The Leopard Hunts in Darkness (48 page)

‘Henry, he is a vice-president of the World Bank!’

‘Babes,’ moaned Morgan, ‘babes in the tupping woods.’ He braced up. ‘Well, anyway, that is over. Your contract is terminated. If there was anything sooner than
immediately, that would be the date of termination.’

‘I sent Henry a full report three days ago—’

‘Yeah!’ Morgan nodded resignedly. ‘About Peter F ungabera being the Moscow candidate. Peter is a Shona, the Ruskies would never touch him. Just so you put it out of your head,
General Fungabera is a Russian-hater from way back and we have a very good relationship with Peter Fungabera – very good indeed. Enough said.’

‘For God’s sake, Morgan. Then he is playing a double game. I had it from his own aide. Captain Timon Nbebi!’

‘Who is now conveniently dead,’ Morgan reminded him. ‘If it makes you feel better, we’ve put your report into the computer – with a D-minus credibility rating.
Henry Pickering sends you his sincere thanks.’

Sally-Anne cut in, ‘Morgan, you have seen my photographs of the burned villages, the dead children, the devastation caused by the Third Brigade—’

‘Like the man said, eggs to make omelettes,’ Morgan interrupted. ‘Naturally we don’t like the violence, but Fungabera is anti-Russian. The Matabele are pro-Russian. We
have to support the anti-communist regimes, even if we don’t like some of their methods – there are women and kids taking a beating in El Salvador. So does that mean that we must stop
aid to that country? Must we back out of any situation where our people aren’t sticking precisely to the rules of the Geneva Convention? Grow up, Sally-Anne, this is the real
world.’

There was silence in the tiny ward, except for the pinking of the galvanized iron roof as it expanded in the noon heat. On the parched brown lawn beyond the window, the walking patients were
dressed in a uniform of pink bathrobes stamped across the back with the initials of the Botswana Health Department.

‘That’s all you came to tell us?’ Sally-Anne asked at last.

‘Isn’t it enough?’ Morgan stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. ‘There is one other thing, Craig. Henry Pickering asked me to tell you that the Land Bank of Zimbabwe
has repudiated its suretyship for your loan. Their grounds are that you have been officially declared an enemy of the people. Henry Pickering asked me to tell you they will be looking to you for
repayment of capital and interest. Does this make sense to you?’

‘Unfortunately,’ Craig nodded glumly.

‘He said he would try to work something out with you when you reach New York, but in the meantime they have been forced to freeze all your bank accounts and serve your publishers with a
restraining order to withhold all future royalty payments.’

‘That figures.’

‘Sorry, Craig. It sounds real tough.’ Morgan held out his hand. ‘I liked your book, I really did, and I liked you. I’m just sorry it all had to end this way.’

Craig walked with him as far as the green Ford with diplomatic registration plates that Morgan Oxford was driving.

‘Will you do me one last favour?’

‘If I can.’ Morgan looked suspicious.

‘Can you see that a package is delivered to my publisher in New York?’ And when Morgan’s suspicions were unabated, ‘It’s only the final pages of my new manuscript,
I give you my word.’

‘Okay, then,’ said Morgan Oxford dubiously. ‘I’ll see he gets it.’

Craig fetched the British Airways bag from the hired Land-Rover at the far end of the car park. ‘Look after it,’ he pleaded. ‘It’s my heart’s blood and my hope of
salvation.’

He watched the green Ford drive away and went back into the hospital building.

‘What was all that about the banks and loans?’ Sally-Anne asked as he entered her ward.

‘It means that when I asked you to marry me I was a millionaire.’ Craig came back to sit on the edge of her bed. ‘Now I’m just about as broke as anybody who has no assets
and owes a couple of million bucks can be.’

‘You’ve got the new book. Ashe Levy says it’s a winner.’

‘Darling, if I wrote a bestseller every year for the rest of my life, I would just about keep level with the interest payments on what I owe to Henry Pickering and his banks.’

She stared at him.

‘So what I am trying to say is this – my original offer is up for review, you’ve got a chance to change your mind. You don’t
have
to marry me.’

‘Craig,’ she said. ‘Lock the door and pull the shutters.’

‘You’ve got to be joking – not here, not now! It’s probably a serious offence in this country, illicit cohabitation or something.’

‘Listen, mister, when you are wanted for murder and armed insurrection, a little bit of illicit nip and tuck with your future husband, even if he is a pauper, sits lightly on the
conscience.’

