Vendetta, page 5
Frank gave Adam a thumbs up, but no smile. Adam nodded; everything was not lekker. Adam felt his stomach drop as the Puma lifted off. He smelled sweat and oil and the tang of something far more stringent, maybe disinfectant, as the metal skin of the cocoon vibrated around them. Adam sat in the open doorway of the chopper, his legs dangling outside, his LMG at the ready.
Evan leaned close to Adam and yelled into his ear, over the noise of the engine and rush of air. ‘Who was that fucking leg officer who came to see the loot?’
The Parabat slang was already second nature to them; a ‘leg’ was anyone who walked, rather than jumped into battle: someone outside the parachute battalion. ‘I think it was the sector commander, Colonel de Villiers,’ Adam said. Another jam stealer who got the best rations and a soft bed.
‘Weird how he drove all the way out to tell us an aircraft had just been shot down,’ Evan said.
Adam nodded. Why hadn’t such an urgent call come via radio? They crossed Oom Willie se Pad, Uncle Willie’s Road, clearly visible below as the big Puma helicopter’s shadow passed over it. The cutline through the parched bush that marked the border between South West Africa and Angola was as stark as a fresh scar on smooth young skin.
The LMG was heavy across Adam’s knees. As the man carrying the stick’s light machine gun he was ready to lay down covering fire if needed. Ferri had said the Bosbok had gone down behind the FAPLA lines, which meant the Angolan army would be in the area if they weren’t already at the crash site. Adam looked around him. He saw eyes and teeth; the white Parabats’ faces and the exposed skin of their hands and arms were covered in black-is-beautiful camouflage. Luiz, one of the two San trackers, grinned back at him. Luiz’s brother Roberto sat next to him, unsmiling, staring out of the helicopter.
Ferri was up front, on a headset, crouching between and behind the two pilots, pointing through the windscreen.
Adam looked out over the endless mopane. He could barely remember the Indian Ocean. They came from different parts of South Africa, their military service their only common denominator. Adam’s father was of Afrikaans heritage, but his family spoke English at their home in Natal because of his British-born mother. Evan, with his black curly hair, was from a family of Greek fishermen from Port Elizabeth. Frank had been studying nature conservation and wanted to be a game ranger in the Eastern Transvaal, in Kruger, after the war, but he said the army had suited him and he had transferred to the permanent force. Maybe it was the war that suited Frank, Adam wasn’t sure. Rassie Erasmus, the ops medic from Potchefstroom, wanted to study medicine and be a doctor one day. Hennie Steyn, the corporal, a farmer’s son from the Free State, was another of the ou manne. He had his brown army-issue scarf wrapped around his head as a sweat band.
The chopper tech, the crewman, pressed the talk switch on his radio intercom and nodded. He held up one finger, a signal they passed on to each other. One minute.
Adam felt the jolt of adrenaline, his body tense from his sphincter to his chest as the pilot took the Puma down. He held the wooden pistol grip on the Belgian-designed machine gun tighter, and scanned the bush.
‘Go!’ the crewman screamed.
Heart thumping in his chest, Adam jumped from the helicopter the moment the wheels touched down. He ran a few metres through brittle, dry grass, then dropped to one knee. He scanned the bush around him, ready to kill or die for the men clambering out of the Puma.
Chapter 5
Dune Lodge, Kalahari Desert, the present
Mia stood on a timber deck, under the shade of a Bedouin-style awning made of khaki-coloured ripstop canvas, outside the Dune Lodge dining area. The building was steel-framed but clad in canvas, to give guests the illusion of being in a large, tastefully appointed tent.
The deck wrapped around the main communal structure and a swimming pool glittered invitingly in front of Mia. Beyond that, the dunes stretched away to the horizon.
Her phone rang; she knew it was Julianne Clyde-Smith, her boss. Julianne’s ever-efficient PA, Audrey Uren, had called earlier to arrange a time.
‘Mia, how are you?’ Julianne asked in her plummy British accent.
‘Ja, fine, and you?’
‘Could be better. Have the police gone?’
