Poacher (12 page)

The dazed expression remained. Meyer lifted
his eyes slowly towards Sam. ‘Jenkins, did you say? Are you the
ranger that was wounded? He talked about you. Said for me to tell
you never to stop looking over your shoulder. He’s coming back to
kill you. Better watch out. I think he means it.’ He started
babbling incoherently and the doctor intervened, gently pushing him
onto his back on the couch.

‘That’s enough now. I’m going to give you
something to make you sleep. Just relax and everything will be
okay.’

The colonel put his hands on the man’s arms
reassuringly. ‘Do as the doctor says, Mr Meyer. We are just going
to visit the scene, and then we will pick you up on our way back to
Nelspruit.’

It was a short flight to the fence. Following
the instructions of the police on the ground, the pilot put the
helicopter down in a clearing. While Colonel Aucamp was conversing
with his colleagues, Sam walked up to the fence. The body had
already been removed and no sign remained of the previous night’s
violence.

Sam stood on a boulder and stared into
Mozambican bush. ‘I know you will be back, you bastard,’ he
whispered. ‘Please hurry. I am waiting for you.’

Chapter Six

As Joao entered the Foyer of the Hotel
Polana, the only respectable hotel left in Maputo, he
absentmindedly touched the small of his back to make sure that the
Tokarev was there, ready for a fast draw. In the unlikely event of
this being a trap, he had no intention of getting abducted back
across the border. He had no illusions about his fate should the
South Africans get their hands on him again. Poaching was one
thing, but killing two cops had upgraded him to a different league
altogether.

He walked through the lounge and out to the
pool area, continuously scanning his surroundings for anything that
might look suspicious. There were very few people around at eleven
on a Tuesday morning, tourism not being very high in the Frelimo
government’s priority list. The hotel was used mostly by foreign
businessmen, all trying to get their feet in the door early, as the
winds of change have started stirring ever so slightly. A year ago
the place had been practically deserted but as the government’s
attitude to private enterprise had started changing, more and more
doors that had been closed for twelve years had started opening,
and a wide variety of businessmen and opportunists were clamouring
to get in early.

A few people were scattered around the poorly
maintained pool, and Joao immediately spotted Courie at a table
near the open-air bar. The tables in the immediate vicinity were
unoccupied, and there was no way anyone could approach without
being obvious.

‘So, Joao, we meet again,’ Courie said,
rising and extending his right hand in greeting.

Joao had come into town the previous week to
have the wires removed from his jaws, and had found an urgent
message from the Chinese trader awaiting him at his favourite
watering hole, the Marco Polo Bar and Grill.

Entering the Chinaman’s shop, he had
immediately been shown into the small back office, where serious
business was always conducted.

‘Mr Courie wants to see you urgently,’ the
Chinaman had informed him excitedly.

‘Courie? The lawyer? You must be bloody
crazy. I’m not seeing any South African lawyers.’

‘He is coming to Maputo to see you. And he is
not a South African. He’s got a Belgian passport.’

‘He can have a passport to heaven for all I
care. It can only be a trap. How the hell do you know about him,
anyway?’

The Chinaman shifted uncomfortably. ‘Don’t
talk about Mr Courie that way. He’s a very big man.’

‘Looked more like a little runt to me.’

The Chinaman had winced, holding up his hands
as if to ward off a physical attack. ‘Please, please, Joao. He is a
much more powerful man than you could imagine. He has got contacts
everywhere. And soldiers. Be very careful. I think he is in with
the Mafia as well.’

Joao roared with laughter. ‘The Mafia? You
want to tell me he is a big man in organised crime, and he is
practising law in Nelspruit. Come off it, man!’

‘He shifted eighteen tons of ivory last year.
And nobody knows how much rhino.’

‘Ah, now I see. He is close to the Kruger
Park, close to Mozambique, close to Swaziland . . . So he is the
big man behind all this. Why does he want to see me?’

‘He instructed me to tell you that it is in
connection with your brother.’

Rui! Hate and visions of revenge had flooded
his thoughts, and he had known immediately that he wanted to meet
Courie.

