The Death of the Mantis (40 page)

Three quarters of an hour later, the radio crackled. “We’re in
sight of the
koppies
. Should be on the ground in ten
minutes!”

Kubu picked up his microphone. “Read you loud and clear,” he
replied without enthusiasm. He leant back, popped an antacid tablet
into his mouth and drained half a glass of water. His stomach hurt.
Anxiety, the doctor had said. You worry too much.

Kubu
was
worried. He had pleaded with Mabaku to arrest
Khumanego, not kill him. Mabaku had agreed in principle, but
refused to rule out force. “Kubu, you’re letting your personal
feelings interfere with your judgement,” he had said. “I know he
was a friend of yours. But he’s a criminal now, a murderer. You
have to let go.”

Kubu saw the logic, but he was torn. He still hadn’t come to
grips with the reality that his friend had tried to kill him. What
had happened to Khumanego? he wondered. He had to find out.

♦

The helicopters circled the
koppies
, looking for any sign
of people in the vicinity. But after a couple of circuits they had
seen nobody. The only signs of human presence were the motorbike
tracks criss-crossing the area, just as Haake had reported. They
would follow those later.

Mabaku ordered the helicopters to land several hundred metres
from the front of the middle
koppie
, far enough away from
small arms fire, but still in view of the cliff face, which was
spotted with crevices and caves. If someone’s here, he reasoned,
it’s likely that he’ll use the caves to hide.

After they landed, Mabaku pulled out a copy of Haake’s map and
held it up. The drawing was a good representation of the
koppies
. Final proof, he thought.

The men assembled behind the helicopters and checked their
equipment once again – rifles, bulletproof vests, tear gas
canisters and masks, powerful torches and radios. When all were
ready, Mabaku spoke to them.

“Let me repeat what I told you earlier. The man we’re looking
for, the Bushman Khumanego, is very dangerous. We think he’s killed
six people already. But we don’t know why. We also don’t know if he
has any accomplices. We only know that all the murders seem to have
something to do with this area. We think it’s probably rich in
diamonds or something else, and he’s protecting it for himself. I
want him alive, so we can find out what’s going on.”

The commander of the police SWAT team gave the final
instructions. “We’re going to see if we can get him to give himself
up. If he does, our job’s over and we go home. If he doesn’t, we’ll
flush him with tear gas. Going into the caves is too dangerous. He
knows them; we don’t. And we’ll be sitting ducks as we go in. When
you throw in the tear gas, back away and be prepared for him to
come out firing. But don’t shoot unless he looks as though he’s
going to shoot you. Kill him only as a last resort. As the director
said, we want him alive.” He looked around at the serious faces
that were already dripping with sweat. “One more thing. Don’t let
him get close to you. He may have something dosed with a Bushman
poison. There’s no antidote.” He paused to let that sink in. “Any
questions?”

The men shook their heads. They’d been over all of this before
they left Tsabong. At a signal from the commander, they spread out,
covering the width of the
koppies
, still staying well away
from them. Two sharpshooters went to the middle of the area, lay
down and set up their rifle tripods and calibrated their rifle
scopes. When everyone was in position, the commander gave Mabaku
the thumbs-up.

Mabaku nodded and spoke into his mike. “Kubu, the men are in
place. I’m going to try and make contact now.”

He took hold of a loudhailer. “Khumanego, or anyone else here,
this is Director Mabaku of the Botswana police. I’m giving you five
minutes to show yourselves. Come out from wherever you are hiding
with your hands above your head. I guarantee your safety. If I
don’t see you in five minutes, I will order the SWAT team to flush
you out with tear gas. If you show any signs of aggression, my men
have orders to shoot.” He paused. “We don’t want that, but will do
it if we have to.” He looked at his watch. “Your five minutes
starts now.”

♦

After each minute, Mabaku called out the time remaining. There
was no movement from the cliff face. With one minute to go, he made
his final call. “This is your last chance. In sixty seconds, my men
will go from cave to cave with tear gas. Come out now and you’ll be
safe. After that, it may be too late.”

