Danger Woman (12 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

Birthing four cubs had not been easy for Danger Woman. Perhaps it was her age. She had reached that time in life which, in hyena years, would be reckoned as middle age. She held the position as the pack leader as much for her cunning as her fierce nature, a cunning acquired from years of watching and waiting and holding off challengers to her position. That activity had also taken its toll in a leg that never quite healed from the gash put there by a younger female eager to take
Kotsi Mosadi's
place. Another year or two and the youngster would have won. In the animal kingdom, youth has no more patience with the limitations of age than do the humans who hunt them. She strained to keep pace with those younger pack members, many of which were her own offspring, a fact that in no way made them less competitive or more loyal. One slip, one more debilitating injury, no matter how slight and she would be displaced, possibly killed. Family is not a concept that carries the same meaning in the wild as it does in the living rooms of people.

By the time her offspring had made their way into the world, Kotsi Mosadi was exhausted. The litter of four, two males and two females quickly became a litter of three when one of the males died in the night. The next day she pushed its stiff little body into the deep end of her burrow and scratched some earth over it. This would be the last year she'd use this place to birth her cubs. She nuzzled the three remaining. She had not eaten in three days and realized she must do so if she were to provide nourishment for them. She would have to leave her lair and hunt. Hunt alone.

Her pack would be scattered across the park, the females laid up in burrows like hers replenishing the pack's numbers, the males wandering about, some hunting in scraggly groups, some by themselves. Until she returned and called them into line, the pack posed no real danger to any of the larger herbivores in the park. That would change when she and the other females returned with their offspring. But that might even stretch out for a few weeks. Definitely not soon.

It is an entirely different operation to hunt alone than as a team. A pack provides options. A pack can herd an animal into a corner. A pack can attack a prey larger than any individual within it. Hunting alone meant preying on smaller game, scavenging, or running down the old and the weak. Danger Woman had done it many times before. She could again. She put her head out of the lair and tasted the wind. A breeze, slight, almost nonexistent stirred her whiskers. The little that wafted through the bush convinced her that the lion pride had abandoned the area. No sleek lioness or her cubs lolling in the grass to the south today. She chortled at her own cubs. They would not move until she returned.

She heaved herself out of the burrow and trotted toward the river. Hunting alone meant finding easy prey. Thirsty animals would go to water to drink. The act of drinking was the one vulnerable moment in an animal's daily routine. Head down, back to the bush, eyes focused on the water, they would be taken from the river by a drifting crocodile which would explode onto the bank and pull in anything, or attacked from the bush by a fast moving hyena. Danger Woman would feed at the river.

She loped across the dusty veldt heading north toward the forested riverbank.

***

Ole Andersen, his camera rolling and with its zoom capability engaged, followed Danger Woman across the open savannah immediately in front of him. She paused, tested the air, and trotted out of sight. He guessed she would head to the river. If he guessed correctly, he could set up downwind from the spot and be in a position to film her next move. He hinged the camera back into the Land Rover and drove across the bush making sure he did not disturb Danger Woman. These images of the leader of the most successful pack of spotted hyenas would make a classic documentary. He might be able to sell it to
National Geographic.
Of course they had been bought up by Murdoch now, so who knew? If not, perhaps some American public broadcast television outlet could buy it. Who was he kidding? It might never see the light of day. Still, capturing this hyena and her pack was his passion. Who cared if fame did not follow? At least he would include it with the rest of his application when he applied for renewal of his research grant. Few researchers had accumulated so much data on hyenas, much less the life cycle of a single one. Ole had been taping Kotsi Mosadi since she was a cub. It would be his crowning achievement.

He knew better than to take anything for granted. Unlike
homo sapiens,
the wild was wholly unpredictable. What seemed fixed and certain one day could be wildly chaotic the next. Lions were said to avoid elephants. They might attempt to take down a calf that had wandered too far from the herd but, the conventional wisdom declared that, if attacked, an elephant would sound a distress call and bring in the entire herd. Combined, the elephants would crush the attacker unless they were quick and raced away from the area. For years researchers accepted that as truth. Then one filming crew that had been following an elephant migration in Kenya captured at night a sequence in which a pride of near to starving lions took down an elephant and killed it within the hearing and comprehension of the rest of the herd. So, there were no rules, only tendencies, probabilities, and legends.

Ole counted on the ferocity and cunning of Kotsi Mosadi to survive for a few more years. When she faded, he would film her displacement from the leadership of the pack and her eventual demise, most probably initiated by her own kind. He hoped that would not be soon. He had grown fond of this ugly animal.

