Poacher (5 page)

A dog that had survived to maturity was
therefore considered a valuable asset, and was well looked
after.

During his nine years in the Park, Sam had
lost eighteen dogs of which two had died of natural causes.

His most recent loss was still fresh in his
memory. Brutus, a cross between a Rottweiler and a Doberman, had
been accompanying him on a foot patrol along the Shikellengane
spruit when they came across a troop of baboons. The troop fled
across the shallow stream, jumping from rock to rock and screaming
all the way. Brutus was halfway across when Sam called him back,
knowing that the troop would turn on him the moment they were out
of sight.

Mercifully it had happened so quickly that
Brutus never knew what hit him. The three-metre crocodile exploded
out of the water like a cruise missile and swept him off the rock
in one great splash. With the great jaws closing on him with a
clearly audible crunch, Brutus was most probably dead before he was
wet.

Sam sighed and walked towards the house.
Louis was just coming out the back door. ‘Will you look at the
outfit! Casanova on the hunt?’

It struck Sam that he had clean forgotten
about the flashy clothes he was wearing. He grinned
self-consciously. ‘Try as I may, the inbred culture still floats to
the surface occasionally. Sorry if I’m embarrassing you.’

‘Sammy boy, how are things?’ It was clear
that Louis was not just thankful to be saved from his books, but
was also genuinely pleased at seeing his best friend. Although both
of them had university degrees in Nature Conservation, they were
studying for a diploma in game management. But it was tough
going.

‘In a state of disorder, my man. Get us a
Castle while I take a leak.’

‘Right. Come to the front stoep when you’re
through.’

When they were comfortably settled with a
pipe and a beer each, Louis said, ‘Want to tell me what’s the idea,
pitching up here on a Sunday dressed like a gigolo? I was under the
impression all that was behind you. What’s happened to the old
routine “I’m gonna settle down now and quit this buggering around
and get married and start a family and Hannah Hannah Hannah”?’

Louis was grinning, but when Sam lowered his
gaze dejectedly and said, ‘My friend, I’m in deep shit,’ the grin
changed to a frown.

‘What do you mean? Trouble with Estelle?’

‘No. But it could be heading that way.’

‘Pray tell.’

After Sam had spilled the whole story both
were quiet for a while.

‘You can’t do this to Estelle,’ Louis said,
‘you hurt that woman and I’ll never talk to you again. Get this
floozy out of your system while you still can.’

‘Problem is I can’t. And she is no
floozy.’

‘Bullshit, man. You are thinking with your
knackers. Use your head, you can’t seriously be considering
swapping Estelle for this woman. For any woman, for that
matter.’

‘I suppose you’re right, but hell . . .’

Silence descended once again.

‘Did you leave before radio session
yesterday?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘I won’t bother to ask you if you had time to
watch the news or read a paper. While you were buggering around
things have been happening around here. Joao killed a policeman,
set the poachers free, and jumped the wire with them.’

Sam looked at him with disbelief. ‘What have
you been smoking?’

‘I’m serious.’

‘Bullshit, man. Impossible.’

‘The guy in the hospital talked. The main
poacher, Rui dos Santos, is Joao’s kid brother. It’s been an inside
job all along. Joao knew the wounded guy was going to talk, so he
sprung his brother and headed for the border. Late on Friday
afternoon he had eighteen thousand rand transferred from a
Johannesburg bank and he cleaned out the account.’

Sam was totally thunderstruck. ‘I don’t
believe it – we were friends.’

‘Some friend.’

As full realisation penetrated, Sam’s
expression changed to that of cold fury. ‘The bastard!’

Had Sam known what was happening at that
instant sixty kilometres to the south east of them, he would have
come close to a catatonic seizure.

Sam had been driving back slowly through
patches of scattered thunder showers, his confused mind crowded
with thoughts of Joao, Linda and Estelle. It was well after 10 p.m.
when his lights illuminated the high gates of Nzwantezi, and he
snapped out of his reverie instantly when he saw Aaron waiting for
him.

At Aaron’s first words Sam felt as if his
bone-marrow temperature had dropped five degrees and there was
gooseflesh on his forearms.

