Eye of the Cobra (22 page)

‘I suppose you are free to choose when and where you die. I’m just saying that you’re all here to make money. Isn’t it true that Wyatt Chase gets twenty thousand pounds for every point he makes?’

‘That’s part of his contract,’ Bruce replied stiffly.

‘The closer he comes to death, the more money he makes and the more publicity he gets for his sponsors.’

The room was deathly quiet. Bruce felt the rage building in him, wild and uncontrollable. But he knew the TV cameras were rolling - and Jack was counting on him, Aito was depending on him, so was the whole team. Don moved in front of him, grabbing his arm, pulling him away, then took the microphone himself.

‘I think you caught Bruce at the wrong time,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’ll answer your questions as clearly as possible.’

Vanessa Tyson didn’t hesitate.

‘How do you feel about

people dying of lung cancer?’ she said coldly. ‘About the millions of young people who are suckered into buying cigarettes because they see Calibre branding on a Shensu racing- car? Are you into death?’

Don Morrison wasn’t fazed. He was paid to handle this sort of situation.

‘I am a full-time employee of Calibre-Shensu,’ he said. ‘Wyatt Chase demanded the cash-for-points clause in his contract. It’s a normal arrangement for an up-and-coming driver. As for our sponsors, they’re just capitalising on the world’s most popular sport. I think everyone here today would agree that Formula One racing is the most exciting business in the world.’

Vanessa gestured to Max, her cameraman, to stop filming. Don was the wrong target, she wanted de Villiers, not this professional.

‘Thank you for being so open with me, Mr Morrison. I think Mr de Villiers has stated your team’s views quite succinctly.’

Everyone in the room burst into conversation. The press conference was over.

What was he doing here? He hated the effect of the drugs, he hated losing control. If only the bloody fire-extinguisher had worked. Now the Shadow was a write-off. He was losing time,
time that could be spent practicing.

He tried to get up, and felt a hand push him softly down. It was a doctor, dressed in the regulation white jacket.

‘Easy there. You’ll be back on the track in a day’s time, I’ve no doubt. But now you need rest.’

The doctor filled a syringe, then injected him. He felt the drug begin to take hold and thought of Suzie. Where was Suzie?

He drifted off into unconsciousness again.

Debbie, Bruce de Villiers personal assistant, waited outside the foyer of her hotel, enjoying the sounds of the African night. She didn’t question why she liked having sex with Formula One racing drivers, it was just something that she felt compelled to do again and again.

There was the constant buzz of the crickets, the occasional croak from a bullfrog and in the distance she could hear a dog barking.
  The roar of the high-powered engine in the distance signaled his arrival. Ricardo pulled up smartly in front of her and leapt out of the car. He was wearing a white tennis-shirt, black trousers and moccasins. There was a flurry of activity in the reception area as people recognised him.

He opened the passenger door of the Ferrari quickly, and Debbie eased herself down into the low-slung seat. Then he was in, next to her, and pulling away.

Ricardo smelt of exotic after-shave. His hand rested on her thigh - it felt very good. He had a power about him, an easy confidence that was very attractive. She liked his openly aggressive nature; it was a constant challenge to her.

‘You are envious that Wyatt took three seconds off your fastest time?’ she said.

She waited to see how he would respond. She liked men who could stand up for themselves - that was why she’d worked for Bruce de Villiers for the past three years.

‘He drove very well,’ Ricardo said. ‘I cannot deny that. There is no question of his ability.’

‘But can you drive as fast?’

‘It is one thing to perform well in practice, it is another to achieve victory in competition. He will be slow now. At least for another couple of weeks, eh?’

‘How do you know?’

‘I know. He will be scared.’

Debbie knew that Ricardo was staying with friends, that he didn’t like the hotel - too many people staring at him and too many reporters getting in his way. He didn’t need them.

He slipped his arm around her waist, squeezing her play
fully, and she felt uninhibited, like a young girl again. He was raw and elemental: she wanted to be naked against him. She looked at the black curling hairs on his chest revealed by the open buttons of the T-shirt.

He drove very quickly but she wasn’t scared. He was always in control, and she watched the dark hairs on the back of his wrists as he changed gear. He flicked his eyes over her, taking in the dress she had chosen for the evening.

‘You are very beautiful.’

She laughed softly as
he ran his hand over her dark-stockinged thigh again.

The restaurant was exclusive, set in lush gardens beneath an office complex. Ricardo looked up and the
maitre d’hotel
came across to them smartly.

‘Good evening, Mr Sartori.’

He handed Ricardo the wine list and ran over the restaurant’s better dishes. Ricardo ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon, and Knysna oysters for both of them.

‘Champagne is all that the beautiful should ever drink,’ he said.

Afterwards they walked out to the Ferrari, and he said: ‘You spend the night with me.’ It was not a question.

She lay her head against him as he drove. She felt scared of herself, of the sexual desire she’d never been able to control. She wanted him, that was all she knew.

Later, he pulled up at the end of a long tree-lined drive, next to a black-walled house. The architecture was clean and modern, greenery clinging to the plaster around the big, square oak door that was set deep into the wall. Inside, they stepped into a huge, marble-tiled hall; through a picture-window the northern suburbs of Johannesburg could be seen twinkling in the distance.

She wanted him to make love to her and she wanted it to be good.

His hands moved gently over her body. He knew almost instinctively what aroused her.

