ALTHOUGH ONLY ONE was aware of the other’s presence in the vicinity, there were two exceptionally fine examples of different major predatory species prowling through the night-darkened woodland which fringed a smallish clearing about three miles from a Gasali village and close to the boundary of the Ambagasali Wild Life Reserve. Both were hunting, but only the more competent of the two could achieve its purpose. As had always been nature’s pattern and way, the other would pay the price of failure.
The lion had been hungry since the disappearance of its consort during what should have been a temporary separation two days earlier and catching prey was difficult.30 The lion approaching the clearing, attracted there by the bleating of a goat. Since they had been driven from the pride of their birth by the dominant male, the lion and his mate had discovered that such creatures and, occasionally, the villagers’ stunted cattle offered a more easily obtained source of sustenance than the wary wild creatures upon which they had fed in the area they had been compelled to vacate.
Standing close to forty inches at the shoulder and measuring close to nine foot,31 inclusive of its fairly long, black-tufted tail, the lion was approaching the prime of life. Aided by the easy pickings derived from the villagers’ incautious way of allowing domestic stock to graze without adequate supervision and protection, its tawny and powerfully muscled body—backed by the long fangs, teeth and the sharply pointed claws at present sheathed in the pads of its feet—had produced a weight in the region of four hundred and fifty pounds. This would stand it in good stead when the opportunity arrived for it to make a challenge for the right to mate and support the continued existence of its species. Tawny in body color, the magnificent hirsute appendage flowing from its head, neck and forming a fringe along its stomach, served as a symbol of its virile masculinity.
Such a splendid adornment was not uncommon in the region. The lions of Ambagasali had long been famous for the exceptional quality of their manes. However, while the vast majority were yellow in color—ranging from a blondish tinge to almost golden --the young male’s decorative hair was the rarely seen black which, in the past, had caused its kind to be classed as ‘royal’ game. Hunting them had been the prerogative of the kings of the country, their male heirs, or very privileged important guests.
Arriving at the edge of the clearing, the lion did not allow the pangs of hunger to cause it to act hastily. Instead, flattening on its stomach while still in the concealment of the bushes, it surveyed the situation. There was sufficient light for it to be able to study its prey without difficulty. Tethered in the center of the open ground, some thirty yards away, the half-grown goat was ideal for its purposes. Not only were its movements restricted by the short rope attaching it to a stake, it was neither large enough nor had its horns grown sufficiently for it to be able to put up a dangerous struggle when attacked alone and unsupported by a consort.
Such considerations were of vital importance to a predatory animal which depended upon agility as much as strength to catch and pull down creatures capable of rapid movements. Any injury sustained could reduce its powers to a point where making a kill became impossible. In that event, lack of nourishment would eventually cause death by starvation; or from a mass attack by scavengers it would have been able to put to flight if in good condition.
Despite being able to attain a speed in excess of fifty miles per hour, bitter experience already had taught the lion that a charge from a distance could prove futile and unproductive. It had learned that a careful stalk as close as possible to the prey was more likely to produce satisfactory results. So, keeping its eyes upon its intended prey, it began to approach with the belly-scraping gait which all members of the Felidae could perform with great grace, skill and effectiveness. Unfortunately, due to its hunger and comparative inexperience, it forgot the essential aid to survival of remaining alert for signs of possible danger to itself.
Not that the second predator, which was stalking the lion as eagerly as the tethered goat was being sought, was giving any unnecessary indications of being so close. Rather the opposite in fact. Being aware of how formidable an antagonist its intended prey could be, granted an opportunity, it was applying all the skill it possessed to avoiding detection.
Bipedal, feminine in gender, also approaching the full blossom of maturity, the other was an even finer representative of its species, Homo Sapiens, than the lion was of Panthera, or Felis—depending upon one’s scientific proclivities—Leo.
Five foot eight inches tall, with Vital statistics’ measuring: bust, 38 inches; waist, 20 inches; hips, 36 inches; Dawn Drummond-Clayton—without any form of artificial aid—had a figure many a ‘sex symbol’ movie actress strove to attain. Kept cut short for convenience, her curly tawny hair set off almost classically beautiful features whose lines denoted breeding, strength of will and intelligence. Sleek, power-packed, yet not unfeminine muscles played under skin tanned to a gorgeous golden bronze by the elements, indicating the possession of perfect physical condition and health.
