Deadly Harvest (35 page)

“That has to be Joshua in the car,” Kubu said to Samantha. “The witch doctor is making sure nobody's following.”

“Everyone stop,” Mabaku ordered. The team leader acknowledged and raised his hand to signal the others.

A few minutes later the scout reported again. “This is Scout Two. Suspect B is circling behind Suspect A's vehicle. Am following at a distance.”

“Move forward another hundred yards,” Mabaku ordered. The teams fanned out even farther and crept forward.

“Suspect B is now circling back.”

“Get down,” came Mabaku's order. The men dropped quietly to the ground, looking around anxiously.

“If Suspect B sees any of you, capture him alive and take Suspect A as well.” As he heard Mabaku's words, Kubu said to Samantha, “I hope that doesn't happen. We won't have anything to charge either man with.”

A few minutes later: “Suspect B has entered a small building about one hundred yards from Suspect A's vehicle.”

“Close in another hundred yards,” Mabaku ordered.

The men crept closer. Then nothing happened for interminable minutes.

He's getting ready for Joshua, thought Kubu.

“A light has come on outside the building. Suspect A has left his car and is proceeding toward the building.”

“Move forward until building is in sight, then stop.”

“Suspect A now in building.”

“Yes!” Kubu exclaimed. “We've got them.”

W
HEN
THE LIGHT IN
the house flashed, Joshua knew it was time. He took a deep breath. I'm afraid of him, he admitted. I'm afraid of what he'll make me do.

He pulled himself together, closed the car door quietly, and headed to the house. But before he reached the front door, he stopped. Something bothered him. A sound not really heard, or a movement not really seen? He stood still and carefully scanned the area, then he silently turned around and peered into the brush behind him. The half-­moon was now low in the sky, and what illumination it offered was disguised by tree shadows. He waited for more than a minute. The light in the house signaled again. He felt his confidence build again, as it had when he'd held the albino's still-­warm heart in his hands. He entered the house, gently closing the door behind him, letting the Yale lock click into place.

The witch doctor was waiting for him, dressed as always in baboon mask and leopard skin. Joshua felt awe, but he also felt power pumping in his veins. It was I who killed the albino, he thought. Not you.

The room had two wooden chairs set apart, and the witch doctor waved Joshua to one and took the other.

“Why did you call me?” the witch doctor asked. “What's so urgent?”

“They don't believe Rampa is the witch doctor. I had the commissioner convinced, but the CID ­people don't believe it.” Somehow the issue didn't seem as critical here in the witch doctor's den. “It was a mistake hurting him. The welts on his body convinced them that he couldn't be the real witch doctor.”

The baboon head turned to face him, but Joshua couldn't see eyes behind the holes in the mask. “It doesn't work like that, Joshua. Rampa betrayed me. He said things no one should speak. For that he was punished. He will die as he deserves.”

“Nevertheless, they now believe there was someone else behind it all.”

“It was your job to convince them that no one else is involved!”

“They're looking for someone else. They're looking for you. They've been watching me, too.”

The witch doctor leaned forward, suddenly tense. “Watching you? Why would they suspect you?”

“I think my rival for the deputy commissioner job is trying to trip me up. But I've been careful.”

“What if they followed you here?” The witch doctor's voice rose in anger.

“I gave them the slip. They're following their tracking device to Mogoditshane. And no other cars came down this road.”

The witch doctor nodded. “That's true.” He paused. “What did you expect me to do about all this?” he asked calmly.

“I thought it was important for you to know what was happening. Can't you put them off the track somehow?”

The witch doctor thought for a few moments. “There is no track. No one can see me unless I want them to. And I will be away for a while. There are ­people in Zimbabwe I can work with to get what we need. Much more cheaply, too. I'll set up new contact procedures with my clients. Maybe you will come there to see me. Maybe I will come back here.” He leaned toward Joshua. “Anyway, you have what you need for now, don't you?”

Joshua felt a bit dizzy. The background seemed to fade, leaving nothing but the witch doctor. He could now see deep black eyes, staring out at him from the baboon face. The eyes were from very far away. Maybe from another world. But the thought didn't upset him. He felt relaxed.

