The Jason Green series Box Set

by Gordon Wallis

  On more than one occasion there was a rustling in the nearby bushes and trees, but I persevered regardless. As I neared the mouth of the Kafue, I turned the torch off for my own safety and followed my tracks using the moonlight only. I arrived near the confluence just after 8.00pm. and found a place near a tree to wait with a view of both rivers. My body was once again wet with sweat and I was panting lightly as I sat. The reflection of the moon cut a wavering, rippling swathe of silver across the water and the air was filled with the whistling of the cicadas and the occasional gurgling of the water. Each minute felt like an hour as I sat in silence waiting and watching but there was no movement. Half an hour passed by and feelings of doubt began to creep in and gnaw at my consciousness. What if there would be no crossing that night? What if Mayuni had moved his camp? This could all be a waste of time. I shifted in discomfort where I sat and tried to push these feelings from my mind, but they kept crawling back. Fuck, I need a cigarette. The murder of my friend Hannes, the slaughter of thousands of majestic animals and the horrific injuries I had personally suffered at the hands of this man; this organization; played on my mind as the minutes passed.

  It was at 9.00pm. sharp when I heard the first attempt to start the outboard motor. The sound carried across the river clearly and there were three more attempts before the engine fired and gurgled quietly in idle. Instantly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I fought the urge to stand and look. The boat emerged from the reeds on the far side of the Kafue roughly a hundred metres from where I sat. There was no need to increase the revs as the current swung it around until it faced the Zambezi and it cruised quietly downstream. My breathing quickened as the vessel approached and I lifted the binoculars to take a closer look. It was plain to see in the moonlight that there were four men on board. Mayuni was obvious from his thin frame and pale blotchy skin. He stood at the wheel with his hand on the throttle. The other three men appeared to be packing bags and stacking large tins at the stern of the boat. Cyanide. I sat in electric silence as the boat passed forty metres from me and entered the confluence of the two great rivers. It was then Mayuni pushed the throttle and swung the boat to his right to pass the island that lay ahead in the Zambezi. The sound of the motor faded as he passed the island and continued to the drop off point on the Zimbabwe side where we had met that fateful night not so long ago. I used the opportunity to light a cigarette. The nicotine had a calming effect on me but still my mind was ticking over at a thousand miles an hour. I sat nervously drumming the fingers of my left hand in the dust as I waited. Will he return? Will he return alone? It was exactly fifteen minutes later that I heard the outboard motor once again. I lifted the binoculars and watched for the boat. In the distance I saw it round the island and power towards the Kafue River. As it drew closer it became obvious there was only one occupant. Dixon Mayuni flicked a cigarette into the water as he passed me and dropped the revs as he swung back towards the reed bed the boat had emerged from on the far side.

  “Very good...” I said under my breath.

  I felt my hatred coming alive and swelling inside me like a balloon as I watched the boat disappear into the reeds. The motor fell silent after thirty seconds and I knew it was time to go. As I stood, I felt the adrenalin coursing through my limbs. My legs and arms felt like coiled springs as I tracked back to find the route to the Baobab at the crossing point where the canoes lay in the reeds. I found my tracks almost by accident in a gap between the trees. The bush near the river was thicker and the moonlight was almost completely blocked out. Regardless I pressed on through the mottled gloom of the forest until I saw the ominous shape of the giant tree ahead. As I approached the hollow at the base of the trunk an owl screeched in the branches above and flew away to another tree. The noise caused a fresh wave of adrenalin to pump through my body and I felt a surge of energy in my limbs. When I reached the hollow, I got down on to my hands and knees and made my way towards the crawl space under the thorn bush. I moved by instinct as it was pitch black and one occasion, I lost my direction and tore the skin beneath my right eye on a thorn. I emerged into the moonlight at the other side of the bush and dabbed at my face with the palm of my right hand. It came away bloody, but the wound was superficial and would quickly dry. Next, I parted the reeds to see the three dugout canoes were undisturbed where I had seen them earlier. I stood and moved forward until I was knee deep in the black sticky mud of the river bank. The moon had risen and my surroundings were even more visible than before. I scooped a handful of foul smelling, mud from the bank and with my eyes closed I carefully smeared it over the exposed skin of my face and neck.

