Jackal's Dance (52 page)

On learning that Medi Rescue were on their way, Dr Adams recommended bed rest until the plane arrived. ‘Physically, Megan, you should be as right as rain in a few weeks.' He scribbled a name on a piece of paper.' When you get home, give this woman a ring. She's a friend of mine who specialises in trauma counselling. Your dad knows her.
She's one of the best. It will help to . . . what do you young people say . . . to get your head around it all? Marvellous expression. Anyway, call her. I'll leave this here.' He placed his referral on the bedside table, noting that Megan showed no interest in it. Dr Adams was no psychiatrist but he was willing to bet that once she was home, Megan would very definitely need professional help.

Buster sat on a chair next to the bed. ‘The police want to talk to you as soon as they get here. Are you up to that?'

The doctor rummaged in his bag and handed her two tablets. ‘Valium, they'll help you relax. I'll stay while you're being interviewed. Don't be afraid to stop at any time. It won't be easy. You're going to have to relive the whole thing over again. It's likely to be very upsetting. I won't allow them to push you, my girl. If I see you're becoming distressed I'll get Buster to boot them out. For the time being, my word is law. Here. Take the
muthi.
' He handed out a glass of water.

Megan swallowed both pills.

‘Good girl. Try to sleep for a bit. I'll be back when the police arrive.'

The events of the morning had cleared Buster's mind of his hangover. Sitting quietly beside Megan, it made its presence felt once more. When he woke up suffering that morning who would have thought he'd have cause to be grateful. But that was how Buster felt now. If he hadn't come back for the party he might well have gone to the lodge for a few drinks. That being the case, he'd
probably have done the usual and spent the night. The chilling fact that he could well be among the dead made his headache feel like an old friend.

Buster looked across at Megan. Pale, eyes closed, face composed. But what was happening inside? How would she deal emotionally with the ordeal she'd been through? He felt nothing but admiration for the determined and plucky girl. His gaze drifted to the rise and fall of her breasts. Nothing, not the shirt, nor the bedcovers could disguise their shape and size. They were magnificent. Guiltily, he looked back at her face. She'd opened her eyes and was watching him. Buster flushed.

‘Thank you for being where you were,' Megan said softly. ‘I'd almost given up hope.'

‘I nearly wasn't. Bit of a bender last night. Got a terrible hangover. Nearly stayed in bed,' Buster gabbled to cover his embarrassment.

Megan smiled, eyes closing again. Within minutes, her breathing slowed. She was asleep.

To prevent any further temptation to lech over a girl who had gone through so much, Buster tiptoed from the room and pulled up a chair outside the door.

A
psychiatrist, Major Paul Brand, attached to the Namibian Defence Force base in Angola, was first to arrive at Okaukuejo. He'd flown in by military helicopter. His brief was to gather intelligence about the assumed UNITA terrorists so that a psychological profile could be put together.

The army needed to know exactly who and what they were dealing with. If it came down to a fire fight, would the insurgents try to cut and run or choose to stand and fight? More importantly, would they try to hang onto their hostages, desert them or leave no survivors?

Should the information collected by Major Brand indicate that contact with an opposing force might result in the hostages being disposed of, the army's position was cut and dried – hit the shit out of the terrorists and worry about civilians later. If, on the other hand, it was thought that they would try to complete the mission and take their captives into Angola, then stealth and subtlety might save lives. Either way, it was acknowledged by all that they had little chance of success without injury, or the death of at least some hostages.

Megan, still subdued by Valium and with Dr Adams by her side, gave lacklustre answers to the major's questioning.

‘How many men were there, Miss Ward?'

‘Twelve.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘I think so. Yes, twelve.'

‘Who was in the camp site?'

‘The professor, two boys and four . . . no, three girls.'

‘And three armed men captured you?'

‘That's right.'

‘Please tell me how they went about it.'

Megan described how she was pulled from her tent, gagged, wrists taped, before being taken to stand with the others.