In spite of being clad in an open necked nylon khaki bush shirt, with matching trousers tucked into the calf-high legs of brown, rubber-soled hunting boots, Dawn Drummond-Clayton conveyed an impression of timeless and savage feminine pulchritude. This was enhanced by the expression on her face, the Randall Model 1 ‘All Purpose Fighting’ knife—having an eight inch long clip point blade32 and a ‘finger-grip’ handle made from the horn of sambur stag—hanging in its sheath from the left side of the two and a quarter inch wide Bianchi ‘Border Patrol’ belt around her waist, and a quiver suspended upon her back so the flights of the arrows it contained rose above her right shoulder to facilitate an unrestricted and hurried removal when necessary. In a competent manner she carried her seventy pound pull Ben Pearson Marauder ‘Take-Down’ hunting bow. There was a second quiver, holding eight arrows, attached to its recurved limbs and she had a ninth, fitted with an unconventional type of head, nocked to its string ready for use. Nor was the primitive aura diminished by her having a powerful Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum revolver in a Bianchi Model 104R swivel holster with a ‘snap-lock’ retaining strap at the right side of the belt and twenty-four spare cartridges in its loops.
Being aware of the possible dangers of the task she was performing, Dawn did not regard her armament as either ostentatious or excessive. Furthermore, she was sufficiently skilled in the use of her weapons to feel confident that she could protect herself with any of them should the need arise, as well as carrying out the task she had set herself by employing the bow and its specialized arrow.
That the girl was stalking the lion did not imply she was urged by blood lust, or a desire to prove some point by killing a creature so much more powerful than herself. Her participation was the product of necessity. Along with its consort, the lion had acquired the habit of preying upon the livestock of the nearby Gasali village. Such a proclivity could develop into making the villagers themselves the object of its attentions as it lost its inherent fear of human beings through increased familiarity. So it had to be prevented from continuing its depredations.
Despite her love of nature and living creatures, Dawn was no over-reacting ‘bleeding heart’ conservationist. She accepted there was a limit to how much tolerance could be permitted where any animal was concerned. No carnivore could be allowed to prey upon domesticated beasts, with the possibility of human beings being added to its menu, particularly when there was an abundance of natural food available not too far away. What was more, in the present case, continued depredations would offer fuel for the vote-seeking political opportunists in the country who were campaigning to have the Reserve thrown open for human habitation. Should that happen, all the animals which at present found sanctuary within its bounds would face extinction.
At the request of Ambagasali’s well-liked and respected ruler, Prince Simba Nyeuse, Dawn’s adoptive cousin, James Allenvale ‘Bunduki’ Gunn, had recently become the Reserve’s Chief Warden. Being on vacation from her post as head of Physical Education at the University of Ambagasali, she had joined him to help with the organization entailed in the appointment. Knowing the importance of winning the support of the population nearest to the Reserve, he had wanted to dispose of the stock killing lions with the minimum of delay. However, after he had taken care of the first lion, another matter of a similar nature had come to his attention. So Dawn had offered to deal with the second lion while he attended to the newer problem. Aware that, like himself, she had received a thorough education in all aspects of natural history from her family—than whom there were no greater practical authorities in the world—he had had no hesitation over accepting her suggestion.
Traveling to the village near which the remaining lion had been reported, accompanied by two young Ambaga men who were being trained as game scouts, Dawn had put her extensive knowledge of the species Panther a Leo to good use. Deducing from the lack of complaints, or signs to the contrary, that her quarry had not been successful in its hunting since the loss of its consort, she had decided how she might be able to bring it to her instead of spending time searching for it.
Obtaining a young goat from the village, although there had been some reluctance on the part of its owner to allowing her to use it. Dawn had taken it to the nearby woodland and staked it out as a decoy in the clearing. With the preparations made, she had sent her companions to wait within hailing distance as she believed that she could best handle the task alone. Her decision had not arisen from a sense of ‘white supremacy’, but because she knew neither of them had had any practical experience in such matters. Although in the past the Ambaga nation had been lion hunters second only to the Masai in Kenya, the pair were city born and mission educated, so they had never found the need to acquire the traditional masculine attainments of their ancestors.
