Jackal's Dance (51 page)

‘They'll have to feed us soon,' Dan responded. ‘Otherwise we'll lose strength. They can't afford to let that happen.'

‘Do you think they have the wit to figure that out for themselves?' Felicity gritted.

‘Probably not.' Dan steadied Gayle who had stumbled. ‘I don't think they're human.'

Gayle tripped again. ‘Shit!' she swore loudly.

Ace glanced over and Gayle fixed icy-blue eyes on him. ‘What the fuck are you staring at?'

‘Sshh, Gayle.'

‘Why?' She rounded on Dan. ‘Why should I? Who does that ape think he is?' Her voice was rising.

Felicity saw Gayle was close to breaking and quickly put her arm around her. ‘Here, lean on me a little.'

It worked. Gayle snapped her mouth shut and Dan breathed more easily. He suspected that Gayle was probably the most valuable of the hostages and therefore such outbursts would be tolerated, but something told him it would come at a price. In order to control Gayle, Ace would not hesitate to punish one of the others.

Gayle's efforts to walk in a way that caused the least discomfort to her heels was putting extra strain on her sore knee. She welcomed Felicity's support. The anger that had flared was pointless, she knew. Nothing more than a reaction to frustration, pain and fear, and perhaps whatever was left of her ego. But why give in to it? Why give these animals the satisfaction? And, if she were going to be
completely honest with herself, compared to some of them, Gayle didn't have a lot to complain about. Matt? All thoughts of Matt were on hold. Gayle knew she needed every ounce of determination just to keep moving. Emotional anguish would have to wait. When the time was right, she'd grieve for Matt in her own way. He would understand.

Walking next to her, Dan marvelled at the sheer gutsiness of these two very diverse but talented women. Felicity's ability to cope wasn't such a surprise to him. In the few days he'd known her, the poet had demonstrated a level head and no-nonsense approach to life. But Gayle's courage was different. She was changing. The spoilt brat showiness was disappearing and her adaptability under extreme conditions totally bowled him over. Dan was developing a great deal of respect for the English actress.

Josie and Fletch walked together. They hadn't spoken much. Fletch didn't know what to say. He wondered how she must be feeling after her narrow escape the previous night. He hardly knew the girl before this trip, but on the few occasions they'd spoken, found her standoffish and defensive. When she was dragged towards the fire, the look on her face had been more than terror. Embarrassment and shame were there as well. They had not gone after she had been rejected. Josie made no reference to her lucky escape and Fletch, not knowing how she would react, said nothing about it either.

If he'd but known just how much Josie ached to speak of it. The experience had left her severely shaken yet one all-consuming thought kept
recurring. Her period had saved her. The thing she detested most in life was what she now owed for her safety and sanity. Walking alongside Fletch, Josie found herself thinking about fate, her life and where it was heading. She would dearly have loved to talk. Turn to Fletch and say, ‘I'm gay. I was nearly raped last night. I'm having second thoughts about my future. I'm also fucking confused. Understandable under the circumstances. And while I have no desire to burden you with my problems, I feel a download coming on. Can we discuss it?' She wondered what his reaction might be. Josie knew she'd never say those things. Instead, she muttered, ‘I'll go see if Caitlin wants a break from helping Walter.'

A few minutes later the ranger dropped back to walk with Fletch.

‘How's Jutta?' Fletch asked.

‘Hasn't said a word. In shock I think, poor wee thing. She seems to be coping physically, she's moving okay. God knows what's going on in her head, though.'

‘And Walter?'

Caitlin's tongue clicked in sympathy. ‘He's on automatic pilot. Totally focused on helping his daughter, it's the only thing he's prepared to deal with at the moment. The man's suffering as much, if not more than Jutta.'

Fletch fell silent for a moment. ‘That was nearly you last night.'

‘I know.' It came out as a whisper. Caitlin wasn't fooling herself. It would be her turn next.

Fletch read the thought. ‘I hope we can pull off
the plan tonight,' he said, with more than a touch of desperation.

‘Not half as much as I do.'

He glanced across at her. ‘I really did want to come back the other night.'

