bush that had resurrected the dormant instincts that years of warfare in his homeland had honed. He could not shake the feeling he’d had all afternoon, that there was danger out there, far more deadly than any reptile or animal.
Luis patrolled the bush around the house silently. The moon was full, so he had no need of a torch. The gurgling waters of the Sabie glittered with the reflected white light. It was a poacher’s moon, a killer’s moon. The lights in the house went out, one by one. Luis checked his digital watch; it was just after eleven.
Although he knew that McMurtrie was probably right in thinking that Wellington could not know where they were, he also knew it was foolish to underestimate the Lion’s connections and persistence. Besides, he wanted the man to come to them. He wanted to see the bald-headed Zimbabwean kneeling before him, praying for mercy, and to stare into the killer’s eyes as he pulled the trigger on the shotgun. He had never taken joy in killing during the war, but he wanted that force of evil obliterated from the face and the bowels of the earth.
*
Wellington had driven through the afternoon from Maputo, crossing into South Africa at Komatipoort. From the Nelspruit bypass he turned north onto the R40 and headed through White River and Hazyview.
He didn’t know the area well as this was a road for tourists bound for the Kruger National Park. Once through Mkhulu he could see from his GPS that the turn-off to Hippo Rock Private Nature Reserve would be in ten kilometres. He checked his speed and stayed a few kilometres below the limit. He didn’t want to be pulled over by some bribe-seeking traffic policeman.
As he closed on the estate he noticed the high electrified fence. He knew from his research online that this was a veterinary control fence – not impregnable, but definitely live and possibly alarmed. The estate’s outer perimeter was that of the national park, he had read, and the estate itself was separated from the Kruger Park by only a low fence. He cruised past the entrance gate and saw the lights were on inside and the boom gates were down. A security man in a green uniform stood by the boom. Wellington carried on down the road and passed another stretch of bushland that had been earmarked, according to the realtor’s billboards out front, for yet another wildlife housing estate. He had spent time among lion, buffalo and elephant when he had crossed from his training base in Mozambique into Zimbabwe during the liberation war and could not imagine what type of madness would possess people with money to want to live among such creatures when they didn’t have to.
On Google Earth he had seen the place that was now on his right, the former Lisbon Estate citrus farm. This sprawling farm, he had read, had been handed over to the local community as part of a land claim several years earlier, but the once profitable farm had been allowed to fall into ruin. He passed rows of dead fruit trees, the lines between them choked with long dry grass. The fence, which once would have been electrified to keep out baboons, monkeys and human intruders, was now just a tangle of rusting strands of wire. There was a caravan parked in the entrance road and the farm buildings he could see looked to have been burned and destroyed. It reminded him of his own country, Zimbabwe, where so much had been given away to so few, mostly to be pillaged and squandered. The abandoned farm was perfect for his needs.
There was plenty of traffic coming his way and as the sun had just set he guessed this was tourists and staff leaving the Kruger Park for the day. He carried on past the farm and a turn-off to the Sabi Sand Game Reserve on his left. When he saw the bridge across the Sabie River leading to the national park, he made a U-turn and retraced his route.
Opposite the sprawling, defunct citrus farm he saw a track leading through some sparse bushland towards what looked like a small holding. He pulled in there, and drove his Audi off the dirt road and into a stand of long grass. Satisfied the car was not visible from the main road, Wellington got out and opened the boot. He lifted the rubber mat and then hefted the spare wheel from out of its well. Below it was a canvas bag and inside that was a pair of binoculars and a disassembled AK-47. With practised ease he fitted the weapon’s parts together. When he was done he attached a magazine, cocked the rifle and, after checking for traffic, crossed the road. The tangled, rusted remains of the fence were no barrier to him at all, and he stepped easily through the twisted wire strands.
Dressed in black jeans and a tight-fitting matching skivvy he was invisible as he moved down the rows of dead fruit trees, following the lines downhill towards the Sabie River. Something slithered away from his advance, but he paid it no mind. Every ten or twenty metres he stopped briefly and listened, but despite the possible presence of leopard he knew he had nothing to really worry about until he crossed into the national park.
McMurtrie’s wife’s family’s house, he knew, was on the Sabie River and this was the estate’s weakest security front. The fence around the rest of Hippo Rock was well maintained, but the fence in front of the houses along the river was by design low enough for animals, notably predators, to come and go. He smiled to himself. He had been wrong to send his young lions to bring back Luis. It was a job for an apex predator, and he was the top of his subterranean food chain. But by now the Mozambican would have talked too much and McMurtrie no doubt planned on using him to bring down the zama zama network once and for all. Wellington was not going to let that happen. He would make sure Luis was dead before anyone from the Hawks, the elite police unit, got to him.