As usual, Julianne was straight down to business, with minimal small talk. ‘Yes.’
‘Did the guests see what was going on?’
‘No, fortunately it was just the four Americans in camp and they were off having their midday snooze when the detectives and forensic people got here. They’re saying it’s suicide.’ Mia shuddered, remembering her father.
‘How did he . . . ?’
Mia swallowed. ‘Shot himself in the head, the one detective said. I didn’t even know Luiz had a gun.’
‘He didn’t use one of our rifles?’ Julianne asked.
‘No.’ The lodge had five .375 large-calibre rifles which the guides carried if guests went on walks, to protect them against dangerous game, as well as a Winchester 300 hunting rifle with a scope for animal control, and LM5 assault rifles and pistols for the anti-poaching unit. ‘A pistol – not one of ours.’
‘How was he lately? Did he have any personal problems that you knew of? Was he depressed?’
The police had asked her all the same questions. ‘Fine, and no, and no – but he wasn’t the kind to share his feelings. His English wasn’t great, but we were getting on very well. He taught me so much, Julianne . . .’
‘I’m so sorry, Mia. I know how hard this must be for you. Especially for you. Sorry, I hope you know what I mean.’
Mia sniffed, but managed to keep her tears in check. ‘It’s OK, yes, thank you.’
Mia’s father had killed himself in the same way, which Julianne knew. There had been no need for Mia to see Luiz’s remains up close – his niece, Shirley, had identified the body – but just the thought of the way he had taken his life had shaken Mia and brought back terrible memories. In her mind she saw the streaks of red on the tiled floor of her home. Nokuthula had been too distraught to clean the house properly after her father’s body had been taken away.
‘Mia?’
‘I’m here. I’m OK – well, as OK as can be expected.’
‘Do you need some time?’
‘My friend Sannie’s coming to stay. I’m planning on using some bed nights for her and me.’ All of Julianne’s key staff had an allocation of ‘bed nights’, free accommodation they could use for themselves, family and friends as a perk of working for a lodge.
‘Ah yes, of course, the irrepressible Captain van Rensburg. Give her my best. I hope you both have a lovely time and enjoy life on the other side of the lodge. I don’t envy whoever your guide is, though.’
Mia forced a little laugh, for her employer’s sake. ‘I won’t correct them; at least not until I’m back on duty.’
‘Very good. I’m sorry, Mia. I’ve scheduled a call with Shirley so I’ve got to go. Please contact me if there’s anything you need.’
‘Thank you.’
Julianne was businesslike, even when being compassionate. Mia didn’t doubt Julianne’s sincerity, but communicating with staff in a time of crisis, like this, and making sure guests were shielded from the worst of it were as much about money and Tripadvisor ratings as they were about doing the right thing.
Mia sat down on a sun bed. She was very shaken, not just by the news, but by the way in which Luiz had taken his own life. She started to cry. Miriam, one of the hospitality staff, came over to her. ‘I’ve brought you something to eat, Mia. Some fresh sushi, your favourite.’
Mia wiped her eyes and smiled, touched by the small gesture. She had not even asked. ‘Thank you, Miriam. How are you?’
Miriam frowned. ‘We’re all sad. Everyone loved Luiz and he’d been here since the lodge opened, many years ago.’
‘It’s so terrible.’ Mia took a bite of a sushi roll, for Miriam’s sake, but found she wasn’t hungry. ‘Do you think he was having troubles?’
Miriam shook her head. ‘No. You know, he was always laughing, playing little jokes on people, like the time he put boot polish in Mathias’s socks. Mathias screamed so loud everyone in the staff quarters heard him.’
That was Luiz, from the little Mia knew of him after three months. He was much older than all the other guides and trackers, but still had the sparkle of a mischievous teenager in his eyes.
Mia guessed, however, that Luiz kept many secrets in his heart. She had tried to broach the subject of his military service with him, but he’d pretended not to understand. What she had learned had come from Shirley. Mia’s father had served with San soldiers in Angola and Mia had been keen to learn more about what Luiz had done.