  I repeated the process with my arms and legs until I was sure I was fully blacked up. Next, I placed my bag in the canoe and began to push it slowly through the reeds to the flowing water of the Kafue. I slid my body into the canoe when I felt the tug of the main current. It swiftly pulled the front of the heavy boat around and I had to start paddling furiously to correct it. Soon enough I found my rhythm and began the journey across the river. I felt exposed in the moonlight as I made the crossing and the fact that the current was dragging me closer to the point where Mayuni had entered the reeds with his boat did nothing to quell my anxiety. Still, I pressed on pulling at the crude paddle harder and harder in an effort to make my landing as far upstream as I could.

  After what seemed an eternity the heavy canoe silently disappeared into the reeds at the far side of the river fifty metres upstream from where Mayuni had landed. I laid the paddle across the boat, closed my eyes and hung my head to listen for any signs of activity. There was nothing apart from the croak of a nearby frog. Carefully I lifted my body from the canoe and dragged it through the reeds towards the shallows. Ahead of me stood a tall Ilala Palm which would serve as a landmark for when and if I was to make my escape. After securing the canoe I waded through the reeds and mud to the bank of dry land. Once I arrived, I quickly crossed the open space to the cover of a thorn bush to rest and wait in the darkness. I was panting heavily and I wiped a mixture of sweat, blood and mud from my right eye as I waited.

  There was a warm breeze still blowing from the South and I pulled the pack of cigarettes from my pocket instinctively. I took a single cigarette out telling myself the wind would blow the smoke in the opposite direction of Mayuni's camp. Don't be an idiot Green. Later. I placed the cigarette behind my left ear and put the pack in my bag. After a minute of sitting in silence and listening for any movement I decided it was time to move. There was an area of open space that ran along the bank between the tree line and the reeds. Keeping nearer the tree line I began to walk downstream in the moonlight towards where I knew Mayuni had hidden his boat. Again, aware of the grave danger of a pitfall trap I picked up a dry reed and prodded the earth ahead of me regularly as I walked. It was slow going and my nerves were strained to breaking point as I went but still I persevered. It was five minutes later that I saw the motor boat hidden deep in the reed beds to my right. Mayuni had draped a net of webbing and dried reeds over it but its shape was clear in the moonlight along with the pungent smell of petrol. Glancing to my left I saw the path that led to his camp. It wound uphill into the darkness through the trees and bushes. I knew full well that it lay hidden in the forest less than sixty metres from where I stood. Sensing danger I backed up twenty metres and ducked into the cover of darkness in the tree line. I crouched down on my haunches and quietly removed the hunting knife from the bag. I attached the leather sheath of the blade to the back of my belt and paused to listen. Apart from the soft rustle of dried leaves in the breeze and the whistling of the cicadas there was no sound. Sweat oozed from every pore on my body and my limbs itched from the caked mud and dust. Time to go Green. Once again, I left the sanctuary of the darkness and made my way back towards the path to the camp. Leaving the relative light of the clearing I started up the path through the dappled gloom.

  My eyes swiftly became accustomed to the low light and it was clear and easy enough to follow. I was still going painfu
lly slowly and my nerves were stretched to breaking point as I inched forward. It was when I had travelled thirty metres and the incline had levelled out that I first heard the music. There was no mistaking the tinny distorted guitars and repetitive beat. Dixon Mayuni had turned on a radio and was listening to the local Sungura music popular in Zimbabwe. After another ten metres I saw the flames of the fire through the trees. Feeling exposed I moved off to my left into the cover of the trees and continued to inch further forward. It was after a few more metres it all became clear. Dixon Mayuni sat alone on a low stool near the fire with a five-litre plastic bottle of opaque beer between his feet. A small transistor radio had been placed near the entrance to his small hut and attached to a car battery. His work done for the day he sat in silence staring into the flames and drinking occasionally. Carefully I got down on all fours and lowered myself until I was lying flat with a clear view of the scene in front. My mental preparations and studying of the aerial photographs had paid off. It was as if I knew every inch of the entire camp. At the far side was a neat stack of twenty litre metal drums. In the flickering light of the fire I clearly saw the skull and crossbones label on each of them. Cyanide. Also, clearly visible was the ivory stash.