‘Have a seat,’ Courie invited. ‘Beer?’

‘Laurentina, please. The Chinaman said you
wanted to talk about Rui,’ Joao came to the point immediately.

Courie sighed. ‘Yes, a tragic business,
that.’

‘Yes, I know. You didn’t come all the way to
sympathise with me. What is it you want?’

Courie experienced some difficulty in hiding
his annoyance behind a conspiratorial smile. ‘It’s more a matter of
give and take. You do something for me, I do something for
you.’

‘Like what?’

‘You give me one very specific rhino, I give
you Jenkins.’

Joao could feel his pulse quickening at the
thought of getting to Jenkins. He had no illusions about just
hopping across the wire and killing the man. Jenkins was expecting
an attempt on his life, and the man would be waiting for him to try
just that.

‘Why me?’

‘Because you’re the best. And you’ve got an
axe to grind. You’ve bungled your first attempt, which means
getting the big rhino is going to be twice as difficult this time.
You’ll have to get Jenkins out of the way first.’

‘I haven’t bungled anything. What are you
talking about?’

‘I’m talking about the big bull in the
quarantine camp. You missed him. They’ve now got a guard with a
radio in the camp to stop you from trying again.’

‘I didn’t miss him! I cut off the horn
myself.’

‘The one you got was a pretty big bull. The
horn was most probably twenty-six to thirty inches long. But it was
the wrong one. There is another bull in that camp with a sixty-inch
horn. It is very close to the world record, and I want it as badly
as you want Jenkins. In exchange for the horn, which must be intact
and removed properly, you will not only get Jenkins, but a bonus of
one hundred thousand rand in cash as well.’

The figure took Joao’s breath away. A hundred
thousand rand represented wealth beyond comprehension to him. It
boggled his mind. The fact that Courie had already accepted an
offer for one million dollars for the trophy from a man in Texas
wouldn’t have bothered him in the least, even if he had known about
it. His share would be enough to last him a lifetime.

Joao smiled for the first time. ‘You’ve got
yourself a deal, Mr Courie. How do we go about it?’

‘Carefully,’ Courie said as he passed a slip
of paper across the table. ‘Go to this address and have four
passport photos taken. Get them back here to me before three this
afternoon. Call on the Chinaman again in a week’s time – he’ll have
a new passport for you with further instructions. Follow them
meticulously.’

Sam was sitting with his back propped against
a granite boulder puffing his pipe thoughtfully. He was patrolling
the fence with his Yamaha XT500 scrambler, and had stopped for a
smoke break. He had been back for nearly a month now, and things
were pretty near back to normal. Since his return his whole
division had been in a state of alert, awaiting the return of Joao
for his appointment with fate. Nothing, however, happened. Even
though he had the patience of a hunting cat, the waiting was
getting on his nerves. There was no doubt in his mind that Joao
would make good his promise and come after him, but hanging around
and waiting for him did not appeal to Sam. If he had any idea where
in Mozambique Joao was, Sam would have gone after him without the
slightest hesitation. The Frelimo government emphatically denied
the existence of Joao dos Santos, so they were in no position to
get up and scream about it if he got himself killed. But looking
for him without backing would be like looking for the proverbial
needle in the haystack. He had no option but to wait.

He had been out of hospital for quite some
time now. In fact, after his hasty departure on the evening of the
escape he had never returned to his hospital bed. When they
delivered the sedated Hannes Meyer to the hospital, Sam had
telephoned Linda to fetch him. His intention had been to get a bath
and some clothes and head for Nwanetzi. He should have known that
it would not work out that way. He had stayed with her for five
days, putting his wound through some rigorous tests frequently.
Estelle had been under the impression that he was staying with a
friend who had no telephone.

Linda had brought him home the following
Sunday, and stayed the evening. Since then he had visited her once,
and she was due to arrive late this afternoon to stay for the
weekend. He was looking forward to her visit. He had still not
decided what to do with his life and preferred not to think about
it. Subconsciously he was postponing a decision until such time as
he was forced to do something. In the meantime he was riding the
crest of the wave and enjoying the experience of being infatuated
immensely.