Separated from the rest of the flock and alarmed at finding its movements restricted by the picket-rope, the goat had begun to bleat when left alone in the darkness. While the girl’s hope that the lion would hear and be attracted had materialized, she was annoyed to discover it was not coming from the direction she had anticipated, despite having heard faint sounds of movement suggesting it would. However, employing the skill she had acquired where such a task was concerned, she had contrived to pass through the undergrowth surrounding the clearing until she had attained a position from which she could use the bow without betraying her presence.
Adopting a shooting posture, still without alerting her quarry to the danger, Dawn performed a bow-hunter’s ‘cheek’ draw with deft ease.33 As she was taking aim, she was pleased to see the lion was behaving as she had envisaged by making a slow stalk instead of dashing to the attack. This made her task easier, although she still did not consider it a sinecure. As she did not want to kill the lion, but hoped to render it unconscious so it could be taken somewhere sufficiently far removed from human habitation to end its stock raiding, she was using an arrow tipped with a specially designed hypodermic syringe. While the drug it carried would achieve her purpose, aiming it was more difficult than when using more conventional hunting or target points.
Watching the lion’s slow advance, Dawn released the string when satisfied she could not improve her aim. Propelled forward as the limbs which had been held under tension returned to the unflexed position, the arrow sped towards its intended mark. Although the sound of its liberation and flight across the clearing was heard by the carnivore, the warning came too late. Passing through the hairs of the mane and striking the less yielding tawny hide of the neck, the thin protective head of the syringe crumpled, allowing the needle to be pushed into the flesh below and the immobilizing drug to be expelled to do its work.
Letting out a pained and startled squall, the lion bounded into the air. Twisting its body while still rising, it tried to see what had attacked it. Having failed to do so, the moment it landed, it forgot the goat and took flight across the clearing. Before it had taken four bounds, so potent was the drug, its legs buckled and it went down. Struggling briefly to rise, it subsided and became motionless.
‘Thank heavens for that!’ Dawn breathed, refraining from extracting the second arrow equipped with a hypodermic syringe which was attacked to the bow-quiver, as she had not been enamored of the prospect of trying to send it into a rapidly moving target. Then she raised her voice to a shout and continued, speaking Ambaga as fluently as she could the half a dozen other African tribal languages in which she was conversant, and the variety of Swahili that is the lingua franca throughout much of the continent.34 ‘Abu, Kioti, I’ve got the lion. Bring the truck.’
‘Very good,’ came the answer from Abu, the elder of the scouts.
Even as Dawn heard the engine of the party’s specially adapted Land-Rover being started, her attention was attracted by movements amongst the trees on the side of the clearing from which she had expected the lion to come. A glance in that direction informed her she had not imagined the slight sounds which led to the drawing of the erroneous conclusion. As she had feared might happen, the lion was not the only creature to have been attracted by the goat’s bleating. First one, then four more fully grown spotted hyenas emerged from the undergrowth. Despite their physical conformation causing them to move with what appeared to be a slinking, furtive gait, which made some people consider them to be cowardly, they showed no hesitation before making for what their instincts informed them was a victim sufficiently restricted in its movements to offer an easily obtained meal.
Remembering she had promised the owner of the goat that she would do her best to ensure its return unharmed, the girl knew she must protect it from the scavengers. What was more, the fact that they had ignored her shout warned there was only one way this could be accomplished.
Lowering the bow swiftly to the ground, as she knew it would not serve her purpose at that moment, Dawn sent her right hand to the butt of the Smith & Wesson. While her thumb and the other three digits were taking hold, her forefinger flipped apart the press-stud of the ‘snap-lock’ retaining strap. On being liberated from the security device, the revolver left the holster smoothly. However, not until its muzzle was pointing away from her did she insert the finger through the triggerguard.35 Bringing her left hand to join its mate and help support the heavy revolver, she raised and extended them to arms’ length in a continuation of the draw. As an aid to aiming in poor light, there was a round, luminescent insert on the foresight blade. Making use of this, she aligned the six inch barrel and squeezed the trigger.