  It was as I had seen it from the photographs under a tattered tarpaulin in the centre of the camp. What I had been unable to see from the photographs was the depth of it. The great pile stood nearly six feet tall and I estimated there must have been at least a tonne of it. It was then that a breeze broke the stillness and for the first time I smelt the putrid stench of rotting flesh. I looked beyond the pile of ivory to see the two huge steel pots used to boil the flesh from the bones of big cats. They were blackened from flames and shiny with the fat of the dead beasts. In the darkness I shook my head incredulous that anyone could live in such a foul and rancid environment. Totally oblivious, Dixon Mayuni sat staring into the flames of the fire drinking occasionally from the bottle. Drink deep my friend. Enjoy your Friday night. It's about to take a turn for the worse. I watched as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lifted a glowing stick from the fire to light it. I felt a pang of envy as I watched the smoke curl and twist as he exhaled. I lay in silence for the next hour never once taking my eyes off him. In my mind I relived every shiver and spasm of pain I had suffered at his hands. My mind went back to my old friend Hannes who had been so brutally murdered and to the thousands of animals condemned to an agonizing death due to him. My hatred burned inside me like acid as my body itched and the mosquitoes buzzed around my ears. It was when Mayuni had almost finished the five litres of beer that he stumbled forward from his stool knocking the bottle over. Clearly drunk, he kicked it aside and rose unsteadily to his feet. Slowly he walked towards where I was lying and I instinctively reached for the handle of the knife behind me. Dixon Mayuni paused ten metres from where I lay at the perimeter of his camp and staggered slightly as he undid the zip on his filthy jeans. His body swayed slightly as he relieved himself and once again, I was reminded of his foul smell. When he was done, he turned and lurched towards his mud hut turning the radio off as he arrived. He disappeared through the small doorway and after a few seconds I saw the flicker of a candle from the inside. Bed time my friend. Go to sleep. For half an hour I lay motionless in the darkness as I watched the flickering light of the candle in the doorway.

  When I was sure he had passed out I slowly got to my feet and approached the camp from the right. There was a woodpile near the fire and I paused as I pulled a thick fifty centimetre length of hardwood from the top of it. With the doorway in view I crouched and paused to wait and watch. I pulled the binoculars from the bag and looked. It was as I had expected. Dixon Mayuni lay on his back in the hut with a candle in a bottle to his right. The white wax had dripped down and covered half of the bottle, but I expected that it would burn for another half hour at least. Leaning against the wall of the hut to his left was an AK-47 assault rifle. He was still fully dressed and it appeared he lay on a dirty foam mattress with no bedding at all. To his right, near the candle, was a low Tonga stool similar to the one I had used with the old man Jameson in Lusaka. To his left near the mattress lay a large machete. With the heavy section of wood in my right hand I slowly crossed the abandoned camp towards the hut. When I arrived at the door, I squatted down on my haunches to look inside.

  Immediately I was struck by a wall of indescribable stench. The memories of that terrible night on the Zimbabwe side of the river came rushing back as I breathed the foul mix of sour milk and extreme body odour. Dixon Mayuni lay still on his back snoring quietly in the candlelight. Silently I entered the hut and sat on the stool looking down at the man's face as he slept two feet from me. His pale skin was blotchy and scabbed and dried saliva and the opaque brew had formed in clumps at the corners of his mouth. I felt no pity as I sat staring at him. I noticed the crumpled pack of cigarettes that lay next to him and it brought on an intense craving for myself. With my left hand I felt above my ear and found the single cigarette I had put there earlier. My eyes never left Mayuni's face as I placed the cigarette in my mouth and reached into my pocket for the lighter. With the heavy log in my right hand I brought the lighter to my face and flicked the spark wheel. The sound was louder than I had anticipated in the confines of the hut and as I drew on the lit cigarette Mayuni's eyes suddenly opened and stared at me with uncomprehending terror.

  “Good evening,” I said quietly.

