Zambezi (32 page)

‘You’re dumping me so soon?’ he asked with mock seriousness.

‘More like a raincheck. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, Jed.’

‘Me too, but it’s all good.’

‘Same here,’ she lied.

They heard the clatter of the Land Rover’s engine downstairs as Moses pulled up, then the slamming of his door.

‘Tell Moses goodbye from me. Say I’m still asleep. I don’t want to see him like this – I feel like a tramp.’

‘Don’t be silly, you look beautiful, and you could never look like a tramp.’

She leaned closer and whispered in his ear, ‘I’ll be whatever you want me to be, soldier.’

He smiled. ‘OK then, be my email buddy until you get back to the States, OK?’

‘Deal,’ she said. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘Me too.’

They kissed, passionately, and finally it was Chris who broke contact.

*

Jed shouldered his pack and the narrow wooden stairs down from the verandah creaked with the extra weight. He looked back over his shoulder when he was halfway down, and saw she stood where he had left her, outside his room.

Images of their lovemaking flashed through his mind, visions of her face contorted in pleasure, the sounds she made, the taste of her. He had been in this situation before, more than once. In every case, except with Patti in the early days, he had turned and walked away, and never seen the girl again. He enjoyed the company of women, but his lifestyle and career were not suited to long-term relationships – he’d learned that the hard way with Patti and Miranda. In his younger years he had enjoyed the thrill of the chase, of getting a woman into bed, but his days as a Lothario were long gone. He’d met more than a few women since Patti who were just after sex, with no strings attached, and that had been fine with him, but the encounters had left him feeling hollow, unwanted.

Did he really want to see Chris Wallis again? Yes, he was sure he did. Certainly the sex had been fantastic. Their bodies and minds had seemed perfectly attuned, anticipating each other’s needs and preferences intuitively. Also, he hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted to stay in touch with her because she provided a lasting link to Miranda. That was no basis for a relationship, of course, but he wanted to let her know, up front, that he no longer held her responsible for Miranda’s death.

He smiled at Chris and said, ‘I’ll be checking my emails as soon as I get home.’

‘Check when you get to Johannesburg. I’ll send one tonight.’

He paused on the stairs. Mobile telephones didn’t work in the Zambezi Valley and there was no conventional telephone line into the lodge. ‘You didn’t tell me you had a satellite phone.’

She tried to hold back the blush but couldn’t. ‘You didn’t ask. Don’t miss your ride. Get out of here before I rip your clothes off, Jed Banks.’

He laughed and waved again, but he could tell she had made the joke to cover her embarrassment.

‘Hi, Moses, how was your night?’ he asked when he saw the guide in the living room, but he only half listened to the man’s answer. He might have fallen for Chris, in a sexual way and maybe something deeper, but he still had the feeling she was holding something back from him.

‘Fine. Are you all packed?’

‘Packed and ready to go home,’ Jed said, loud enough for Chris to hear upstairs.

Chris gave herself a mental kick as she showered, and again as she changed into clean clothes. Jed had caught her out in a lie and she was a fool for allowing it to happen. Her feelings for him were affecting her work.

She rummaged through her bag for her diary and looked up the number of British Airways in Johannesburg. She flew frequently enough to need the reservations number on hand. She set up the portable satellite antenna and phone again and dialled the number.

When the woman answered, Chris said, ‘Good morning, I’m calling on behalf of my husband, Mr Jed Banks. He wanted me to confirm his booking from Harare to Johannesburg tomorrow, please.’

Chris guessed that Jed would be flying on the Comair flight, a subsidiary of British Airways, rather than the less reliable Air Zimbabwe.

‘One moment, madam,’ the reservations officer said. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, there must be a mistake, Mr Banks is not booked on tomorrow’s flight.’

‘Oh, silly me, I mean the day
after
tomorrow,’ Chris said.

‘No, nothing on that flight either. Perhaps you could get Mr Banks to call us back and we’ll clear this up.’

Chris hung up feeling a little better about concealing the fact she had a satellite phone from Jed; after all, he had lied to her about his departure date. She wondered what he was up to, and sincerely hoped he wasn’t going to do the same thing she was. She flipped through a sheaf of print-outs of emails that Miranda had sent her during her time in Zimbabwe and found the one on which a telephone number had been marked with a yellow highlighter pen. She dialled the number, prefixing it with the international code for Zambia.