‘There is big trouble, nkosi. The poachers
are back. They have killed two bulls near Gamula Pan, and on their
way back to the fence they came across Ndlofu, and killed him,
too.’

Sam rubbed his hand over his eyes as if
trying to erase a bad dream. ‘They killed Ndlofu?’

Aaron was standing a respectful distance
away, as if half expecting Sam to lash out at the bearer of bad
tidings. ‘Eheh, nkosi. But by then each of them was already
carrying a tusk. They could not carry Ndlofu’s tusks as well, so
they buried them.’

Sam froze, and the look in his eyes scared
even the hardened Aaron. ‘You found the tusks?’

‘They hid them well, nkosi, but I found
them.’

‘You are my brother, Aaron. They will be back
– tell the men we are leaving at four in the morning.’

A minute later Sam was on the radio, talking
to a sleepy Louis. When Louis switched off his radio, he knew it
was useless to try and go back to sleep, so he rounded up his two
best men and headed for Nwanetzi with his camping gear.

Chapter Three

Joao dos Santos was dead drunk. He had made a
killing with the ivory and was spending the night in Maputo. In the
days when it was still Lourenço Marques there used to be a lot more
life in this town.

Nevertheless, a man with enough money can buy
his own action. Although too inebriated to show his manhood to
better advantage, he was lying on his back thoroughly enjoying the
expert ministrations of the fifteen-year old hooker he had picked
up earlier in the afternoon at the Marco Polo Bar and Grill. He had
even treated her to a meal consisting of broiled fish and rice, the
proteins of which, judging by her enthusiastic performance, she was
burning off at an alarming rate.

The Chinese trader had been keen on the other
two tusks Joao had told him about but had also inquired about rhino
horn, for which he was willing to pay astronomic prices.

He had, in fact, sounded desperate for rhino
horn. Joao knew that this was considered the ultimate aphrodisiacs,
and idly wondered if he should maybe keep some for himself next
time. Not that he needed it, but maybe he could have taught this
little vixen something new tonight with a bit of rhino dust to prop
him up, as it were.

In the early hours of the morning he woke up
with a splitting headache and a magnificent hard-on. After having
satiated himself violently in his companion, he got dressed and
started the army truck. The truck was on loan to him, compliments
of Colonel Lysenski, a Cuban ‘advisor’ in charge of a camp near the
border.

Rui was waiting for him, sitting with his
head in his hands on the culvert in what used to be the Avenida
Republica. He groaned as he heaved himself into the passenger
seat.

‘Ho, little lion! Have the young maidens
drained your loins? You have to be a man to indulge in the sport of
men!’

‘Shut up, ‘Rui groaned. ‘I drank like a man,
I screwed like a man, and I got rolled like a bloody novice.’

‘What, four million metical gone!’ Joao
stomped on the brake. For four million metical you could not buy a
box of matches outside Mozambique, but it was worth about four
hundred rand, or 120 dollars on the local black market. In this
country, it was a small fortune. ‘Where do we find them?’

‘No, brother, if we went back there they
would kill us. Forget it and get us back to the camp.’

‘Like hell,’ Joao said, rummaging in his kit
bag. He pulled out a Tokarev pistol and jacked round into the
chamber. ‘Point me.’

Rui sighed. Knowing Joao, he regretted
mentioning the incident before they were well away but he knew it
was no use arguing.

‘Make a U-turn and take the first road to
your right.’

Three blocks up he pointed to a dilapidated
building on their left.

‘This is it.’

Joao took a good look at the premises without
diminishing speed. It was a typical rundown double-storey block
consisting of four bachelor flats.

He parked the truck around the corner and got
out. He was in civilian clothing, so he stuck the Tokarev in the
back of his worn denims.

‘Come on, let’s go teach these idiots not to
bugger around with Joao dos Santos’s baby brother.’ Rui sighed –
he’d heard this before.

Joao hitched up his pants and strode down the
sidewalk, Rui following at a discreet distance.

Before rounding the corner, he stopped and
turned around.

‘Which flat, and how may?’

‘Ground floor, left. There were two bog
blokes with knives. Joao, shit, it wasn’t all that much money.
Let’s get out of here.’

