The Hunter (32 page)

26

B
rand walked through the dry bush, his feet crunching on parched golden grass and desiccated twigs. Every now and then something slithered away from him through the dehydrated mulch.

He smelled elephant on the wind, their sour, musty odour as familiar to him now as the scent of the hotdog vendor’s stand on his street corner had been to him as a boy. War had brought him to Africa as a hunter of men, but the serenity and harmony of the continent’s bush and its wild inhabitants had kept him here.

The elephant would be a herd on the move from Hwange National Park in Zimbabwe, behind him, towards the Chobe River in Botswana, to the northwest. Every year during the dry season tens of thousands of the giant animals did what he was doing now, ignoring the border with Botswana and crossing in search of survival. Drought was not their only worry; despite its reputation as a peace-loving wildlife haven Botswana still held peril aplenty for the elephant, buffalo and other creatures that gravitated to the glittering waters of the Chobe. More and more land was being cultivated for farming along the river, closing off traditional access for migratory animals. Bananas, maize and other tempting goodies lured hungry, thirsty elephants, and farmers were not slow to pull a trigger to protect their crops and, at the same time, bag a mountain of elephant meat for their families and friends.

From far away he heard a shrill trumpet blast, echoed by more frantic calls from the rest of the herd. Perhaps they’d stumbled across a lion or a leopard; Brand had seen elephant chasing predators, even puny cheetahs, many times. The king of the bush was a scaredy-cat when being pursued by several tonnes of angry pachyderm.

This was forestry land, a transition zone between national park and the big wide world where man ruled. An eddy of wind blew a dust devil that danced in the distance then turned towards him. The trees absorbed most of the gust, but a curtain of dust was left. Brand licked his lips; his throat was dry from the booze last night and the heat of the day. A movement made him stop.

He had almost missed them, great, grey legs looking more like tree trunks, but the flap of a giant ear and the swish of a hairy tail had given one of them away. Now that he had stopped and focused he could see it was a whole herd. They moved slowly, conserving their strength, and their big, spongy feet made not a sound. Brand crouched behind a leadwood tree and watched them move, from the left to right, not a hundred metres away from him. If they detected him they made no sign of it. The elephants moved on, continuing their quest for water, for life.

Soon, the Hunter’s Road appeared through the dry-roasted foliage ahead, just as he knew it would. The road, corrugated dirt, ran north–south along the border, just inside Botswana. So named because it had transported ivory hunters in days gone by, today it was popular with a small number of hardy four-by-four drivers, and modern-day hunters, now called poachers, in search of meat and ivory.

Brand sat down in the meagre shade of a leafless acacia and wondered if and when Peter and Anna would show up.

He’d been pleasantly surprised by the way Peter Cliff had stepped up and offered to help him get out of Zimbabwe. The man hadn’t had to do that. His mind turned to his conversation with Anna while Peter had slept, and he felt bad, for Anna’s sake, that he might have unwittingly given her a signal that he was open to her desire for an affair.

Brand was troubled by Anna. The fact was that he did find her attractive. That wasn’t unusual – he’d slept with his fair share of clients in the past – but they had always been single. He wondered if Peter’s initial prickliness had made it subconsciously easier for him to give Anna the wrong impression. He’d felt sorry for her, and believed her when she said she was trapped in a loveless relationship, but Peter had risked arrest and possible imprisonment by lying on his behalf. Brand sincerely hoped the couple hadn’t fallen foul of the law at the Pandamatenga border crossing.

Brand needed a break. The police in two African countries were on his tail for rape and murder and the person he was searching for didn’t want to be found. At times like this he wished he’d stuck with simply being a safari guide, but he knew he’d never be happy just driving people around looking for animals. The hunter’s spirit lived in him, even though he didn’t kill animals for sport.

Looking up the long, straight road he saw the cloud of dust before he heard the diesel engine. Brand stood, brushed the dirt off the back of his shorts and walked out to the middle of the track. The truck slowed and Anna beamed as she wound down the window. ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ she said.

‘Did you have any problems?’

Peter gave a thumbs-up from behind the steering wheel. ‘Smooth as silk. No one asked any questions at all. The policeman on duty on the Zimbabwean side made a half-hearted search of the vehicle. He asked if we had any
dagga
on board.’

