by Tony Park
‘Shane, are you okay?’
He knew she was referring to his emotional reaction outside. It angered him that she had seen his weakness. He didn’t want her pity. Also, he realised that if she were too sympathetic he might just break down completely. There was too much to do to let that happen. ‘I’m fine. You should get some sleep. It’s late, and Dougal will be here early tomorrow.’
‘Dougal? Why? We’re not due to go back to the Congo for two more days.’
‘We aren’t going back, Michelle. I am.’
She put her hands on her hips and stood opposite the desk from him. ‘Are you telling me what I can and can’t do?’
‘You’ve got most of your things with you. Dougal will fly you to Bulawayo and you can catch the South African Airways flight to Jo-burg. You’ll probably be in Canada the next day. Are you all right for money?’
‘Hold on there, buster. You can’t just fucking send me home. I’m coming back to the Congo with you. I want to confront Fletcher about all this and see what he has to say for himself.’
‘If you confront him, you might end up dead. Unless you want to stay with him – even after what he’s done.’
‘Shit, Shane. Of course I don’t want to be with him now. How could you think that?’
‘Love?’
‘I don’t love him, Shane. Even if I thought I would have eventually fallen for him, it could never happen now. Even if he’d only planted a gun on a dead man I still couldn’t have shared a home with him. But I’m not cutting and running.’
‘It’s too dangerous for you to go back to the DRC. I’m going to get the evidence we need to nail him – to expose him to the world. He probably knows enough senior people in the Zimbabwean police force to get him off any charges – even if they could be bothered laying any. After all, it’s Zambian poachers who were killed – apart from Charles, and his death was more like assisted suicide.’
‘You said the evidence “we need”. Who’s we?’
‘Sarah. The reporter. If we can’t find a court in Africa to try Fletcher or his clients I’m going to try to get something on video, secretly, so we can out him to the world’s media. That might prompt the American authorities – the FBI, maybe – to check out his safari clients.’
‘You need my help,’ Michelle said, leaning forward, her palms planted on the desktop. He smelled her shampoo.
‘No.’
‘No one’s closer to him than me. I can get him to open up. Maybe wear a wire.’
‘No way.’
‘No way? Why do you think you can keep me out of this when I’m already a part of it?’
He looked away from her blazing eyes, back to the computer screen. ‘Because I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you. I care about you too much.’ Shit, he thought. He’d said too much. He wanted her to get on the plane tomorrow and disappear.
She stared at him, mouth agape.
From the corridor outside the office they heard a clatter, like something falling.
Shane got to his feet. He looked around the office for a weapon, then picked up the cricket bat, a memento of Fletcher’s boyhood. He put his finger to his lips and walked around the still-stunned Michelle. He moved to the doorway and reached around into the hall and switched on the lights.
He crept out of the office, dropped to one knee and retrieved something. ‘This,’ he said, holding an assegai, a short Zulu stabbing spear, as Michelle poked her head through the doorway, ‘fell from the wall.’
‘How did that happen?’ Michelle asked.
Shane moved down the hallway, which led to the kitchen. He switched on the lights and noted that the rear door, which led out into the yard behind the lodge, was ajar. Michelle was close behind him. ‘Someone forgot to lock up,’ he said.
‘Where are the staff?’ she asked.
‘The maid should be in bed in the staff compound – I’ll ask her tomorrow before we leave if she locked the door. Lloyd’s the only other person who has a key, but when I dismissed him before Sarah arrived he said he’d be off visiting a friend at another lodge tonight.’
‘This is creepy,’ Michelle said.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.’ Shane returned the bat to its rightful place in the office. ‘It might have been one of the cats on the prowl.’
She looked dubious. The spear had been set halfway up on the wall. It could only have fallen if someone had brushed against it.
‘I’ll check the lodge, lock up and set the alarm.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Um, Shane?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well . . . there are two single beds in my room, and I know this sounds a little wimpish, but. . .’
‘You want company?’ He arched a dark eyebrow, and she smiled at the comic gesture.
