Storms Over Africa (35 page)

Despite his anguish over Penny, Richard's interest quickened. ‘Is Nkomo involved?'

‘Doesn't appear to be. Joshua Nkomo is not perceived as a warrior. I doubt he'd get mixed up in anything like this. This bunch mean business. They'll push Zimbabwe into another war unless they're stopped.'

‘Is Mugabe aware of them?'

‘Mugabe alerted Pretoria.'

‘Christ, he must be worried. How long have you known about them?'

Greg ground his cigarette out under his heel. ‘We've been hearing rumours for about a year, nothing specific. But six months ago Mugabe grew concerned enough to ask for Pretoria's help. We've discovered that UZIP was formed about two years ago. There's been a snowball effect in the last six months. They have about 4,000 members and they're still growing. Naturally, the bigger the organisation the more chance we have to get information and so we've been able to find out quite a lot about them recently. Mugabe is worried and he should be. This one's not tribal, we're talking about a political coup.'

‘Who's leading it?'

‘Now that's an interesting one. We've only just discovered the names of the leaders. On the surface it's Kenneth Mafuta, remember him?'

Richard whistled. ‘Only one of Nkomo's most trusted generals.'

‘That's the little dear. He was probably the man most responsible for getting Nkomo out of dialogue and into the war. He has a track record for confrontation. He's also a direct descendent of Mzilikazi which gives him a lot of clout with the Matabele. And, as if that's not enough, he's on record as having denounced tribal warring as archaic and a waste of a good black skin. Even the Shona like him.'

‘You say he's only the front man. What do you mean?'

‘We think someone is pulling his strings.'

‘Who?'

‘Kobus Conradie.'

Richard stared at Greg. ‘You're joking. That maniac?'

Kobus Conradie had run with an arm of the ANC in Nelson Mandela's fight for black independence in South Africa. The fact that he was classified a white Afrikaaner, despite having a coloured mother, made him and his involvement unusual enough to single him out for special surveillance by the Bureau of State Securities. Other whites, radical dissidents
with communist leanings, were members of the ANC but Conradie was a fanatic, passionately devoted to change at any cost. His activities and ideologies were so revolutionary that he was an embarrassment to the ANC and finally he was kicked out. Such was his reputation that he had been heard of from the Cape of Good Hope all the way to Nairobi.

‘I thought he went to prison,' Richard said.

‘He did,' Greg told him. ‘But in the spirit of the new South Africa, he was released a few years back along with hundreds of other political prisoners. After his spell in prison he was pretty disillusioned with his own country so he came to Zimbabwe. It didn't take him long to pick up the vibes here. He is the man responsible for UZIP. If anything, he's more of a fanatic now than he used to be.'

‘The man's mad.'

‘You got that right, old Didd. He's promising to rid Zimbabwe of every white man, woman and child by the turn of the century. The Chinese love him to pieces. Most of UZIP's members don't know about him, he keeps a very low profile.'

‘What's in it for him?'

‘Nothing, as far as we know. He's a true zealot. This is what makes him so dangerous. He appears to see himself as Africa's Messiah, the man who will truly free the blacks.'

‘Where is he based?'

‘About 70 kilometres west of here.'

‘In the Matopos?' Richard whistled. ‘Do you think Tshuma will make contact?'

‘I'm counting on it.'

‘Have you got backup?'

Greg smiled. It was a slow kind of smile that did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Son, I went right to the top.'

‘Mugabe?' Richard was impressed.

‘The army's on stand-by. Full alert.'

‘Any of the old crew involved?' Richard was referring to the Selous Scouts.

‘Quite a few,' Greg said. ‘Including you and me.' He grinned again, a true grin this time, ‘unless of course you're beyond it.'

‘Up yours, Yeomans, I'm in.' The old dry-mouthed, gut-churning excitement came back. The same hardened resolve returned. Richard was prepared to lay his life on the line for this country he regarded as home but now there was a personal angle. He had a lot of anger to take out on Joseph Tshuma.

They heard a shot in the distance. ‘There goes David's impala,' Greg said.

‘What do we do next?' Richard asked, his mind flitting between Penny and UZIP.

