Tim stared in horror as Hamilton rose up in the water. From a flurry of bloodstained foam, the crocodile’s head appeared, its massive jaws locked onto the flailing man’s waist. The reptile threw back its head and, with almost casual indifference, adjusted its grip. With a swirl, crocodile and man disappeared beneath the surface. ‘Christ!’ Tim approached the water’s edge and stared down. But Ng’ona, with the same primitive instincts as his predecessor, had already taken Hamilton to the bottom to drown.
A small sob broke his paralysis. Lana’s eyes were wide with shock. ‘Here, let me get that rope off.’ He untied her hands, the still-running blood making his fingers slippery. ‘I take it you’re Moffat Kadamanja?’ Tim turned to release the African.
‘Yes.’ Moffat massaged his wrists. ‘Is the opening to the crypt shut?’
‘Locked solid I’m afraid.’ Tim was impressed by the way Moffat wasted no time.
Kadamanja nodded. ‘Get your shirt off. That arm needs binding.’
Tim needed help. His dislocated shoulder made it impossible to move his left arm.
Moffat ripped Tim’s shirt and wound a wide strip around the cut. ‘Turn around.’
Tim did.
‘This might hurt,’ Moffat warned, wrenching Tim’s shoulder hard.
It popped back into place at the first try. Moffat hadn’t exaggerated. It hurt like hell. ‘Thanks.’ Tim suspected that ligaments had been torn but at least he could move his arm again. ‘Let’s get most of these lamps out.’ There were four lamps and none had much fuel. They left only one burning.
Lana’s temporary paralysis was easing. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Seeing the sights.’
She snorted but left it. ‘Karl confessed to murdering my father. And Moffat’s. There’s a wreck, an old Arab dhow, somewhere near here and it had been carrying ivory. He was afraid they might discover it.’
‘What made him confess?’
Moffat answered, ‘He found out who I was and made the connection that we were on to him.’ Then he added, ‘That, and the fact that she jumped him. Twice.’
Lana carried on as though Moffat hadn’t interjected. ‘I guess he decided it wouldn’t matter if he told the truth – he seems to have thought of everything. He’s quite mad. My God! Will you look at all that gold.’
‘You jumped him?’
‘Not very well. I was too angry to think.’
Tim ran a hand through his hair. ‘Jumped him!’ He couldn’t quite believe it.
‘Can we do something with these bodies?’ Lana quietly changed the subject. ‘Put them somewhere less conspicuous.’
Tim dragged Alzaga back into the shadows. Moffat did the same with Father Smice.
‘The grave has three mouths, and one is hungry.’ Moffat said, coming back to where Lana stood.
She nodded in understanding. ‘So where’s the third?’
‘What are you talking about?’ Tim asked.
‘Long story.’
Tim raised his eyebrows. ‘Take your time, we’ve got all night.’
Lana threw a quick glance at Moffat who nodded. She told Tim about their visit to the witchdoctor.
‘And you actually believe this stuff?’ Tim asked incredulously.
Moffat sighed.
‘I know. I didn’t believe it either – at first that is.’
‘Fact of the matter is,’ Moffat cut in heavily, ‘whether you believe it or not, this cave will have three entrances. One is blocked. One has a sodding great flat dog in it. All we have to do is find the third.’
Tim’s eyebrows went a notch higher. ‘I take it,’ he ventured, ‘that you two have been spending a good deal of time together.’
Moffat pointed at Lana. ‘Sodding is hers.’
Lana pointed to Moffat. ‘Flat dog is his.’
‘And the witchdoctor?’ Tim asked, grinning at them.
‘Ours,’ they said in unison.
Tim could only shake his head.
Lana thought it time to convince him. ‘You and Ramón were after the same thing, something that Hamilton had hidden inside an elephant’s tusk. It’s to do with the Falkland Islands and...’ she pressed, seeing Tim was about to interrupt, ‘. . . and, it will cause Mother England a great deal of embarrassment if it gets into the wrong hands.’ She glanced at him. ‘How am I doing?’
‘Ramón told you.’
‘The witchdoctor told me first. Not about where it was hidden, I heard that as we came into the cave.’
Moffat coughed pointedly. ‘That lamp’s about to go out. Would this be a good time to suggest we try and find the third entrance?’
