Authors: James Hadley Chase

Vulture is a Patient Bird (14 page)

BOOK: Vulture is a Patient Bird

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Ken got rid of the Bantus and came back to the Land Rover. "There's a big pool beyond those trees and a waterfall," he said to Gaye, pointing. "It's safe swimming . . . no crocs."

"Can I help?"

"No, thanks . . . Themba and I can handle it."

He joined Themba, and together the two men unloaded the tent.

Breathing unsteadily, Fennel moved over to Gaye.

"A waterfall, huh? Suppose we go take a look at it?"

He was expecting her to refuse, and already his vicious temper began to rise. She regarded him, her face expressionless, then to his surprise, she said, "Yes . . . let's look at it," and turning, she walked ahead, making for the thick line of trees and high elephant grass that surrounded the clearing.

Fennel felt a hot rush of blood through his body. Was this an invitation? He looked quickly towards the helicopter. Garry was busy stripping off the engine tarpaulin. Ken and Themba were occupied with unfolding the tent. Shaking a little, Fennel strode after Gaye who had now disappeared into the bush.

He caught up with her as she moved along a narrow track and he slowed his pace, his eyes on her slim back and long beautiful legs. Some twenty metres further on they came to a small waterfall that fell some ten metres into a big basin of water which flowed at its far end into a broad stream. The basin formed a perfect, artificial bathing pool.

She turned as he reached her.

"Isn't it lovely?"

The sun beat down on them. They were surrounded by trees. They could have been the only two people on earth.

"Let's have a swim," Fennel said and stripped off his shirt. "Come on, baby, strip off."

She looked at his hairy, muscular torso, her eyes watchful as she shook her head. "I swim in private, Mr. Fennel."

"Aw, come on! You don't imagine I've never seen a naked woman before, and I bet you've seen a naked man." He grinned fixedly, his face flushed with desire for her. "You don't have to be coy with me. Strip off, or I'll have to help you."

Her cool, unafraid gaze disconcerted him.

"You swim . . . I'm going back."

As she turned away, he caught hold of her wrist.

"You're staying here," he said, his voice low, and unsteady, "and you're stripping off. You want some loving, baby, and I'm the guy to give it to you."

"Take your hand off me," she said quietly.

"Come on, baby, don't act coy . . . a little loving and then a swim."

She moved towards him, and for a brief moment, he thought she was going to submit to him. Grinning he released his grip to encircle her waist. Her hand gripped his wrist and an excruciating pain shot up his arm, forcing him to cry out. Her foot slapped against his chest as she fell flat on her back. Fennel felt himself shooting into the air and then he splashed into the pool. The cool water closed over him, and when he bobbed to the surface and had dashed the water out of his eyes, he found her standing on the bank, looking down at him. Choking with rage, his arm aching, he glared murderously at her, seeing she was holding a large chunk of rock in her hands.

"Stay where you are unless you want your skull cracked," she said.

Her stillness and her cold eyes warned him she wasn't bluffing.

"You bitch!" he snarled. "I'll fix you for this!"

"You don't frighten me, you fat animal," she said scornfully. "From now on, you leave me alone. If you ever try to touch me again, I'll break your arm. If you weren't so important to this operation, I would have done it just now. Remember that! Now have a swim and cool off, you revolting ape." She tossed the rock into the water just in front of him, and by the time he had cleared his eyes, she had gone.

Kahlenberg was signing a batch of letters when his office door opened silently and Kemosa came in. He waited patiently in the doorway until Kahlenberg had finished and when Kahlenberg looked up inquiringly he shuffled forward. He put a small glass bottle on the blotter.

"There it is, master."

Kahlenberg regarded the bottle.

"What is it?"

"The poison you ordered, master."

"I know that . . . what is the poison?"

Kemosa looked blank.

"That I don't know, master."

Kahlenberg made an impatient movement.

"Did you tell the witch doctor exactly what I wanted?"

"Yes, master."

"A poison that would kill a man in twelve hours?"

"Yes, master."

"Is he to be trusted?"

"Yes, master."

"What did you pay him?"

"Twenty goats."

"Did you tell him if the poison doesn't work, he will lose all his goats and I will burn his but and turn him off my estate?"

