Hyena Dawn (15 page)

She lay in the darkness on the cold floor. At least she was alive. A strong feeling filled her body, the desire to kill. She had killed Tongogara’s assassin by accident, but this man, Georgio, she genuinely wanted to murder. What she felt for him was not the impersonal hostility of war but a deep, personal hatred. He had destroyed her pride. She would destroy him.

Captain Georgio felt the throbbing in his head. He opened his eyes, to see the roof of the bungalow revolving in front of him. He felt the pain between his legs and remembered the night before.

There were noises in the distance, and that was strange because it was Sunday, and generally nothing at all happened on Sunday. It occurred to him that the throbbing sound might not just be in his head, but coming from outside the bungalow.

He staggered to his feet and knocked over the bottle standing next to the bed. The smell of whisky nearly caused him to pass out. He peered out of the window and saw a Soviet helicopter gunship coming in to land in a storm of dust. What was it doing here, today of all days? He remembered quickly and tore out of the room, but it was too late. General Vorotnikov appeared out of the dust storm, tall and forbidding, followed by six of his bodyguard. He saluted Georgio, who responded with difficulty.

‘
Captain Georgio. Where is the prisoner?’

‘
Prisoner, Comrade General?’

‘
Yes, you fool. The American woman we spoke of yesterday.’

‘
She is not here.’

‘
Captain Georgio, if this is some elaborate joke you will pay for it dearly.’

Vorotnikov’s voice was like a whip. He was a tall, lean man in his mid-fifties, his black hair streaked with grey, but his body was that of a younger man and there was a spring in his step. He was immaculately kitted out in a camouflage uniform bearing no insignia of rank. He didn’t need insignia - he exuded power.

Vorotnikov’s face had a Germanic look to it, enhanced by the thin, stainless steel spectacles that were perched on his nose. The strong jaw-line, the elegant cheek bones and the cool grey eyes, all these spoke of an aristocratic background. To Georgio this man was a typical Russian; no understanding, no time to wait.

‘
Where is she, Captain Georgio?’

‘
Not far from here, Comrade General. It was dangerous to keep her here. The Selous Scouts operate in this area.’

Captain Georgio noted with relief that the hardness of General Vorotnikov’s jaw had softened. He had won some time.

‘
Of course. However, I am not a Selous Scout, I am a Russian general. Fetch her, please. We will wait.’

Georgio staggered off to the dormitory that was housed within the police station. The room was filled with snores and he laid about him with the riding crop he usually carried. He must get these fools up, and then get the woman out of the cell.

‘
Get up, you idiots. The General Vorotnikov is here. If he finds the woman in the cell he will kill us all. You, Gomez, drive the truck away, make as if we are fetching the woman from the bush. Grab one of the women from the village, bring her back with a sack over her head and take her into my office. We will fool the General yet.’

‘
What if the American woman is dead, Captain?’

‘
Then we are too, Gomez.’

General Vorotnikov leaned against the side of the gunship smoking a Turkish-blend cigarette. He reckoned Captain Georgio had earned his promotion. The capture of this journalist could really embarrass the Americans, especially as their Dr Kissinger had been trying to interfere in the Rhodesia peace settlement. Some marvellous publicity could be made out of this.

He saw the truck drive away from the police station and smiled, for he knew the woman would soon be in his hands. Well, there was no reason for him to waste his time. He might as well take a look around the police station, an interesting imperialist structure. It was always a good thing to look, observe, be aware. His years in command had taught him the value of constant vigilance.

He looked inside the bungalow Georgio had come from. It stank of whisky. But two glasses. Who would he have been drinking with? A woman - two men would drink from the bottle. A policeman in an area like this could have any woman he liked, all he had to do was arrest her. So why bother to entertain? Yes, it would be the American woman. Who could blame him, especially if she was attractive. An attractive woman would make much better publicity.

Vorotnikov left the bungalow and walked over to the police station. What a mess. Captain Georgio could at least have tried to maintain some order. He passed down a passage and into a courtyard. The Portuguese had been efficient colonisers, pity that such a good building had gone to rack and ruin. He entered the other side of the building through a large door and guessed correctly that he was in Captain Georgio’s office.

Chaos. Even clothes lying on the floor. The man obviously had no pride. General Vorotnikov rummaged through the papers on the desk top and found nothing of interest. Next he went through the drawers and found a half-empty bottle of whisky. The man was boring and weak, a useful person to have under his control.

He got up from the chair behind the desk and strolled back into the passage. Most of the other offices were empty and full of cobwebs. He walked into one and watched the crew of the helicopter gunship checking the engines and waiting for take-off. Good men, disciplined men. He noted that his own men were to one side, sitting down in the shade. Every one of them was hand- picked. They would never be used like the blacks, as cannon fodder for the Rhodesians.

He was sick of this war. The bloody British settlers would never give up. Stupid bastards getting blown to pieces for a stupid war ethic. They probably thought they were fighting the Second World War all over again. Fine troops, excellent discipline, but all thrown away on a war they couldn’t win. It would all be over for them soon. Then he would concentrate on the jewel. South Africa.

Yes, that was a jewel. Complete control of the Cape sea-route. Control of the world gold market, the diamond market, the strategic minerals - radioactive and otherwise. Control of a whole continent. He, Alexei Vorotnikov, would achieve all of this, and soon.

He proceeded down the passage. A narrow stairway led downwards - to the cells, he guessed. He did not feel like looking around that foul-smelling area, his breakfast was still in his stomach. He was about to walk on when he heard a scream that stopped him in his tracks.