Tim remembered the candle that seemed to be in a draft. Air was reaching it from somewhere, and the air down in the cave was reasonably fresh, not stale and heavy. It couldn’t be the entrance to the crypt – Karl had shut the trapdoor behind him – so it had to be close. ‘Back of the cave. Good a place as any.’
Moffat nodded. ‘Stay here if you like, Lana.’
‘I will not.’ She looked across at Tim. ‘What are you grinning at?’ she asked crossly.
‘Do you ever take the easy option?’
‘Depends on the circumstances.’ She moved off towards the back of the cave. ‘You two coming?’
‘I’m glad I’m black,’ Moffat said quietly to Tim. ‘Our women are much easier to get on with.’
Lana heard him and rolled her eyes.
The roof of the cave shelved down sharply, almost to the floor. They checked across its full width but there was no way even a small child could get through the horizontal crevice. ‘Damn! I’d hoped . . .’ Tim held up the lamp which was spluttering and then, quite suddenly, went out. The blackness was total, leaving them disoriented. ‘Great!’ he said quietly.
‘Where’s Lana?’ Moffat spoke beside him.
‘Over here.’ Lana’s voice was further away. She had been feeling under the crevice about three metres from them.
‘Stay calm, I’ll come to you.’
‘I am calm,’ she said calmly. ‘You stay where you are. I’ll feel my way back along the crevice.’
She reached them a few moments later. ‘How much paraffin have we got?’
‘Not much.’
‘It’s so dark.’
Tim put his arm around her, encountering Moffat doing the same.
‘Thanks, guys.’ Her voice held a tremor. ‘I suppose now is not the time to discover that I’m claustrophobic.’
They made their way back to the centre of the cave, feeling their way slowly. There were so many artifacts stacked around that movement was difficult. ‘There are matches on the floor near the other lamps,’ Tim said. ‘I’ll try and find them.’
It took nearly five minutes. Cursing people who put dead matches back in the box, Tim finally located a live one and lit another lamp, putting the matchbox in his pocket.
As the reassuring glow strengthened, Lana screamed. ‘The croc!’ She pointed. The crocodile was half out of the water. Its massive head turned towards them, Hamilton limp in its jaws, the horror of his death a frozen mask.
‘Back here, quickly.’ Tim jumped the tusks Alzaga and Hamilton had left lying and began to pull frantically at those still stacked against the wall, toppling them haphazardly, trying to create a barricade. Moffat realised what he was doing and pulled more onto the ground. The crocodile raised itself free of the water and dumped Hamilton’s body. Turning to face them, it seemed to be deciding what to do next. Five minutes of indecision probably saved their lives. By the time the beast made up its mind, their barricade was waist high, the tusks jumbled in such a way that they virtually interlocked with each other. As protection went, it wasn’t ideal but it was better than nothing.
The crocodile was in no hurry. It advanced sluggishly towards them, a calculating look in its slitted yellow eyes. It was huge, at least four metres long and almost a quarter of that in height. Squat, turtle-shaped legs, teeth bared in an evil grin, water dripping from the knobbly hide, dragging its heavil
y ridged tail, more powerful than any in the animal kingdom.
Tim hurled a tusk at the reptile but it kept coming. ‘The lamp. Throw the lamp,’ Moffat panted, struggling with a massive tusk and dropping it onto the growing stack around them, urgency lending adrenalin to his already strong arms.
Tim undid the filler cap, took careful aim and hurled the burning lamp. It bounced directly in front of the crocodile, glass shattering, paraffin spilling onto the floor. The flare-up was immediate but lasted only seconds. Before the cave was once again plunged into darkness, Tim saw the reptile back away from the flames. ‘Shit!’
‘What?’ Lana was panting with exertion. The average weight of each tusk was in the region of twenty-five kilograms.
‘The other lamps,’ Tim said, angry with himself. ‘They’re over there.’
‘Forget them. At least you’ve got the matches. Let’s hope that bloody thing can’t see in the dark.’ Lana spoke with more confidence than she felt.