"I told him that if the poison doesn't work, two men would come in the night and throw him in the crocodile pool."

"Does he believe that?"

"Yes, master."

Kahlenberg nodded, satisfied.

"Go to the medical chest, Kemosa, and bring me a syringe and a pair of rubber gloves."

When Kemosa had left, Kahlenberg sat back, looking at the small bottle. His mind went back four hundred years. Caesar Borgia might also have contemplated a similar phial of poison, planning the end of an enemy, feeling the same pleasure that Kahlenberg was experiencing.

He was still sitting motionless when Kemosa returned with the syringe and gloves.

"Thank you," and Kahlenberg waved him away.

When the door had closed, he opened a drawer and took out the glass box containing the ring. He took out the ring and put it on the fourth finger of his right hand. He studied the flashing diamonds thoughtfully, then he turned the ring so the diamonds were worn inside. The plain silver band now showing looked very innocent. He took off the ring and laid it on the blotter. Then he put on the surgical gloves. Screwing the watchmaker's glass into his eye, he slid open the trap in the ring. Then laying the ring down again, he uncorked the bottle and drew some of the colourless liquid into the syringe. Very carefully he inserted the needle of the syringe into the reservoir of the ring and equally carefully pressed the plunger. When, through the watchmaker's glass, he saw the liquid was level with the top of the reservoir, he withdrew the needle and slid the diamond trap into place. Laying down the syringe, he wiped the ring on his handkerchief, taking time over the operation. Still without removing his gloves, he began shaking the ring sharply over the blotter, looking for any signs of a leak in the reservoir. Finally satisfied, he put the ring in a drawer, put his handkerchief in an envelope and sent for Kemosa again. When the old man came in, he told him to destroy the syringe, the poison, the gloves and the handkerchief.

"Make certain they are all destroyed," he said. "You understand? Be very careful not to touch the needle of the syringe."

"Yes, master."

When he had gone, Kahlenberg took out the ring and regarded it. Was this now a lethal weapon? he asked himself. The witch doctor must be over eighty years of age. Had he lost his cunning? Could he be trusted? If the poison were lethal, could the tiny hollow needle, hidden in the cluster of diamonds, have become blocked with dust? If it had he would be wasting his time, and this was something Kahlenberg never tolerated. He had to know for certain. He sat thinking, then making up his mind, he put the ring on the fourth finger of his right hand and turned the ring the wrong way round. He propelled himself into the garden, followed by Hindenburg.

It took him a little time to find Zwide, a Bantu about whom Kemosa had often complained, saying this man was not only incurably lazy but also ill-treated his wife. He was due to be dismissed at the end of the month, and to Kahlenberg's callous thinking no loss to anyone.

He found him squatting in the shade, half asleep. When he saw Kahlenberg, he rose hurriedly to his feet, grabbed up a hoe and began feverishly weeding a nearby rose bed.

Kahlenberg stopped his chair beside him. Hindenburg sat, his eyes watchful.

"I hear you are leaving at the end of the month, Zwide," Kahlenberg said quietly.

The man nodded dumbly, stiff with fear.

Kahlenberg stretched out the ringed hand.

"I wish you good fortune. Shake my hand."

Zwide hesitated, his eyes rolling with embarrassment, then reluctantly stretched out his hand. Kahlenberg caught the dirty pink palmed hand in a hard, firm grip, his eyes intent on the man's face. He saw him give a little start. Then Kahlenberg released the hand and set the chair in motion. When he had gone a few metres, he looked back.

Zwide was staring with a bewildered expression at his hand and as Kahlenberg watched, Zwide raised a finger to his mouth and licked it.

Kahlenberg went on his way. At least the needle had scratched, he thought. In twelve hours time he would know if the ring was lethal.

As Gaye reached the clearing, she heard the engine of the helicopter start up. She came to a standstill watching the propellers churning. She could see Garry at the controls.

She cried, "Hey! Wait for me!"

But he didn't hear her. The machine took off, climbing steeply and then went out of sight behind the trees.

Ken and Themba had got the tent up. They had been also watching the take-off. Now they continued to unload the Land Rover. She joined them.

