Zambezi (47 page)

‘He called me last week, from Zanzibar.’

‘What was the call about?’ Chris asked.

‘He wanted to know if I could take a party of tourists for him.’

‘And you told him you were busy’ Chris looked at Jed.

‘What else did you tell him?’ Jed asked.

Wylde felt the hot colour rising to his cheeks. He swallowed hard, aware that people would remember whatever he said next well into the future. ‘I told him I had an existing booking.’

‘Bin Zayid knew about the booking,’ Jed gave Wylde an accusatory stare, ‘somehow. He called to confirm it was still going ahead.’

Wylde started to protest his innocence, but Chris cut him off. She did not need the two men fighting at this crucial time. ‘Mr Wylde, no one is blaming anyone for anything. We’ve got some doubts, though, about Hassan bin Zayid and we have to see if he’s returned.’

Jed said, ‘His staff told me he was in Zanzibar as well. I had a look around his lodge and the place seemed empty. Does he have another house on the property?’

‘No,’ Willy said, shaking his head. ‘He sleeps in the main lodge when he’s there.’

‘Is there anywhere else on the property he could be hiding?’

Wylde scratched his chin. ‘There’s a bush camp further down the river. It’s rarely used. Most of Hassan’s clients are rich Arabs who don’t like to stray too far from soft beds and satellite TV There’s just a hut and a
braai
site at the camp, from what I remember. Probably a pretty good place to hide up.’

‘Can you show us on a map?’ Jed asked.

‘Better than that, I can give you the GPS coordinates for it. Most of us landowners got together to mark out the main camps and points of interest in the valley a while ago. It helps us give references for anti-poaching patrols and our own guides in case anyone gets lost in the bush.’ Wylde pulled a GPS unit from the pouch at his belt and scrawled through the preset waypoints.

Chris gave Jed her GPS and he copied in the point that Wylde had listed as ‘cresbc’.

‘Crescent Safari bush camp,’ said Wylde, explaining the abbreviation.

‘I’m going, Chris,’ Jed said.

‘You know you should stay here, Jed. You have no jurisdiction whatsoever in this country. I have to stay here and wait for the pick-up team to arrive, and I suggest you stay with me.’

‘Moses?’ Jed looked at the tracker.

‘I am going with Jed,’ Moses said to Christine.

Chris bit her lower lip. ‘Be careful.’

‘I will,’ he promised her. ‘You too.’

‘I’ll radio my guys and tell them to sweep through Hassan’s land as well and to converge on the hunting camp. Leave your canoe and take one of my two motorboats,’ Wylde said.

‘Thanks,’ Jed said.

‘Good luck.’ Willy offered a hand to Jed. They shook, the tensions of the previous minutes forgotten. ‘If he’s here he probably flew in. I’d check the hangar at the airstrip north-west of the main lodge if I were you.’

Jed nodded.

Willy asked the tracker next to him to hand over his walkie-talkie and he passed it to Jed. ‘Stay on our frequency. We’ll let you know if anything turns up at this end.’

Jed said to Moses, ‘Let’s go.’

Chris was scared for Jed’s safety, and for Moses. She wished she’d had time, even just a few seconds, to farewell Jed in private.

She took her portable satellite phone out of her daypack and turned it on. She flipped up the aerial and gained a signal. The phone beeped with a message. She dialled the message bank number and pressed the keys to start the playback.

‘Chris, it’s Mort.’ He was shouting to be heard over the whine of a jet engine. ‘We’re at Jo’burg airport, about to board the Lear. I’ve got the team. We’ll be in Lusaka by nineteen-thirty your time.

Call me then with an update – I hope you’re on the scene by now. We’re R-Ving with a Zambian military helo when we land. Should be in your location no later than twenty-thirty Have some good news for me when you call, Chris.’

Chris swallowed rising bile – the stench of the dead men inside the plane was becoming overpowering. She doubted she would have any good news in the next half-hour.

‘Cut the engine: we’ll drift with the current,’ Jed said to Moses.

The tracker nodded and there was silence. Moses kept a hand on the boat’s steering wheel, ensuring the rudder was straight as they approached a bend in the river.

Jed checked the GPS again. The distance to the waypoint was two hundred metres and closing. Jed pointed to the riverbank and Moses turned hard on the rudder. The fibreglass hull of Wylde’s boat made a shushing noise as it docked with the sandy bed of the river. Jed stepped over the side of the boat into water up to his knees and pulled the craft onto dry land. He scanned the tree line through his night-vision monocle. Moses knelt beside him. ‘Clear,’ Jed said. He checked the GPS and pointed across the jutting spit of land. ‘Camp’s on the other side of this point.’