Struck in the head by a .41 Magnum caliber bullet delivered at high velocity, the leading hyena went down as if it had suddenly been boned. Swinging the revolver, as the double handed hold allowed her to control its not inconsiderable recoil, the girl aimed and fired again. The foremost of the other scavengers gave a yelp of agony and collapsed, kicking spasmodically, in its tracks. Although her third shot missed, in spite of her shout having failed to deter them, the others decided discretion was the better part of valor and, uttering the weird cackling, whooping sounds which had given the species its alternative name, ‘laughing hyena’, fled into the undergrowth. Nor, if the noise of their departure was any indication, did they intend to return.
‘That’s right, fisi,’ Dawn said, lowering the Smith & Wesson but, although she took her left hand from the butt, making no attempt to return it to its holster, as she employed the more generally used of the two Swahili names for the hyena.36 ‘Keep going and I hope for your sakes you’ve learned some respect for human beings, or somebody will have to shoot some more of you until the idea sinks in.’
With the sentiment uttered, the girl walked cautiously and with the revolver ready for instant use across the clearing. Reaching the lion, she ensured it would be unlikely to recover before her companions arrived and it could be secured in the powerful lightweight traveling cage on the back of their vehicle.
‘This must be them,’ remarked Abu, the older of the Ambaga trainee game scouts, as he drove the Land-Rover around a corner of the narrow dirt road through the woodland fringing the Fisi Maji River.37
‘Yes,’ Dawn Drummond-Clayton replied and glanced over her shoulder to where the black maned lion was lying passively in the traveling cage. ‘I hope they’ve got something larger than that to keep him in.’
Three days had elapsed since the capture of the stock killer.
On returning to the base camp Bunduki had established in another Gasali village, the girl had participated in the final stages of the bizarre events which followed the capture of several Ambagasali baboons. Before the lion could be transferred to the interior of the Wild Life Reserve, where it would be compelled to live by hunting non-domestic animals, they had discovered another fate was in store for it. A junior official of the Government had arrived with instructions that it was to be delivered to a party of Russians who were collecting specimens of the local fauna. As the letter had been signed by the Secretary of State For Overseas Relations, there was nothing to be done except obey. However, as Bunduki, his chief game scout, M’Bili and Kioti were required for an inquest that had arose out of the incident, it had fallen upon Dawn and Abu to make the delivery. Having left the lion in the cage on the Land-Rover, instead of placing it in more commodious accommodation, they had set out at dawn that morning. By about three o’clock in the afternoon, they were almost at their destination.
Turning her head to the front, Dawn studied the camp of the people to whom she was transporting the lion. Set in a large clearing on the banks of the river, it was comprised of a marquee with dimensions suitable for the ‘big top’ of a moderately sized circus, two smaller tents, a combined kitchen-mess hall with mud walls and a thatched roof, an improvised shower and an equally makeshift toilet capable of holding only one person at a time. The three latter structures were of local manufacture, but the rest looked new and showed signs of having had attention devoted to their erection and maintenance. Transport was provided by a Ford Bronco and four large lorries, one like a horsebox and a second equipped to supply electric power.
Only Africans were in sight when the Land-Rover turned the corner. The majority were of the dusty black pigmentation, medium height, thickset physique which differentiated between the Bantu-descended38 Gasalis and the generally taller, invariably more slender, reddish brown, delicate featured Ambasa, who were of Nilotic origins.39 One of the former glanced at the approaching vehicle, then turned and strode hurriedly through the closed entrance to the marquee. All the rest began to gather in a group, talking and pointing in an excited fashion at the newcomers.
Apart from a solitary elephant standing at the far side of the clearing, with a small and elderly man who appeared to be a Gasali sitting near it, there was no sign of whether the party had been successful in their attempts to catch specimens of the local wild life. Looking at it, Dawn decided the pachyderm had not been a result of their efforts. As it was a fully grown female representative of the species Loxodonta Africanus, the fact that it was standing at liberty suggested it was not a recent capture. On the other hand, the proximity of the man and the wide brass rings about its forelegs indicated it was not wild and had merely strayed into the camp by accident. Knowing that Prince Simba Nyeuse’s grandfather had duplicated the efforts being made in what was then the Belgian Congo to domesticate the African elephant after the fashion of its Asian cousin, Elphas Maximus, the girl deduced the animal was one which had been subjected to the treatment.