"Why didn't he wait for me?" she asked. "That was mean!" Ken grinned.

"You ask him when he comes back. Where's our lovely boy friend?"

"Having a swim."

There was a note in her voice that made him look sharply at her.

"Trouble?"

"The usual, but I settled it."

"You're quite a girl." His look of admiration pleased her. "Be careful of him . . . he's vicious."

"Themba and I can take care of him." He dragged out the four sleeping bags. "I'm putting yours between Garry's and mine. Themba sleeps next to me . . . then Fennel."

She nodded.

"It's only for one night, isn't it?"

"Yes . . . for him and me, but two nights for Garry and you." He looked up at the clouds moving across the sky. "The sooner we get off the better. If it rains the road will be a real mess. You'll be all right on your own with Garry . . . he's a good guy."

"I know."

He took the sleeping bags into the tent and laid them out. Themba was building a fire some little way from the tent. Ken collected the .22 rifle and pocketed some ammunition.

"I'm going after guinea-fowl. Want to come?"

"Of course."

They set off together into the bush.

Fennel came out of the trees, moving slowly. His arm still ached. He looked around, then seeing only Themba busy with the fire, he went to the Land Rover, got out his rucksack and went into the tent. He changed out of his wet shorts and put on a dry pair. He came out into the dying sunshine and sat on one of the wooden cases. His mind was smouldering. Well, he would fix her, he told himself as he lit a cigarette. There was time. Get the operation over. On the way back, he'd teach her.

He was still sitting there, brooding, when the helicopter came in to land. After a while Garry came over.

"A beauty," he said enthusiastically. "Goes like a bird."

Fennel looked up and grunted.

"Where are the others?"

Fennel shrugged.

"I wouldn't know."

"How about a beer?"

"Yeah."

Garry opened the carton. Themba came over with glasses and a thermos of ice. As Garry was opening the bottles, Gaye and Ken cane out of the bush. Ken had four guinea-fowl hanging from a string to his belt.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" Gaye demanded.

Garry shook his head.

"Trial flight. First time I've handled her. Cockeyed for both of us to get killed."

Gaye's eyes opened wide. She took the beer Themba offered her with a smile. Ken drank from the bottle, sighed, then handed the birds to Themba who took them away.

We'll eat well tonight," Ken said and squatted down on the grass. "Let's talk business, Lew. We two and Themba leave at first light . . . around 04.00 hrs. We'll take the rifle and the shotgun, our sleeping bags, rucksacks and food." He looked over at Garry, "You any good with a .22?"

Garry grimaced.

"Never tried."

"I am," Gaye said. "I'll get you a guinea-fowl, Garry."

"That's fine."

Fennel glanced up, looked at Gaye, then at Garry, then looked away.

"Okay . . . anyway, you have only one more day here. The day after tomorrow you take off for Kahlenberg's place." Ken took a pencil from his pocket and drew a rough circle in the sand. "I've been talking to Themba. He's been up to Kahlenberg's estate for the past two days." He glanced over at Lew who was lighting a cigarette. "You listening, Lew?"

"You think I'm goddamn deaf?"

"This circle represents Kahlenberg's estate. Themba tells me it

is guarded by a lot of Zulus south, west and east, but not on the north side. The road into the estate on the north side is reckoned impassable, but Themba has been over it. He says there's one really tricky bit, but if we can't get over it, we can walk. It's our only safe way in."

"How far do we walk if we can't drive?" Fennel asked, leaning forward as Ken marked a spot on the north side of the circle.

"Twenty kilometres as near as damn it."

Fennel thought of his heavy tool bag.

"But there's a chance we can get through in the truck?"

"Themba thinks so, so long as it doesn't rain too hard. If it really rains then we are in trouble."

"Well; some people have all the luck," Fennel said, looking over at Garry, but Garry wasn't to be drawn. He got up and walked over to watch Themba cooking the birds. He wished he could speak Afrikaans. There was something about the big Bantu's face that appealed to him. As if reading his thoughts, Themba looked up and grinned cheerfully and then continued to turn the spit.

Gaye joined Garry.

"Hmmmm, smells good . . . I'm starving."

BOOK: Vulture is a Patient Bird

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