Hyena Dawn (14 page)

Tongogara smiled evilly. ‘Suppose, Captain, I was to let high command know about some of your other activities . . .’

Georgio sat up quickly. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

‘
Of course not. All I’m asking for is a favour.’

Georgio could hardly speak and his face was turning white. ‘Tongogara . . . you go too far . . . you are not liked in high command. This will be reported . . . You know that.’

Captain Georgio’s speech didn’t seem to scare Tongogara. He gestured for Sam to get up. ‘Say goodbye to your career, Georgio.’

Georgio immediately rose and ran in front of them, blocking the door and smiling obsequiously. ‘Forgive me, Tongogara. I apologise. Of course I’ll look after her.’

Tongogara walked up close to Georgio and stared down into his eyes. ‘You touch her or harm her and I’ll blow your brains out. And if I’m not around to do it, one of my men will do it with pleasure.’

The Captain walked back behind his desk and sat down. He took out a bottle of whisky and two glasses from his desk. Tongogara declined the offer of a drink but he did take a seat next to Sam. She gazed up at the big fan on the ceiling above her, turning lazily in the mid-day heat. She was terrified. How could Tongogara leave her with this man?

The two men discussed routine matters in Portuguese, including the fate of some prisoners currently being held in the cells of the police station. Then they came back to the subject of Sam. Georgio was most conciliatory.

‘
There is a small flat behind the station. It is quite comfortable, she can stay there. But I warn you, if she escapes you will be in more danger than you realise.’

‘
That’s my problem, Georgio. I must leave now. I’ll talk to her for a few minutes privately, then she will be your responsibility.’

Sam followed Tongogara out of the office, and he led her into another room and closed the door. Never in her life had she felt so desperate, so little in control of events. He held her shoulders in his massive hands.

‘
Trust me, Samantha Elliot. If you stay with me you will be in grave danger - high command will insist I hand you over. I owe you my life, and I will come back in three days’ time to get you. At least here you can clean yourself and rest.’

‘
I don’t trust him!’

‘
He will do nothing. I have too much on him.’

The room was quiet except for the sound of flies buzzing in the hot afternoon air. Far in the distance she heard a dog barking; for the first time in her life she understood the real meaning of the word ‘freedom’. Yet she trusted a man whom she had only known for two days, and something told her that he would not let her down.

In Salisbury the evening before, Sam’s disappearance had created a few problems for the interim government. The death of a farmer on the Mozambican border was one thing, the suspected abduction of an American reporter quite another. With the tense situation that now existed in the country, the last thing Bishop Abel Muzorewa’s government needed was an incident that focused the world’s attention on the bush war. At all costs, the impression must continue to be given that things were well under control.

The chief difficulty was that the editor of
Time
had threatened to fly out to find the true facts behind the disappearance of one of his top war reporters. After all, he had reasoned, if she could cope with Vietnam, she could cope with anything. He had said he was going to release the story to the world media.

Government officials, anxious to avert a crisis, argued that this might well endanger Miss Elliot’s chances of survival, if she were still alive. They asked him for a few days’ grace so that the army could comb the Umtali area in one last attempt to find Miss Elliot.

The moment Tongogara left the police station and Samantha had been safely removed to the bungalow behind it, Captain Georgio darted back into his office and dialled a number on the phone. Speaking in English, he asked for General Vorotnikov and was immediately connected.

‘
General Vorotnikov. Speak.’

As usual the voice made Captain Georgio freeze with fear. He tried desperately to maintain his composure.

‘
Comrade General, you told me to report anything to you that might be of assistance to the Soviet Union. I am in the Manica E Sofala area. I have captured an American reporter who was operating on the eastern border of Rhodesia.’

‘
Have him shot. He is most likely a capitalist mercenary.’

‘
No, Comrade . . .’

‘
You know the punishment for not obeying an order.’

Captain Georgio began to wonder about the wisdom of calling the General. But he was sick of the police station. He wanted a promotion and this was an opportunity to get noticed.

‘
General Vorotnikov, she is a woman. I have seen her name in the capitalist propaganda magazine
Time.
She is famous.’

‘
You read such imperialist rubbish? It is punishable, do you understand? Where is this American woman?’

‘
Here, Comrade. You want me to kill her?’

‘
Do not make fun of me, Captain Georgio. Men who make fun of their commanders live short lives. Do not wreck your chances.’

‘
I apologise, Comrade. What are your orders?’

‘
Keep her . . . Now tell me, who really captured her?’

‘
Comrade Tongogara.’

There was a lengthy silence on the other end of the phone.

Captain Georgio knew why: Comrade Tongogara was not popular with the Soviet military. He had threatened them, told them they should not expect the new state of Zimbabwe to be a communist puppet.

‘
Interesting. Is Comrade Tongogara involved with this woman?’

‘
I am not sure, but I think they are lovers. He threatened to kill me if anything happened to her. I told him I would look after her. But I know of the debt that ZANLA owes to FRELIMO and to the Soviet Union. That is why I called you.’

‘
You did well, Captain Georgio. Keep the woman. I will contact you again in the morning. If anything happens to her, you will be disciplined.’

‘
But . . .’

The phone was dead before Captain Georgio could continue. The sweat poured off his forehead. If Tongogara came back for her, then he would accompany them. She was
his
prisoner. He would make sure that Tongogara was arrested as a traitor; he would like to see them kill him very slowly . . . These ZANLA soldiers thought they were a cut above the rest. Well, he would show them who was in charge. ZANLA were nothing without the Soviet support that kept them going. The new Rhodesia would be a Marxist state, of that there could be no doubt.