The final minute passed with nobody appearing. The commander
gave the signal, and the men split into two groups, each going to
opposite ends of the
koppies
. The leader of the group on the
left pointed to the cave at the far end. One sharpshooter
repositioned himself to cover the cave’s entrance. Another man,
keeping close to the face, edged to the entrance, tossed in a tear
gas grenade and immediately moved back, rifle at the ready. Nobody
emerged. After waiting for about five minutes, the group repeated
the process for the second cave, which was nearly five metres above
the first. It took some time to manoeuvre up the difficult slope
into a position from which a canister could be safely tossed. The
result was the same.

Mabaku watched with increasing frustration as each cave yielded
nothing. When all the caves had been gassed, Mabaku contacted Kubu.
“He’s not here. We’ve flushed all the caves, and we’ve got nothing.
It’s been a total waste.”

“Director, I suggest you and your men check each cave. Maybe he
committed suicide rather than being caught and tried. Watch out for
any other cover. He may be hiding from you, but not in the caves
themselves.”

Mabaku spoke to the SWAT commander, who instructed his men to
don their masks and check each cave. A few minutes later, one of
the teams radioed that they had found a body. Mabaku and the
commander climbed the rock face to the entrance, pushed aside the
branches of the bush concealing the entrance and went inside. The
cave was so small they could barely stand up. On the floor lay a
skeleton, surrounded by various Bushman artefacts.

“Obviously not the man you’re looking for,” the commander said
drily.

Mabaku looked around in awe. The walls of the cave were covered
with primitive but beautiful paintings. Of animals, single and in
herds, some that were not to be found for hundreds of kilometres;
of men hunting, and even of fish. These need to be in a museum, he
thought. I’ve never seen anything like it.

He pulled out a pocket camera and took dozens of photos.

The radio crackled again. “We’ve found water!” Mabaku and the
commander climbed out of the cave and slipped and slid down to the
bottom. Then they walked over to where one of the men was waving.
Mabaku pulled out Haake’s map. The arrow with ‘W pointed at the
cave they were about to enter. Whoever drew the map certainly had
explored the
koppies
carefully, Mabaku thought.

They went in. Again the walls were covered in paintings in red
and black. The man who had checked the cave led them to the back,
where there was a pool of water. In the light of the torch it was
crystal clear. A miracle for Bushmen, Mabaku thought. Water in the
middle of the desert. Again he recorded the scene.

As they emerged into the blinding sunlight, another man shouted,
“Look what I’ve found.” They saw a long crack splitting the face of
the
koppie
. The man told them to take off their bulletproof
jackets because the entrance was so narrow. They did so, and he
beckoned them to follow. They had difficulty squeezing through the
crack, but when they succeeded, they were overwhelmed by the rays
of coloured light that shot from the wall, wherever the torch beams
played.

“Diamonds,” thought Mabaku. But when he examined the wall
closely, he saw that the crystals were violet. He tried to remember
what Haake had claimed he’d found. Amethysts? He bent over, picked
one off the floor and put it into his pocket. Then he spent a few
minutes photographing the walls. When he finished, he took one
final marvelling look and turned to leave.

♦

It was early afternoon before all the caves had been checked.
Mabaku had gone into several – those with skeletons and artefacts,
and those with wall paintings. This must be a Bushman treasure, he
thought as he photographed each. Such beauty, such isolation, and
with water too. It should be preserved for all to see.

He walked back towards the helicopters. After the shade of the
caves, the scorching heat was almost unbearable.

“Kubu. Are you still there?”

The radio hissed. “Yes, Director.”

“Khumanego’s nowhere to be found. Nor anyone else. I’m going to
get the helicopters to follow the tyre tracks to see where they go,
but I’m not optimistic.”

“Was there anything in the caves?”

“Kubu, this is an amazing place. It’s a treasure house of
Bushman artefacts and paintings. It may also be a burial ground,
because we’ve found more than ten old corpses – mainly skeletons.
You’ll be amazed when you see my photos. I’ll have to show them to
the people at the National Museum. They’ll be very excited.”