It seemed a lifetime ago. ‘What stopped you?'

‘Thought I was fooling myself.'

‘You weren't.'

Her eyes met his. Open attraction for each other was permitted to show. Neither spoke, but the two drew a little closer as they walked.

Ace finally called a halt shortly after midday. It was strength-sapping hot with no breeze whatsoever. Gayle sank gratefully down to remove her shoes and socks. ‘Jesus!' Dan saw the red raw flesh behind both heels. ‘They must hurt like hell.'

‘I've had better days,' Gayle admitted. She pulled up one leg of her slacks. The knee was slightly swollen.

‘That needs support.' Without hesitation he ripped a sleeve off his shirt and bound it around her knee.

‘Thanks.' Gayle flexed the leg tentatively. ‘That's much better.'

Once again, Dan was struck by the absence of theatrics. ‘You know what?'

She looked up, a small frown between her eyes.

‘You're okay.'

Gayle brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. ‘A real trooper,' she agreed. ‘You know what they say. The show must go on.'

It crossed Dan's mind that, assuming they survived, it would be a great shame if Gayle went back to being the classic spoilt bitch.

Felicity noticed Ace staring reflectively past her. She turned to see what had caught his attention. Thea was leaning tiredly against Sean. Finding Philip's eyes, Felicity inclined her head slowly towards the terrorist leader and saw understanding flare. Philip pretended to have a word with Sean and Thea sat up, brushed sand from her hands, and appeared to take part in the conversation. Ace turned his attention to food and Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. Whether the terrorist's interest in Thea was carnal or if he was evaluating the girl's strength was not known. Whichever it was, Felicity felt that, for a brief moment, Thea's safety had been in jeopardy.

Fletch and Troy were discussing ways and means of getting the Rompun into the bottles of alcohol.

‘Last night when we stopped all of them got busy with fires and food before they started drinking. Please God they do the same tonight. That's probably going to be my only chance.'

‘Do you think they'll taste it?'

‘I don't know. Mixing it with vodka is no good. Anything different would be picked up immediately. We can only hope the stronger taste of brandy or rum will disguise it.'

‘Troy, what if it kills them?'

‘I can live with that. This lot are so-called soldiers in a war they declared themselves. Soldiers die, it's part of what they do.'

Fletch nodded agreement. ‘Okay. Tonight, when we stop someone will have to create a diversion. I'll see what can be done.'

Ace decided that the hostages should be fed. All were weary, the strong already helping those with problems. Assessing each as they walked, Ace had picked out only two who might give trouble. The big African who spoke Portuguese, and the older ranger. Both men had hard eyes. The rest were too concerned with assisting others. Food would revive them to some extent but not sufficiently to try a mass escape. He gave the order. A tin of ham and two of fruit were to be shared between them all. The terrorists did somewhat better.

Ace had scant understanding of European ways. He was right in one respect, that both Dan and Chester were hard men, but it didn't mean some of the others could be discounted. What he didn't see was that Sean would commit murder to keep Thea safe. Troy would do likewise for Angela. Fletch, because of his tennis, was extremely fit, and he had Caitlin's safety on his mind. Philip, although older, showed no slack in the physique department. Protection of Felicity would galvanise him into action. Six determined and physically strong men who would not give up, who would try anything to escape, put their lives on the line if needs be. These six, because of the situation forced on them, had reached a level of courage and sheer determination not many ever have need to call upon.

Because it was his way, the thought never occurred to Ace to bury or carry their rubbish.
Tins were left where they lay. By the time food was eaten, three lids had disappeared into pockets. The more cutting edges at their disposal tonight, the better.

Chester tried again to talk to Kalila. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Do you really need to ask?'

‘Please, I want to help you.'

She looked at him with lacklustre eyes.

He could see she had lost the ability to hope. ‘We have to try and escape.'

Kalila shrugged. ‘They'll kill us.' Her tone said she couldn't care less if they did.

Chester felt emotionally drained. One night was all it had taken to turn this beautiful and bright girl into a near zombie. Would she ever recover? What could he offer her? Understanding? Comfort? He had to try. ‘Kalila, just let me hold you.'