He, Georgio, had been one of the few citizens of Mozambique who had been selected to go to Moscow for training. He had expected promotion and respect on his return, but instead he had been sitting in this derelict police station for nearly a year. It was not his fault that he did not have the gift of intelligence or the ability to fire a rifle accurately. Well, now he would earn a position where men would accord him the respect he deserved. Tonight, he would have some enjoyment with this white bitch.

He pulled out the bottle of whisky that he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk, and took a hefty slug. The smooth brown liquid felt good as it trickled down his throat and put fire into his stomach.

Sam was feeling much better. She’d had a hot bath and changed into some of Georgio’s clothes. Perhaps she had been overreacting when Tongogara left her.

She was surprised when Georgio came into her room. He set two glasses down on the table and tried to pour whisky into both of them. At the first attempt he missed, but he didn’t seem to care much. He handed Sam a full glass which she reluctantly took from him.

‘
To your future, Miss Elliot.’

She put the glass to her mouth but did not drink.

‘
Good whisky?’

‘
I prefer bourbon.’

She decided that she’d have to get rid of him as politely as possible. She was tired, and had no intention of putting up with a drunk.

‘
You Americans. You like to be different. I’ve never met an American woman before. Perhaps the American consul might have some bourbon. If you’re nice to me I might let you talk to him.’

Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Perhaps she could persuade this fool to take her to the consul.

Georgio got up and staggered outside. She saw him through the window as, whistling, he fumbled with his pants, then let them slide to the ground and urinated noisily in the sand. He lumbered back into the room again and picked up the whisky. ‘Like another drink?’

She passed over her nearly full glass and he slopped some more whisky into it. He pulled a cigar out of his top pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He sat looking at her.

‘
Come here.’

This was what she had expected. She had no intention of putting up with this pig. ‘I’m quite comfortable here, thank you, Captain.’

‘
I told you. Come here.’

She got up and walked over to him, pretending to look seductive to get him off guard. Suddenly, she threw the whisky in his face. Then she whipped up her right knee, hard into his groin. She had known how much stronger he would be than she was, and had waited for this opportunity. Now he rolled on the floor at her feet - and the image came back to her of Sithole lying on the ground after Mnangagwa had shot his balls off.

‘
Bitch. Fucking white bitch.’

She picked up his gun and pointed it at his head.

‘
Comrades!’

She heard the shouts outside the bungalow and two men rushed into the room. She found herself shaking with fear, unable to pull the trigger.

Georgio screamed at the man closest to him. ‘You baboon’s arse! Help me up.’ The other grabbed Sam and savagely twisted her right arm. She cried out in pain and dropped the gun.

‘
Take the bitch to the cells!’ yelled Georgio. ‘Give her the water!’

The two men dragged Sam roughly back towards the police station. She started to scream, but received a hefty blow across the side of her face. They pulled her down a flight of stone stairs into the basement. A nauseating smell of vomit and urine filled her nostrils. It was almost pitch dark here, except for the light thrown by a few candles on the walls. She was thrust into a square cell with a chair at its centre. They frog-marched her over to the chair and forced her to sit on it; then they forced her arms through the struts that ran down the back and fastened her hands behind her with an old-fashioned set of screw handcuffs that bit through her wrists. She cried out again but was ignored. They lashed her legs to the base of the chair and then left the cell, not bothering to lock the door. Clearly they were going to leave her here for the night as punishment for what she had done. In front of her was what looked like a horse’s drinking trough, filled with foul-smelling water.

Sam could hear noises coming from the other cells, the sounds of people sleeping uneasily. She tried to relax, but every time she nodded off to sleep she sank forwards and the pain in her wrists woke her up.

It was much, much later when she heard the sounds of men coming down the stairs towards her cell. The light in the cell got brighter and she saw that they were carrying a gas lantern.

Georgio and his two henchmen came in.

‘
Hallo, Samantha. Did we wake you?’

Georgio’s laughter echoed hideously round the cell. He had another bottle of whisky with him, and he was having difficulty in walking. He pulled up a stool and sat down next to her. Then he pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it. He inhaled slowly, watching the end of the cigar as it became brighter. He let out a puff of tobacco smoke - and then he nodded at the two men.

Before Sam realised what they were doing, they had picked her up and carried her and the chair to the water trough. They tipped her forwards until her nose was just touching the water. She started to retch because of the smell.

‘
Not pleasant, is it, bitch? But then you obviously don’t think I’m pleasant either. You wouldn’t drink with me - we’ll see if you prefer this kind of drink.’

The guards pulled the chair back and wrenched her mouth open. Georgio took the whisky bottle and upended it in her mouth. He clamped his fingers over her nose and as she tried to breathe, whisky poured down her throat.

Just as she thought she was going to black out, he pulled the bottle away - and the moment she started to breathe in, they upended the chair in the trough, forcing her head beneath the water.

For a while she managed to hold her breath, but the whisky affected her resolve and she started to take in deep mouthfuls of water. She had heard that drowning was a pleasant death, but this was like suffocating.

They pulled her out of the water at last. She vomited into it. All she was aware of was the noise of laughter echoing round the cell.

She must have lost consciousness. She came round as they slapped her face. They looked worried now. They untied her, and pushed her onto the floor. One of the men pushed her stomach and she threw up a foul-smelling vomit. The man felt her pulse. ‘She’ll live.’

They left her on the concrete floor and locked the cell door behind them. Their footsteps echoed up the stairs.