The Lion Killer (The Dark Continent Chronicles)

by James S. Gardner

  “Sir, I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

  “Let's pray your raid is successful. Your life depends on it.” Nur smiled at Osman stroking his sidearm.

  ***

  Croxford and Spooner inspected the camp from the highest sand dune. Jesse pointed at Dutchy, who was leading a native towards them. There was a rope tied around the man's neck. They were followed by a dozen Dinka tribesmen. The camp women were yelling insults and making obscene gestures at the man. The native who was the object of their taunting was a toad of a man with bowed legs. Clearly, he had suffered a beating. The Dinka men appeared ready to kill him.

  “What's this about?” inquired Rigby. “This man's a Murle,” the big Dutchman said, jerking on the man's leash. “Someone caught him making love to a goat.”

  “What? You must be kidding.” With that, Spooner and Croxford burst out laughing. Tears ran down their cheeks. Dutchy and Rigby hunched over, holding their sides. The Dinka men were not amused. They failed to find humor in this vilest of human indecencies.

  “What in God's name do they want me to do?” Rigby asked, trying to act serious.

  “I'm not sure,” said Dutchy. “I guess perform a marriage.” His remark triggered another bout of uncontrollable laughter. The frowning tribesmen tightened their circle. The commotion attracted more curious onlookers. Upon learning of the man's sin, they also became enflamed. Rigby realized the offender's predicament was grave.

  “Will the owner of the violated goat please come forward?” Rigby yelled. He looked away trying to regain his composure. The owner of the goat was pushed to the front of the crowd. He appeared saddened, but seemed to relish his role as the injured party.

  “Since you're the plaintiff in this felonious enterprise, it's only fitting that you should pass sentence on this man,” he declared, giving the goat rapist's leash a jerk. “Speak up. What do you want us to do with him?” Rigby had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing. He glanced at the perpetrator. The accused looked pitiful but, oddly, not overly embarrassed by his deviant behavior.

  The goat owner shrugged his shoulders in resignation. Someone in the back of the crowd shouted, “As the father of the goat, you should demand a dowry.” The man's comment caused an eruption of laughter among the Africans. The giggling started slowly, but escalated into hysteria. The people weakened by malnutrition laughed until they were exhausted. Satisfied, the villagers staggered back down the dune. Rigby released the goat violator, banishing him from the camp. The refugees had been sitting on pins and needles. They needed something to defuse the tension, and it had happened.

  The dunes merged into the shadows as the sun began to set.

  ***

  Rigby watched Otto's Cessna zoom overhead. As the airplane circled to land, he ran down to find Spooner and Dutchy. The Italian nurse and hundreds of camp children rushed out to meet the plane as it shut down on the far end of the airstrip. Rigby lagged back until he saw his wife and Max Turner emerge from the crush of the crowd.

  Otto shrugged his shoulders at Rigby. “Don't look at me like that. I didn't have a say in this.”

  “I'll deal with you later. How much time do we have before it's too late to take off?”

  Otto glanced at the sun and said, “thirty minutes at best.”

  “Otto, did you see the Arab encampments?”

  “It looks like they're getting ready to move at first light.”

  “If I were leading the raid, that's the way I'd do it,” Rigby stated.

  Rigby moved to the head of the crowd and whistled to focus their attention. “All right, listen up. Max, you and your daughter-in-law step into that tent. Your son's waiting for you. Helen, you and Lynn come with me and Jesse. Otto, get your plane turned around and ready to fly the hell out of here. Dutchy, your job is to keep an eye on him,” he said, nodding at Max's bodyguard, Bob.

  “I'm giving the orders here,” said Max. “Maybe you've forgotten who's footing the bill for this operation.”

  “I could forgive you for showing up unannounced, but putting my wife and Lynn in danger is unforgivable. I'm gonna say this one time, and one time only. You will do as I say or I'll deal with you in ways—Max, it won't be pretty.”

  Max Turner mumbled and looked to his bodyguard for support. Bob raced forward to defend his boss, but Dutchy stepped in front of him. When Bob stepped to the side, Dutchy also moved. He wagged his finger in Bob's face like he was reprimanding a child. “Do you want me to break his neck?” he asked, grinning.