Noticing the flap of the marquee opening, Dawn turned her attention and thoughts from the elephant. She looked with considerable interest at the two women who emerged, followed by a pair of white men and the Gasali who had entered to notify them that the vehicle bringing the lion was coming. Being aware that many of the ‘technicians’ and ‘agricultural advisers’ sent by Russia were in reality members of the armed forces with different educational intentions in mind, she wondered if the pretense at animal collecting was a cover for similar activities. If that was the case, it raised the point of why they should have requested the lion be delivered. At that moment, however, she was more concerned with studying them than trying to solve the possible puzzle.
Clad in a tight-fitting, high-necked, but sleeveless white satin blouse, a wide black leather belt, form hugging white riding breeches and well-polished brown boots, the shorter of the women was about Dawn’s height, almost as curvaceous, but several years older. She had black hair, taken back in a severe bun and a bronzed, sultrily beautiful face. Her female companion was nowhere near as shapely or attractive. Almost three inches taller, although somewhat younger, she was so bulky that she showed barely any feminine contours. Cropped boyishly short, yet without charm, her black hair did nothing to improve a massive, surly, somewhat Mongoloid set of sallow features. Her long sleeved, baggy blouse, masculine trousers and the heavy, blunt-toed jackboots into which they were tucked were all black and showed signs of long wear.
One of the men was young, tall, lean, swarthy handsome, clean shaven, but with longish brown hair. Older, shorter, thickset and completely bald, the other nevertheless sported a bushy black beard which had the advantage of hiding much of his unprepossessing, scarred and scowling features. Both were bare-headed and wore khaki bush jackets hanging outside trousers which were tucked into brown hunting boots. Although there were cartridges for rifles in the loops on the jackets’ chests, like the women, neither had any weapons in view.
However, while the girl found the massive woman and the men of some interest, they did not command much of her attention. Instead, she gave it to the black haired beauty; about whom she thought there was something familiar. As the Land-Rover carried her closer, she realized why this should be. Being a gymnast, athlete and swimmer of world class, although she had given up entering such events except at local level,40 she recognized Katya Viskovsky as a leading Russian ‘amateur’ gymnast against whom she had won in her last international competition.
According to the reports Dawn had read in newspapers, the woman had retired after the defeat. For all that, if the play of muscles in her bare arms and visible beneath the skin tight riding breeches was any indication, she still kept herself in excellent physical condition. Despite a pending marriage having been given as the reason for her retirement, she wore no rings of any kind to exhibit her marital status.
On climbing from the cab when Abu brought the vehicle to a halt in front of the four white people, the girl discovered that the recognition was mutual.
‘Well, well!’ the beautiful Russian said, with no suggestion of cordiality in her sultry voice, speaking English fluently. ‘You are Dawn Drummond, aren’t you?’
‘Dawn Drummond-Clayton, Miss Viskovsky,’ the girl amended, using the other’s maiden name as she could not recollect having seen any mention of the husband’s identity. ‘I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘You have brought our lion, I see,’ Katya stated, making no attempt to correct the way she had been addressed. ‘What a magnificent specimen.’
‘Isn’t he,’ Dawn agreed. ‘But it’s a great pity he has to be placed in a cage for the rest of his life.’
‘It is,’ Katya admitted, darting a glance filled with annoyance at the Africans who were gathering around the rear of the Land-Rover. ‘But I assure you he will be given the finest of accommodation and good treatment.’
Wondering what was causing the woman’s reaction, Dawn glanced over her shoulder. She was puzzled by the men’s obvious excitement as they pointed at the lion and exchanged comments. While it was a fine specimen and of the type which was once classed as ‘royal game’, with the exception of the old man who had risen from the elephant’s side and was approaching, their dress suggested they were moderately well-to-do town dwellers. Unless there was some advantage to be gained, many of their class took little interest in the wild life of the country.
Because there were men from both of Amabagasali’s races present—as well as four Dawn identified as being respectively a Kikuyu, a Nandi and a Swahili from Kenya and a Tanzanian Wakeke—most of the remarks were in the lingua franca instead of their tribal languages. Hearing the words, ‘simba nyeuse’, she realized they meant the lion and not the ruler of the country.41 However, despite being familiar with the names Africans gave to various kinds of animals, she was unable to think of what a ‘punda simba’ might be. The Swahili name for a zebra was, ‘punda milia’, but she had never heard of a ‘zebra lion’.
