Poacher (18 page)

‘Linda, keep your nose out of this,’ he
warned with an icy fury in his voice. ‘There is no way you can
prove anything, so just forget about it before this thing escalates
into something neither of us wants.’

‘This had better be a bad dream, Courie,’ she
hissed back at him. ‘Because I’m going to start digging, and God
help you if I find anything.’ She walked into her office and
slammed the door violently.

Courie shrugged again. ‘Then so be it,’ he
whispered and walked out.

Chapter Eight

The kingdom of Swazliand is one of the
neighbouring states where a considerable number of South Africans
go to play. Since the days of King Sobuza, Swaziland had always
been committed to peaceful co-existence, but that fact that it also
borders on the troubled Mozambique makes it, like Botswana, a sort
of neutral territory where not only black and white, but communist
and capitalist mix freely.

Approximately halfway between Mbabane and
Manzini, in the Valley of the Kings, is one of the stronger pillars
of the Swazi economy. The Royal Swazi Spa is surrounded by lesser
hotels, guest farms and shopping centres. For a price, anything
could be had in this valley. For the more daring of the visitors
from South Africa, this is paradise. The conservative South African
government, to a large extent knuckled under by the very strong
Calvinistic churches, outlawed gambling, pornography and other
‘sins’ in general. Horse racing, for some or other obscure reason,
was allowed, but real gambling was only to be found in the
neighbouring states. This, of course, was an indirect way of
pumping millions into their economies. A voluntary contribution by
the South African taxpayer, as it were.

In this mecca Joao was enjoying himself
immensely, while awaiting the arrival of his contact. If you had
money to spend, then this was the place to do it in. There was no
comparison between this and the sleazy dives that he used to
frequent in Maputo.

And Joao had money. Lots of it. The
Mozambique National Resistance had been very generous towards him.
He had donated his arms cache to them, and they had donated R10,000
to him. In his previous environment this would have lasted him more
than a lifetime, but at the rate he was going he would be lucky if
he had anything left by the end of the weekend. The rate at which
the roulette tables and high class women could skin a man never
ceased to amaze him. But he kept going back for more. He was very
popular with the ladies, most of their customers being aging
businessmen down from Johannesburg, there for a quick inept fumble,
which usually varied from drunken impotence to premature
ejaculation. This gigantic man was a machine that even succeeded in
making the most inured call girl enjoy her work.

Roulette was the game he enjoyed most, as
there was no thinking involved. You could play, and still pay
attention to your drink and your companion, which was something
akin to both having your cake and eating it. After a particularly
good win, he pressed his head back into the magnificent breasts of
the lithe-bodied creature standing behind his chair, and laughed
uproariously. When he saw Courie standing directly behind the
players opposite him, he was jarred back to reality instantly.
Courie did not acknowledge him, so he did likewise. Joao got up and
grinned at his companion, squeezing her voluptuous body lightly.
‘Come on, beautiful, you try your luck for a while. I’ll catch you
later.’

Courie bumped into him on his way to the
toilet, and instructed him to go to Room 212.

The door was slightly ajar, and he walked in
without knocking, to find Duncan Courie sitting at a small table, a
bottle of J&B, two glasses and a bucket of ice in front of him.
The small man jovially waved him to the opposite chair. ‘Hello,
Joao. You are looking extremely well. Enjoying yourself?’

‘Very much so, Mr Courie. But the good life
is in the long run going to make a man soft again. I sincerely hope
you are here with some good news.’

‘Good news?’

‘News about some action. I am getting a bit
tired of just sitting on my bum all day. I would like to try my
hand at the thing I do best.’

Courie smiled and poured them each a stiff
drink. ‘You are going to get all the action you need, man. I’ve got
a very nice assignment lined up for you.’

They were interrupted by two taps on the
door, followed by three more.

‘Just a second,’ Courie got up and went out.
When he returned, he was carrying Joao’s suitcase, which he put on
the bed.

‘Hey, what is all this about?’