***

The director might be economizing, but Modise didn't think that meant he must do so as well. Not on his own time and with his own money. He sat at the restaurant waiting for Sanderson. He'd asked for and been granted a secluded corner. Lenka's people could be around and he couldn't be too careful. Still, meeting at the river had its moments, for sure, but, Sanderson deserved better than sandwiches and warm beer out of the back of her Land Rover. They'd had a proper date once, at this very hotel and it had ended very well. He smiled at the memory. Of course it had been at night and Sanderson wore a dress and a scarf. He especially remembered the scarf. This time, sad to say, they would have to make do with a luncheon. Not the same thing, but there would be other opportunities for something more appropriate after this Russian business ended. He surveyed the room. No sign of her yet.

Their relationship had progressed past what his grandfather would call “a nudge and a tickle” to something with more substance. The question he had to struggle with: how can this ever work? Sanderson is the first woman to attain the position she holds. She earned it over the objections of older and more experienced men. People scrutinized her performance all day hoping for her to make a mistake or show a sign of weakness. She would never willingly give it up. He had a similar problem. She is committed to her job. His career was rooted in Gaborone. Like Sanderson, he'd achieved his success by dint of hard work, long hours, and self sacrifice. And like Sanderson, he'd earned his promotion over the objections of older, wiser, and more experienced men. He couldn't walk away from what he'd worked so hard to attain. So, where would they settle, Gaborone or Kasane?

To be objective, he had no family and was more flexible, could move more easily but, commuting to Kasane from Gaborone was not an option. He could request a transfer north. Well, theoretically, he could. To do so would most likely mean a reduction in rank, a step backward in his career, and possibly put an end to any future advancement. Also, it would mean working under Superintendent Mwambe. That did not strike him as workable. Sanderson, on the other hand, had grown children. Hers might be an empty nest, at the moment, but children, even when they have moved away are like flames to moths and pull on their mothers, and then there is the inevitability of grandchildren. Unless or until Michael and Mpitle settled in Gabz, she would want to be near them, Michael especially. He had nearly died and she had nursed him all those long months. Also, he could relapse at any moment and even with a girlfriend or wife, if that should happen, Sanderson would insist she be there for him. She had nursed and prayed for him before. She would again if she had to. So, would she, could she leave her son in Kasane and move to Gaborone? Not very likely. Yes, Michael was a grown man, but she was his mother and mothers do not recognize that their children are all grown up and no longer need their advice and constant presence.

What to do?

Sanderson swept into the restaurant and for the moment, all of his thoughts of the future evaporated. There would be time to sort this out later. Just now, he wanted only to sit with her and bask in her smile.

“Are you ill, Modise?”

“What? Am I ill? Why are you asking me that?”

“You had a look on your face like you had been too close to the cooking gas and were about to pass out.”

“I was thinking of you.”

“I make you look like you are going to drop dead from the gas. This is the start to our romantic lunch?”

“Sometimes, Sanderson, you go too far. I was having serious thoughts about you, about us, about…things like that. You come in here and boom, I am wondering if I have wasted my brain on the subject.”

“You were thinking about us. You did say
us
?”

“You and me, us, yes. Am I wrong to do that? If so, we will have the waiter and the menus and do our lunch.”

“I am sorry, Kgabo. I am…what am I? Not used to this business of dating, and private time alone, and, well, you know.”

“You are forgiven. Now, what do you suggest we drink as an antidote to the gas that has nearly killed me?”

Chapter Twenty-five

Danger Woman arrived at the river and settled in a clump of brush where her tawny and spotted pelt made her almost invisible. The sun stood at its zenith. Most of the larger animals would come to the river in the cool of the evening. Smaller ones, those who were prey to the larger ones would arrive when the circumstances for drinking were less dangerous. During the heat of the day, the big cats would stretch out in the park half asleep, the object of tourist oohs and aahs and their incessant picture-taking. The crocodiles would bask half asleep on the riverbank. The bush would be as close to peaceful as it ever got. Smaller animals, whose continued existence depended on their ability to avoid predators, would move about at this time of day in relatively safety. Because their hunters were mostly inert, it meant they did not have to compete for a place at the bank either, where they could otherwise be easily taken.

Danger Woman had learned this along with myriad other useful things about the creatures she and her pack relied on for sustenance. She would wait. A red lechwe, or maybe an aging Thompson's gazelle, separated from its herd, would wander in. At some point, these older animals seemed to be inviting death. If Danger Woman had reasoning powers, she might have ascribed this as a “death wish.” As it was, she only saw an opportunity for a quick kill and to eat and then return to her cubs.

A flock of guinea fowl pecked their way across the area between her and the river. She made a dash at them. They squawked and fluttered away. She returned to her lurk and continued her waiting.