‘Crescent Moon Safari Lodge, good day,’ a male voice answered.

‘Good morning, may I speak to Hassan bin Zayid, please?’ Chris asked.

‘I’m very sorry, but Mr bin Zayid is not here right now.’ The man sounded African, the voice deep.

‘Can you tell me when he’ll be back?’

‘Who is calling, please?’

‘I’m a friend of Miranda Banks-Lewis, the American woman who was researching -’

The man cut in, ‘Ah, we were all very sorry to hear about the death of Miss Miranda, madam. She visited us often.’

‘Yes, so she told me. I’m a friend of hers and she told me of her acquaintance with Mr bin Zayid and his help with her research work. I wanted to thank him in person, if possible, for all he did for Miranda and to pass on my sympathy. I understand they were close friends.’

‘Indeed they were. Miss Miranda was very popular here. However, I am sorry but Mr bin Zayid is in Tanzania on business. He was most distressed by what happened.’

‘I see. When will he be back?’ Chris asked again.

‘We do not expect him for two, maybe three, more weeks, madam. If I could have your name, I will pass on a message to him. Perhaps he can call you back.’

‘No, it’s OK,’ she said. ‘I have the number for his office in Zanzibar. I’ll try him there.’

‘Very well, madam, but Mr bin Zayid will be travelling around Zanzibar and Tanzania inspecting his other properties, so he may be hard to get hold of. Are you sure you don’t want to leave a message?’

‘No, but thank you for your help anyway.’

‘A pleasure, madam. Goodbye.’

It was still a loose end. She would have liked to interview bin Zayid in person, to find out how close he and Miranda were. She wondered when exactly the wealthy hotelier had left the valley. Mort Solomon would be able to check his movements from Zambia to Zanzibar. She hated calling in another favour from the creep, but she had no choice. She dialled his number.

While she waited to be put through she thought about Jed. She wondered if a relationship between two people who could lie to each other so easily could really mature, especially after they had just made passionate love. She was willing to give it a try, she thought. Maybe.

‘What?’ Jed exclaimed.

‘Hassan bin Zayid, that is the man’s name.’

‘Jesus Christ, an Arab?’

‘What’s so bad about Arabs? I myself was a Muslim for a while.’

Jed ignored the braying zebra filing down to drink at Long Pool as the Land Rover juddered along the corrugated dirt road. ‘What do you mean, you were a Muslim?’

‘Muhammad Ali, the fighter, was a hero of mine. I converted when I was a teenager, but gave up when I discovered alcohol,’ Moses laughed.

Aw, hell, I don’t want you to think I’m racist or prejudiced, I’m just surprised, is all. I spent six months in Afghanistan hunting for Arab terrorists and now I find out my daughter was dating one.’

‘Not all Arabs are terrorists, Jed.’

‘I know that. I didn’t mean that this guy was a terrorist. Well, what else did you find out about him?’

Moses had spent much of the night drinking with the head warden and two of his rangers and, between them, the three parks officers seemed to know quite a bit about Hassan bin Zayid. One of the rangers was certain the Arab had been sleeping with the young American woman, but Moses decided to leave that piece of information out, in deference to Jed’s feelings. ‘They say he is a good man,’ he said instead.

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘He owns a game reserve on the Zambian side of the river a couple of kilometres downstream from here. He’s into wildlife conservation. This man spends a lot of money on captive breeding of rare species. They say he has some black rhino and cheetah over there which he is going to release into Lower Zambezi National Park.’

‘Good for him. What was he doing over here?’

‘The warden said Hassan was funding research in Lower Zambezi into the number of predators there -lions, hyenas, leopards – and that he wanted to get similar figures for the Zimbabwe side, in Mana Pools National Park. He comes to meet with the researchers on this side every couple of months to compare population numbers and trends. They say that is how he met your daughter.’

Jed pondered the information. It seemed innocent enough. ‘How often did they meet?’