  ‘‘We need him for tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? What's so special about tomorrow?” Helen asked.

  “Not now, Helen. We're running out of time.”

  The ensuing quarrel between Rigby and his wife was like a new song scored to old music. She went through the half-hearted motions of trying to convince him to abandon the refugee camp, but deep down she knew he wouldn't leave the Africans. His final words to her were “Besides you, Africa's the only thing I ever loved. You know I can't leave these people. If I did run, you'd end up not liking what I would become. I know I wouldn't.”

  Helen tried to persuade Rigby to let her stay with him, but that also failed. She kissed him and ran to the idling airplane.

  Lynn tried the “this isn't your fight routine” on Jesse, but she also realized it wouldn't work. He told her he was staying and ended the discussion. He walked her out to the airstrip. Otto motioned impatiently for Jesse to bring his last passenger. The window for his takeoff was closing.

  Arthur Turner waited for his father. He clasped his hands together to stop the trembling. He heard his pulse throbbing in his ears. He had dreamed about confronting his father, and now that the time had arrived, he felt sickened. Max entered the tent with his son's wife, Ashlyn, in tow. He hugged his son, but there was an antiseptic stiffness to the embrace. Ashlyn hung back in the shadows.

  They stood frozen, sizing each other up. Each one was reluctant to speak first. Arthur thought time hadn't changed his father's looks, only deepened his wrinkles. Max sensed his son seemed more self-assured; it annoyed him, and, as much as he tried to hide his annoyance, he couldn't.

  Max's voice sounded cool and impersonal. “How're you feeling, son? I know you've been through a lot, but you have no idea what this has done to me. I've got the best psychiatrists in the world standing by to treat you. They believe someone has been manipulating you. Call it brainwashing, whatever you want. You were always a sickly child. I'm here to protect you like I've always done.”

  Arthur held up his hand to stop his father. “What are you really doing here?”

  “I've come to take you home, son. Tell me you're ready to end this madness?”

  “Do you really think I'd risk becoming a despicable bastard like you?”

  “You mean a despicable bastard who spent millions keeping you alive?”

  “No, I mean someone who stole millions from his clients. Someone who'd do anything to avoid giving his wife, my mother, a decent settlement. My God, you've got no idea how long I've waited to say those words.”

  “You're delusional. Your ordeal has driven you to the brink of insanity.”

  “Can't we end this charade? Ask her if I'm crazy.” Arthur glanced at his wife.

  Ashlyn walked away from Max and put her hand on Arthur's shoulder. He put his hand on top of hers. There was no need for her to answer. Max squirmed under her glare. He shook his head in disgust. “Arthur, there are things about her you need to know, sordid things about her background. I've got it all documented. I tried to protect you from the truth. Did you know she's been blackmailing me? You heard me. I could have had her arrested, but I didn't want anything to get in the way of your rescue. It's all in these,” he said, holding up some letters. “Here, read them if you don't believe me.” There was desperation creeping into his voice.

  “You can save the divide-and-conquer crap. It's demeaning, even for you. The letters were my idea.”

  “Just as I suspected, you're all plotting aga
inst me. I've got news for you. I'm smarter than all of you combined.”

  “You're so smart you threw my mother overboard like a bag of garbage. You killed her over money.”

  “I never touched your mother, although I had every right to. She was nothing more than a low-life blackmailer. For someone who has such disdain for money, you weren't above taking mine.”

  “What drove you to become so evil? You're so twisted I'm not sure you realize what you've done. As for your precious money, you'll be happy to know I spent every dime helping these people.”

  “We've revisited your mother's accident a hundred times. You were just a child. You'll never believe me no matter what I say. This little charade, as you call it, has cost me millions. If you wasted my money on these wretched people, you're dumber than I thought. It could've been different. If only….”

  “If only what? If I could forget what you did? Look the other way while you embezzled millions? You're contemptible. Someday, you'll hear a judge say, ‘Maxwell Turner, you're guilty as charged.'”