They worked frantically and in total darkness, feeling for holes in the barricade and jamming in tusk after tusk. It was impossible work. With no light, they kept bumping into each other, some tusks sliding away and not locking into place. Eventually all the ivory was in a semi-circle around them, the rock wall at their backs. ‘I’ll try for the lamps,’ Tim offered reluctantly.
‘No!’ Lana insisted. ‘The croc’s still there. Listen, you can hear its tail.’
The scrape of the reptile moving slowly back and forth seemed to be just on the other side of their barricade. Every now and then it would bump into one of the items stacked in the middle. The resounding crash sounded loud and menacing as it echoed around the pitch-black cave. Lana slipped her hand into Tim’s. ‘In the morning we may get more light. Sunlight reflecting through that water and into the cave.’
It was possible. It was the only thought they had to cling to.
Ng’ona shuffled ceaselessly up and down, looking for a way through the ivory wall. The sound of its tail scraping and the repetitive plod of one-hundred-year-old feet sinister and terrifying.
Tim checked his Rolex, blessing the inventor of luminous dials. It was only 3.15. So much had happened. Dawn was an hour away. He prayed that some light would reach the cave. If a third entrance did exist, as Lana and Moffat believed, they would have to find it. And soon. Their strength couldn’t hold for long.
He became aware of Lana’s hand, still in his. Slim and strong. Like her.
‘Tim!’ she whispered urgently.
He’d heard it too.
The crocodile was closer. My God! It’s through the tusks. It’s behind us! Where the hell is it? The sound was inside the circle of ivory with them. This is it! Instinctively, the three of them huddled together. Tim produced the matches but Moffat bumped him and the box fell.
The scrabbling of searching fingers on his backside was the last thing Tim expected.
‘Eeeiii! Eeeiii!’ The voice was close and very afraid. A barrage of words followed which Tim could not understand.
Moffat shouted something in Chichewa. ‘It’s all right. It’s a person.’ The incongruity of his remark didn’t matter. It was something all three of them were pleased to know. ‘We’ve given him a hell of a fright.’
More rapid conversation followed. Tim understood none of it but he heard the tension leave Moffat’s voice and relief replace it. Moffat translated. ‘He says he’s taking the ivory. His Chief has been sending him here for years. The third entrance is behind us. We were sitting up against it.’
Moffat asked a question in Chichewa. ‘The way out is easy. He wants us to follow.’
The man said something else.
Moffat chuckled. ‘He asks if any of us are fat? He wants to feel for himself.’
‘Like hell,’ Lana muttered.
Tim found he still had her hand in his. ‘What the hell,’ he thought. He squeezed it. When she squeezed back he found himself grinning into the darkness. ‘Tell him the woman is slimmer than us,’ he said. Tim felt the man pat his stomach and then feel his upper arms. He appeared satisfied with that.
Outside the wall of tusks, Ng’ona made a rush, knocking some of their barricade aside. The man who had appeared so unexpectedly gabbled something in the darkness.
‘He says we must go now,’ Moffat whispered urgently, awed by the power in the large reptile. ‘Him first, me next, Lana after me and then you, Tim. We are to do exactly what he tells us. Down on our bellies. We have to squeeze under this ledge.’
Beside him, Tim felt Lana’s start of fear as the crocodile’s tail sent one of the lamps flying. The sound of breaking glass, or the smell of paraffin, must have incensed the reptile for it made another charge at them, scattering tusks like fiddlesticks. In the total inky blackness, it was impossible to guess how close the crocodile was to breaking through.
Tim didn’t remember seeing any ledge but most of the wall now behind them had been hidden by the tusks. ‘Arms forward. Try to keep in touch with the person in front. Use your toes to push,’ Moffat instructed, his voice becoming muffled as he slid under the ledge. Then it was Lana’s turn. ‘See you topside,’ she whispered. And was gone.
Behind Tim, Ng’ona crashed into the ivory, thrashing in anger. Expecting teeth to close around his legs at any second, Tim tried to wriggle under the ledge but his belt caught on rock. He backed off and tried again. This time he made it, moving forward until his hand made contact with Lana’s ankle. The best feeling in the world was when his feet slid under the ledge.
‘I can’t breathe,’ Lana shouted suddenly, panic in her voice.
‘You can. Breathe in slowly, big breaths, shut your eyes. It’s only in your mind.’ Her breath sounded loud in the confined crevice.