‘Security, Joao. After you have received your
instructions you are operational. Straight back to Mozambique
without talking to anyone. Your bill has already been settled, and
you have booked out.’

Before Joao could object, Courie held up his
hand. ‘There was no more than five hundred rand on the table when
you left, which you most probably would have lost anyway. Your
hotel bill was considerably more than that, so don’t feel bad about
it.’

‘I don’t have a problem with that. Sounds as
if there is some action forthcoming.’

‘Very important action. And it must be done
absolutely according to instructions. It is a tricky one, but if
you do it right there is another thirty thousand in it for you.
Unfortunately, we have to postpone the rhino/Jenkins hit for a
while, but neither of them will go away. In fact, I think this is
going to give you more satisfaction than just killing Jenkins
outright.’

He kept Joao in suspense while pouring
another drink. ‘We have a traitor in my organisation, who must be
taken out in a way that will serve as an example to others. At the
same time the authorities must be led to believe that it was a
one-off act or terror, so timing is important. There must not be
the slightest suspicion that it is anything but a random act.’

‘At the safe house in Maputo three other well
trained men will join you. You will be the team leader, and they
will follow your instructions without question. On Monday evening a
truck will be delivered to you, at the safe house, on which you
will find three crates. The contents off all three are identical. I
want you to drive the truck to the border right opposite Nwanetzi
on Tuesday. Early on Wednesday, cross the wire with two of the
crates. Exactly 450 metres from the tourist road, on the Sweni fire
break, there is an exceptionally big sycamore fig tree, around the
base of which there are some dense shrubs. The contents of the two
crates must be hidden here before Wednesday afternoon. The crates
themselves must be returned to the truck. From the third crate you
must remove a launcher and four rockets, as well as three land
mines and eight anti-personnel mines. Leave the rest, and don’t
worry about the truck. It will be removed later. Just stay with it
till Friday. Early on Friday morning, enter the Park again, hide
your explosives next to the tourist road where it can be picked up
with safety, and go to the Nwanetzi lookout point. If you pick your
positions right, it should be a short walk. Have you got everything
right so far?’

‘The contents of the first two crates, Mr
Courie – what’s that in aid of?’

‘Joao, there is something you will have to
understand very clearly from the start if we want our relationship
to work out. My organisation is involved in much more than just
trading in game products. If there’s money in it, we do it. But if
I don’t volunteer information, don’t bother to ask. I will see to
it that you know all you need to know as far as your particular
assignment is concerned. But that is all you need to know. Got
it?’

‘I get the message, Mr Courie. Sorry about
that. It sounds like quite an operation.’

‘It is, and make no mistake about it, I have
a lot riding on you. Make this one work, and you are assured of a
very cosy future in my organisation. I can always use trustworthy
men who’ve got both guts and brains.’

‘It will work, Mr Courie, don’t worry. I know
what I’m doing.’

‘Good. Be at the lookout point at eleven, and
mingle with the tourists. And for God’s sake don’t let anybody see
you emerging from the bush on foot. But you know your stuff, so I
won’t go into that. There will be a dark green BMW 728i with the
keys in the ignition. Take it, and pick up your stuff. Now, your
target is the occupant of this car. You needn’t know what she looks
like, she will be the only occupant.’ He passed Joao a photograph
of a white Porsche 911 Targa.

‘A woman who is in a position to crack my
whole organisation wide open at any moment. I will make sure that
she doesn’t leave Nelspruit before ten, which should put her in the
Park at about noon. She has been following the same pattern for the
past couple of weeks, so she will most probably enter at the Orpen
Gate again, drive straight to Satara, where she stops for no longer
than ten minutes, and then follows the tarred road to
Nwanetzi.’

‘Ah, a friend of our mutual friend?’

‘More than just a friend.’

‘Beauty-fucking-full!’ Joao laughed out loud,
and poured another round of drinks. ‘I’ve been waiting for this for
a long time. Let him also suffer before I kill him.’