“I don’t think you should, Director. They’ll turn the place into
a tourist attraction. It’ll be yet another injustice to the
Bushmen.”

Mabaku thought this over. Eventually he said, “Perhaps you’re
right. We’ll need to think it through. I don’t see anything to
indicate diamonds. There’s a wonderful cave with a ceiling of
crystals, though. Maybe amethysts.”

“Even more reason to keep it quiet,” said Kubu. Then his
thoughts went back to Khumanego.

“Director, I’m really worried. Khumanego is very dangerous. We
must find him. I wonder where on earth he is, and what he’s
doing.”

Director Mabaku had no reply.

♦

In fact, Khumanego was watching Mabaku as he spoke to Kubu. When
he’d heard the helicopters, he hadn’t taken refuge in the caves,
where he knew he would be trapped. Instead he’d faded into the
grass and bushes several hundred metres away. The SWAT squad could
have walked within a few metres of where he lay dead still and not
seen him. Bushmen were good at hiding.

Khumanego watched with growing anguish as Mabaku’s men threw
canisters into the caves and tramped in and out of sacred Bushman
burial places. As the hours passed, he became more and more
incensed. It was his duty to the gods to protect this place, but he
could do nothing. If he showed his head, the police would kill him
like an animal and then laugh about it.

As his anger built up, Khumanego’s eyes lost focus and his mind
began to swirl. He heard the Mantis groan in pain. And he heard the
voices of his ancestors. They were crying out for vengeance.

∨
The Death of the Mantis
∧

H
ukuntsi was a
dangerous place for Khumanego. People knew him there under a
different name, but they would recognise his face if they’d seen
the Wanted posters. Still, he needed to know what was happening in
the physical world around him – the world outside the spirit world
of his mind, the world of the Mantis.

It had been a long walk from The Place, so Khumanego rested
until evening and then slipped into the town. He wasn’t worried
about being seen making his way along the side streets. Bushmen
sometimes visited the town to buy provisions for their settlements
to the south.

He made his way to the small corrugated-iron shack that Willie
had built for himself on vacant land. One day someone would drive
Willie away, but he knew that and would move his belongings when
the time came. The door was padlocked, and the shack was in
darkness. Khumanego prowled around it, looking for a way in,
wondering where Willie was. He should have been home by now.
Khumanego was distracted as he came back to the road, otherwise he
would have seen the woman before she spotted him.

She was large and busty and had a basket of provisions balanced
on her head. She was watching him with disapproval, and she didn’t
look friendly.

“What are you doing there, hey? You people are always sneaking
around here. What do you want?”

Khumanego sighed with relief. She didn’t recognise him. Perhaps
she was the woman who lived nearby, who always gave Willie trouble.
Willie was scared of her.

“I was looking for Willie. You know him? The Bushman? He lives
here.”

“And who are you?”

“My name’s Piscoaghu.” It would’ve been better to tell her
something else, Khumanego realised, but he wouldn’t back down in
front of this overbearing woman.

“Willie’s not here. The police took him away,” she told him with
satisfaction.

“The police? Why? Where did they take him?”

“He’s in Tsabong. Good riddance. He was involved with killing
that policeman in the desert.” She stared at him. “Perhaps you were
involved too. Your face looks familiar.”

Khumanego knew it was time to move on, but he was intrigued. He
wanted to hear the details of how his work had played out. “What
happened to the policemen in the desert?” he asked.

“It was Detective Tau from right here! From the Tshane police
station. He was a good man. I knew him myself. A Bushman left him
to die in the desert. Horrible. A Bushman! Like you.” She looked
angry now, her anger directed at him.

“And the other policeman?”

“The other one? How do you know there was another one?”

Khumanego stood his ground. “I heard two policemen died in the
desert.”

“You heard wrong. They took the other to hospital. I don’t know
what happened to him after that.” She gave a small shrug of her
shoulders. “Go away! Get out of here! I’ve got no more time to
waste on you.” She turned and stalked off with the basket
effortlessly balanced in sync with the movement of her walk.