C
raig picked Sally-Anne up from the hospital the following morning. She wore the same jeans, shirt and trainers as she had when she was
admitted.

‘Sister had them washed and mended—’ she stopped as she saw the Land-Rover. ‘What’s this? I thought we were broke.’

‘The computer hasn’t had the happy news yet, they are still honouring my American Express card.’

‘Is that kosher?’

‘When you owe five big Ms, lady, another couple of hundred bucks sits pretty lightly on the conscience.’ He grinned at her as he turned the ignition key and when the engine fired,
said cheerfully, ‘Eat your heart out, Mr Hertz.’

‘You’re taking it very well, Craig.’ She slid across the seat closer to him.

‘We are both alive – that is cause for fireworks and general rejoicing. As for the money – well, I don’t think I was truly cut out to be a millionaire. When I’ve
got money I spend all my time worrying about losing it. It saps my energy. Now that I’ve lost it, I feel free again in a funny sort of way.’

‘You’re happy to have lost everything you ever owned?’ She turned sideways in the seat to look at him. ‘Even for you, that’s cuckoo!’

‘I’m not happy, no,’ he denied the charge. ‘What I truly regret is losing King’s Lynn and Zambezi Waters. We could have made something wonderful out of them, you
and I. I regret that very much – and I regret Tungata Zebiwe.’

‘Yes. We destroyed him.’ Both of them were sobered and saddened. ‘If there was only something we could do for him.’

‘Not a damned thing.’ Craig shook his head. ‘Despite Timon’s assurances, we don’t know that he is still alive, and even if he is, we don’t have the faintest
idea where he is, or how to find him.’

They rattled across the railway lines and into the main street of Francistown.

‘“Jewel of the north”,’ said Craig. ‘Population two thousand, main industry consumption of alcoholic beverage, reason for existing uncertain.’

He parked outside the single hotel. ‘As you can see, total population now in permanent residence in the public bar.’

However, the young Botswana receptionist was pretty and efficient.

‘Mr Mellow, there is a lady waiting to see you,’ she called, as Craig entered the lobby. Craig did not recognize his visitor, not until Sally-Anne ran forward to embrace her.

‘Sarah!’ she cried. ‘How did you get here? How did you find us?’

Craig’s room had two single beds with a dressing-table between them, a threadbare imitation Persian rug on the shiny red-painted cement floor and a single wooden chair. The two girls sat
on one bed, with their legs curled up under them in that double-jointed feminine attitude.

‘They told me at the Red Cross that you had been found in the desert and brought in by the police, Miss Jay.’

‘My name is Sally-Anne, Sarah.’

Sarah smiled softly in acknowledgement. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would want to see me again, not after the trial. But then my friends here told me how you had been ill-treated by
Fungabera’s soldiers. I thought you might have realized that I was right all along, that Tungata Zebiwe was not a criminal, and that he needs friends now.’

She turned towards Craig. ‘He was your friend, Mr Mellow. He told me about you. He spoke of you with respect and great feeling. He was afraid for you, when he heard that you had returned
to Zimbabwe. He realized that you wanted to take up your family land in Matabeleland, and he knew there were going to be terrible troubles and that you would be caught up in them. He said that you
were too gentle for the hard times that were coming. He called you “Pupho”, the dreamer, the gentle dreamer, but he said that you were also stubborn and obstinate. He wanted to save you
from being hurt again. He said, “Last time he lost his leg – this time he could lose his life. To be his friend, I must make myself his enemy. I must drive him out of
Zimbabwe.”’

Craig sat in the straight-backed wooden chair and remembered his stormy meeting with Tungata when he had come to him for assistance in acquiring King’s Lynn. Had it been an act, then? Even
now he found that hard to believe. Tungata’s passion had been so real, his fury so convincing.

‘I am sorry, Mr Mellow. These are very rude things that I am saying about you. I am telling you only what Tungata said. He was your friend. He still is your friend.’

‘It doesn’t really matter any more, what he thought of me,’ Craig murmured. ‘Sam is probably dead by now.’

‘No!’ For the first time Sarah raised her voice, her tone vehement, almost angry. ‘No, do not say that, never say that! He is alive. I have seen and spoken to him. They can
never kill a man like that!’

The chair creaked under Craig as he leaned forward eagerly. ‘You have seen him? When?’

‘Two weeks ago.’

‘Where? Where was he?’

‘Tuti – at the camp.’