The man up front said something and Moffat called back, ‘Couple of minutes of this and we’re through the worst. Everyone okay?’
Their progress was painfully slow. It quickly became apparent that there was only one route. Any deviation and the crevice narrowed, making movement under it impossible. Ahead of him, Tim could hear Lana’s laboured breath as she strained to propel herself along. The couple of minutes stretched into five, and then ten.
‘Nearly there,’ Moffat shouted back to Lana and Tim. The crevice became wider and it was possible to use elbows as well as toes to make progress. Then, up on hands and knees, they crawled the last few metres. ‘Careful,’ Moffat warned. ‘Move right and keep it very slow. There’s apparently one hell of a drop to the left.’
Tim had expected to see light when they emerged. But blackness continued to engulf them. Their guide moved off again. As far as Tim could tell, they were walking along a tunnel less than a metre wide, impossible to know how high, which inclined upwards. A couple of minutes later they stopped again.
‘We climb from here,’ Moffat translated. ‘There are rungs in the rock face.’
‘How far now?’ Lana asked. ‘I still can’t see a damned thing.’
Moffat spoke to their guide. ‘There are three separate levels, each with a ladder connecting them. He also asks me to remind the impatient young lady that it will be dark outside too. He does speak English you know, just chooses not to.’
‘Sorry,’ Lana said meekly. ‘Can we go? I’m getting a bit desperate to see your ugly face again.’
Moffat chuckled and Tim realised how close these two had drawn in just a few days. He wondered if Moffat Kadamanja was married.
The first steps led them up and into a low tunnel about twenty metres long, terminating with another vertical shaft. At the top Lana exclaimed, ‘I can smell fresh air.’
So could Tim. They were going to make it. Progressing through the last section, one which seemed to take them in a complete circle, the air became sharper and fresher. Looking up once they reached the last ladder, they could just make out a lightening in their surroundings and, far away, one beautiful, miraculous, didn’t-think-they’d-ever-see-one-again, twinkling star. The guide spoke to Moffat. ‘That’s the cliff top,’ Moffat told them. ‘We’
re out.’
‘Thank God,’ Lana said with feeling.
Tim felt their still-unseen saviour brush past him. ‘Where’s he going?’
‘To bring out a tusk.’
‘Why doesn’t he use a torch? He can’t be afraid of being seen.’
‘He doesn’t need one,’ Moffat said. ‘He’s blind.’
‘The eyes that cannot see will lead the way,’ Lana quoted the witchdoctor.
‘Still doubt it?’ Moffat asked her.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not now.’
‘Come on,’ Tim urged. ‘We can discuss this later.’ He put his foot on the first rung. ‘There’s a great deal of unfinished business up top.’
‘Henning,’ Lana said with grim satisfaction.
Tim was glad she couldn’t see his face. ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he muttered to himself.
EIGHTEEN
The ladder brought them up to a ledge near the cliff top quite close to where Tim had sat with Father Smice only a few days earlier. Five stone steps, hewn out of the rock face, the last crumbling external evidence of King Lundu’s ancient kingdom, took them to the top. Overgrown, and partly covered by loose stones, unless you knew where to look, the steps were hardly visible from any angle. Tim wondered how Chief Mbeya knew of them.
Dawn was tinging the eastern sky with a faint blush of pink. Looking down at the dark water of the cove, Lana shivered. Deceptively serene and calm, hiding the horror of what lurked below. So much suffering and deception. The documents which had cost Ramón his life. The treasures – Karl had said they were from the Great Zimbabwe – how much blood had been spilled over them? The ivory. The priest. Frederick Hamilton. How many lives, human and animal, had been snuffed out by man’s insatiable greed? She looked at the reddening sky. The God who gave them such stunning displays of nature could never condone such evil. Turning from of the cove, Lana reflected that God must be very angry with His human creation.
She rubbed a hand over her eyes. Tim had killed Ramón. Self-defence perhaps, but Tim had been looking for the same documents, presumably for the same reasons as the Argentinean. They would both have killed further. Why? Government cover-ups? Blind patriotism? Was there a right and a wrong? Or is the whole damned world corrupt?
Echo of an Angry God Page 36