“Yes,” he said. “I have what I need.”

“You have the power.”

“Yes,” Joshua repeated. “I have the power.”

“So there is no problem.”

“No, there is no problem.” His voice was without intonation.

“Good. Then we have finished.”

Joshua nodded. “Yes, we have finished.” He knew it was true and felt relief.

“You can go now. I'll contact you when it's time.”

“Yes, I can go now. I have what I need.” Joshua rose to his feet, feeling groggy. At that moment, there was a sound of a snapping twig. “What was that?” The effects of the spell vanished, and he was instantly alert again.

The witch doctor had heard it, too. “Someone's out there! You said you weren't followed!”

“Quiet.” Joshua tried to look through the window into the night, but there was only blackness. Then he heard a scuffing sound, the sound of shoes moving closer, faint, but he was sure.

“There are ­people out there. We have to get out of here.”

A voice from outside shouted, “Police! Open the door at once!”

“Keep them here!” the witch doctor cried and headed to the back of the house.

Suddenly everything was clear to Joshua. It was the witch doctor who had let himself be followed. No longer invisible. No longer powerful. He couldn't allow him to leave the house. If he was caught, Joshua was finished. He pulled the pistol from under his jacket. But at that moment the witch doctor turned and gave an unearthly screech. Joshua fired, but his hand shook, and the bullet went wide.

There was a crash behind him as the door burst open. Before he could turn, he was knocked to the floor, and the pistol wrestled away. He felt a heavy foot on his neck, and his arms were pulled roughly behind his back and his wrists handcuffed.

He twisted his head to look for the witch doctor, but he was gone.

F
OR THE MAN GUARDING
the back of the house, the night became a nightmare. He was expecting an escaping robber, perhaps coming out, guns blazing. He almost hoped for that. Instead he saw a creature not human—­half man, half baboon. He knew at once what it was, and his heart froze. It screeched like something from the pits of hell and, before he could recover, it was on him. He pulled the trigger, but it was too late; bullets smashed harmlessly into the back of the building. The force of the witch doctor's attack, added to the recoil, knocked him over backward. The last thing he felt was the scalpel going through his throat from ear to ear.

K
UBU HEARD THE GUNSHOT,
a cacophony on the radio, and then a burst of automatic rifle fire. Forgetting his own orders to Samantha, he shouted, “Something's wrong! He's getting away. Monitor the radio and keep Mabaku informed.” Ignoring Samantha's protests, he clambered out of the vehicle and lumbered up the road toward the house. He wanted to spot the witch doctor's car. That's where he'll go, he thought. If I'm wrong, and they've got him, no harm done. If I'm right, I've got to stop him.

L
UCKILY
THE MOON GLINTED
off the metal of the car or Kubu might have missed it. As it was, he caught the reflection and moved off the road toward it, trying to catch his breath. He could hear the men at the house shouting and crashing around in the bushes. His decision to get involved didn't seem like a good idea anymore—­he wasn't even armed. But surely the witch doctor wouldn't get through the cordon?

Kubu suddenly realized he could be mistaken for one of the suspects. He took some comfort in the fact that the scouts had night goggles, and they would recognize him by his bulk. But to be on the safe side, he moved to the side of the car away from the house.

The witch doctor came at him out of the bushes screeching as he rushed forward, something in his hand glinting.

For Kubu, time seemed to stop. Before him was a creature of nightmares, hands out like claws of a predatory beast, awful baboon face, body splattered with the blood of its kill. For a fraction of a second Kubu felt the hopelessness of opposing this evil. Then his right arm flew out, not to ward off the attacker, but to destroy it. His mind boiled with fury; his arm powered by the anger of murdered children. And he screamed back.

The edge of his right hand caught the witch doctor below the left ear, by good luck just below the wooden mask. He felt something give, and his hand exploded in agony. The scalpel cut into his arm, but then was released, and the witch doctor collapsed to the ground.

Suddenly Samantha was there. “Kubu, are you okay?”