‘Single beds, I said. Would you mind?’
‘Of course not,’ he said.
Michelle had changed into a T-shirt and short grey running shorts. She climbed under the sheet. It was a hot night, and cicadas in the trees competed with frogs in the ornamental pond outside the bedroom window to see who could keep the most humans awake for the longest.
‘You’re not getting into bed?’ she asked. He reclined, fully clothed, atop the bed next to hers, a squat black pistol from the armoury sitting on the blanket. ‘You’re making me nervous, Shane.’
‘I’ll get some sleep during the day tomorrow. Night, Michelle.’
‘Night, Shane.’
He listened to the night sounds, psyching himself up for the long, sleepless hours ahead. Staying awake, no matter how tired he was, was a skill he’d developed in the army. Just as valuable was his ability to fall asleep any place, any time, when the opportunity presented itself.
He felt foolish. Michelle had said nothing about the feelings he had expressed for her. Perhaps she thought he cared for her in a brotherly way. She looked angelic, curled under her sheet, her hair strewn across the white starched pillowcase.
Twice he thought he heard footfalls – once outside in the garden and once inside. Each time, pistol in hand, he crept silently out of the room to investigate. On both occasions he found nothing, though the hairs standing up on his arms and the back of his neck told him his suspicions were not likely to be unfounded. The other thing military life had awoken in him was a primeval sense of impending danger.
He checked his watch. It was three in the morning, according to the luminous dial. Michelle shifted under the sheet, stretched, then sat up. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘You will not!’
‘At least let me check.’
‘Now you really are giving me the creeps.’
He slid off the bed and walked out into the hall, flicking on the lights. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Nothing to worry about. I’ll be right outside the bathroom door.’
‘Bullshit. I’m not going to have you listen to me pee, Shane.’
He shrugged and got back onto the bed, the pistol still in his hand. Michelle shook her head and walked out into the hallway in bare feet. He smelled her scent in the room, and tried not to think about what it would be like to have her curled up in bed next to him.
Shane heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door open and close. His ears picked up another tiny noise and it took him a second to identify the beeping. The alarm! He was on his feet, reaching into his pocket, when he heard her piercing scream.
‘Do not move,’ Lloyd said.
The African guide stood in the hallway, one arm wrapped around Michelle’s neck, his other hand holding the wicked point of a skinning knife against the pale white skin of her throat.
‘Shane!’ she yelled.
‘Quiet. I don’t want to hurt you,’ Lloyd said to Michelle. ‘But I will kill you unless Shane does what I say.’
Shane held the pistol in his right hand, extended, pointing at Lloyd’s head. The other man countered by pushing the knife until a tiny drop of blood welled and ran down the bl
ade. ‘Drop it, Shane.’
He reluctantly obeyed, letting the Browning clatter to the floor. ‘What do you want, Lloyd? Have you come to rob us?’
Lloyd laughed. ‘You think I am that stupid? I should kill you just for that. I overheard you, tonight, talking about Mister Reynolds. I will not let you ruin that man.’
‘He’s a killer, and so are you if you’re helping him,’ Michelle hissed.
Shane was impressed by the way she had regained her cool, despite the knife that had cut her already. She was tougher than he had imagined.
‘Kick the pistol to me,’ Lloyd said. Shane obeyed and Lloyd slid his knife into a pouch on his belt and dropped to one knee to retrieve the gun. Feeling his grip relax on her for a second, Michelle tried to wrench herself away. She broke free of his arm, but Lloyd reached out and grabbed her wrist, then yanked her back with enough force to make her cry in pain. Shane held up his hands, urging both of them to stay calm.
Lloyd rammed the barrel of the pistol into Michelle’s temple. ‘Don’t be so stupid again or I will kill you.’ He used his other hand to deftly draw the knife again from its sheath. As well as having his arm wrapped around her waist, he now held the blade against her belly.
‘What do you want, Lloyd?’
‘The satellite phone. What have you done with it?’
‘So you’ve already checked the lodge out?’ Shane asked.