‘Marijuana,’ Brand said.

Peter nodded. ‘So I gathered. I assured him we had no drugs or even cigarettes on board, to which he said, ‘I don’t smoke cigarettes, only
dagga
!’ Both Anna and Peter laughed at the recounting and Brand thought it was good to see them sharing a joke.

‘I’ll drive,’ Brand said.

Peter jumped down from the front seat, leaving the engine running. ‘You’re welcome to it. These corrugations are murder.’

Brand got in and put the truck in gear. He accelerated rapidly, getting to seventy kilometres as fast as possible so that the Cruiser’s tyres would skip across the tops of the corrugated humps rather than bouncing in and out of the grooves.

They re-joined the main tar road
and Brand carried on south. The small town of Nata revealed itself through the heat haze, a donkey in the middle of the road their welcoming committee.

Brand pulled into the Shell garage for fuel. ‘The road off to the right leads to Moremi – the Okavango Delta,’ he explained to Anna and Peter. ‘There’s not much here except for fuel, goats and dust.’

A young man came up to Anna’s window, holding up jewellery made of beads. ‘I am from Zimbabwe, madam. I am hungry, my family is hungry, please buy something from me.’

Brand stood by the service station attendant. He expected Peter would tell the tout to go away.

‘Here, give him a hundred rand,’ Peter said, and passed Anna the cash. The salesman looked like he’d won the lottery as he handed Anna a bracelet made of lacquered seed pods.

Peter paid the attendant and they set off again. Ten kilometres further on he turned left on a grey sand road to Nata Lodge. After parking the car out the front, Brand took his laptop out of his daypack and they got out and walked through a thatch-roofed reception area to a courtyard with a small pool, bar and restaurant. It was a mini oasis in the dry flatlands of Botswana, and tourists were thronging the sunbeds around the water.

‘Gosh, that pool looks inviting. Have we got time for a swim?’ Anna asked.

‘Sure,’ said Brand. ‘I’m going to try the wi-fi and check emails, see if there’s anything from Linley Brown or the South African cops.’

‘I need a beer,’ Peter said. ‘Want one?’

Brand shook his head. ‘Coke, please. I’ve still got a long way to drive. Could you lend me a few bucks so I can use the internet here?’

Peter rolled his eyes, but smiled as he fished out some bills from his wallet. Brand was liking the man more by the minute. He went back to reception and bought a wi-fi voucher, then sat down in a corner of the bar by himself, away from the flat-screen TV hanging from the timber rafters. A replay of the last Springboks game was playing.

He fired up his laptop and waited for the connection before calling up his webmail account. His pulse quickened when he saw a message from Linley Brown in his inbox.

OK, Mr Brand, I’ll meet you. I need my money and want to put this to rest. Meet me at the following location at 10h00, this Thursday. Just you, no one else. If I see you with other people – any other people – you won’t find me. I’ll sign whatever you need and tell you about Kate. LB.

This Thursday. That was the day after tomorrow. Below the message was a set of GPS coordinates, giving latitude and longitude. Brand called up Google Earth and entered the numbers. The connection was slow, but eventually it came up. He knew the location – it was the access road to Shaw’s Gate, one of the entryways into the Sabi Sand Game Reserve on the western edge of the Kruger National Park. Ironically, it was almost back where he’d started this journey, very near to where he’d been living at Hippo Rock.

A barman brought him his Coke and he toasted Peter, who was sitting on the other side of the room, keeping one eye on the rugby game and the other on Brand. Brand rubbed his stubbled chin as he re-read Linley’s message. She warned him not to bring
any other people
. Did she think that he knew she was wanted by the police? It was very unlikely Linley could know he had Kate Munns’s sister and brother-in-law in tow. This woman could be like a wounded lioness, dangerous and cautious.

Brand looked out at the pool. Anna had changed into her bikini. She was full figured but toned, and carried her years well. Her skin was creamy and pale from her time in the UK, but she dived in and struck out with the skill and confidence of a child of the sun. She did a tumble turn at the far end of the pool and swam back, and when she broke the surface she was grinning at him. He returned her smile, unsure of how he would handle the meeting with Linley Brown. She winked at him and began a lap of backstroke, watching him the whole way. Brand shot a glance at Peter and saw he was now engrossed in the television.