  Instantly the man beneath me attempted to reach the machete to his left and sit up at the same time. The move was futile as I brought the heavy log down on to his forehead violently. It landed with a heavy thud and slammed his head back into the filthy yellow foam of the mattress. His head sagged to the right and the blood flowed immediately from a deep horizontal split in the skin to the centre of his forehead. It gathered in a pool at his cheek on the mattress and looked black in the candlelight. Immediately I crushed out the cigarette and reached for the rolled-up length of wire and the cutters in the bag. Placing them on the dirty floor I reached forward with both arms and roughly flipped the man over, so he lay on his front. I grabbed both his arms and holding them together behind his back, I bound them tightly with the wire. As I wound the wire tighter and tighter one of the larger scabs on his wrist gave way and began to ooze a foul-smelling yellow liquid. It left my hands slippery, but I quickly wiped them on the mattress and continued the job.

  When I was done with his arms, I used the cutters to clip the wire and moved onto his legs. I repeated the process just above his ankles winding again and again and finally twisting and folding the wire so escape would be completely impossible. Dixon Mayuni lay unconscious and silent as I worked but I was aware that he could wake at any time and would more than likely start howling. Frantically I looked around the interior of the hut for anything I could use to silence him. Inspiration came in the form of a dried-out cob of corn that had been discarded near the door. After clipping the wire to his ankles, I picked it up and studied it. Long since having been picked clean of any corn it was dry and rough to touch. Perfect. Using the wire again I bound one end of the cob tightly and repeatedly. This done I got off the stool and straddled the man's back on my knees. With my right hand I held his forehead up from behind as I placed the cob in his mouth between his teeth as one would do with a bit for a horse.

  I turned his head and pulling the wire hard, wrapped it from behind his head repeatedly around the other side of the cob. The wire pulled tighter and tighter and I was sure at one stage I heard one of his teeth breaking. Now effectively gagged, Dixon Mayuni began to regain consciousness and started moaning softly. Unable to speak with the cob of corn firmly wedged in his jaws his muffled cries grew louder as he realised the seriousness of his situation. Reaching behind me I pulled the hunting knife from the leather sheath. Using my full weight, I kneeled down with one leg on the back of his shins and the other on his thighs.

  “I don't think you'll be setting foot in Zimbabwe again,” I said as I brought the shiny blade dow
n towards the Achilles tendon of his right leg.

  Dixon Mayuni's thin body arched in agony as the blade sliced quickly through the thick tendon above his ankle. It made a curious popping sound like a syrup covered tennis ball hitting a tiled wall. Blood flowed profusely from the deep wound and the foot flopped uselessly on the mattress.

  “In fact, I don't think you'll be walking much at all,” I said as I repeated the process on his left ankle.

  Muffled screams of abject terror and agony filled the small space in the hut as I wiped the blade on the mattress and placed it in the sheath on my belt. I found my own stolen camera equipment lying in a pile of clothes next to the mattress and quickly put it in my bag. Wasting no time, I then stood and grabbed him by his jeans and his collar. I felt a twinge of pain in my lower back as I lifted him up and carried him out of the small doorway. Without pausing I straightened myself and made for the pathway that led through the bush to the hidden motor boat. As I left the moonlit camp and entered the dark of the pathway I glanced down at the man's ankles. His feet flopped uselessly and dripped a steady trail of dark blood in the dust. The frenzied, muffled howling continued and the man twisted and arched his body repeatedly as I walked. My mouth was dry and I was dripping with sweat as I arrived at the motor boat hidden in the reeds at the bank. I waded into the mud and threw Mayuni in like a sack of potatoes. He landed with a loud crash and I heard the wind get knocked from his body. He squirmed on the floor of the stinking vessel as I climbed in and shone my torch on the motor. As it had done earlier, the motor took three attempts to start and with a squeeze of the bladder on the fuel line and a firm tug on the pull start rope I managed to get it to idle. I jumped from the boat into the mud once again and pushed it out through the reeds into the river. The current pulled the stern around instantly and I had to quickly leap aboard at the bow. We had drifted for twenty metres by the time I made it to the steering wheel and I wasted no time pushing the throttle and steering out into the main current and turning to face the Zambezi. The moon was bright overhead and I could see my destination clearly in the waters ahead. The island lay not far from the mouth of The Kafue and I clearly remembered the dead tree stump in the river near the bank where I had seen the giant crocodile basking in the sun.