Lloyd smiled, obviously pleased with himself. ‘I know the alarm codes. After I overheard you, I left. When you set the alarm I came back in, via the front door, and searched the lodge, then let myself out. I saw you keeping watch, through the bedroom window, and I prayed I would get a chance to separate the two of you.’
‘Sounds like God is on your side,’ Shane said.
‘Do not blaspheme,’ Lloyd said. ‘God punishes those who take His name in vain.’
‘Where did you learn that, from Charles Hamley?’
‘He has been a good man to us – to you, as well. Why are you trying to ruin everything for Mister Reynolds, Mister Hamley . . . all of us?’
‘It’s wrong, Lloyd. If you can’t see that, then your God won’t forgive you,’ Michelle said.
‘It’s easy for you whites. If Isilwane closes, you can leave and find work elsewhere. My family and I will starve. Enough! Where is the phone?’
‘Hidden,’ Shane said. ‘And the landline’s out of order. Typically Zimbabwean, eh?’
‘Get the phone now, or I will shoot her,’ Lloyd said, gesturing to Michelle with another painful jab of the pistol’s barrel.
‘You’re probably going to kill both of us anyway,’ Shane said nonchalantly.
‘I am sure Mister Reynolds will spare your lives – in exchange for your silence. Besides, I heard you admitting that you have no real proof of what has been happening.’
Shane nodded, as if Lloyd had scored a crucial goal in their match of wits. ‘So we have no proof, and you are offering us a way out?’
‘No,’ Lloyd corrected him. ‘It is up to Mister Reynolds to offer you a way out. Me, I would shoot you now.’
‘Then I don’t suppose we have much choice,’ Shane said. Lloyd smiled and nodded.
‘That’s right. Where is the phone?’
‘I locked it in Fletcher’s desk drawer.’
‘Then let us go and retrieve it,’ Lloyd said.
‘How about you put that knife away? I’d hate you to stab Michelle accidentally. You’ve got a pistol at her head.’
‘How about you do as I say, for a change,’ Lloyd said.
Shane shrugged and moved ahead of the other two, down the hallway to Fletcher’s study. Once inside, he sat at the desk. Lloyd stood on the opposite side, Michelle still in his grasp, the knife and gun still touching her.
‘Keep your hands where I can see them – one palm-down on the desktop while you unlock the drawer.’
Shane fished the key to the drawer from his pocket, unlocked it and withdrew the telephone, which was a little larger than a standard mobile phone. ‘What now?’
‘Dial the number for Mister Reynolds.’
Shane punched a series of digits and held it up so Lloyd could hear the dial tone. A groggy-sounding male voice on the end said, ‘Hello?’
‘Want me to hold it to your ear?’ Shane asked.
Lloyd looked momentarily confused. Clearly, he did not want Shane standing close enough to him to pose a threat, yet he had both his hands full.
‘Hello? Who’s there?’ the voice said from the phone.
Lloyd hesitated a moment longer, then slid his knife back into its pouch. ‘Reach across the desk and hand it to me,’ he said impatiently to Shane. Michelle watched on, not daring to speak.
Lloyd took the phone from Shane’s hand, held it to his ear and said, ‘Hello, sir. It’s Lloyd.’
‘Who the bloody hell is Lloyd?’ Shane heard the angry, sleepy voice bark. It wasn’t Fletcher’s voice.
Shane reached across to the filing cabinet and snatched up the cricket bat.
Lloyd saw the movement, and understood that he had been tricked. He dropped the phone and turned the pistol towards Shane. ‘Nooo!’ Michelle screamed.
Shane swung from the far side of the desk as Lloyd pulled the trigger. The only sound in the room was the satisfying crack of old willow connecting with skin and bone. Lloyd toppled, wide-eyed, to the floor, dragging a shrieking Michelle down with him.
Shane vaulted across and stood over Lloyd. When the other man started to move, he delivered another blow across the back of his head, then reached down for Michelle.
‘Oh, my God, Shane!’ she cried.