‘Sam alive!’ Craig changed as he said it. The despondent slump of his shoulders squared out, he held his head at a more alert angle and his eyes were brighter, more eager. He
wasn’t really looking at Sarah. He was looking at the wall above her head, trying to marshal the torrent of emotions and ideas that came at him, so he did not see that Sarah was weeping.

It was Sally-Anne who put a protective and comforting arm about her, and Sarah sobbed. ‘Oh, my lord Tungata. The things they have done to him. They have starved and beaten him. He is like
a village cur, all bones and scars. He walks like a very old man, only his eyes are still proud.’

Sally-Anne hugged her wordlessly. Craig jumped up from the chair and began to pace. The room was so small, he crossed it in four strides, turned and came back. Sally-Anne dug in her pocket and
found a crumpled tissue for Sarah.

‘When will the Cessna be ready?’ Craig asked, without pausing in his stride. His artificial leg made a tiny click each time he swung it forward.

‘It’s been ready since last week. I told you, didn’t I?’ Sally-Anne replied distractedly, fussing over Sarah.

‘What is her all-up capacity?’

‘The Cessna? I’ve had six adults in her, but that was a squeeze. She’s licensed for—’ Sally-Anne stopped. Slowly her head turned from Sarah towards him and she
stared at him in total disbelief.

‘In the love of all that’s holy, Craig, are you out of your mind?’

‘Range fully loaded?’ Craig ignored the question.

‘Twelve hundred nautical miles, throttle setting for maximum endurance – but you can’t be serious.’

‘Okay.’ Craig was thinking aloud. ‘I can get a couple of drums in the Land-Rover. You can land and refuel on a pan right on the border – I know a spot near Panda Matenga,
five hundred kilometres north of here. That is the closest point of entry—’

‘Craig, do you know what they’d do if they caught us?’ Sally-Anne’s voice was husky with shock.

Sarah had the tissue over her nose, but her eyes swivelled between the two of them as they spoke.

‘Weapons,’ Craig muttered. ‘We’d need arms. Morgan Oxford? No, damn it, he’s written us off.’

‘Guns?’ Sarah’s voice was muffled by tears and tissue.

‘Guns and grenades,’ Craig agreed. ‘Explosives, whatever we can get.’

‘I can get guns. Some of our people have escaped. They are here in Botswana. They had guns hidden in the bush from the war.’

‘What kind?’ Craig demanded.

‘Banana guns and hand grenades.’

‘AKs,’ Craig rejoiced. ‘Sarah, you are a star.’

‘Just the two of us?’ Sally-Anne paled as she realized that he truly meant it. ‘Two of us, against the entire Third Brigade – is that what you are thinking
about?’

‘No, I’m coming with you.’ Sarah put aside the tissue. ‘There will be three of us.’

‘Three of us, great!’ said Sally-Anne. ‘Three of us – bloody marvellous!’

Craig came back and stood in front of them.

‘Number one: we are going to draw up a map of Tuti camp. We are going to put down every detail we can remember.’

He started pacing again, unable to stand still.

‘Number two: we meet with Sarah’s friends and see how much help they can give us. Number three: Sally-Anne takes the commercial flight down to Johannesburg and brings back the Cessna
– how long will that take?’

‘I can be back in three days.’ Colour was coming back into Sally-Anne’s cheeks. ‘That’s if I decide to go!’

‘Okay! Fine!’ Craig rubbed his hands together. ‘Now we can start on the map.’

Craig ordered sandwiches and a bottle of wine to be sent to the room and they worked through until 2 a.m. when Sarah left them with a promise to return at breakfast time. Craig folded the map
carefully and then he and Sally-Anne climbed into one of the narrow beds together, but they were so keyed up that neither of them could sleep.

‘Sam was trying to protect me,’ Craig marvelled. ‘He was doing it for me, all along.’

‘Tell me about him,’ Sally-Anne whispered and she lay against his chest and listened to him talk of their friendship. When at last he fell silent, she asked softly, ‘So you are
serious about this thing?’

‘Deadly serious, but will you do it with me?’ ‘It’s crazy,’ she said. ‘It’s plain dumb – but let’s do it then.’

T
he sooty black smoke from the beacon fires of oil rags that Craig had set climbed straight up in two columns into the clear desert sky. Craig and
Sarah stood together on the bonnet of the Land-Rover, staring into the south. This was the dry wild land of north-eastern Botswana. The Zimbabwe border was thirty kilometres east of them, the flat
arid plain between pimpled with camel-thorn trees and blotched with the leprous white saltpans.