‘Did any of you put up a fight?'

‘I don't think so. It all happened so fast. We were asleep.'

‘Were any of you harmed?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘They made us dress. They . . . touched me.'

Major Brand nodded sympathetically. ‘I know this is difficult, Miss Ward, but if you could tell me exactly what they did it would be helpful.'

Megan swallowed. ‘One of them kept feeling my breasts. Then he pressed himself up against me.'

The major opened his mouth to ask the next question.

Megan anticipated it. ‘Yes, he had an erection.'

‘He didn't . . .'

‘No. I got the impression that timing was important. They had a kind of urgency about them.'

‘Righto. Let's move on. Did the three who captured you steal anything?'

‘Oh yes. Watches, money, jewellery, that sort of thing.'

‘In other words, anything of value that could easily be carried?'

‘Yes.'

‘Tell me about the whole group, Miss Ward. Were they in uniform?'

‘Kind of.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Some had camouflage shirts and trousers. A couple were in green but without badges or anything like that. About half wore shorts and T-shirts. One of them had boots, the rest only takkies.'

‘That's very helpful. Were the men clean and tidy?'

Megan shuddered. ‘Not at all. They were filthy and stank.'

The major glanced at his notes. ‘When you were taken to the lodge and assembled with everyone else, how did the soldiers behave?'

‘I don't understand what you mean.'

‘Did they seem excited?'

‘No.'

‘Were they disciplined?'

‘Yes. One man gave orders. The rest did as they were told.'

‘So there was a clear leader?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you happen to hear any of their names?' The major leaned forward in anticipation. If they could identify the man in charge there might be a file on him. That would short-circuit the profile process considerably.

Megan wrinkled her brow, trying to remember. ‘Sorry, no.'

Major Brand sat back, his face not revealing disappointment. ‘Did any of them speak English?'

‘No. It was an African language no-one else understood. Their leader used one of the rangers as an interpreter. I'm not sure but I think they spoke in Portuguese.'

‘Can you describe the leader for me?'

‘Short. Thin. Very black. His face was pockmarked, like acne. And he had a scar down the middle of his nose, as if it had been split at some stage.'

Brand made a note. Ace Ntesa? He circled it several times. ‘What sort of age was he?'

‘Hard to say. Mid-thirties maybe.'

‘Any other marks, or anything else you can think of?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Okay. Let's talk about their weapons. What sort were they carrying?'

‘Machine guns.'

‘Ammunition?'

‘Lots. Like in
Rambo
.'

‘Side arms?'

Megan looked blank, then her face cleared. ‘Oh,
you mean pistols. Yes. They all had them, and knives.'

‘Did you notice any hand grenades?'

‘No.'

‘How about larger weapons? Like a rocket launcher. Did you see anything like that?'

‘What would that look like?'

Brand drew a sketch and showed her.

Megan shook her head.

‘Miss Ward, let's talk about how many were taken as hostages.'

She shrugged. ‘All the group I was with except for the professor and me. That's five.'

‘Five? I make it four. Two boys and two girls.'

‘There was another girl. A Zulu. She had dinner at the lodge with the African ranger.'

‘And stayed the night?' the major prodded.

‘I guess she must have.'

‘How about people from the lodge? I'm talking about all the staff. How many of them are being held?'

‘All the rangers – four, I think. And the manager and his wife.'

‘No-one else?'

‘None of the African staff. They were all . . .'

‘That's all right, Miss Ward, we know about that. What about guests?'

She yawned and shook her head. ‘Some. I don't know how many.'

Major Brand was well aware of UNITA and their methods. The selection process must have been a terrible ordeal for those who guessed what
was going on. ‘How are you doing?' he asked gently.

‘Okay.'

‘Only a couple more questions, then I'll leave you in peace. Did they try to find out which of you came from wealthy backgrounds?'

Megan nodded.

‘We needn't go into that. Were there any obvious signs of violence?'