Brand shut down the computer and walked over to Peter. ‘We have to leave. I’ve got a message from Linley Brown. She wants to see me the day after tomorrow and we’ve got a long way to go to where she is.’

‘All right. I’ll get Anna.’

Brand didn’t look back at the pool; instead he walked out to the Land Cruiser.

They crossed the border from Botswana into South Africa at Pont Drift on the Limpopo River, driving through the dry sandy riverbed.

The route from the border took them parallel to the Limpopo, past the high electrified fences of game farms, many of which hosted hunts. Signs warned of the presence of dangerous animals and even more dangerous owners, armed with automatic rifles. Brand caught a fleeting glance of a black rhinoceros, which turned its rump to them and fled into the thornbushes before Peter or Anna could see it. The dying light turned towering rock formations along the river the colour of blood. This was wild, hard country, the temperature outside the Land Cruiser barely dropping with the setting sun. They passed Mapungubwe National Park on their left, and came to the lodge a few kilometres before the turnoff to Musina.

The place was a clean, quiet self-catering stopover for people crossing to or from Zimbabwe via the Beitbridge border post. Brand checked them in and the woman on duty showed Peter and Anna to one chalet and him to another.

Brand took cans of tuna and tomatoes, a packet of instant three-cheese sauce and a bag of pasta from the food box in the back of the Land Cruiser and cooked them a tuna pasta bake. ‘It’s nothing fancy, but it’s food.’

‘It’s delicious,’ Anna said. She had opened a bottle of duty-free gin and had been able to source some tonic water and ice from reception.

‘I’m going to turn in early,’ Peter said. ‘It’s been quite a day.’

‘I’ll be close behind you,’ Brand said, picking up the plates from the table outside the Cliffs’ chalet. As Peter disappeared into the chalet and Brand began to head towards his own, Anna interrupted him.

‘Hudson,’ she began.

He turned at the door to his hut. ‘Yes?’

‘Can we talk?’

‘I’ve got to clean up, take a shower and shave. We’ve still got a long drive ahead of us tomorrow.’

A bat squeaked somewhere nearby and a frog croaked from the refuge of a birdbath. Overhead the stars were revealing themselves. Anna took a step closer and lowered her voice. ‘I want to talk to you about Peter.’

‘Anna . . .’

‘No, wait. Let me inside, just for a minute.’

‘Your husband’s right next door.’

‘He’s in the shower, he’ll be twenty minutes. He’s fastidious.’

Brand sighed and kicked open the door to his chalet. Anna followed him inside. He laid the dirty plates on the sideboard, next to the sink. A maid would clean them the next day. ‘I’d offer you coffee, but I’m trying to stay away from corny one-liners.’

She leaned against the edge of the bench in the small kitchenette. ‘He’s been good today, with all that stuff at the border. I think he likes a little excitement in his life, we all do. But he still doesn’t care for me, Hudson. Not in
that
way.’ She sniffed and wiped her eyes.

Brand didn’t know what to make of her, or this relationship. His head told him to tell her to get out of the chalet right now, but her eyes looked genuinely sad. ‘I’m not the solution to your marital problems, Anna.’

She exhaled. Her breasts seemed accentuated, the way she stood with her arms back and palms on the bench top either side of her. She’d showered before dinner and her hair was still damp, shiny, held back in a ponytail. She smelled sweet and clean and her nipples strained against the fabric of her simple white T-shirt. ‘No, I know that. But I wonder if I even have a marriage any more. I’m thinking of asking him for a divorce.’

‘Is it that bad?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. What I do know is my husband is a stranger to me these days. Kate dying . . . that wasn’t the cause of it, but things certainly haven’t got any better between us since then.’

‘You don’t think finding Linley Brown will help, perhaps get you two back on an even keel?’ he asked.

Anna pondered the question for a couple of seconds. ‘I thought it might, but I’m not so sure now. I think Peter
is
doing this for me, helping you across the border and trying to be upbeat, but it’s like all this is just a distraction for him. It doesn’t help me, Hudson. I’m a woman and I have needs.’

He wanted to steer the conversation away from sex. ‘I haven’t told you yet, but Linley’s email specifically requested that I meet her alone, with no one else around. She’s threatened to call off the meeting if she sees me with anyone in tow.’