The Devil's Breath (12 page)

“His dad sent it to me. He’s done it before. As if he didn’t trust anyone else. I checked the postmark, it was sent
almost a week earlier than the last one. So Max went to Africa with only the information he had.”

“Where was it posted?”

“Walvis Bay, Namibia.”

“Walvis Bay.” She sounded thoughtful.

“Is that important?”

“I don’t know. It’s the biggest port here, and a heck of a lot of shipping comes in and out. What does it say?” She could hear a faint rustle of paper on the line, as if Sayid was holding the letter in his hand.

Sayid kept going to the door and checking the corridor; he did not want to be overheard or interrupted, especially if Mr. Peterson was on the prowl. If there were people trying to stop Max from finding his father, they would be scanning for calls. No matter how clever Sayid was in the short term in scrambling the voice print, sooner or later they—whoever “they” were—would break his coding. “There’s not much time. They might be monitoring my phone signal, but here’s what the letter said.” Sayid read out the letter Max had never received. “‘Max, remember Egypt? Seth causing problems here. I found his secret. Leopold will meet you at Eros. Leave now. Get out, son. There’s not much time. I love you. Dad.’

“Almost like a telegram,” Sayid said. “The statue of Eros is in Piccadilly Circus. This Leopold was obviously going to take Max somewhere safe. But he never showed.”

Kallie had listened carefully, appreciating Sayid’s concern over how long they had spoken. “Do we know who Leopold is?” she asked.

“Not sure. I know his dad had a field assistant. A
German or an Austrian guy who knew his way around Namibia. Odds are it’s him.”

“And who’s Seth?”

“I looked that one up. Max and his dad used to go off all over the place during summer holidays…. Egypt was a favorite. Seth was the god of chaos. Something to do with living outside the universe as we know it. This wasn’t a neatly typed letter, it was scribbled in pencil … just like the one Max got before he left. That’s all I know, except that there’s a teacher here called Peterson and I definitely know—I mean for sure—that he followed Max and is up to his neck in all of this.”

“So Max’s father was warning him. He didn’t have access to a phone, so he had to scribble a note. Then he must have got someone to post it, because if it was postmarked Walvis Bay, there are tons of phones around there. He must have known someone ruthless, like this Seth figure, would try and hurt Max. OK …” Her thoughts tried to join up the pieces of the puzzle which didn’t make much sense. Only it wasn’t OK. This was far more serious than a boy simply looking for his father in the wilderness of Namibia.

“He was supposed to come here, Sayid. London has nothing to do with it. It wasn’t Eros’s statue, it was Eros Airport, Namibia. And this Leopold guy was supposed to meet him, but didn’t.”

Sayid’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Kallie, I have to go. Keep in touch, will you? I reckon we’re the only ones who can help Max survive this. Text if you can.”

“That’s difficult, Sayid, unless you’re near a city. Phones are pretty rare as well. I’ll do what I can on this end. Look, if
there’s anything really important you can leave a message here with a guy called Tobias. He can always get the flight shed to radio me. And you’d better watch out for Peterson.” She gave him the telephone number and replaced the handset.

Tobias was standing at the end of the counter, wiping glasses and examining them for blemishes. He glanced at Kallie, who was sitting quietly. “Trouble?”

“Maybe. If a kid from England phones, get word to me, will you?”

“Course I will.” He handed over an old plastic-lined vacuum flask. “It’s a long, hot flight home. I’ve made you my special Desert Buster Ice-Cold Special. It’s on the house.” She barely heard him, but his voice broke her concentration. “Just don’t shake it up too much—it’s an old flask.”

“What? Oh, right … thanks, Tobias.”

She climbed off the stool and made for the door with the flask under her arm.

The phone rang. Tobias answered. “Hello. Yes …” It was the operator. “That’s right, we made the call…. It was how much? To a cell phone? It was
how
much?” Kallie was at the far end of the room.

“Kallie!” Tobias yelled.

“Put it on my dad’s tab! I’ve got no cash,” Kallie shouted behind her as she pushed through the door and was out of sight.

She faced a tough journey, flying more than three hundred kilometers, against prevailing winds, to Walvis Bay. She needed to speak to Mike Kapuo in person. No matter what her father thought, she was now well and truly involved in Max’s well-being. Obviously there were vicious
people out there, intent on preventing him from finding his father.

