African Dawn (39 page)

‘Are you all right, sir?’ Maxwell asked.

‘I'm fine,’ Kenneth snapped. ‘I'm sorry, Maxwell.’ He paused for a breath. ‘Make sure, whatever happens, that the boy is not harmed.’ Maxwell nodded.

The boy put a finger to his lips and pointed to a trio of circular pole and
dagga
huts with thatched roofs. A pale light glowed inside the nearest hut. ‘That is my home,’ he whispered. ‘My mother is in Bulawayo. The rifle is inside this house.’

As they crept closer Kenneth could see, beyond the staff houses, the silhouette of the high tin roof that sheltered the
boma
from the sun and rain, the secure pens in which it looked like four of the ranch's thirteen rhino were currently being accommodated. Kenneth recalled that a number of rhino were always kept in the
boma
, either because they were undergoing health checks or had arrived from somewhere else, and it was these captive animals that visitors paid to come and visit. They tended to be animals that were well habituated to humans and not averse to being stroked and petted by strangers. Kenneth had visited the pens himself a few times over the years and he could remember the layout.

The staff houses blocked them from view from the
boma
and Kenneth, Maxwell and the boy filed into the small chalet. The boy got down on his knees and rummaged under an unmade bed. He dragged out a cardboard box and then pulled out the rifle, which was still swaddled in blankets. Kenneth took it from him, removed the magazine, checked it was loaded with bullets, then replaced it and cocked it. He had never fired a shot in anger during the liberation war, but he had trained in the bush with the freedom fighters and had fired the AK on rifle ranges.

They left the hut and cautiously moved closer to the
boma.
Kenneth raised a hand and when they heard a voice they dropped to their knees in the long grass. ‘That is my son,’ Kenneth whispered to Maxwell. Kenneth stood and was about to call out and signal their presence – after all, he knew Emmerson would not harm him. A burst of gunfire tore through the night. The bright muzzle flash of the weapon bounced off the roof and walls, illuminating the inside of the
boma
.

‘Stop!’ Kenneth yelled, though his voice was croaky. He turned to Maxwell. ‘Take the boy away from here, back to the farmhouse and the car.’

‘But, sir –’

‘Do as I say. If my son is involved in this he will not harm me. I have to stop him.’

Kenneth called again as Maxwell grabbed the boy by the arm and started back down the gentle hill through the grass towards the staff quarters. Kenneth's words were drowned out by another fusillade and he struggled on, stumbling on the uneven ground.

‘Stop!’ Kenneth reached the mown grass clearing at the edge of the enclosures and saw his son's Hummer and the other
bakkie
parked in full view. ‘Stop!’ he croaked again.

The rhinos that lived were keening a high-pitched cry. It was a sound he'd never heard and he wouldn't have expected such a squeaky, frightened noise to come from such big creatures. Although he had his back to him, Kenneth recognised Emmerson's broad shoulders immediately. ‘Emmerson!’

His son turned and looked at him, his face betraying no emotion. ‘Get on with it, Fortune,’ Emmerson said to a man standing next to him.

Kenneth forced himself to shuffle forward and watched, in horror, as one of Emmerson's men, similarly dressed in black, raised an AK-47 to his shoulder and slid the barrel between two of the heavy wooden railway sleepers that formed part of the pen's fence. The man pulled the trigger and he and Emmerson were lit up by strobing flashes of man-made lightning.

When the firing stopped, Kenneth heard a chopping noise from the furthest of the pens. He imagined it was a rhino's horn being hacked off. ‘Emmerson, please …’

Emmerson ignored his father's pleas and the gunman calmly stood again and removed the empty magazine from his rifle. He carried a canvas bag slung over his shoulder, into which he dropped the banana-shaped magazine and fished for a new one.

Kenneth raised his weapon and pointed it at the man. ‘Stop. Put down your weapon.’

Fortune looked at him, and then at Emmerson, who strode towards Kenneth. ‘Give me the gun, Father.’

‘No.’ The tip of the barrel was wavering. Kenneth was not as strong as he had been in his youth. ‘Stay where you are, Emmerson. Tell your dog to put down his weapon.’

‘Who are you calling a dog, old man?’ Fortune spat back. He pulled a full magazine from his bag.

‘I will shoot!’ Kenneth said.

Emmerson moved between his father and Fortune. ‘Give me the rifle, Father. There is nothing you can do here. I told you I am taking over this place.’