***

Ole caught all this with his camera. He marveled at what he would later call
Kotsi Mosadi's
intelligence. He knew that intelligence did not really apply to what she'd done. He knew that the hyena had learned from experience what worked and what didn't. The fact she had become the Dominant in the pack meant she had been a quicker learner than her rivals. But shooing off the guinea fowl came close to what in a human world would be considered reasoning. The fowl, if allowed to stay in the interval between her and the river, would function as an alarm that would frighten off any possible victim she might attempt to take down. The clucking and squawking they would make as she made her dash to the river would be more than enough to bring up the heads of her potential prey and warn them of danger. They would be bounding away before she managed to cover half the distance to them. Very smart was Danger Woman, this Kotsi Mosadi
.

Ole settled in to wait as well.

***

Greshenko unfurled the latest note sent by Modise via the game ranger's pen. He glanced at its contents. There was no mention of his request for a clarification of his status, should he survive this business. Modise was in no position to respond. He did note that the director was a man of his word and that would have to be enough. The next paragraph laid out his plans for the next phase of the operation. Greshenko allowed himself an eye-roll at
operation
. Chinese fire drill, more like. Modise wanted to provoke the real Bratva into making a move. He had a plan. It seemed risky to Yuri but he decided to put it to the six men Leo had imported to pose as thugs. They were less seasoned and more likely to take chances than Yuri. He gathered them together and outlined what Modise wanted them to do and what he would do as preparation. All of the men grinned like boy scouts who'd been promised a chance to free-climb El Capitan. They did not seem to grasp, had no concept of the danger involved. That might work to their advantage. If they had any idea what might happen to them if they screwed up, they'd hesitate at the wrong moment and someone would die.

Greshenko went outside and lowered the blue, black, and white of the Botswana flag, inspected its grommets and, assured they would hold, raised it again. Modise happened to be sitting in an unmarked car down the road. He smiled, nodded, and drove away. His next stop was the Mowana Lodge.

***

That afternoon two men attired in black suits, white shirts, and black neckties arrived at the Mowana and had a lengthy conversation in the manager's office. Afterwards, one of the men took a position by the entry where he monitored the comings and goings of the lodge's guests. In the meantime, another man went to the unit occupied by Oleg Lenka and his woman and knocked on the door. A man, not Lenka, answered.

“Yes?”

“I would like to speak to Rra Lenka, please.”

“Not here. What's this about?”

“It is for Rra Lenka to hear.”

Irena Davidova appeared over the man's shoulder. “You can tell me and I will tell Mr. Lenka.”

“You are his
nyatse…
ah…his old lady?”

“Old lady? I am his partner, yes. Be careful who you call old.”

“Partner, ah. Very well, I must ask you to leave the Mowana Lodge. I am assured that the Marina Lodge down the road has a place suitable for you, but you may not stay here any longer.”

“What? Who says this?”

“I am the manager, Missus. It is my duty to tell you this.”

“And if we refuse?”

“That is not an option.”

Irena peered past the hotel manager's shoulder. At the far end of the hallway she could just make out a man in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. He smiled, raised his hand, and waved goodbye. She slammed the door in the manager's face.

Cszepanski called Lenka with the news of the lodge's decision to terminate their stay. Lenka rushed back to the hotel and had Irena repeat what the manager said. He called the manager's office and heard the same thing. He was to vacate by noon the following day. So sorry but…Lenka called his two best men and instructed them to scour the hotel and take care of the man or men in black suits. No one would push him out. How dare they muscle in to what he'd considered his territory? Irena said she had told him to move and that if he didn't, Greshenko would take over the protection business, and now he had. Lenka told her to shut the hell up. Cszepanski left. Things were either unraveling or the war had begun and in either case, he wanted to be better positioned.

Lenka's men arrived and scoured the premises. The only unattached European men they found were lounging at the bar sharing a pitcher of Manhattans. They were wearing Hawaiian shirts, not black suits. Their trousers were black, though. They asked if one of Lenka's people was their guide. They said they had hired a private guide for a safari. The men left them in the bar without answering their question. Had they turned, they might have seen the smirk on the face of the larger one.

Lenka ordered his people to take up a post at the entrance and watch everyone going in and out. They were to stay there until eleven o'clock and then return at eight the following morning. If Greshenko's man or men, for that is who he assumed they must be, appeared, they were to take care of them.

“Now what?” Lenka asked Irena. “What happened to Cszepanski?”

“He left to organize your men against the possibility you will have a shootout on your hands. Oleg, you hesitated and now this. They have, how you say…the high ground?”

“It was only a trial, a test. They are gone. They are not really here, you see? You heard. Those men left the premises. Greshenko is playing games. He is pushing to see what we will do. Well, I know how to play games, too. He will be sorry.”

Irena rolled her eyes and left the room. She also had some planning of her own to do.

***

Lenka's men posted at the entrance to the lodge spent the remainder of the day watching guests coming and going. A few smiled at them and said
Dumela.
They nodded in return. But for most of the day they stood shifting their weight from one foot to another. Boredom overtook them, as did the heat. Speculation about the sexual proclivities of the boss' woman took the edge off the first problem. Chilled beer eased the second.