Joao clamped his jaws and rounded the corner.
When he entered the foyer the smell of urine and garbage assaulted
his nostrils. Shit, he thought, at least it could have been cabbage
or burnt cooking oil.

He drew his pistol and slammed his size 14
shoe into the door next to the lock. The dilapidated door gave at
the first try. It ricocheted from the back wall, one hinge tearing
out of the rotten wood. There was only the standard single room
with a bathroom and kitchenette. Under the opposite window was a
three-quarter bed, off which a naked couple was trying to bound as
quickly as possible. The man was halfway up when Joao hit him with
the pistol, shattering his nose. Joao quickly scanned the flat in
the half light, trying to see if there was anybody else. They
seemed to be alone, and as Joao focused on the man again, he was
amazed by the speed at which he had recovered. Bleeding profusely,
the big man was charging, wielding a deadly commando knife. Joao
shot him in the chest four times, the force bowling him over
backwards. On her way to the door the woman had collided with Rui,
and had ended up on her backside in the middle of the floor.

Joao grabbed her at the back of the neck and
lifted her clear off the ground.

‘My little one, never cross a dos Santos.
We’re bad news – tell your friends. Where is the money?’

Overcome by the sudden violence she screamed
hysterically. Joao applied more violence in the form of a closed
fist that shattered three of her front teeth and cut her lip badly.
She subsided to a whimper. He dumped her in a chair and pulled his
fist back once more.

‘Stop! In the bathroom!’

‘Show me.’ He jerked her out of the chair and
propelled her towards the bathroom. Gibbering, she stumbled to her
knees in front of the washbasin and proceeded to pull dirty
clothing from underneath it. Joao bowled her over with a backhand
and did it himself. Tucked underneath the drainpipe was
considerably more than four million metical. There was a thin
bundle of South African ten-rand notes as well.

‘Ah! Been looking after the miners as well,
slut.’

Many thousands of unemployed Mozambican
citizens found work in the gold mines on the Witwatersrand. The
Rands they brought into Mozambique were much sought after real
money, which could buy anything.

‘Bad luck, whore,’ Joao grunted, giving her a
parting kick as she lay whimpering on the faded linoleum.

Throughout the performance Rui had been
watching the front door but nothing stirred. In this neighbourhood
there are no telephones, and even if there were, nobody would have
considered calling the cops. Not that they would have responded
anyway. Mainly because there were no cops. Only army.

They drove off as if they had been buying
some pizzas, Rui eagerly counting the spoils.

‘Seven million metical, three hundred and
twenty rand, and some shit papers,’ Rui said, cranking down his
window to dispose of the papers.

‘Let me see that.’ Joao reduced speed to a
crawl and unfolded the sheets of notepaper on the steering wheel,
driving the truck with one hand.

‘Little brother, we have hit the jackpot!
This guy was with the resistance, and somebody has given him the
location of an arms cache!’

Joao studied the documents carefully,
grunting with satisfaction occasionally.

It was just after five on Sunday morning, and
nothing stirred as he executed another U-turn and headed towards
that used to be Villa Salazar, some ten kilometres to the west.
Driving with one hand again, he filled the clip of his pistol once
more. Slamming home the magazine he cast a sideways grin at Rui.
‘You sure pick them, my man. We’re going to pick us up some very
valuable merchandise.’ Arms represent power, and thus fetched
excellent prices on the black market. With all the wars and the
violence on the continent of Africa, instruments of death were in
great demand everywhere.

The stuff was buried under a giant kiaat
tree, two hundred yards up a disused dirt track on the outskirts of
Villa Salazar. Joao knew there would be nobody actually guarding
the cache, in case of discovery by Frelimo, but someone was sure to
be close by. He drove some distance past the turn-off and
stopped.

Instead of taking the road, they cut through
the veld on foot, equipped with the small collapsible army-issue
spades that were part of the truck’s equipment.

They knelt behind a bush fifty yards from the
kiaat and carefully surveyed their surroundings. All appeared
quiet. They sneaked up to the tree, moved aside a flat rock and
commenced digging, stopping every now and again to look and
listen.