He lifted her to her feet and she instinctively pressed herself against him. Shane looked down, to make sure Lloyd was unconscious, then wrapped an arm around her. ‘I never sleep with a loaded pistol, Michelle. People only do that in the movies. I had an empty magazine in it, and a full one in my trouser pocket. If you go to bed with a loaded gun you might pull the trigger in your sleep or, worse,’ he added, pointing down at Lloyd, ‘some bastard might sneak in and get the drop on you.’
‘So you knew it was not loaded.’
He nodded. ‘I would have just clobbered him straightaway if he hadn’t had that knife pointed at you.’
She smiled up at him. ‘My hero.’
They both started laughing.
Shane dragged Lloyd outside into the lodge’s workshop and bound his hands with rope. He tipped a bucket of water over the African’s head and slapped him a few times, eventually reviving him. Shane checked his pupils. ‘You’ll live, you fucker.’ He gagged Lloyd with a strip of duct tape and left him propped against one wall. He knew the laughter he and Michelle had shared was just a release of nervous tension, but he was still wired after the scuffle – and from holding Michelle to comfort her.
‘How is he?’ Michelle asked as he walked back into the bedroom. She was standing by the dressing table, a hairbrush in her hand. Her long hair almost gleamed.
‘He’ll be seeing stars for a few days. We’ll have to think of something to do with him while we’re away.’
‘So you’ve accepted that I’m coming with you, back to the Congo?’
He leaned against the doorframe. ‘I get the feeling that it wouldn’t matter what anyone said to you – you always do what you want.’
‘Most of the time,’ she said, smiling.
‘Lloyd’s tied up. There’s no one else here, so I can leave you in private, if you like.’
‘I thought I was going to die, when he grabbed me. When he made you drop the gun, I thought . . .’ She put the hairbrush down and took a step into the middle of the room, arms folded protectively across her body.
‘It’s okay, you’re safe now. I’ll pull up a chair in the hallway, if you like.’ His carotid artery was pounding in his neck.
‘No, you don’t understand. What I was worried about is that I might die without . . . without saying. . .’
He moved across the room at the same instant as she, with an urge
ncy that made it more of a collision than an embrace. Their tongues sought each other’s mouths as their hands ripped at buttons. They ground their bodies into each other, lust overtaking logic as they fought to tear away clothes. She pulled the pistol from his waistband and tossed it on one of the beds as his hand reached inside her shirt and roughly fondled her breast. His kisses travelled down her neck and she moaned as his tongue encircled her nipple, followed by his teeth. As her nipples hardened he pulled down her shorts and let his fingers linger roughly over the springy dark curls. Grabbing his hair, Michelle pulled his mouth back to hers as she unbuttoned him and slipped her hand inside, pulling him free, stroking. The bed was beside them, but it seemed an unnecessary journey. He lifted her, hands under her buttocks, and she encircled him with her legs. He ground against her, intending to tease her with the head of his swollen cock, but she was already aroused and he slid effortlessly into her. They kissed passionately, their bodies temporarily frozen by the exquisite pleasure they felt but had tried so hard for so long to avoid. Eventually he carried her to the antique dressing table and rested her on the polished surface as he moved inside her with long, pressing strokes.
Michelle’s body moved with his. She held tight to his buttocks and kissed him and bit his lower lip as he rode her, and he responded in kind. As he felt her orgasm grow – the tensing of her muscles, the changes in her breath – she clutched him tighter, arms around his neck. Her body pressed into his, until she was almost off the table again. He knew she wanted him to lift her. As he straightened, clutching her in a crushing embrace, the changing angle drove him as deep as physically possible into her and she cried out her release. Her shudders flowed into his, and once again they were still, until their breathing returned to normal.
Later, as they lay naked on the bed, lights on, the weak summer breeze barely cooling the sweat on their bodies, he began kissing her, from her forehead down.
As she felt herself stir, Michelle realised that the sex was as different as the two men. Whether organising a safari or a date or making love, Fletcher was considered, methodical and planned. Calculating, even. Shane, however, was instinctive. Passionate. Honest. He possessed her now in a way Fletcher never had.