It was definitely a woman’s scream. He changed his mind and walked down the steps. God, the place stank.

Another scream and he upped his pace. The door at the end of the row of cells was open. Inside he saw a woman, half-naked, lying on the floor. Her face was deathly white.

The instinct that had earned him the reputation of being one of the best combat soldiers in his regiment saved his life. He ducked as the piece of concrete brushed against the grey hairs on his skull, then turned to see Captain Georgio facing him, pointing a pistol directly at him. Vorotnikov kicked the pistol out of Georgio’s hand and it clattered noisily to the floor. Georgio stood shivering, unarmed, in the corner. There was no sign of his men.

‘
What have you done to her, you dog?’

‘
She refused to cooperate.’

‘
Don’t lie to me.’

They heard a cough and both turned to look down at the woman lying on the floor of the cell. Long blonde hair, a beautiful face and green eyes that flashed. She was covered in slime and her blouse was torn open, exposing her breasts. She spoke very softly.

‘
He tried to rape me. Then they tried to drown me in the trough.’

Vorotnikov untied her carefully. Then he gestured for Georgio to sit down on the chair.

‘
Do as I command, Captain, or you’re a dead man.’

When he had securely bound Georgio he helped Samantha out of the cell and into Georgio’s office. She looked close to death.

‘
What would you have me do with him?’ he asked.

‘
Kill him.’ Her voice was cold.

He went out into the sun and called his men into the building.

‘
Take her to the gunship and make sure she is well cared for.’

Then he walked back down to the cell and looked at the Captain who was now shaking with fear. He picked up a piece of wood from the floor and tested the depth of the water in the trough with it. It protruded by about ten centimetres.

‘
Let’s see how long you can live.’

He picked up the chair with Georgio on it and balanced the full length of it over the trough, its legs resting along the trough’s edges, so that the man was lying lengthways, looking down into the water.

‘
Open your mouth.’

He moved his grip from Georgio’s collar to his hair, and the man screamed out as his hair took his whole bodyweight. The General rammed the piece of wood between Georgio’s teeth.

‘
Bite it.’

He let Georgio down so that his body was only prevented from falling forwards into the water by the piece of wood he was biting against. The General closed the door of the cell.

After five minutes Georgio’s jaw gave in. The wood shot up

hard into his throat; for an instant he was suspended less than a centimetre above the water - then he sank beneath the surface, never to breathe again.

The group of doctors stood round the hospital bed, all staring at the patient. Even though she was pale and thin, you could see that she was a very beautiful woman. There was a noise outside the door of the room and they turned to see a massive black man in combat uniform easily pushing aside the medical orderlies who sought to block his path. His voice was deep and powerful.

‘
I don’t care what you say. I have come to see the American woman, Comrade Elliot, and you are not going to stop me.’

He slammed the door of the room shut behind him as he entered. The doctors examined him as they might a specimen on the dissecting table.

‘
How is she?’

The question boomed across the floor. Dr Dmitri Suvorov smoothed the jet-black hair across his enormous head and peered into the man’s eyes. A physician of some note, he did not appreciate his present position as consultant in the tiny hospital in Beira. However, he was a Party man, and the Party had ordered him here. He was not intimidated by this black man.

‘
General Vorotnikov himself ordered that no one should see this woman. You realise the penalty for disobeying such a command?’

The black man moved closer and towered imposingly over the brilliant young doctor from Leningrad.

‘
Enough of your General, Comrade Doctor. I am a comrade and you are a comrade. This country belongs to me and my people, not you Russians. Now tell, how is the woman?’

Dmitri Suvorov trembled with rage. He was not used to being talked to like this; men feared him for his power within the Party. He would see that this black man suffered for his impertinence.

‘
She has been very ill, Comrade. She swallowed a large quantity of infected water and has been delirious for the past seven days. But she has a strong body. She has survived, and she has responded well to the drugs I have administered. It is only a matter of time before she will be completely recovered.’

‘
Then why are you all so concerned about her condition, Comrade Doctor?’

‘
It is General Vorotnikov who is particularly concerned. He warned that should she not recover he would regard me and my assistants as personally responsible.’

‘
I am glad the General is concerned.’

Suvorov watched the black giant move towards the bed and examine the American woman closely. He heard the words the man was speaking to himself: ‘I should never have left her with Georgio.’

Dr Suvorov felt a little more sympathetic, some words of comfort were in order. ‘A fine genetic specimen, Comrade, she will live to a good age. The only effect of the torture she endured will be slight psychological damage. That is not my area of expertise, however, and I cannot comment on it.’

‘
Just make sure that she gets better, doctor.’

‘
Do not fear, comrade, I most certainly will.’

‘
And here is this evening’s news. Five days ago, top American reporter Samantha Elliot disappeared in the Umtali area while visiting an outlying farm. The farmer was shot dead by ZANLA terrorists. The body of Miss Elliot, however, has not been found, and it is believed that she may have been abducted by ZANLA. Miss Elliot is well known for her controversial reporting on this country. Anyone who might be able to assist in tracing her should contact their closest police station as soon as possible.’

Major Martin Long turned off the radio and paced up and down his office. Rayne would never forgive him. How could she have been so stupid? They’d both told her a thousand times not to move in the operational area without members of the security forces. She was probably lying in a ditch somewhere, after being raped and then beaten to death.

He was furious when he heard that they had tried to keep her disappearance quiet. He had demanded that it be broadcast immediately, but already it was probably too late. The only chance was that she might be in a Mozambican jail, alive - more or less.