‘I asked the men this and the warden did not want to say Afterwards, one of the rangers told me that this man did not only come on his official visits.’ Moses stopped the Land Rover to let a big bull elephant cross the road in front of them. The massive creature shook its mighty head as it passed and flapped its ragged ears. Moses left the engine running in case the elephant decided to charge.

‘So what, there were unofficial visits?’

‘The man has a boat and he used to cross the river illegally sometimes to visit your daughter.’

‘And did she ever travel across the river illegally?’

‘The one ranger I spoke to, he said yes, that he suspects she did sometimes cross the river in Mr Hassan’s boat. The warden would not want to say this because it is very illegal, Jed.’

‘Shit, so she was hopping borders as well.’ Jed shook his head. ‘What else did they say about him?’

‘He is very wealthy. His family is from Zanzibar. He owns a lot of hotels, they said.’

‘When was the last time anyone saw or heard from him, either officially or unofficially?’

‘The ranger said he thinks the last time he was over this side of the river was about a week before your daughter was taken by the lion.’

No one, Jed noticed, not even himself, was keeping up the pretence that Miranda might simply be missing. It seemed the verdict that she was dead had been reached. He felt the need to meet this Hassan bin Zayid, if only to find out what Miranda saw in him, but what good could possibly come from such an encounter? He wondered whether the man even knew Miranda was gone and, if he did, why he hadn’t crossed the river to find out for himself what had happened.

‘Did you get an address and telephone number for this guy?’ Jed asked abruptly.

‘I did.’

‘Sorry, Moses, I don’t mean to be rude.’

‘I understand.’

Once through the last of the national park’s gates they turned left onto the main tarred road and climbed out of the Zambezi Valley. Jed took a last look at the wide expanse of bush below the heat haze. For him the beauty of this place would always be tinged with the tragic memories of his loss.

They drove in silence along the top of the escarpment to Makuti and then down the winding road that led back to Kariba and Nyamhunga township. As Moses’s home town came into sight Jed reached into his daypack, pulled out his cell phone and switched it on. At last, the thing would be of some use.

The phone’s screen showed it had picked up a local telephone service provider and, after a few seconds, it beeped, signalling Jed had received a message. He had to dial the States to check his messages. The recorded voice on the other end of the line told him he had three. He played them back.

‘Hi, Jed, this is Patti. Call me when you can. I’m not holding out hope for any miracles, but I do want to know what you’ve been able to find out. How was Professor Wallis? If I ever meet her I’ll kill her for sending Miranda to that place. Oh, by the way, Miranda’s name is public knowledge now and I’ve had a few people from the press calling me. One even came to the door. Just thought you should know in case they try and track you down as well. Hope you’re OK. See you.’

He deleted Patti’s message, intending to return her call soon, and the next message played.

‘Jed, it’s Hank Klein. I got that information you asked for, but it took a little longer than I thought.

Goddamned system was shut down for a day Fucking computers. Anyway, the lady you asked for, Wallis, Christine – here it is. You were right, she served in the 82nd Airborne from 1989 to 1994.

Meritorious Service medal, Army Commendation medal. Made it to sergeant and, oh yeah, she was recommended for Officer Candidate School but took an honourable discharge when her service was up. Must have got a better offer. Good soldier, according to her jacket. Well, that’s about it, except you got one thing wrong, buddy, she was C-2 not C-l. Hope this helps. You owe me a beer, you son of a bitch. Keep your head down, wherever you are.’

Jed deleted the message. Interesting, he thought. The third message on his phone began with a loud burst of static. The connection was obviously a bad one.

‘Jed, it’s Luke Scarborough, I don’t know if you remember me …’

How could he forget him? The kid had nearly got himself and Jed killed when he fell out of the Chinook.

‘I’m in Africa, in Zambia right now. I understand you’re in Zimbabwe – I’ll be crossing at Kariba on Tuesday I need to talk to you, urgently.’

Scarborough rattled off the number of his cell phone but Jed did not bother to write it down.

Instead he punched the number in the keypad that deleted messages. The kid’s call had wasted enough of his money already. Jed knew what Luke Scarborough wanted to talk about – Miranda. Patti’s message had said she was being pestered by reporters and he imagined this was more of the same.

He took out the piece of paper Moses had written Hassan bin Zayid’s number on and dialled.