‘Yes,’ Kenneth said, spittle flying from his lips. He was shaking with rage from the betrayal unfolding so casually before his eyes. ‘And this is how you will
manage
this precious place. By killing, killing, killing. I didn't want to believe what they said about you, Emmerson. I didn't think you could be involved in such a thing.’

‘Don't worry,’ Emmerson said. ‘I won't be killing the other rhinos any time soon. It's all about supply and demand, Father. There's a high demand at the moment and I have orders to meet. In time, though, I'll dehorn the rhinos humanely and take control of the market. But right now I don't have the time, the drugs or the inclination to let these animals live. If I'd been given control of this place, as I should have been, this wouldn't have happened. No, the blame for this slaughter rests with you and Thandi.’

‘No!’ Emmerson continued walking towards him, but Kenneth pointed the rifle at the ground and pulled the trigger. Three rounds sent up fountains of dirt no more than two metres in front of his son.

Emmerson stopped, but laughed out loud. ‘You won't kill me.’ Emmerson turned to his man, who had now reloaded and cocked his weapon. ‘Kill the next one.’

Fortune looked unsure, craning his head to keep an eye on the older man. The surviving rhino, a young one, with barely a few centimetres of horn, squealed in panicked fear.

‘I am not going to let you kill that animal,’ Kenneth said through gritted teeth. He stepped to one side, to take aim at Fortune, but Emmerson moved as well and advanced on him again, arms wide, as if to protect the killer, who walked to the final pen. The rhino bleated and screamed. Fortune peered over the top of the
boma
railings and shook his head with disdain.

Two other men climbed over the adjoining pens, each stained with blood and hefting a cut-off rhino horn. They paused to watch the standoff, though none of them seemed concerned by the wide-eyed old man with the gun.

Emmerson was nearly on him. Kenneth raised the barrel and pulled the trigger again, and while the rounds sailed high into the night sky, his son stopped again. Kenneth lowered the weapon once more. ‘Enough, Emmerson … just … go. At least leave the young one.’ Tears welled from his eyes. He knew he couldn't kill his son and he suddenly felt defeated.

Emmerson turned side-on, looked back to his man again and said: ‘Kill it.’ Fortune raised his rifle again and propped it on the second railing of the fourth pen.

Kenneth saw the opening. With Emmerson still turned away watching his attack dog, Kenneth had a clear shot. He raised the rifle, took aim at the centre of Fortune's back and pulled the trigger.

For a moment none of them moved. Perhaps they all assumed the gunman had pulled the trigger, but the man's body was slammed against the fence posts and as he slid to the ground they saw the blood spreading on his back, and vomit coming from his mouth as he rolled. Fortune's body shook violently as he died.

Emmerson turned on his father.

‘You stupid old fool. What have you done?’

‘I have tried to do the right thing. You won't get away from here, Emmerson. It is time for you to pay for your sins.’

‘Henry, Nicholas, get the AK,’ Emmerson yelled to his other two men, but neither man moved. They edged away, back towards the parked
bakkie
. Emerson turned to his father. ‘What are you going to do now,
Kenneth
? Kill me too?’

As much as he hated the killing of the animals, and as hard as he tried not to think about what he had just done, Kenneth was most hurt by his son's words. What had he done to his son that he would say such a thing? Emmerson had crowned the insult by referring to him in the most derogatory manner, by using his first name. The AK felt like a lead bar in his hand. It swayed and dipped as the tears blurred his focus.

Emmerson walked away from his father, to where Fortune lay. He picked up the fallen man's AK, which was still cocked and ready. He looked in the pen at the frightened, squealing rhino calf. He raised the rifle to his shoulder.

‘That is a valuable animal, Emmerson,’ his father called in a quavering voice. Kenneth swung the rifle so that it was pointing at his son. Perhaps he could appeal to his son's greed if not to his sense of right and wrong. ‘Let it live, please.’

‘I know it's valuable … Believe me, I know,’ Emmerson said without looking back. He took aim through the wooden slats of the fence.

‘That rhino, it belongs to the people of Zimbabwe, not to you,’ Kenneth said.

Kenneth shifted his aim and fired. The bullet whizzed past Emmerson's head and ricocheted harmlessly off the brick wall at the rear of the pens. ‘I will not miss next time.’

Emmerson turned and stared at him and, while doing so, brought his rifle around to bear. ‘You are serious, aren't you?’

‘It's not only me who will testify against you now, Emmerson. There is Maxwell, and a boy. They have escaped and they will tell the police that you and your men were here. It's over for you. It is time for you to confess your sins and pay your penance.’