Wellington heard the flowing waters of the river and moved cautiously to the lower end of the abandoned farm. There, at the high watermark of the Sabie, was the Kruger National Park boundary fence. This farm, he reasoned, would be a popular access point for poachers, so he began walking the electrified barrier. Just when he was about to start thinking of an alternate plan he found what he was looking for. A natural drainage line running between rows of trees passed under the fence. Rocks had been piled under the strands to try to plug the gap the fast-flowing water must have created during the last rainy season. Fresh dirt scrapings told him something, perhaps a warthog or hyena, or even a poacher, had been digging away under here to enlarge the crawl space. Wellington climbed down into the creek line, pushed his AK-47 and binoculars through the gap, then got down on his belly and wriggled under the fence, being careful not to touch the live strand of wire just above his back. When he was through he retrieved his equipment and started moving westwards, along the rest of the edge of Lisbon farm, towards Hippo Rock estate, further upstream on the river.
The previous two summer floods had thinned out the bush and Wellington was able to make good progress. The river was flowing, but had obviously dropped considerably with the passage of the dry winter. He walked cautiously through a thicket of reeds, always mindful of the buffalo that he knew would like to lurk here. The river on his left narrowed considerably where it passed through a natural
weir made by a line of granite boulders. He decided to cross and to approach the estate from the far side of the Sabie. He would be deeper into the national park, and while this would increase his risk of an encounter with a dangerous animal, it would lessen the chance of his being spotted from one of the riverfront houses.
When he crossed he found himself not on the far bank, but on a long island. He decided to stay on this and soon came abreast of houses lit by lamplight and electricity. This was the place where rich South Africans and foreigners came to rough it, in luxury that would have been unknown to him if he had never thrown his lot in with the pirates. Wellington had seen a picture of the house McMurtrie was in. The reeds and almost luminous lime green fever trees on the river island afforded him plenty of cover despite the moon’s brightness, and he was able to take his time, moving abreast of the bush mansions and studying them through his binoculars. Ten houses along he was sure he had found it. He focused his glasses on a rectangle of light and made out a woman. It was Dr Kylie Hamilton. His pulse rate increased and he surrendered to the thrill. The images of her he had fantasised about as the Mozambican prostitute had done her work came back to him.
The Australian woman left her room and he scanned further along the house until he settled on the lounge. There was another female there, younger, and the pair of them came out onto the front deck, overlooking the river, where their white skin was illuminated with the golden glow of a paraffin lamp. Wellington licked his lips. It was McMurtrie’s daughter.
He forced his mind back to business. His priority target was Luis, who had to be killed. There would be security on the estate and it might not be possible to take out the Mozambican quietly. Still, he toyed with the possibilities the women presented him, but it was time to focus on business, not pleasure. McMurtrie was gone from the mine and his company was spiralling into a crisis from which it might never recover. The mine was closed to legal workers and its future was uncertain. Wellington had, to all intents and purposes, won. He could afford to be magnanimous to his vanquished foe. He would, he decided, spare the women, as long as they weren’t witnesses to his killing of Correia, of course. All he needed was to ensure that Luis Domingues Correia did not rat him out to the National Prosecuting Authority or the Hawks.
Wellington watched the house for another twenty minutes, until all the lights went off. Correia, he decided, was either already sleeping in the darkened bedroom he had identified or, more likely, he was out on patrol or in a covert observation post. He slung his binoculars around his arm and over his back to keep them out of his way, checked the safety catch on his AK was set to semiautomatic, and moved down the sandy bank to the edge of the river.
*
Luis tightened his hand on the shotgun’s stock and curled his finger around the trigger. He watched the figure in black wading through the glittering, swirling waters. The river was narrow and fast flowing, minimising the chance of a crocodile taking him, but Luis was amazed nonetheless by the lengths Wellington was going to in order to kill him.
His heart pounded with a mix of fear and excitement as he manoeuvred himself behind a stout leadwood; not even the AK’s rounds would penetrate this tree. He laid his ambush, overlooking the hippo trail through the reeds that Wellington was heading for. If McMurtrie had left him a rifle instead of a shotgun, he would have killed the Zimbabwean already, but the range was too great to ensure a kill with the shotgun. No matter, close up would be fine. Better.
Wellington had dropped into a dip in the riverbed, out of sight, and Luis switched his eyes from the game trail, where he was sure his quarry would soon appear, to the reeds either side, alert for the swaying tops that would give away Wellington’s progress as he moved through them.
He licked his lips. He could see nothing. Behind him he heard a vehicle engine, racing and straining through the gears. There were voices coming from within the estate. He looked over his shoulder and saw lights flickering through the trees.
‘Luis, Luis! Are you there?’ a woman’s voice hissed.
Curse it, Luis thought. It was Kylie and he could make out her silhouette on the deck up the bank and behind him.
‘Luis, Wellington’s coming. I saw him cross the river.’