If only she had known this before, she would have … would have what? Stopped him? Helped him? Max was going to do whatever he felt was necessary. She headed for the hangar where the old, sand-blasted Cessna sat. One of the mechanics was closing the engine cowling, and when he saw Kallie he smiled and waved. All fixed.

Kallie van Reenen cursed herself for letting Max go alone. Her only comfort was that !Koga was with him.

Max wanted to scream. The lioness had given a flick of her neck and shaken the already limp carcass. She turned away, dragging the remains back to where it would be eaten. Max was in his own agony. He had followed !Koga, going flat out, and then he had fallen. His thigh slammed into a rock. It dead-legged him and he was helpless. As he tried to clear the hurt from his mind and bite back the scream that would have helped relieve the pain, !Koga was at his side, dragging him almost brutally into the shade and cover of a boulder.

Below them in the clearing, where they had dumped the springbok’s carcass, two men had appeared. Both carried rifles and they had been moving fast, running hard across the valley. How had they tracked them so quickly? Max remembered that the Land Rover had left a trail of oil, like the springbok’s blood, for the men to follow. From where the stricken vehicle was abandoned any good tracker would have found them. The men had stood for a moment, looking towards the area where Max and !Koga had run, but they
were unable to spot the boys. Then one of them had taken off his hat and fanned the heat from his face. The sand-colored lioness was less than ten meters away from him by then. The second man, a further fifteen meters away, searching for tracks, turned as he heard the impact of the lioness crushing his friend’s body. His was the scream that had echoed down the valley, bouncing from rock face to rock face.

If the man’s nerve had not broken he might have survived. The springbok kill was between him and the second lioness, and she was more interested in the blood-soaked animal than in him. But his panic alerted her. She could not resist her natural instincts; like a cat with a mouse, she pursued the doomed man. There was a brief moment, when time slowed down, creating a sense of unreality. The man had spotted Max, who had stood up on the other side of the clearing, the pain in his leg forgotten. In his final moments of life the man screamed for help from the boy he had come to kill. “Help me, boy! For God’s sake help me!”

Max shouted as loud as he could and threw a hefty stone towards the attacking lioness—a futile gesture: it fell too short for the lioness to even notice. The man scrambled backwards. The big cat had momentarily glanced towards Max when he yelled at her, and he looked right into her amber eyes, Boy and Beast, held for a fraction of a second in time. But her prey was at her feet. It was over very quickly.

Max felt his stomach heave. The savagery of these last few moments, seeing the men torn apart, was too much. He gagged and vomited. His mind was clear: he knew he had to escape.

!Koga was silent. The lions were feeding, vultures
appeared by the springbok carcass, and hyenas snapped bone and tore flesh in a voracious feeding frenzy.

The boys turned away, climbing towards the rising peaks, away from the Valley of Bones.

Max followed !Koga’s every move as the rock face became more difficult. Neither had spoken since the lionesses’ attack. Max felt the granite rasp his fingertips as he struggled for a grip, but he didn’t mind the rock’s bite. A strange feeling had been growing within him. It was difficult to explain, but if his dad had been with him he would have understood. The events of the past few days, and in particular the slaughter of those men, had created a hard-edged resolve in Max. Before, he had been determined to see things through and to give his all in trying to find his dad, but now he knew he could face anything that came his way. He could respond to the moment, drawing upon a deep resource that had grown within him. His mind insisted on trying to analyze it, but he told it to shut up. There were more immediate things to think about, like scaling these mountains. And for once his agile mind, which liked nothing better than to complicate his feelings, did as it was told.

The cave beckoned like a sanctuary, offering shelter from the day’s heat. The boys had been climbing for some hours, edging along the narrow pathways made by animals; higher and higher they went until the valley floor was in the far distance, disguised by heat shimmer—a mirage lake. !Koga reached the cave mouth first and extended a hand to Max, pulling him over the edge of the huge flat area that
was the extended floor of the cave. It was time to rest, and they rewarded themselves with a sip of the precious water. Above their heads, an overhang gave them protection from the sun and the view was as if they were floating in a balloon. Now they were this high, Max could see an undulating landscape, a mixture of hills, scrub plains and sawtooth mountains, stretching out as far as he could see. The land was unrelenting in its harshness. He pulled the binoculars from under his shirt and scanned the horizon. The panorama yielded half a dozen dust devils scuttling across the plain; the horizon was murky with heat haze, and another of those small rolling cloud formations journeyed slowly across the skyline. It was too far away to bring any quick downpours, but Max hoped it meant that water holes were being replenished somewhere ahead.