Emmerson laughed. ‘You just shot a man in cold blood and you plead for the life of a dumb animal? And don't be stupid. There isn't a judge in this country I can't buy. I'll give you the ultimatum now. Hand over control of the community trust and I will cover up your role in the death of this man. I'll say he's a poacher that I shot.’

‘I cannot do that. I will not do that.’

Father and son faced each other now, each with a rifle pointed at the other.

‘What do you want us to do, boss?’ one of Emmerson's henchmen called from the shadows.

‘Take the horns to the front gate. Meet our other man there and if he doesn't already have the boy and Maxwell with him, then don't leave the ranch until you've found them. By the time we finish persuading them, neither will be game enough to run to the police.’

‘Yes, boss.’ Henry and Nicholas picked up the freshly hacked horns, loaded them into the black
bakkie
and drove off.

It was just the two of them now. ‘I have decided you are right, Father.’

‘
My son …
’ Kenneth sighed, almost overcome with relief. He lowered his rifle and took a step towards Emmerson.

‘You said the rhino belonged to Zimbabwe,’ Emmerson said, smiling.

‘Yes, Emmerson, it does.’

‘I am Zimbabwe.’

Emmerson took aim at his father's heart and pulled the trigger.

33

B
raedan weaved his way between the swaying, drunken bodies with two glasses in his hand. He grinned and she smiled back at him.

He handed her the glass of cane and Coke and she took a sip. It was her third. She was beyond tipsy now. The fiery cane spirit burned the back of her throat, the cola barely smoothing its path. It sent a jolt out to her fingertips. The speakers were thumping to the point of distortion.

‘Come on, let's dance!’ Braedan had to yell over the noise, and before she could think of a reason not to, he'd taken her glass back from her and set it down on the table. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into the throng of sweating, gyrating bodies. She laughed. It was like being twenty, back at university again; even the music was the same. Duran Duran, she thought, but couldn't be sure. The crowd was loving it, though, and the strobing lights just added to her high.

Braedan was completely uninhibited on the dance floor and she laughed again at his moves, which pre-dated even the music. He was, literally, the centre of attention on the dance floor after his ostentatious entry and the ridiculous moves he was performing. She felt her cheeks flush with more than the booze. She didn't like standing out in a crowd, but he stood there, with his hand out now, and she thought,
Screw it. Why not?

Natalie strode across the floor and he took her in his arms then flicked her away, twirling her in the centre of the crowd. Natalie shrieked with joy and hoped to hell his head wasn't spinning as much as hers. The next thing she knew she was falling and being caught by one muscled arm, then lent backwards and spun around again.

Braedan pulled her back to vertical, thankfully, and held her close. She couldn't resist the temptation to hook one leg up over his thigh, and when she threw back her head she felt his lips on her neck.

Her heart stopped, but when she tried to say something she found herself being twirled around again. When she caught his eye he just winked her. The song reached a crescendo and Braedan ended with a final dip that left her tummy behind. The crowd around them broke into spontaneous applause.

Natalie felt lightheaded and knew it wasn't only because of the spirits. The DJ changed the pace and slid into ‘You Sexy Thing’. It was more kitsch from her childhood, but at least it was a bit slower. Unconsciously she touched the place on her neck where his lips had brushed her skin. He took her in his arms again and held her close, swaying to the music. ‘What was that?’ she said into his ear.

She was aware of him closing the gap between them even more and when her belly brushed him she felt the hardness.

‘What was what?’

‘This kiss … on the neck?’

‘A prelude to this …’

He held her eyes and she felt her body meld to his as he kissed her.

She'd had a chance, she knew, to pull back, to stop him, but she didn't want to. Quite the opposite, in fact. She wanted to be dragged out to the dance floor, shaken from her normally shy, comfortable self. It had been too long since she'd been held by a man and let herself fall over the edge. She kissed him back, hard and deep, as the other dancers moved around them, not caring who was staring or what they might be saying or thinking. For now, there was just him, and the surprising softness of his lips, the tantalising strength of him elsewhere, and his hand on her arse, in public. She ground against him.

They left their drinks and Braedan found a crumpled bill for the barman, who handed him his jacket. Braedan took her hand and led her outside. They kissed again in the street and she let him lean her up against the nightclub's brick wall.

She didn't know what this was. Was it a first date? She knew him well already. He was the man who had saved her life as a child and he was still as handsome as the day he had scooped her up and carried her to safety.