Miriam went back to the kitchen, and Shirley walked slowly out onto the deck. ‘Hi.’
Mia looked up. Shirley’s hazel eyes were red-rimmed. She was beautiful, in her early thirties, her skin the colour of honey, her red-brown hair lustrously curled. She’d told Mia that her mother, Luiz’s sister, had married a defrocked Irish priest. Mia had left that little detail out when briefing her guests. Both of Shirley’s parents had passed away. Normally brimming with confidence and energy, Shirley now looked to Mia like her grief over Luiz had taken a physical toll on her.
‘I just spoke to Julianne.’ Shirley winced.
‘Me as well. How are you feeling?’ Mia thought Shirley had just reapplied her makeup, perhaps to cover the tracks of her tears.
‘I cried, but mostly I feel numb. Tired. I just can’t believe it, Mia.’
Mia stood up, went to Shirley and hugged her.
‘Thanks,’ Shirley said after a few moments.
‘You want some food?’ Mia gestured to her unfinished sushi.
‘No, I’m fine. He didn’t say anything to you, did he, Mia?’
‘No, nothing about being sad. He just seemed the same as always.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t crying for Luiz.’ Shirley ran her hands down the front of her uniform pants. ‘At least, not yet. One of the cleaning staff went to his room this morning and found something terrible, which you’re bound to hear about from someone.’
‘What?’
Shirley looked around, then lowered her voice. ‘I need you to come with me. I feel sick to my stomach. Also, you’ll know what to do.’
‘What is it?’
‘I can’t say.’
Shirley led and Mia followed, back through the dining and lounge area with its sofas, rugs and library of wildlife books, through the office and out into the sand. They took the path that meandered through the vehicle park, where the game viewers stood under carports made of poles and shade cloth, to the simple yet tasteful rooms that made up the staff quarters.
Shirley looked around again, making sure no one was in sight, then let herself into Luiz’s room. ‘He let me have his spare key – he was a genius in the desert, but he locked himself out a couple of times. He told me he never even knew what a lock was until he joined the army, and never got used to them.’
It was dark inside, a place of respite from the Kalahari and the sun. Luiz slept by choice on a thin mattress on the floor, no bed. His uniforms hung from a wooden rack, pressed and ready, his spare pair of boots polished.
Shirley went to the wardrobe in the corner. ‘Open it.’ She stood back.
Mia, her pulse quickening, brushed past Shirley in the confines of the small room and opened the door. She heard a scratching sound and saw that the wardrobe was empty apart from a wooden box. She shifted a jacket from the top and lifted the lid.
‘Oh my word.’ Mia put a hand over her mouth as she looked in and saw the scaly creature inside. ‘A pangolin!’
‘Shush,’ Shirley said, and went back to the door, again casting her eyes left and right before closing it.
‘What the hell do we do, Mia?’
Mia was speechless. This had happened to her once before, when she had first met Sannie van Rensburg, who had been investigating the disappearance of some teenaged girls from a village near the Kruger Park. A young man who Mia knew had been caught with a pangolin in his room, so this discovery felt eerily familiar. However, given that pangolins were probably the most trafficked animal in Africa, it probably wasn’t all that surprising. She turned back to the cupboard, reached down into the box and lifted the pangolin out. The creature curled itself into a ball.
‘Mia?’
‘I’m thinking.’ She nursed it. Mia knew that pangolins did not fare well in captivity; many died of dehydration when first taken by poachers. Was that what Luiz had been? A poacher?
‘You knew nothing about this?’ Shirley asked.
‘No, of course not,’ Mia said. ‘This is totally illegal. I can’t believe Luiz was involved in poaching.’
‘My uncle was not a poacher.’ Shirley put her hands on her hips. ‘He loved wildlife and the desert. He played the clown, the practical joker sometimes, but he’d also been through trauma in his life; this was as close as he’d been to being happy the whole time I knew him. He loved it here, Mia. He wouldn’t have done anything to mess up this job.’