‘A ranger had blood coming from his head and one of the guests was unconscious. Later, when I got back to the lodge, I found one dead man in a bungalow. He had a pillow over his face.'

She was holding up, but only just. The major offered a glass of water and gave Megan a chance to compose herself. When he felt she was ready as she could be to go on, he said gently, ‘You do understand, Miss Ward, that I must ask about what happened next.'

Megan took a shuddering breath. ‘Yes,' she whispered.

‘You were taken out onto the pan. How far?'

‘I don't know. Three or four kilometres.'

‘How were the soldiers behaving?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Were they in a hurry?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Did they prod anyone to go faster?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Was there any shouting?'

‘No.'

‘Were they talking between themselves?'

‘I don't know.'

The major left it. She'd obviously blocked the memory. Forcing her to bring it back would achieve nothing. As a psychiatrist, he understood that the walk would have been the cruelest, most terrifying thirty minutes imaginable. It told him more about the terrorists than anything else she'd said.

‘Who decided when it was time to stop?'

‘The leader.'

‘What happened then?'

Megan bit her lip. ‘They stood in front of us and . . . I don't remember.'

‘Okay, Miss Ward, you're doing very well.'

‘Megan. Call me Megan.' It was a demand. She was growing angry.

The major cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, Megan. I've been in the army too long. We refer to people by number and rank there.' He smiled. ‘Sometimes we forget there are real people with real names in the world. Tell me, Megan, why do you think you survived?'

She didn't respond to his attempt at lightening the atmosphere between them. ‘The professor made me get behind him.'

Major Brand nodded. ‘Last question. Do you remember anything after that?'

‘The soldiers. They were smiling.' Megan burst into tears.

Dr Adams stepped in. ‘I think that's enough.'

Major Brand stood. ‘It's more than enough.' He patted Megan gently on her good arm. ‘Thank you, Megan. You've been extremely helpful.'

She sniffed, and through her sobs put the one question she'd been wanting to ask from the beginning. ‘Are you going to save the others?'

‘We're doing everything possible.' Major Brand's response was the best he could do. Megan, if she noticed the evasive nature of it, made no further comment.

The major took his leave. Megan's mental condition was undoubtedly shaky and she would have some difficult times ahead. Nevertheless, with the right help, he was confident she'd make it through them. Her anger was a good sign. As for her parting question, the army psychiatrist was less hopeful. There was little doubt that it had indeed been a UNITA raid. Even before the helicopter was airborne, he had formulated a pretty good mental profile of the soldiers.

Ace Ntesa. Megan's description was spot-on. Ntesa, it was known, was indeed short – he'd be doing well to top one hundred and sixty centimetres. Thin summed up eighty per cent of Angola's population – hunger and AIDS saw to that. Very black – a lot of so-called Angolan Africans were of mixed blood, Cuban and Portuguese mainly. Ntesa was pure African. His face was pitted with acne scars. And a friend of Major Brand was personally responsible for the badly cut nose, the result of a hand-to-hand skirmish where the major's friend had been lucky to escape with his life. Everything pointed to Ace Ntesa.

He'd be just the sort of man Jonas Savimbi would select for this kind of thing. The girl's
answers had given the major a clear picture of all the terrorists. If Ntesa was their leader, God help the poor bastards he'd captured. The man had no mercy in him. If he ran into trouble, Ntesa wouldn't hesitate. Paul Brand didn't like the hostages' chances one little bit. He knew now that all of them were in as much danger of being caught in crossfire as they were of being executed by their captors. Ace Ntesa had been on the army's hit list for years. The prospect of getting him at last meant that all stops would be pulled out to intercept the terrorists before they reached Angola.

The two Beechcraft King Airs belonging to Medi Rescue International landed at Okaukuejo airstrip within five minutes of each other. Vehicles were sent out to pick up the medical teams and bring them back to the rest camp. Dr Adams then briefed them on Megan's condition. ‘She's in no immediate danger and the police want to talk to her when they arrive. Would you care to see her first?'