He was a knight in shining armour, but he was also the bad boy on the motorcycle who had stolen her aunt away from his highly principled brother. God, Natalie thought, it was happening all over again. She
had
felt a connection to Tate at Victoria Falls, but his behaviour the next morning and the revelation that he may have poached a rhino horn – for whatever screwed-up reason – had made her rethink her feelings towards him. Braedan was a rolling stone, divorced and broke, a soldier of little fortune, but his arms were tanned and muscled and beautiful in his tight white T-shirt and she felt like jelly in their embrace.

His stubble grazed her chin and she broke the kiss and licked his cheek to feel the sandpaper roughness on her tongue. That elicited a little groan from him and she liked the feeling of power that gave her. She saw the wild, animal desire in his eyes and knew it was mirrored in her own.

‘Where can we go?’ she whispered, surprising herself with her brazenness.

‘Fuck, it's a madhouse at my mom's,’ he said.

‘What about out to the ranch?’

He looked uncertain. ‘Too far. I want you. Now.’

She shivered, then took a breath. ‘I don't … I mean, I want you to know, I'm not normally like this, on a first date.’ She tried to sound more relaxed by forcing a laugh. ‘Not that I've actually been on a first date in a while, but …’

He kissed her again, then whispered in her ear, ‘I don't care. I just want you.’

God, she thought she might just catch fire from the inside out. ‘I don't care,’ he said again. ‘Let's just get on the bike and ride.’

She clung to him as they rode through the darkened streets, the lights either stolen or out from lack of power, and then out into the countryside towards the ranch, where grasslands swayed white-gold under a moon that was riding high. She felt the warmth of him through his back, and the vibrations up through the leather seat of the bike. She kissed the back of his neck and he gunned the engine faster, as impatient as she was.

After about twenty minutes Braedan eased off the throttle and turned left onto a rough dirt track. He slowed, but the ride was so bumpy she had to cling tighter to him. Over Braedan's shoulder Natalie could see a small kopje about three hundred metres ahead. She was sure he'd be able to feel her heart pounding through his back. Braedan gunned the engine a little as the track climbed to the top of the small hill. The high ground gave a commanding view over the open veldt. Braedan stopped the bike and kicked it up on its stand. Natalie climbed off first and looked around. There were a few stone blocks lying around.

‘What is this place?’ Natalie asked, trying to sound casual. She was breathing faster. She wasn't sure she could go through with this now.

Braedan swung his long leg over the motorcycle. ‘It's the site of one of the forts built by Selous during the Matabele Rebellion. Romantic, huh?’

‘This country's known so much bloodshed, it –’

Braedan closed the gap between them, pulled her close and kissed her again. He moved a hand to her breast and it was her turn to groan as he found her nipple, pinching it through the fabric of her shirt. She moved her hand down and traced his hardness through his jeans. He looked around and she read his mind.

She eased herself away from him and, walking backwards, retraced her steps to the motorcycle. ‘I've wanted to do this since I saw Kelly McGillis and Tom Cruise in
Top Gun
.’

‘I feel the need,’ he said.

She laughed, and straddled the bike facing backwards, leaning her elbows on the handlebars. He got on the rear of the seat, facing her. As they leaned into each other to kiss he undid her belt, unbuttoned her jeans and unzipped them. ‘Uh-huh,’ she murmured as he pulled them down.

Natalie felt the cooling leather under the bare skin of her bottom, the cool night air on her. She gripped the handlebars to stop from falling as she kicked off her high heels and Braedan pulled her pants off completely. He looked down at her and opened her, with his callused thumb, grazing it across her clitoris. She closed her eyes, arched her neck back and let her hair cascade down over the front of the bike. As he played with her she felt herself swelling, and her arousal quickly building.

Braedan slid forward, along the seat, and unzipped. She had a moment of panic but when she sat up and looked at him he was pulling a condom from his wallet. He winked at her. Of course he had one, she thought. She reached up and locked her hand behind his neck.

Braedan kicked out the highway pegs with his boots, hooked the heels of his riding boots on them and Natalie lifted herself a little, hanging from the muscled body above her. She lifted her legs and hooked them behind his thighs as he entered her. She was almost off the bike and he was perched, supporting himself with his hands on the handlebars, muscles straining. He pushed himself up into her, as deep as he could, and she savoured the feeling of being filled. He paused, staring at her, and her whole body was tensed and quivering as he began to move his hips, sliding her bum back and forth along the leather seat.