‘Don’t stop.’

She whispered it softly in his ear as his hand unzipped the back of her dress. Now she wanted her naked body next to his, to feel that darkly tanned skin against her own.

He pushed her over one of the white raw silk couches, her legs parting in anticipation. He dropped his trousers in a single movement.

Then she felt him, hard and big. She could no longer control herself. She pushed back against him as he thrust deep within her. She needed to be possessed.

‘Oh my God.’

There was now a masculine smell about him that excited her even more, and she came again and again. Then he exploded within her and she sank down, satiated.

Later, they lay naked on the tiles. She placed her head on his stomach and he stroked her hair.

‘Did the accident scare you?’ she asked softly.

It was some time before he answered.

‘Perhaps,’ he said.

She wondered what Wyatt would be like in bed. There was something about racing-drivers that turned her on. She’d slept with some of the best, but always there was a new conquest to make.

He ran his fingers teasingly across her upper lip.

‘You are afraid of Wyatt?’ she asked.

She felt his body tense up. She enjoyed the sensation, enjoyed the power she felt she had over him.

‘Am I afraid?’

Already she could feel herself wanting him again. She parted her lips and worked her way down his torso making small kisses.

‘They say he has the makings of a great driver.’ She enveloped him with her lips.

‘He does not know how to control a car. Look what happened today.’

She felt the sap rising within him and his hand ran through her hair.

‘I want to beat him,’ Ricardo said, ‘show him that I am the fastest. Yes, he is a challenge.’

She tasted him, and it was almost too much for her to bear. He lifted her up, and then thrust, and exploded again within her.

God, it felt good. But she had to have Wyatt as well.

She could never have enough.

The hunter took another drag on his cigarette and contem
plated the meaning of life. He supposed he should be pleased. The spectacle he was about to witness would net him around twenty-five thousand dollars, but there was something that made him feel slightly guilty about the whole business.

He’d spent days trailing this animal, working out its habits and finding when it drank at the waterhole. Then it had been a matter of setting everything up and bringing in Mr Phelps at the right moment.

Mr Phelps wanted to bag a rhino, and that he would certainly do. Whether it could be called hunting was another matter.

He inhaled again and hoped to hell Phelps wouldn’t belch or do something else to scare the animal away.

Jack watched the rhino walk up to the water’s edge as the sun rose in the cold air of the morning. He liked the atmosphere of the bush, the rawness of the environment. He’d wanted to do this ever since he was a kid.

He looked through the hairlines of the sight and hugged the rifle closer to his shoulder, then let his finger stroke the trigger softly.

The huge animal faltered on his hooves, then staggered back and let out a snort of pain.

Jack smiled. The bullet had caught the right front knee. He felt the hunter’s hand on his arm.

‘Meneer
Phelps, let me finish this.’

‘Leave me alone. How I kill him is my business.’

He loaded up and fired again. The body of the rhino collapsed forward, both front legs crippled. The cries of pain echoed across the bushveld.

Phelps laid down the rifle and pulled out a cigar. The hunter raised his own rifle.

‘I don’t want your money,
meneer.
But believe you me, this’ll be in all the papers.’

The hunter’s first shot killed the rhino instantly.
Almost immediately a pack of lions moved in.

Then he felt the cold of Phelps’s rifle-barrel against his ear.

‘Go and inspect the kill, Mr du Plessis.’

The hunter staggered forward.

‘Now you can find out what it’s like to be hunted,’ Phelps said quietly.

Du Plessis broke into a run, pulling the sheath-knife from his belt.

As he ran, a lioness looked up from the kill and launched herself towards him.

As the hunter’s final scream faded, P
helps lit his cigar, sucked the rich smoke into his lungs, then exhaled, enjoying the soft warmth of the first rays of sunlight against his back.

Another unfortunate hunting accident, he reflected.
The bush was just like the business world; the weak always got savaged.

Suzie looked aghast at the doctor. ‘What do you mean, he checked himself out?’

The doctor moved uneasily in his chair and stared again at the beautiful blonde woman sitting opposite him. He could quite understand her anger. He hadn’t wanted to let Wyatt Chase go, but then he hadn’t had much choice.

‘Miss von Falkenhyn, this isn’t a prison. We can’t force a patient to stay here against his will. Besides, he threatened me.’

The doctor took off his glasses and cleaned them on the side of his coat.

‘Threatened you?’ said Suzie, not believing what she was hearing.

‘He said that if I knocked him out again he would break my arm when he came round.’

‘But surely you didn’t take him seriously?’

The doctor looked again at the open file on his desk.

‘Look, Wyatt Chase is a fighter. He’s tough. If he wants to leave, that’s his decision.’

‘I do not believe this,’ Suzie shouted angrily.

‘Dammit. He got out of bed, he knocked one orderly over - and I was not about to take him on,’ the doctor replied quickly.

Suzie got up, red-faced.

‘I am sorry. I didn’t realise.’

The doctor softened.

‘You don’t know where he’s gone?’

‘No.’

‘The
dojo
. Evidently fighting is his form of recovery.’

He came over and rested his hands on her shoulders.

‘He’ll be OK.  I don’t think he’s the type of man who takes orders.
’

He
took a handwritten note out of his pocket.

‘This is where
he said you can find him.’

The burns stung. The pain was terrible, but he was mastering it. He swivelled round again, his bare feet moving softly across the wooden floor of the
dojo.