‘I thought you were going to like this. Leave
him for the time being – getting her is top priority. To get back:
having picked up the ordnance, get to Satara quickly, and from
there drive very slowly towards Orpen. When she passes you, turn
around and follow at a safe distance. Keep well back, because she
has got a suspicious mind. Near Satara you must have her in sight,
to make sure she stops. Get out ahead of her and blow her up on the
Nwanetzi road. You work out the detail. Then head south along the
border towards Komatipoort. Along the road there are quite a few
places where tourists can pull off the tar to viewing points etc.
Mine a couple of these spots on your way. The area is mostly sandy,
so it should not be necessary to waste time digging holes for the
mines. This is bound to convince the authorities that is was the
work of terrorists, and a random killing’

‘Some then kilometres before Crocodile
Bridge, there is a fire break that will take you to the fence.
Abandon the car there, and you will be picked up on the Mozambican
side. The car, by the way, is no loss. It was stolen in
Johannesburg two months ago.’

`’Nice, I like it. But surely the South
African government won’t take that lying down, With a clear finger
print pointing to Mozambique there are sure to be reprisals.’

‘Tough titty, as they say. Things are so
bloody confused in both Mozambique and South Africa at the moment,
nobody knows who is doing what. The Frelimo government will most
probably accuse the MNR of trying to wreck relations with the South
Africans, the South Africans will blame the ANC, and the
politicians will have a field day. We’ll be smiling while everybody
tries to get some political mileage out of the incident.’

They went over it again, filling in more
detail as they went along.

Chapter Nine

Sam was on his way back from Nelspruit,
having once more spent a weekend with Linda. During the past weeks
it had become routine that they took turns visiting each other over
weekends. During the initial agonising days of trying to win
Estelle back, he had decided to end his relationship with Linda.
But the continuous lack of any response at all from Estelle had
driven him back to Linda. He still refused to accept that he had
lost Estelle permanently, and although his letters went unanswered,
he kept mailing them at the rate of one a day. However, he
passionately needed someone to help him recover emotionally, and
Linda gladly filled the gap, smothering him with solace and
sympathy. She realised that she had underestimated the depth of his
feeling towards Estelle, but was convinced that, in due course, she
would slowly take Estelle’s place as time healed his pain. She was
very careful not to apply any pressure at this stage, and actually
made a positive effort to keep things light and pleasant for the
time being. They enjoyed each other both mentally and physically,
and she knew without doubt that all the necessary ingredients were
there, it was just a matter of getting Estelle out of his
system.

But Estelle was very much present in Sam’s
mind as he cruised through the Park in the darkness. In two weeks’
time when the culling team moved out of his territory, he would
take a week off and go to Pretoria. If getting her back meant
dragging her in front of a magistrate and marrying her on the spot,
then so be it.

A small herd of elephant crossed the road in
front of him, and he stopped a short distance away, in order to
avoid the possibility of finding himself between a cow and her
calf. ‘Please walk far tonight,’ he whispered, looking at the herd
with sadness. The culling of breeding herds was the only part of
his job that he positively hated. He knew that it was the classic
example of having to be cruel to be kind, but it never ceased to
sadden him to the point of morbidity every time he had to kill
elephants, especially cows with calves. The capture of the calves
was even worse. All the elephants were darted from the helicopter,
the adults with an overdose of scoline, and the calves with M99, a
powerful anaesthetic. Once they were all down, the ground crew
moved in and the adults were given the coup de grace, while the
calves were measured. Only calves up to 180 cm could be handled, so
if it was a centimetre too tall, it had to be killed.

Everybody in the culling teams hated every
moment of it, but with the threat of man, the only natural enemy
worth mentioning, removed from the environment, the population
increase could not be allowed to proceed unchecked. A single
elephant could, during a day’s feeding, destroy vegetation that
took a hundred years to establish, and the ecological balance would
be irrevocably upset if more than a certain percentage of trees
were ravaged. Certain rare and slow-growing trees, like the kiaat
and baobab, were especially susceptible to disturbances of this
delicate balance.