  Max pushed back the tent flap and looked out at the Africans staring back. The silence weighed heavily. He turned around and faced his son. His expression lacked conviction. White spittle balls outlined his mouth. Eyes that had been confident now looked jittery. “Why, you ungrateful little shit,” he screamed, running at his son. The punch was more of a slap, but it knocked Arthur down. Max started to kick his son in the face, but stopped. “Do you really think you had a chance?” he shouted at Arthur. “It's like it says in the Gospel of Matthew: ‘Brother shall deliver the brother unto death, and the father the child.'”

  Arthur stood up, walked over to his cot and sat down. A steady flow of blood oozed from his nose. His wife dabbed at the blood with her sleeve. “If it'll make you feel better, hit me again. I don't need to prove which one of us is the better man. And by the way, your bible quotation isn't complete. The very next line is: ‘and the children shall rise up against their parents, and cause them to be put to death.'”

  Turner didn't hear his son's retort, his mind was elsewhere. “You can't win. I've got powerful friends.”

  “You've never had a friend, you didn't pay for.”

  “Not even you, Arthur?”

  “After what you tried to do to my wife. How can you even go there? I suppose you think it's normal for a father to try to seduce his own daughter-in-law. It must kill you knowing there's nothing you can do to hurt me.”

  Before Max could stop himself, his ego got the best of him. He blurted out a bit of damning information. “Who do you think is behind these attacks? These criminals were holding you hostage and I made them pay.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Although Max's confession about ordering the Arab attack was accurate, he never admitted intent to harm his son. If he had, his story would have been more believable.

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to believe you were trying to frighten these people into releasing me.”

  “I can see you don't believe me, Arthur. Luckily, I've stopped the attack on this camp.I'm the only thing between you and these barbarians. And this is the thanks I get.”

  “Well, I'll say one thing. It'll be ironic if you had anything to do with the attack that's coming tomorrow. Yes, it's tomorrow. Haven't you heard? The Janjaweed is attacking in the morning, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You're about to witness cruelty the likes of which evenyou can't imagine.

  “Think about your epitaph: ‘Here lies Maxwell Turner. He's passed on to his just reward.' Know the only thing wrong?” He waited for his father's response. When he didn't get one, he continued. “Nobody gets buried over here. Everything that dies ends up in a hyena's belly.”

  Turner didn't walk out of the tent, he bolted. He ran through the camp until he found Rigby. When he spoke, his voice trembled. “I have to get on that plane.”

  Rigby turned and pointed at Otto's Cessna as it lifted off. “Your place is here with your son.” It took an instant for Rigby's words to sink in.

  “Then you need to get someone to drive me over the border.”

  “I can't spare the vehicle. I sure as hell can't spare a driver who can fire a weapon. Tomorrow morning, a mob of screaming Arabs will stampede into this camp. Their purpose is to massacre these helpless people. I aim to ruin their day. Now, you and your bodyguard can either fight or hide with the women. It's your call, Max.”

  Max's face was etched with fear. He started to protest, but had second thoughts. Wordlessly, Max walked away. His usual weightlifter's swagger was reduced to a slumping stagger. He sat down on a cot and buried his face in his hands. Bob tried to console him, but Max pushed him away.

  ***

  That night, Rigby, Jesse and Dutchy rested on the crest of the tallest sand dune. They passed a cigarette back and forth until it was too short to hold. The night air smelled musty. Snaky streaks of lightning illuminated the horizon. The jagged flashes were followed by low rumbling thunder. Above them, the unpolluted sky was filled with stars.

  Croxford glanced at Jesse before disrupting the quiet. “Thanks for not hassling Max about the illegal arms dealing.”

  “At this point, I'm not sure he's involved in arms trafficking.”

  “After this is over, do whatever you want with him.”

  “You mean assuming we're still alive. By the way, what are the rules of engagement?”

  “Dutchy, did you hear that? Spooner wants to know about the rules of engagement.” Dutchy didn't answer. His short whistle followed by a snort meant he was asleep.

  Rigby digested the concept in silence before answering. “Jesse, just make sure you take out one helicopter. You let me worry about the rules.”

  “What about the warning I got in Kampala? It said someone has targeted Arthur Turner and me.” “What difference does it make? Anyway, I think whoever sent you that note was trying to make sure you left Africa. Looking back, it wasn't such a bad idea.”