Moses nodded and started to stand.

‘I’ll lead,’ Jed said.

Moses shook his head. ‘You brought me along because I know the bush. Let me do my job.’

Jed was reluctant to place the tracker in any greater danger, but he conceded the big man was right.

‘Do you want the night-vision device?’

‘I’ve been walking in the dark since I was a child.’

Moses moved off, pausing every ten metres or so to listen and peer into the engulfing gloom. The vegetation became thicker as they proceeded through the middle of the spit of land, alternating between thick riverine bush and huge, isolated Natal mahoganies that had weathered countless floods.

The guide stopped and studied the ground. Jed closed on him and looked over his shoulder.

‘Leopard,’ Moses whispered. The tracks showed the cat had crossed their path, following a welltrodden game trail to the river.

‘Wrong killer,’ Jed said. It was a timely reminder, though, that as well as the terrorist, or terrorists, there was the ever-present threat of running into dangerous game.

Moses resumed his careful pace. A few minutes later he held up a hand. Jed dropped to his knees and crawled forwards. ‘The camp,’ Moses mouthed.

Jed scanned the outpost. A thatched hut with a closed door. A barbecue area and woodpile. There was no light or sign of habitation that he could make out. He was almost disappointed. He had hoped to find bin Zayid holed up here. Still, he knew the man could be hiding anywhere. ‘Let’s circle around and check the hut. I’ll go left, you right, OK?’ he whispered, his lips pressed to the African’s ear.

Moses nodded and the two men headed in opposite directions. Jed crept slowly, checking the ground in front of him before each careful placement of his foot. After every two or three steps he stopped and scanned the clearing and hut. There was still no sign of movement in the otherworldly, glowing green vista presented by the night sight.

It took Jed ten minutes to complete his measured sweep around the campsite. He stopped and knelt in the grass at the edge of the clearing, at the rear of the hut. He checked the bush to his left and saw Moses dropping to a crouch. He gave a thumbs-up and the African returned the gesture. Jed held his rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at the hut, waving the weapon from side to side. Moses gave a thumbs-up and raised his rifle to cover Jed.

Jed stood and darted across the five metres of beaten earth to the hut and flattened himself against the wall. He slowly moved his face to a shuttered window. There was no glass behind the wooden slats, just chicken wire and gauzing to keep out mosquitos and vermin. He smelled the hut’s dank, stale interior. Through a broken louvre he could see into the room. There was no one inside, only a few storage boxes, including one behind the door, and a gas-powered freezer, whose hinged lid was open. He raised a hand and motioned Moses to join him. Moses crept to the hut then started to circle it. Jed met him on the far side, near the door, and saw he had picked up a shovel.

‘I found this behind the hut.’ He turned the tool in his hands and held up the blade of the shovel for Jed to see. He rubbed his fingers along the edge. ‘There is damp earth still on the blade. Someone has been digging here recently.’

Jed started to look around the clearing, but turned as Moses said, ‘The door is not locked, the padlock is just hanging here.’

Jed felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck.

‘Moses, NO!’ Jed hissed.

The explosive force of the grenade blast knocked Jed on his back and the shock wave threw a cloud of dirt and dust into his face, temporarily blinding him.

Moses had started to side-step away from the door, but much of the left side of his body took the full force of the grenade’s fragments, shielding Jed, saving his life. The guide landed a metre from the American, also on his back. Jed coughed and spat dirt and rubbed his eyes with the back of his arm.

Through involuntary tears he saw the state of his friend. Smoke rose from his shredded shirt and trousers. Jed got to his knees and crawled to Moses. He was a mass of blood and burns. The skin had been flayed from his left arm and leg and parts of his torso. Amazingly, though, the African was not dead.

‘Moses, hang on, buddy,’ Jed said. He grabbed the walkie-talkie slung over his shoulder and barked into it. ‘Wylde, Wylde, this is Banks! I’ve got a man down. Repeat, man down, do you copy?’

Jed pulled his T-shirt off and wiped Moses’s face while he waited for a reply. Blood oozed from a hundred tiny shrapnel holes across his body, and here and there splinters of wood from the shattered door poked out like obscene thorns, but the worst wound was to his chest. Moses tried to talk, but all that came out was a ragged, gurgling choke.