‘May I introduce you to my associates?’ Katya asked, diverting the girl’s attention from the Africans and their remarks. ‘They are Comrades Agasha Nefedovna, Philip Golitsyn and Boris Kravichenko.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Dawn said automatically, shaking hands with the younger man, Kravichenko, who alone offered to do so. Pulling free from his grasp when he attempted to maintain the contact, eyeing her as if trying to see beneath her clothing, she went on, ‘Where are you going to cage the lion?’
‘Cage it?’ Katya repeated. ‘But it is already in a cage.’
‘Which belongs to the Department of Wild Life And Natural Resources,’ Dawn pointed out. ‘Besides, even if I was authorized to leave it, you’d need to put the lion in something larger unless you intend moving it straight away. The traveling cage is far too cramped for any extensive occupancy.’
Very well,’ Katya almost snorted. ‘We will attend to it.’
‘Do you want us to take the cage into the marquee?’ Dawn inquired, sensing that her refusal to leave the cage was not received favorably by the former gymnast.
‘Why should we?’ Katya demanded, while the other women and the men, who clearly understood what was being said despite having made no attempt to join in the conversation or acknowledge the introduction, exchanged glances.
‘I don’t see any cages out here,’ the girl explained. ‘So I presume you’re keeping your collection in the marquee.’
‘Ah yes, of course,’ Katya replied. There was a brief pause before she continued, ‘But how remiss of me. You must both be very hungry. Why don’t you tell your driver to go to the kitchen, while you join me for lunch in my tent. My associates will attend to transferring the lion to more suitable quarters.’
‘Thank you for the invitation,’ Dawn answered, but decided upon a way which would allow her to see inside the marquee. ‘However, as I’m representing the Department of Wild Life and Natural Resources, I must assure myself that you have satisfactory accommodation available before turning the lion over to you.’
‘You can take my word—!’ Katya began.
‘I don’t doubt that,’ Dawn interrupted and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level. ‘But you know what these Africans are like. The driver would be only too pleased to report me if I neglected my duty and there are those in the Department who are just waiting for a chance to have me dismissed so as to take my place. So you see my position.’
‘I do!’ Katya admitted, before she could stop herself, glancing at her associates. Coming from a country and society in which such behavior was the rule rather than the exception, she was willing to accept the explanation. ‘Very well. I’ll take you inside.’
Walking into the marquee with the black haired beauty by her side and the other three Russians following on her heels, Dawn Drummond-Clayton found the resemblance to the ‘big top’ of a circus was not restricted to the external appearance. In the center was the kind of enclosure made from steel bars employed in acts involving dangerous animals, but devoid of the hoops and stands upon which the creatures were made to perform tricks. For illumination, power being supplied via a generator truck which was one of the vehicles in the clearing, several lights such as those used by photographers in addition to the more usual type were suspended over the enclosure. Although there were signs on the grass indicating something had been moving around in the enclosure, it was empty at that moment and the barred chute through which ingress was possible disappeared behind the canvas wall across the center of the marquee.
There was, however, no sign of any animals which had been collected. Nor anything in which captured creatures could be held prior to being taken to Russia.
‘What is that for?’ Dawn inquired, pointing to the enclosure.
‘Comrade Nefedovna is probably our country’s greatest lion tamer,’ Katya Viskovsky replied. ‘She has to test the temperament of those she will be taking back with her for use in her act.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Dawn stated, having noticed that the massive woman’s scowl deepened at the use of the word, ‘probably’ although she did not speak. ‘I thought you were collecting for a zoo?’
‘So we are,’ Katya asserted, then gave a cluck of what might have been annoyance. ‘Do you mean to say you didn’t know we have been granted permission for her to capture lions for the State circus she is with?’
‘I didn’t,’ Dawn stated, adopting the tone of a bureaucrat who had made a discovery regarding something of which she believed she should have been consulted. ‘Do you have many of them to pick from?’
‘Only one, until you came,’ Katya claimed. ‘It is in its cage behind the dividing wall, but I’m afraid you cannot see it.’
‘Why not?’ the girl demanded, still acting as she had seen pompous representatives of government departments behave when they believed their ‘rights’ were being challenged.
‘Comrade Nefedovna always keeps a new lion to herself and allows nobody else near it,’ the retired gymnast explained, but after a pause as if needing to think of a reason. ‘She says this is the only way to build a rapport with it. She is doing so well that she will not permit myself, Comrade Kravichenko, or even Comrade Golitsyn, her assistant, to go near it.’