  “Oh, I don't know. I might have missed meeting the goat rapist.”

  “Humor in the face of great peril. Jesse, you're the best.”

  The desert air seduced Jesse. Exhausted, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Rigby, on the other hand, was too restless to sleep. His dream was a war flashback. It started with a meeting in the colonel's office.

  Rigby glanced at Willie, and thought about how bad they both felt. They hadn't drawn a sober breath in five days. “I apologize for cutting short your leave,” the colonel said. “We're having a problem with a rather disagreeable chap in one of the indigenous tribal territories. Your third man's name is Sam Mabota?”

  We both nodded affirmatively. The sound of the colonel's voice made my head pound.

  “And would you be disposed to call Mabota a Christian?”

  “Well I suppose he's a Christian.” I burped painfully. “Colonel, could I trouble you for a glass of water?” He smiled but ignored my request.

  “Let me ask you both, a question. Do you believe in witchcraft?”

  “Of course not,” Willie answered without consulting me.

  “Does Sam Mabota believe in witchery?”

  “Probably, but there isn't an African on this continent who doesn't believe in some type of sorcery,” I said.

  “Have either of you heard the term, ‘tokoloshe'?”

  “Africans believe a tokoloshe is a demon. They say they're short, hairy little buggers running around impregnating married women. I might have gone to boarding school with a tokoloshe.” When the colonel didn't smile, I apologized. “Sorry, sir, we had a long night.”

  “Some women sleep on elevated beds to prevent these mythical dwarfs from sneaking into their beds,” said the colonel. “My God, it's hard to comprehend the ignorance. Why can't we have a normal war? Did you know Rhodesia has a law against using witchcraft? It's called the ‘Witchcraft Suppression Act.'”

  The colonel turned his back to us, he sighed deeply before continuing.

  “When thi
s war ends, I plan to return to Ireland. I've heard some say that Africa marks the soul with unseen graffiti. I'm afraid it hasn't been that way for me, certainly not in a good way.”

  “Sir, don't the Irish believe in leprechauns?” I asked.

  He was red-faced when he spoke. “Mr. Croxford, leprechauns are born in a bottle of Irish whiskey. I would expect if you continue your excessive consumption, someday soon you'll find yourself visited by lots of creepy-crawly things, including leprechauns.”

  The colonel gave us a description of our target, which was the antiseptic term we used to label someone marked for assassination. The tribal chief was a self-proclaimed wizard terrifying the local population. Intelligence reported that the man was using his influence to win support for the armed insurgents. Those terrorists were setting explosive booby traps on the only road to Botswana. The road was a vital link to South Africa. He was also using his self-proclaimed supernatural powers to foretell the future. The future he saw was one with the whites losing the war. He had preached to his followers that the whites would eventually be forced to leave Rhodesia. He was also accused of masterminding the poisoning of white farmers.

  “Gentlemen, normally this would be a simple matter of one bullet, and one very dead witchdoctor. This old boy's a special case. He has a large following, and that's precisely why an African should be involved in his death. Show the populace he's no more of a witch than I am. That's why I asked you about Sam Mabota. Well, there you have it.”

  “Sir, if you could possibly spare us another week of leave, we would be in your debt.” I looked over to Willie, who put on his best pathetic look.

  “Nonsense, I've already arranged a helicopter. The flight to Bulawayo should sober you both up. Goodbye and good hunting.”

  “Thank you, sir,” we exclaimed in unison, coming to attention.

  As soon as we were outside, Willie spoke. “That was a lousy selling job you just did. We just came off twenty straight days on patrol. Why didn't you mention that?”

  ***

  Sam was happy to see us. He reveled at having a helicopter pick him up. That was before we told him about our mission. Sam listened patiently and then spoke. “This chief is a wicked sorcerer. He says that someday a terrible disease will afflict those men and women who have sex with strangers. They say he's never without his pet tokoloshe at his side. The tokoloshe is invisible and drinks human blood. If we kill this chief, he'll come back as a hyena to avenge his death. When he kills, he kills without mercy.”