He wanted to tell her to get inside, but to speak would be to give away his position. Wellington had not come the way he expected. He realised, too late, that he had underestimated the Lion, who had also fought and lived through a war of liberation. He had expected Wellington to take the obvious path.
Headlights played across the river briefly from behind him and Luis heard voices calling. Kylie stepped back into the house and rushed to meet the men. Luis said a quick, silent prayer and stepped out from behind the leadwood. He raised the shotgun to his shoulder and rushed forward, into the reeds.
*
Wellington had backtracked, knowing it would only be a matter of time before Luis broke cover and exposed himself. What he hadn’t counted on, though, was the estate’s security vehicle charging through the night to the house and armed men jumping from the back of the bakkie.
He would have only one chance. He had circled the reed bed until he was hiding right below where the woman was hissing her warning to Luis. He brought the AK-47 to bear. Luis passed behind a tree, but Wellington trained his rifle on the spot where he would emerge at any second.
‘Stop!’ a voice called.
Luis froze.
‘Shit,’ Wellington whispered.
‘Drop your weapon.’
A torch beam played on the Mozambican as he took a step further. He scanned the darkened bush around him, reluctant to give in.
‘I’m with the women in the house. I am not the man you are looking for.’
Luis was almost in view. Wellington could get a bead on him if he moved just a little. He stepped out from beneath the overhanging wooden deck. Yes. He had Luis in his sights. As he took up the pressure on the trigger the night exploded with a gunshot and Luis fell to the ground, but it wasn’t Wellington who had fired. Instead, the Lion ran into the reeds. There was furious shouting and bullets zinged around him, scything the reeds. He ducked behind a granite boulder, flattening himself against it to catch his breath, then switched his assault rifle to automatic, peeked around the rock, and sprayed the deck with a long burst of ten rounds.
*
Kylie ran back through the house and out onto the drive and met the uniformed estate security men as two of them were dragging a protesting Luis, his head a mess of blood, to their truck. ‘No, no! He’s with us. He’s telling the truth; the real killer is out there, in the reeds.’
The last twenty minutes had felt like a bad dream. Unable to sleep, Kylie had eventually sat up in bed, hugging her drawn-up knees and looking out of her darkened room across the Sabie River. In the moonlight, she’d seen a shadow in the river, so she’d moved to the glass window and, to her horror, seen a man with a rifle wading through the water. Wellington. She’d immediately pressed the panic button on the key ring Cameron had left, and had woken Jess and spirited her out the back of the house and told her to wait in the walled enclosure where the washing was hung to dry. She’d crept back to the deck, taking Cameron’s pistol with her, and tried to warn Luis, but he had not answered her.
Getting no response from Luis, and wanting to stay out of sight of Wellington, she had flattened herself onto the deck, in a dark corner, and had kept one eye trained on the river to track his approach. She’d lost him though; he must have moved into the shadows.
As she lay there, trying to keep her breathing quiet, she had become aware of soft movements below her. Peering through the gaps in the planks she was sure she would see a hyena or some other creature snooping about. It wasn’t until he stepped into the open that she realised it was Wellington, who had somehow left the reeds and made his way up underneath the house.
He hadn’t seen her yet, he was looking into the bushes. Without breathing, she silently stood up and hid herself in the corner against a wall. She quickly weighed up
her options and was about to yell a warning to Luis, who was somewhere out there in the bush in the dark, when the security men shone a light onto Luis, illuminating his hiding place, and moved in to arrest him.
She glanced around to see Wellington starting to slip away into the darkness. It was down to her now. She couldn’t let him get away. She pointed the gun down at Wellington and pulled the trigger. Her shot missed and he moved further into the bushland. Kylie had fired four or five more shots at the fleeing intruder, but he had gone. Lights had started coming on in other houses.
Chaos had followed – the security men had begun yelling at each other, and into their radios as they’d got a hold of Luis and moved him out of the bush and around the deck towards the front of the house. She’d intercepted them after taking the short route through the lounge room and then rushed towards them to tell them of their mistake.
Once they’d heard her explanation, they mobilised themselves and detailed one of the men to drive her, Jess and Luis to the estate’s main gate. While Kylie went to get Jess, Luis’s head was being wrapped in a makeshift bandage using a sweater. Two security men headed back to the deck to continue the search for Wellington.
On the way to the gate, in the back seat of the security double-cab bakkie, Kylie dialled Cameron’s number. Jess was shivering beside her in her pyjamas. Kylie wrapped her arms around the girl and held her tight. ‘Hi. It’s me. Wellington found us. The security guys have chased him off, but he’s still alive.’
‘Is Jess all right? Are you OK? Luis?’
‘We’re all fine. The security guys roughed up Luis at bit; they didn’t know he was with us.’
‘Shit. How did Wellington find out you were there?’ Cameron asked. By the sound of the background noise he was driving.