‘That’s all very well—!’ Dawn commented, continuing her pose by displaying well simulated bristling self-important indignation.
‘You can look, if you insist,’ Katya authorized coldly. ‘But we have been assured of complete co-operation by Com … Mr. Utambi and if he should hear!’
‘Oh very well,’ Dawn surrendered, knowing the man named was the Secretary of State For Overseas Relations. Having completed his education at the London School of Economics, his sympathies were not in accord with the pro-West attitudes of Prince Simba Nyeuse and he advocated a policy of employing only Ambagasali nationals in positions of trust. He had, in fact, been one of the most vocal protestors when she and Bunduki were offered their respective positions. ‘I suppose it’s all right and I don’t need to look.’ There was a more serious reason behind the girl’s acceptance than a concern over possible repercussions instigated by Mr. Utambi. Although she suspected something was wrong, her instincts warned she could be treading on dangerous ground should she try to find out what it might be. If she was to insist upon going to inspect the animal behind the dividing wall, she would be refused. Or, if she was permitted to do so and it was something which should be kept a secret, she had no doubt the Russians would take any measures necessary to ensure it remained that way. So she decided the best policy was to give the impression of being frightened of arousing the important official’s ire. Then she could return and enlist the aid of Bunduki to solve and deal with the mystery.
‘I didn’t think you would,’ Katya purred, exuding such smug condescension that Dawn was hard put to control her temper. ‘Let’s go and have lunch while my associates transfer the lion to more commodious accommodation.’
‘Yes, let’s,’ the girl assented, contriving to restrain her annoyance. Then, instead of setting off immediately, she pointed to the powerful lamps erected around the enclosure. ‘Are you making a film?’
‘Why should we be?’ Katya challenged, throwing a quick look at the other Russians as the lion tamer and her assistant let out sharp exclamations in their native tongue and Kravichenko gave a startled gasp.
‘The lights are similar to those I’ve seen used when one is being made,’ Dawn replied, noticing the women and the men had registered something closer to alarm than just surprise at her question.
‘So they are,’ Katya conceded, as if the point had only just occurred to her. ‘But we are not making a film. Comrade Nefedovna used them to accustom the lion to working in such brilliance. Shall we go to lunch?’
‘I am hungry,’ Dawn answered, considering she would be ill-advised to take the matter further. ‘So, unless you think your assistants need any help—’
‘They don’t!’ Katya declared, scowling as she noticed that her associates were showing they did not care for the designation they had been given. ‘Shall we go?’
Conscious of being watched by three pairs of coldly suspicious eyes, Dawn went from the marquee with the retired gymnast. Calling over the man she had recognized as a Kikuyu, Katya told him in English to take Abu to the mess hall for a meal and then led her to the largest of the tents. Facing the woodland, its front flaps were fastened open to show it was divided into a living section at the front and, hidden by a canvas wall, sleeping quarters behind it. From all appearances, it was equipped with the latest furnishings and devices intended to make life comfortable while on safari.
Escorting the girl inside and seating her on one of the folding chairs at the collapsible table, the woman asked if she had any preferences for lunch. Being told she had not, Katya nevertheless left with a comment about going to make sure the cook was preparing something suitable for a white person’s palate.
Left to herself, Dawn’s first inclination was to look around the tent in the hope of finding some clue about the Russians’ activities. A moment’s thought served to warn her such a course might be ill-advised. It was unlikely she would have been left alone and unobserved if anything informative was available. Or, in the unlikely event that it should be, there was almost certain to be some form of precaution against it being discovered by an authorized searcher. So, wanting to lull the quartet into a sense of false security by having them assume she harbored no suspicions, she remained seated and waited for Katya to return.
In spite of her misgivings, Dawn could not fault her hostess’s hospitality. Like the majority of Communists with whom she had come into contact, Katya clearly had no qualms about living with the best possible standards. The food, served on china and a clean white tablecloth by a Gasali whose behavior indicated he was long used to such employment, was excellent and the wine accompanying it from a costly vintage. What was more, although refusing to discuss the reason for her Party’s presence in Ambagasali, she proved to be a good conversationalist so long as the subject stayed on athletics in general and gymnastics in particular.