‘We go back to camp and you have it out with Tshuma. That should set the ball rolling. I want him to run. I'm hoping he'll lead us to UZIP. I want you to lay it on him pretty hard.'

‘That will be my pleasure,' Richard said
softly, feeling hatred for the man who dared to soil his beautiful daughter with drugs.

‘Don't kill him, old Didd, just rough him up a little.'

Richard started the engine. ‘Don't worry,' he said tightly, putting the vehicle into gear, ‘I'll leave his legs and eyes till last.' He let out the clutch angrily and the Land Rover jumped forward, shuddering. Richard attacked the dirt track as if it, and it alone, was responsible for Penny's problem.

They found David and Samson busily skinning a large male impala. ‘We'll send the truck,' Richard said curtly, anxious to get back to camp. Then looked sharply at David. The boy was crying.

‘What's the matter with you?'

David rubbed his bloody hand across his cheeks. ‘He was so beautiful, Dad.'

Richard was about to make an irritable response but Greg patted David's back and said, ‘They all are, son. They're all beautiful, and that's why we have to shoot some, so the rest of them can stay beautiful. We have to balance—'

‘I know,' David interrupted. ‘I understand about keeping herd numbers down. I wanted the skin and now I have it. It just makes me sad, that's all.'

‘Fair enough, David,' Greg said. ‘He's a good specimen and it was a good shot, well done.'

David nodded in gratitude that Greg, at least, had understood.

On the way back to camp Greg said, ‘He's a lot like his mother, isn't he?'

Richard nodded. ‘Yes. I could accept it in Kathy . . .'

‘Sensitivity, you mean? There's nothing wrong with it in a man.'

‘Not
my
son,' Richard said darkly. ‘I can't accept it in my own son.'

His dislike of Joseph Tshuma built up like a monstrous thundercloud, boiling and churning in his middle, darkening his vision and clearing his mind of everything else. By the time he drove into camp he was crystal clear of purpose and intent and, outwardly, totally calm.

Greg looked at him carefully. He had seen Richard use his anger before, seen him allow it to ferment until he was fit to burst and then he would suddenly go calm. This calm left him deadly cold and focused.

He remembered Velapi. Richard had found him, or what was left of him, after he had been pushed from a helicopter with no parachute. Velapi had been Samson's half-brother and a Selous Scout. A friendship had quickly developed between him and Richard. At first it had been because of Samson but later, after the two men had fought side by side during one particular skirmish, out of mutual respect.

Velapi had gone home on leave and never returned. Some of the others had accused him of gapping it, or of going over to the enemy. Richard remained positive that Velapi was not like that. Then they found him lying in a heap in the bush, identifiable only by his dog tag and an old scar on one leg. He had been deliberately dropped near to where the Scouts were camped. They took his broken body and buried him and a slow-burning fire began in Richard's gut.

The Scouts knew what to expect. Velapi had broken under interrogation, of that they were fairly certain. They were proved right just twenty minutes later. There had been no time to call for help, which probably would not have been granted anyway. The Scouts found themselves under a vicious ZANLA attack, pinned down and out-gunned. Richard's cold rage had crystallised and, as Greg said later, he must have had an angel sitting on his shoulder.

He had crept to within ten metres of the main body of their attackers, not taking particular care to hide. He had then lobbed three grenades into their midst, holding all three until the last possible moment. He was too close and he should have collected a lot of flying metal himself but he was unharmed. Then, with his eyes still holding a strangely detached glint, he had calmly stepped into the open and raked the surrounding bush with repeating
fire. What was left of the ZANLA terrorists fled, screaming that this white man was a devil, impervious to their bullets.

This action, which had saved a dozen Selous Scouts' lives, earned Richard the coveted Silver Cross of Rhodesia, one of only nine ever issued to the Selous Scouts Regiment, and the second-highest award for gallantry in the Rhodesian Security Forces.

‘Strange,' Greg mused as they rocketed back to camp. ‘Richard never mentions it.' Not even Kathy knew.

Penny and Joseph were sitting together on camp chairs. Steve was nowhere to be seen.

Richard walked slowly over to where they sat. Penny looked composed but she had dark circles under her eyes. When she saw her father's face she jerked, as though stung by a bee. Joseph Tshuma looked up and saw nothing unusual. To anyone who did not know him well, Richard's face held a pleasant, benign look.

