Trackers (25 page)

Without a word, and with a triumphant gleam in his eye,
Diederik handed me something. As large as his thumb, pink, it formed a pocket.
It looked like the snipped-off corner of some container. I took it from him.
Plastic. Soft, pliable, strong.

I felt it, looked at the rhino again, my brain too sluggish
to process it all.

'It was lying here,' he pointed to where the long grass grew
lushly in a spot moistened by the leaking windmill beside the gate.

He watched me while I tried to process this.

'Wait...' I said, because I couldn't make sense of it. I
sniffed the plastic. Nothing.

'She's gone,' said Brand.

I tried to keep up with him. 'When?'

'Some time in the night. She had supper with us yesterday.
Then Marika showed her to her room and she said "goodnight" and shut
the door. When I got here at six this morning, the cages were open and the
animals were out. I went to call her, but her room was empty. She had used the
bath, but not the bed.'

'Wait, wait, wait...' Gears ground in my head. 'Flea let them
out last night?' Last night when the cages were finally on the ground she had
explicitly said, 'Leave them like that.' When Diederik asked why, she had
answered that the rhinos' sight was poor. 'They will break the fences if they
come out at night. Tomorrow morning we can open up. Only after nine. By then
they will be accustomed to the smells and sounds.'

'Cornel,' Diederik said.

'That's what I meant.'

'She must have kept them in the cages so she could get these
things off,' said Diederik. 'And I think she hoped they would hide away
somewhere this morning, so she could buy more time.'

'Shit,' I said as I began to understand.

'I've just called Ehrlichmann on his satellite phone. He says
when they loaded the animals in Zim they were as healthy as they could be.
Angry and wild, but no skin disease in sight. She must have stuck the plastic
on during the trip. Look carefully, they rolled in the mud beside the trough
this morning, look at those dark marks on their skin - everywhere they had
those sores. I think the glue is irritating them a bit.'

'Only along the top,' I said.

'What?'

'The sores. They were only on the upper sides of the rhino. Over
the neck and back and quarters. Where she could reach them through the bars
from above.'

He grinned and nodded. 'You have to admit it's clever.'

I looked at the bit of plastic again. 'But what was in them?'

'God knows. But that's what the hijackers were after.'

'Has to be.'

'You owe me an apology, Lemmer.'

'She was working for you, Diederik ...'

'No! I don't know her at all. Ehrlichmann got her. He pays
her.'

'And he says he knows nothing about these things?'

'I told you, he was shocked on the phone.'

'Did you ask Ehrlichmann if she had anything with her when
they loaded in Zim?'

'No.'

'How do you know he's not part of this whole thing?'

'Why would he admit the rhinos were healthy?'

Good point. 'I want to talk to him.'

'It's a satellite phone. Calls cost a fortune. What does it
matter? The rhinos are here, safe ... Everyone has been paid. You, Lourens,
Nicola ...Yes, we've been tricked by a girl, but where's the real harm? I mean,
by next week your bruises will be gone.'

'It matters to me, Diederik. And to Lourens le Riche. Come
...' I began to move.

'You still owe me an apology.'

'You forged documents that could have done Nicola a lot of
damage. Lourens and I might have spent the night in jail.' And, I could have
added, I am on parole.

He looked at the ground, guilty. Possibly afraid I would tell
Nicola about his sins.

'Diederik, how did you get hold of the MAG-7?'

'I... it's a long story.' With a shake of his head that said
he wasn't going to say.

'Have you paid my boss?'

The dimples had disappeared. He nodded sourly. 'Come, let's
get this over with.'

We walked in silence. The extent of Flea van Jaarsveld's
deception slowly settled over me.

Just before we went in through the farmhouse door, something
else occurred to me: how had she left the farm? 'Diederik, it's sixty kilos to
town ...'

'It's ten kilos just to the next major gravel road, Lemmer.
And she was tired, I could see.'

'Did you hear anything? A car?'

'You can only hear vehicles once they come through the
poort...' he said, pointing to where the road emerged from a cleft in the
ridge. Then he said: 'Ay, that Cornel,' and he laughed his dimpled laugh,
shaking his head.

We couldn't raise Ehrlichmann on the satellite phone. In
Diederik's office he pointed the receiver towards me so I could hear the
engaged tone.

'But you spoke to him this morning?'

'His phone is not always on.'

I took out my cellphone. 'Give me the number.'

'There's no reception here,' he said.

I checked my phone and saw he was right.

'You don't believe me?' Diederik asked.

'No. Give me the number.'

He looked at me with some amazement. 'You really can't just
let this go, can you?'

I didn't expect him to understand my motivation. I was tired
of Diederik, tired of his attitude, his evasions, his self-justification.

'I want Ehrlichmann's number. If you give me a wrong number,
I will be back. I want Lotter's number and the Swanepoels' number.

And I assume Jeanette Louw called you this morning to tell
you your account will keep running until I am absolutely certain you are innocent
of this matter.'

'That's blackmail... And why would you want Lotter's number
too?'

I didn't respond.

He shook his head and sighed, as if he had been done a great
injustice. But then he reached for a piece of paper and began to write.

I drove back to Loxton in my new silver Ford Ranger, the
four-litre V6 King Cab, knowing that Diederik had paid at least the next
instalment.