Sharp-pointed mountain peaks to the east were tipped with darkening red from the setting sun. Max thought they looked like crocodile teeth tinged with blood. He told himself he would have to stop creating such gruesome images, but he had to admit the mountains did have an animal-like quality, and they were certainly not as gentle or mysterious as the Dartmoor Tors back home. The moment the sun set, he caught a flash of green on the horizon, a play of light as it dipped beneath the edge of the world; then it was gone, leaving only a bloodred line.

!Koga stood watching the sun disappear. Max caught himself studying the young hunter for a moment. Dust covered his skinny frame and his eyes were red and sore from the day’s journey. Max reckoned a strong wind would lift the Bushman boy off the cliff, he seemed so light. But !Koga had
been tireless, he had never complained, he had put his life in danger for Max; he had hunted and killed with great skill. He had been patient with Max, explaining that the land spoke, that it breathed and felt pain. Max understood that it was the boy’s inherent connection with this brutal place that had saved their lives. And now he sat, watching the sunset pull the cover of darkness over their heads. So few of these Bushmen survived; he knew he was privileged to be with !Koga, and now he felt a bond with the boy that was akin to brotherhood.

He touched !Koga’s shoulder, and the boy turned. He looked sad and gave only a hint of a smile in recognition of Max’s gesture.

“What? What’s wrong? We did well today. It was a hard day, but we did well,” Max told him.

The boy nodded and looked towards the ever-darkening sky. !Koga said something Max did not understand, a clicking sound.
“Gauwa.”

Max shrugged. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“It is the god who takes the father’s light. It is darkness. It is
Gauwa
. It is the time when there is spirit of the dead.”

!Koga was a primitive boy in a primitive landscape, and Max now understood that this was not a derogatory expression, it was in him, too. He had touched on something so basic, he couldn’t describe it. But it was a good thing. It strengthened rather than weakened. It was, he suspected, the core of his own humanity.

“The nighttime? You mean the darkness?” Max asked him. Clearly, !Koga was saddened by the loss of the sun. Despite their experiences of the day, and the knowledge that
the fear and the killing were part of life for !Koga, losing the sun caused him … what? Max wasn’t sure. It was something like grief, he supposed.

Max pointed to the east, across the mountains whose peaks now held the dark in varying degrees of blackness. “Tomorrow. Yes? The sun. That is where it will come tomorrow.”

The boy nodded, he knew that. But there was still a sense of abandonment. The temperature dropped below freezing and Max felt it keenly. The cotton shirt and trousers he wore offered little protection. They needed a fire, and quickly.

Max had a bruise the size of a baseball from his fall, but it was the loss of the plastic lighter that concerned him more: it had been shattered when his thigh hit the rock. He showed the fragments to !Koga, but the boy seemed unconcerned. From his pouch he took out a small cross of softwood and a narrow stick with a notch cut in its end. He secured the wooden cross on the ground under his foot, then, holding the stick between his palms, twirled it until the base smoldered.

Max had tried this once or twice when he went camping, and it needed dry moss or lichen to get a spark going, something he always struggled with in the dampness of Dartmoor. !Koga’s finger went back into the pouch, and fluffed out a small piece of tinder, what looked to be part of a bird’s nest—dry leaves and grass. Holding this to the base of the stick so it caught the heat, he gently blew on it until there was white smoke. Easing it under the bits of stick Max had foraged from the hillside, the fire crackled, putting a smile back on !Koga’s face.

It was only when the fire was well and truly alight and !Koga had buried pieces of the springbok beneath the hot embers that Max realized where he was. He was standing in a domed cave which stretched back another twenty-odd meters into darkness. Ridges of granite of a similar length ran along the floor of the cave, almost like stepping stones, to reach the flat surface of the walls. !Koga had said nothing, but when he nodded at Max’s realization, Max knew this was where the boy had planned to bring him all along. !Koga gathered a fistful of burning twigs and held them up so the light crept into the recesses of the cave.