‘Where is it?' Richard asked softly.

‘Where is what?' Tshuma looked lazily up at him. He was savouring his victory over this man and he felt alive with excitement.

‘The drug. Where do you keep it?' Richard said, conversationally.

Penny looked at him, thoroughly alarmed. ‘What do you mean, Daddy?' she blustered, her heart beginning to pound wildly.

That's it. That's the fucking buzzer.
‘The bloody coke you're killing yourself with,' he grated out. ‘Where is it?'

‘I'm not . . .'

Joseph Tshuma felt a surge of adrenalin.
Now! It was time now.
He stood up, facing Richard. He felt he was flying. This was the moment he dreamed of. ‘Let's not try to hide it, darling,' he drawled, deliberately baiting Richard. ‘Your daughter has a little drug problem, I'm afraid. She can't get by without it.'

‘Joe,' Penny gasped, terrified at what he was saying.

Richard took two steps towards Tshuma and hit him hard in the face. Joseph had anticipated a physical assault but had underestimated the time it would take for it to come. He was not ready for it. He fell over backwards, his glasses flying off, blood streaming from his nose.

‘Get up, you bastard,' Richard growled, grabbing the man's shirt and hauling him to his feet. He delivered a hard right to Tshuma's stomach.

‘Daddy, don't,' Penny screamed, scrambling out of her chair.

Richard hit him in the stomach again, knocking the wind out of the man with a croupy whooshing sound.

‘Daddy, stop it.' She looked wildly at Greg. ‘Make him stop it.'

Greg shrugged and looked on.

Tshuma weaved like a drunk, still on his feet but only just. His eyes held a strangely contented look. Richard put all his strength into one last punch, feeling teeth break as his fist slammed into Tshuma's mouth.

‘Daddy, for God's sake stop it. Stop it. Don't hit him again. I'm carrying his child. Don't hit him again.'

The words whipped into Richard's brain, stunning him, paralysing his body and mind. Tshuma had fallen again and Penny, on her knees, leaned over him, shielding him from further attack.

The fight went out of Richard as he stared at his once beautiful daughter. She had lost so much weight recently that her shoulder bones stuck out. Her normally glowing skin was sallow and spotty. Her hair was dull. Her eyes lacklustre. ‘What did you say?' he whispered, desperately trying to climb over the roar of a waterfall in his head.

‘I'm pregnant.' She was crying, trying to stem the flow of blood from Joseph's nose. ‘We're going to get married.'

Tshuma pushed her away and got painfully to his feet. ‘Married!' he managed to say scornfully. ‘I wouldn't marry you in a fit. You're a lush, you're on drugs, why would I want to marry you?' His words held a sibilance through several missing teeth.

Richard swung his head and looked at Tshuma. He felt he was hearing things from a distance. None of this was real.

‘But you said . . .' Penny shook her head, not believing what she heard.

Greg stepped forward between Richard and Joseph. ‘I'd get out of here if I were you,' he advised. ‘Before he kills you.'

But Joseph Tshuma had more to say. ‘How does it feel?' he asked Richard, confident the man's shock had momentarily knocked his fighting spirit sideways. ‘Here is your daughter, you can have her back, I've finished with her. She's hooked on cocaine and she's carrying a black bastard. You're welcome to her, she disgusts me.'

‘Joe!' It was a cry, like a wounded animal.

‘Joe,' he mimicked her. ‘My name is Joseph, white bitch. Try to remember it.'

Her eyes were filling rapidly with tears which spilled onto her lashes and hung there, fat and trembling. ‘Why?' she whispered.

‘Your father murdered my brother,' he said, not looking at her.

‘You used me to get back at my father?' she asked, incredulous. Unable to hold back any more, the tears overflowed and ran, unheeded, down her cheeks.

Richard shook his head to clear it. ‘I don't know what you're talking about,' he said thickly. He clenched his fists but Tshuma had
been watching him and took several steps back.

‘Remember infiltrating a village down near Chiredzi?' His voice shook with hatred. ‘You shot my brother as he was addressing the villagers. You shot him in cold blood. He didn't stand a chance.'