It was a sucking chest wound. Jed reached into his trousers and pulled out his wallet. It was a cheap waterproof plastic sheath stuffed with money and credit cards and then folded closed. He opened it and, using his teeth, tore off the first fifteen centimetres of plastic. He pressed the plastic down over the hole in Moses’s chest and felt the lung sucking against the airtight seal. He wrapped the T-shirt around the guide’s torso and tied it tight, holding the wallet section against the wound.

‘Wylde, Wylde, this is Banks, answer, damn it!’ he said into the radio.

‘Wylde here, over.’

‘Moses is hit. Grenade. Booby trap. He’s bad. Tell Christine Wallis that there’s no doubt at all now bin Zayid’s our man. We’ll need people to go over this place with a fine-tooth comb. Send the local bomb squad if there is one. He was here, but there’s no sign of him now. I’m bringing Moses back in the boat. Got that?’

‘Affirmative. I’ll call the Italian hospital at Chirundu on the Zimbabwe side. They’re already sending a boat. Chris says to tell you her people will be here in a helicopter any minute.’

‘Roger that. On my way. Out.’ Jed slung Moses’s rifle around his neck and said, ‘Come on, buddy, you’re going home.’ He lifted the bigger man across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and picked up his own rifle. Moses groaned in agony as Jed set off at a trot.

‘Hold on, Moses, hold on. I’m sorry, man, but we’ve got to get away from this place.’

When they reached the boat Jed felt as though his legs were ready to give way. He lowered Moses in as gently as he could, but the tracker still cried out. ‘At least you’re conscious. Don’t let go, man.

Hold on for Christ’s sake.’

Jed pushed the boat out into the channel, put it in neutral and pressed the starter. The engine caught first time and he backed out, turned, then opened the throttle full forward. The nose lifted high and he raised a fantail of water as he roared up the still moonlit river.

‘Almost there, buddy.’

Moses opened his eyes and stared at Jed. He opened his lips to speak.

‘What is it?’ Jed leaned over and took Moses’s hand in his.

‘You asked …’ the tracker croaked.

‘What?’

‘The most dangerous animal…’

‘Doesn’t matter now,’ Jed said. ‘You’ll be fine, buddy Doctor should be there when we get back to the crash site.’

‘The most dangerous animal is the one with two legs. Be careful, Jed. Find your daughter …’

Moses coughed, his whole body shaking with the painful effort.

A flashlight beam swept the water ahead of them. ‘Over here,’ called Willy Wylde.

Jed could see another silvery wake beyond the crash site. He prayed this was the hospital’s speedboat, travelling from Chirundu.

‘Bloody messy,’ Wylde said, noticing Moses as Jed bumped the boat against the crashed aircraft.

‘Jed, are you hit?’ Chris cried in alarm.

Jed shook his head and looked down at his bare torso. He realised he was covered in Moses’s blood. ‘No, I’m fine. Is that the hospital boat coming?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘How is he?’

Moses coughed again and bright blood spewed from his lips. He tried to sit up, then he thudded back into the hull.

‘We’re losing him,’ Jed said, dropping to his knees. He scooped blood from Moses’s mouth with his fingers, tilted his head back, pinched his nose and pressed his lips to the African’s.

Jed blew five quick breaths into Moses’s lungs and looked up. Chris was by his side and started compressions on the unconscious man’s chest. Her hands were red and slippery in the moonlight.

They continued CPR, her five compressions to every one of Jed’s breaths, until the boat rocked under the weight of another person. ‘Move aside, please, I am a doctor,’ the man said with a thick Italian accent.

An African nurse and a younger man, a local intern, Jed guessed, carried on the mouth-to-mouth while the doctor injected Moses with morphine and set up an intravenous drip. Jed and Chris stepped back onto the wing of the aircraft. Wylde offered Jed a cigarette and he gladly accepted, spitting Moses’s blood from his mouth first, then drawing hard on the nicotine to kill the bitter metallic taste.

‘We heard the blast and I thought the worst,’ Chris said.

‘There was no sign of Miranda or Calvert, but the bastard had used the place as a base. We’ve got to get back there, quickly.’

‘I agree, Jed,’ Christine said, ‘but let’s wait for the team to arrive. We’ll have back-up and the chopper. We’ll find him if he’s still in the area.’