For a moment he couldn't speak, his eyes watering from the waves of pain in his hand. “Yes, I'm fine. Handcuff the witch doctor. I think I knocked him out. Be careful! He has a knife, and he may be faking.” He tried to move the fingers of his hand, but the pain was excruciating, and he stopped.

Samantha bent over the witch doctor, and Kubu heard the handcuffs close. After what seemed a long time, Samantha spoke. “He's dead, Kubu. I think you broke his neck.”

She turned her attention back to him, seeing the blood staining his jacket. “Oh God. You're hurt. We must get you to a hospital. Where are the others?” She jumped up. “Over here!” she yelled. The assault team called back and moved up.

“Can you take off the mask?” Kubu asked, nursing his broken hand.

Samantha pulled loose the Velcro straps of the mask and lifted it off. Now they could see the strange angle of the head on the neck.

“Yes, it is him,” said Samantha.

Kubu looked down at the face of Dr. Jake Pilane and nodded.

SIXTY

S
AMANTHA RUSHED
K
UB
U TO
Princess Marina Hospital, but once she was convinced that he wasn't seriously injured, she left for home, exhausted. Edison Banda waited and drove Kubu home after the hospital had finished with him. They didn't talk much. Edison was also tired after the long night, and Kubu was in a haze of shock and painkillers, his mind on the events leading up to the witch doctor's death.

It was after three when Edison dropped Kubu off and headed home to his bed. Kubu knew Joy would be waiting for him; he'd phoned her from the hospital to let her know that he'd been hurt, but was okay. Nevertheless, when he came in, he could see the worry on her face. I look a mess, he thought, as he tossed his bloodied and ruined sweater over a chair. His forearm was half covered by the dressing over the stitches, and his hand tightly bound with bandages.

“Oh, Kubu!” Joy cried, running to him.

“I'm fine, my darling.” He hugged her with his left arm, pulling her close.

“What did he do to you?”

He could tell she was close to tears. “The arm is just a flesh wound. And you know I have plenty of that! They put in a few stitches and bandaged it up. As for my hand, I broke one of the bones hitting the witch doctor. But it's not serious, either. A ‘greenstick' fracture, the doctor called it. It will bind up by itself. They gave me antibiotics and painkillers. I'll be fine.”

He decided not to mention the antiretroviral they'd given him, concerned about the blood from the dead policeman on the scalpel. They wouldn't know about the man's HIV status until later in the morning.

Kubu steered her to the couch, and they sat close together, Joy on the left so that he could have his good arm over her shoulder. For a few minutes, it was enough for them to sit together and be still. Then Joy asked, “What happened to him? The witch doctor?”

Kubu hesitated. “I killed him. I didn't mean to. He was rushing at me with a scalpel in his hand. I was scared and just lashed out and hit him as hard as I could.” His hand twinged as if recalling the blow.

“I'm glad,” Joy said. “I'm glad he's dead. He was an awful, evil man.”

Kubu shook his head. “We needed him alive. We need to know who his clients were, who his victims were. We needed to show ­people that he was just a psychopath, to be reviled not feared. He's escaped what should have been in store for him.”

But there's more to it than that, Kubu thought. I killed a man. A bad man, a man who deserved to die, but another human being nonetheless. He dragged me to his level.

Joy shuddered. “I don't care. He might've got away. I'm glad you killed him.”

Kubu pulled her closer, wishing they could go to bed, make love, put it all out of their lives, but he knew the moment wasn't right. And that this was something he would carry alone.

“Do you want some tea?” Joy asked.

Kubu would have preferred a stiff brandy, but with all the drugs, that might not be a good idea. “Tea sounds good.”

Joy went to the kitchen, and Kubu stretched out, allowing the tension to seep out of his muscles, to be replaced by physical tiredness. They would have tea, he would reassure Joy, and they would go to bed. There was much to do in the morning. And the painkillers would wear off at some point.

He heard a scrabbling in the ceiling and glanced up. The mongoose, he thought.

Then Joy came back with the tea, snuggling close to him again, and he knew that everything would turn out all right.