He got up and dusted the seat of his khaki
pants absentmindedly. The sudden movement startled a bushbuck ewe
that was grazing nearby, and she disappeared into the dense bush
with a bark. As he started the bike, he noticed vultures circling
deeper into the Park. He mentally admonished himself for not
noticing them earlier. His attention had been focused entirely on
the eastern border of his domain lately, he realised. Being
preoccupied with something when you are in the bush, especially on
a motorcycle, can end in sudden death. He knew this very well, and
decided to make a concerted effort to get the woman and Joao out of
his mind while he was in the bush. However, the semi-automatic LM5
on his back kept reminding him of the possibility of an encounter
with the poacher. He always used to go on motorbike patrols armed
only with his Ruger .44 Magnum in a hip holster, angled so that he
could reach it in a cross-body draw with his left hand, while still
able to manipulate the throttle with his right hand. Thus armed and
highly mobile on the potent machine, he could handle most of the
problems likely to arise.

The most dangerous thing a person could
encounter in the circumstances was the notorious black mamba, a
fairly common species in these parts. Dendroaspis polylepis
polylepis is well known for its aggression, especially during the
mating season. Although the average length is in the region of ten
to twelve feet, specimens of up to eighteen feet have been
recorded. To come across one of these monsters suddenly while
travelling in tall grass is a hair-raising experience, mainly
because there is not much a person can do about it, except
abandoning the bike and hoping the snake will be distracted by the
machine heading towards it for long enough to get oneself out of
striking distance and use the birdshot bullets always loaded in the
first two chambers of the Magnum. All the rangers using motorcycles
were well versed in these emergency procedures, and most of them
had been through the drill more than once. Everyone had been lucky
thus far, as a strike by a black mamba on the upper regions of the
body meant a swift and very unpleasant departure from this earth.
When rearing, the mamba lifts more than a third of its body off the
ground, which means it can strike a man anywhere it pleases. The
snake is more a metallic brown-ish grey, the term black referring
to the colour of the inside of its mouth.

The possibility of such an encounter is the
main reason the rangers prefer not to take a rifle on bike patrols.
Taking a spill with a rifle on your back can cause serious injury
to the spine and kidneys, and the rifle will also be a handicap if
swift action has to be taken.

The fact that the LM5 has a folding stock and
was of a light but potent .223 calibre made it much more manageable
than a conventional rifle, but Sam was still not very happy
carrying it on patrols. Should he run into Joao, however, the
long-range accuracy and the thirty-shot magazine could make all the
difference in the world.

Sam was puttering along at a sedate twenty
kilometres an hour in second gear. The big machine had enough
torque to literally jump away if the throttle was twisted even at
these low engine revolutions. He was following an elephant trail
that led in the general direction of the circling vultures. The
fact that many of the vultures were still circling was an
indication that the killers were still with their prey. Had there
been a chance to start feeding, the birds would have been down like
a flash, squabbling over the spoils. Since the incident with Joao
there had been no more poaching in Sam’s division. Just in case, he
decided to approach the scene quietly on foot. When he estimated
that the kill was about a kilometre away he steered the bike into
the shade of a umbrella thorn and dismounted. He took a swig of
water and left the canteen with the bike. The mechanism of the LM5
being fairly noisy, he cocked the gun and checked if before heading
towards the vultures.

It was another hot, quiet day and not a leaf
stirred. Too bad. He would have preferred to approach upwind, but
in this case he would just have to be more careful.

About halfway to his destination he
encountered a small herd of buffalo, which he gave a wide berth.
Chances were that they would run off if his presence was detected,
and he did not want to warn whatever was ahead by stampeding the
buffalo. In passing the herd he kept a sharp eye out for solitary
animals that often moved on the fringes of a herd. These were the
buggers that usually initiated an unprovoked attack, and he knew
that the LM5 was not capable of stopping or turning a buffalo that
had its blood up. The herd gazed on peacefully, unaware of the man
observing them.