Finding the pangolin in Luiz’s room did not fit with anything Mia knew about the tracker, but she also knew there were good men and women in the Kruger Park and the neighbouring reserves, where she had worked as a guide, who had been corrupted by the large sums of money poaching gangs offered. There, in the Lowveld, the big money was in rhino poaching, but pangolins were also a very lucrative commodity in the illegal wildlife trade.
Mia inspected the pangolin, as fascinated with it as she was horrified by the prospect that Luiz may have been a poacher. ‘Could he have wanted it for umuthi or something like that?’
‘I doubt it,’ Shirley said. ‘There’s nothing in our culture that says that pangolins have any magical powers, or that they’re used for traditional medicines. It beats me why people want these things anyway.’
‘People in Asia believe the scales help women who are breastfeeding to produce milk, and that they cure cancer and psoriasis. It’s all unfounded nonsense.’ Mia was not one to knock people’s beliefs, but if they resulted in the decline or demise of a species or plant and there was no scientific basis to the claims, then it just made her mad. ‘Pangolin meat is also an expensive delicacy in restaurants.’
‘What do we do, Mia?’
‘First off, we have to get this little guy back into the wild and eating as soon as possible, then we really need to get him to some experts I know in Askham.’
‘What about my uncle? Do we need to tell the police?’
Mia had no idea. If Luiz had been involved in a crime, then the police really did need to know about it, but it would cast a pall over the lodge and ruin his reputation forever. Luiz, although a man of few words, had been the star of a number of online videos and advertisements commissioned by Julianne. She did not think her boss would be part of covering up a crime, but this would hurt her and the business, which was really only just coming back after COVID-19. ‘I just don’t know, Shirley. If he was trafficking this pangolin, I wonder who his contact was?’
‘No idea,’ Shirley said. ‘Uncle Luiz rarely went back to Platfontein, because it’s so far away, and as far as I knew he kept pretty much to himself.’
‘What about family?’
‘He had a wife and a child in Angola, when he was very young, but they were killed during the war. It was some kind of reprisal attack, which sometimes happened to the San because they supported the Portuguese.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Mia said.
‘Yes.’ Shirley ran a hand through her hair. ‘Even for those families who moved with their men to Namibia and then on to South Africa, life has been hard. Our community at Platfontein has plenty of problems – unemployment, violence, men disrespecting women and girls, and unwanted sex and pregnancies. We’re working on it, but it’s hard.’
‘I see.’
Shirley looked at her for a few seconds and Mia couldn’t help but wonder if Shirley was thinking to herself: Do you really?
‘I grew up without a mom and my dad drank too much,’ Mia said. ‘I know what alcoholism can do to people, to communities.’
‘I’m sorry, Mia,’ Shirley said, ‘I didn’t mean to insinuate that you couldn’t understand us. I guess every community has its problems.’
Mia gently set the pangolin back down in its box.
‘What are you going to do with it?’ Shirley asked.
‘Sheesh, I really don’t know, Shirley. I suppose we can just let it go into the wild, but if it’s not well then maybe it needs some care first. I’ll call a pangolin researcher I know and just make some general inquiries; I won’t say Luiz was involved.’
‘We don’t know that Luiz was involved,’ Shirley shot back.
‘Sorry,’ Mia said, but privately she felt the evidence did not look good. ‘Maybe we can check his things, see if maybe there was some reason he had the pangolin. Maybe he left a note?’
Even though she had seen his body briefly, the reality that Luiz was gone suddenly hit her. She knew what Shirley would be going through now, asking herself why Luiz had done what he did. Her father had left no note.
‘You’re right, Mia.’ Shirley started to look through Luiz’s clothes, checking the pockets of the shirts and a couple of fleeces – it could be bitingly cold in the Kalahari at night, and on early-morning and evening drives – but finding nothing. She checked a small bedside table with three drawers and Mia looked over her shoulder, still uncomfortable about going through the dead man’s possessions.
Mia saw a bible on Luiz’s bedside table. Shirley picked it up and leafed through it; the text was in Portuguese. Then a picture fell out. Shirley retrieved it from the ground.
‘Who’s that?’ Mia asked, looking at the woman in the small black-and-white photo.