I thought about Flea van Jaarsveld. About her reaction when
young Swannie Swanepoel had recognised her, just before we loaded.
I don't know you
, had been her heated response. It
hadn't been bitchiness, it was panic. Her initial, unpleasant aloofness could
have been pure tension. She wouldn't want to get involved with Lourens and me,
because it is easier to lie to strangers. She didn't want us to stop at the
hijacking roadblock. She knew what they were looking for. Inkunzi whispering in
her ear ... Did he know she was the smuggler? How?

Her thoughtfulness towards Lourens after the hijacking. Not
compassion, but guilt, because his humiliation, his terror, was all due to her.
That meant she had a conscience. Not a hardened smuggler. But a very clever
one. And nasty. She tried to put the blame on me when she asked, 'What were
they looking for?' And she was quite happy for me to suspect Diederik.

What had she been smuggling? I looked at the little piece of
plastic in my hand. How many of these ... sachets were stuck on each rhino?
Fifteen, perhaps, about thirty in total. Someone must have designed them,
filled them with something so valuable that a gang of thirteen men raced a
hundred kilometres through the night to intercept us.

Why go to all that trouble to smuggle something out of a
country with a border as secure as a sieve?

Agatha, my coloured housekeeper, was tidying up the house.
She gave my face a long, disapproving look. 'I heard about the scooter people.
Ay, ay. I don't like this lighting.'

Before I could explain, she said:
'Now, we have to unpack that bag, so I can get the washing done.'

I nodded like a scolded child and
went to the bedroom, I picked up my bag from where I had left it against the
wall, put it on the bed, unzipped it. I started to unpack, my brain occupied
with rhinos, bits of pink plastic.

Only when I had finished, did I
realise my Glock was not there.

I searched through the clothes, with
sudden urgency. I
had
put the pistol
in the bag, while I was tidying up after the attack. Or had I? Racking my
brain, anxiety slowly descending on me. After the attack in the night: it was
lying there among the clothes, in the headlights of the truck. I had picked it
up, dazed. Put it on top of my T-shirt, which was lying beside it. Shoved both
items in my bag, last, so that the firearm was on top. Definitely.

I couldn't find it.

I took a deep breath, put everything
to one side and looked through it all again, slowly, carefully.

The Glock was gone.

Creating employment
opportunities for trackers provides economic
benefits to local communities. In addition, non-literate
trackers who
have in the past been employed as
unskilled labourers can gain
recognition for their
specialised expertise.

The Art of
Tracking

'Fuck, Lemmer,' said Jeanette Louw
over the phone, worry in her voice. 'There's a story in the Beeld this morning,
an unidentified black man found beside the road near the Lapala Game Reserve.
Bullet wound in the head.'

'My fingerprints are on the Glock.
And the man's blood, his DNA.'

'Fuck.'

'Flea is the only one who could have
taken the Glock. If she ...'

'Then you'll have to find her.'

Ehrlichmann's satellite phone stayed engaged.

I phoned the Swanepoels. It rang for a long time before Pa
Wickus answered. 'Swanepoel?'

I explained who I was, asked if they would be on the farm
over the next few days. 'We are always here. Is there a problem?'

'Not at all. I want to drop in for a quick visit.'

'Oh?' He waited for me to explain why.

'Do you have a landing strip on the farm?'

'Sort of. But there are no lights or anything.'

'I will ask the pilot to phone.'

'When are you coming?'

'Tomorrow, I hope.'

He was quiet for a long time before he said: 'Well, then,'
but he sounded worried.

I left it at that.

I phoned Lotter.

'So how was the trip?' he asked.

'Interesting,' I said. 'Diederik Brand wants you to take me
to Musina again. And then to Zimbabwe.'

'And you are prepared to fly in my Vomit Comet again?'
Enjoying himself at my expense.

'Prepared' was not the right word, but his RV-7 was the
quickest way to get into Zim and I had a few questions for Lotter. 'I'm pinning
my hopes on a smaller breakfast,' I said, which was more or less the truth.

'Where exactly in Zim?'

'Near the Chizarira National Park, provisionally. I will let
you know if it changes. But we have to land on a farm near Musina first.' I
gave him Wickus's number.

Once he had written that down he asked: 'And when?'

'Tomorrow morning.'

'I will have to check the weather again. And Zim ... Getting
flight clearance can take time. I'll call you back.'

I tried Ehrlichmann's satellite phone again. Still engaged.
Had Diederik written down the correct number?

Why?

At ten to three Emma called to say she had arrived safely
back at her house. 'How are you feeling?' she asked.

'My whole body misses your healing hands.'

'Your
whole
body?'

'Head to toes.'

'Unfortunately, Dr Emma's healing hands are only available in
Cape Town this week, at a special price for Karoo boys.'

'This Karoo boy has to go to Zimbabwe first.'

'Lemmer.' Suddenly serious. 'You will be careful.'

'I will.'

Which was close enough to the truth.

'His name is Julius Nhlakanipho Shabangu,' Jeanette Louw said
over the phone. 'His nickname is "Inkunzi". That means
"bull" in Zulu. He comes from Esikhawini, a township near Empangeni
in KwaZuluNatal, but he lives in Sandton now. Filthy rich, divorced, a playboy
with the Jo'burg girls, a criminal record as long as Jolene's legs ...'

'An interesting comparison,' I said. Jolene Freylinck was
Body Armour's efficient, sexy receptionist.