She shook her head and turned away. James put a protective arm around her shoulder. ‘Leave her.'

Chester could see that Kalila was finding comfort in the American's company. Shared shame had produced in both of them a need to be together. He left it, knowing that he may never be able to penetrate her hard shell of humiliation.

‘Talk to papa, my darling.' Walter was desperate to overcome Jutta's ongoing refusal to talk. She allowed him to put food in her mouth, chewing and swallowing with no appreciation, sitting in silence, head hanging. His eyes met with Josie's. ‘What do I do?' he asked in tormented anguish.

Josie had no answer. She'd come so close to
being raped herself and would never forget the rush of hysteria and shame as they dragged her towards the fire. How much worse would it have been for Jutta? Not that sexual maturity had helped Kalila much. Her screams were every bit as real as the young German girl's. And the American? He'd screamed as well. Jutta was dealing with more than the terror and pain of rape – her childhood had been brutally terminated.

Walter was still watching her. Josie shrugged helplessly. ‘Be there for her until you can get professional help.' She picked up one of Jutta's hands and stroked it gently, fully aware that most humans were not equipped to deal with brutal acts of savagery. Her fingers curled around the German girl's, trying to coax a reaction. Jutta's cold hand remained limp and unresponsive.

Walter saw the Jewish girl's small gesture of comfort for his daughter. The holocaust was before his time but the German had inherited the shame of it from his own father's actions during those terrible years. Josie's tenderness touched him more deeply than anything he'd ever known. She was probably unaware of it but, symbolically, her actions were, to Walter, intensely poignant. It brought such a rush of emotion that he was compelled to apologise. ‘I'm sorry,' he whispered.

Josie looked up at him for a long time before understanding flickered across her eyes. ‘I forgive you,' she whispered back.

The moment passed. Josie had the feeling that something of monumental importance had just
happened. Although well aware of Germany's treatment of Jews during the Second World War, she had never felt all that connected. It was back in history, something lumped together with other acts of persecution. Walter's apology, and her acceptance of it, made the past personal. It brought her faith into perspective, a religion she had always taken for granted. The moment gave her courage and hope. Josie bent her head and prayed.

For Walter's part, he had always suppressed a dark and lingering legacy of guilt. On the surface, he told himself that Germany's actions had nothing to do with him. Underneath, the shame of it burned. This young student sitting here in front of him, head bowed, had just given more than absolution. She was a flame, burning bright, blessing Walter and Jutta with kindness. In the midst of adversity, convictions, prejudice and accusation had been pushed aside. It took a very big heart to do that. Despite his despair, Walter's spirit had been given a lift and he knew that nothing would ever be quite the same again.

Megan had never received so much attention in her life. Encapsulated in security, safe within a bungalow at Okaukuejo, fussed over by Buster who, as the one who found her, was subject to some attention himself, the realisation of how big an ordeal she'd been through and how lucky she was to have survived began to filter through. Coincidentally, the doctor who was staying at the rest camp was from Durban and knew her father. Establishing
that one little fact brought a feeling of normalcy back into Megan's world. For her, the worst was over. Now she had to heal, physically and mentally. Dr Adams attended to her wounds. He cleaned, rearranged a few bits and stitched her arm, confirming that the white wriggly thing was indeed muscle, explaining that she'd probably need physiotherapy to get back full use of that limb. He checked for outward signs of concussion or other damage from the bullet wound. Megan's pupils were normal, speech clear and concise and she showed no indication of disorientation. A final diagnosis, laying his reputation squarely on the line since he had no access to any technology for confirmation, was that Megan had been extremely lucky. The head injury was strictly superficial, although she would sport an interesting scar guaranteed to perplex hairdressers for the rest of her life.

There were raised eyebrows when he found the morphine. ‘I'm glad you didn't try to use this,' he told her. ‘In amateur hands, it's lethal. You might as well finish the course of Tetracycline. It's a bit of an overkill, but a wise precaution. You've done very well under the circumstances.'