Just as Natalie could feel her orgasm building again Braedan eased out of her, perhaps unable to sustain the effort of bracing himself on the handlebars. He sat back on the seat and simply beckoned to her with a wave of his finger and a flick of his head. She wanted to slap him but her need for him was greater. She slid along the seat and climbed up onto his lap. It was her turn now to stand on the pegs and she lowered herself down on him. She felt his fingernails run up her back as she moved up and down. She felt vulnerable and exposed out here, nearly naked in the African night. Braedan was as self-assured and arrogant while making love as he was the rest of the time, but God she needed him right now.

Natalie felt her body tense around him just as Braedan raised himself up off the bike to meet her last thrust. She clung to him and buried her face in his neck.

‘That was great,’ he whispered.

*

‘Come in,’ Thandi Ngwenya said in answer to the knock at her office door.

Her media adviser, Matthew, opened it and stood there, as though afraid to cross the threshold. ‘Minister, there are some men here to see you …’

Thandi glanced down at the computer printout of her schedule. There was a mountain of paperwork on her desk to get through and she had to leave soon to accept an aid donation from the British Council on behalf of a charity that employed HIV-positive women in a craft workshop. ‘Ah, but I don't have any appointments listed, Matthew.’

Matthew's Adam's apple bobbed. ‘It is the police, Minister.’

A man in a shiny grey suit pushed past Matthew, followed by a similarly dressed colleague. Both were heavy set and the first had a shaved head. He carried a document in his hand. ‘We are CIO. I am Agent Makoni and this is Agent Bitai. Minister Thandi Ngwenya, we have a warrant for your arrest.’

Thandi sighed. ‘What charge this time?’ She had been arrested three times during her candidacy as an opposition MP on a variety of trumped-up allegations. Harassment by the police and the CIO had been a fact of life for opponents of the Mugabe government but she had assumed that it would have ceased now that she was a member of the GNU.

‘Conspiracy to commit treason.’

‘That's preposterous. Get out of my office immediately!’

‘There is a police car downstairs, Minister,’ the bald-headed man, Bitai, said, for the first time addressing her by her title. ‘I am sure you don't wish to be led out of here in handcuffs.’

‘Let me see the warrant.’ Thandi read the document and saw that it was legitimate, even though the charge was rubbish. She looked over the top of her reading glasses at the two thugs. ‘You do know that one day soon there will be a complete change of government.’

Makoni shrugged. ‘I serve the government of the day.’

‘No, young man, you serve the strongest man in the government, and that is not the same thing. Exactly what am I alleged to have done that is so treasonous?’

‘You have been consorting with foreigners who would overthrow the government.’

‘Have I? Do you have any names of these people?’ Thandi asked, momentarily confused.

‘An Australian national, George Bryant, and a former Rhodesian soldier, Braedan Quilter-Phipps.’

Knowing George was in the country and coming to meet her had set her heart beating like a young girl's again, and though she hoped it hadn't shown, the sight of him after all these years had nearly taken her breath away. Just seeing him had brought back so many memories, both fond and painful. Their love had been doomed from the very start. Their backgrounds, their race, their politics and their destinies were so far apart that nothing could ever have come of it, but that hadn't stopped her burning for him. There had been many times over the years when she had wondered, what if? Temba, the freedom fighter she'd met in Mozambique and married after independence in 1980, had later hit her and slept with his female staff and prostitutes until he had died of AIDS. Thandi had tried to make Temba use a condom when she became aware of the growing problem but he had refused. It was when she forced the issue by refusing to have sex with him unless he protected himself that he began physically abusing her. In time, he had tired of her protests. Miraculously, she had not been infected by the disease that was the scourge of her country, and the rest of Africa. She had shed no tears when he died but she cherished the children he had given her. If she'd eloped with George she would never have been able to join the struggle for independence, or rise through the party ranks. She'd sacrificed love for her country, and she would never know whether she'd made the right choices.

Thandi had checked up on George when ZANU–PF had come to power and in a way she had been relieved to learn that he had emigrated to Australia. She'd read of the trauma his daughter had gone through but it wasn't until some years later that she had learned her brother had been involved in the raid on the Bryant family farm. Thandi also knew that Emmerson had shot down the Viscount aircraft carrying George's sister, Hope. Thandi had actually cried, alone in her tent in the training camp in Mozambique, when she'd read a newspaper report of Hope's death. She remembered Hope as a sweet, inquisitive child, who had discovered Thandi and George's secret, but kept it.