‘What’s that?’ Dawn demanded, being interrupted by a savage roaring snarl which sounded from somewhere in the clearing, just as she was commenting upon the training she was giving to pupils at the University of Ambagasali.
‘It seems your friend doesn’t care for the idea of being moved to a larger cage,’ Katya answered.
‘So it seems,’ Dawn admitted, but she was conscious of a partially developed thought even though its completion eluded her. ‘What kind of methods does Comrade Nefedovna use for her training?’
‘Probably less cruel than those used in the West,’ Katya replied stiffly. ‘And one can hardly expect a freshly caught lion to accept human beings close to it, much less moving it from one cage to another, without making some protest.’
‘I suppose not,’ the girl conceded, trying to decide what she found unsatisfying about the explanation.
‘You were saying how good some of your pupils are,’ the woman remarked. ‘Do you have any who are up to your standard?’
‘I’ve some who are very good,’ Dawn answered and the conversation was resumed, continuing through the meal and until Kravichenko arrived to say the transfer of the lion was completed.
‘Are you armed?’ Katya inquired, and she and her guest walked to where the unloaded Land-Rover was parked.
‘I’ve my bow and arrows with me, but that’s all,’ Dawn lied, having her knife and Smith & Wesson revolver locked in her overnight bag under the vehicle’s front passenger seat. ‘Why?’
‘Aren’t you worried about not carrying a revolver, or a rifle?’ Katya asked. ‘I mean while you are traveling through such desolate country.’
‘I’ve never had the need for either,’ Dawn replied. ‘I only have the bow in case there is a chance of shooting something for the pot. Anyway, my game scout has a rifle.’
‘Is he a good shot?’ the woman wanted to know. ‘From what I’ve heard, few Africans are.’
‘I’ve seen better, I’ll admit,’ Dawn confessed. ‘Anyway, here he comes. I’ll not take up any more of your time, particularly as we’ve a long drive ahead of us.’
‘Have a safe journey,’ Katya said. ‘Perhaps I’ll find time to come and visit you before we leave the country.’
‘You seem worried, Abu,’ Dawn Drummond-Clayton stated, glancing at the Ambaga after he had driven the Land-Rover for something over a mile in silence.
‘Those people back there are up to something,’ the game scout replied. ‘And it isn’t just animal collecting.’
‘Have you any idea what it is?’ the girl asked.
‘No,’ Abu admitted. ‘They wouldn’t tell me anything in the mess hall. But some of them are members of the Ambagasali National Party.’
‘Are they?’ Dawn ejaculated, aware that the organization was in favor of breaking all connections with the West and were suspected of having connections with Communist-backed groups in other countries. However, before the conversation could be continued, she saw the old man who had been with the elephant at the clearing emerging from the undergrowth at the side of the road and waving to them. ‘It looks as if he wants us to stop.’
‘Shall I?’
‘Of course.’
‘Jambo, Memsaab,’ the old man said, as the vehicle came to a halt before him, applying the Swahili mode of address for a white woman which the younger people had let fall into disuse since their country was granted independence.
‘Jambo m’zee,’ Dawn responded, employing a word which in such a context meant an older and respected person. She went on in Gasali, ‘What can we do for you?’
‘Can I ride with you?’ the man inquired, showing no surprise at hearing his native tongue spoken so fluently.
‘Of course,’ Dawn assented, opening the door and moving across the seat. ‘Come in.’
Studying the passenger as he climbed nimbly aboard, the girl liked what she saw. Crinkly white hair framed a wrinkled face with surprisingly bright eyes and a smile that displayed a well-fitting set of false teeth. He had on an old British Army battledress blouse, shorts and a pair of sandals made from pieces of a tire. Settling himself alongside her, he did not speak as the vehicle started moving. Instead, he started to hum.
‘Fungua safari, fungua safari?’ Dawn sang, recognizing the tune and having noticed the glances he directed at her. ‘Amri kwa nani, amri kwa nani?’
‘Amri ya bwana captain,’ the old man replied, in a cracked voice. ‘Amri ya K.R.’
‘Who did you serve with?’ Dawn asked, with a smile, at the conclusion of the old marching song, having deduced from the answer that the passenger had served in one of what used to be called the native regiments of the British Army42
‘Sergeant Major Katabona, 12th K.A.R., memsaab’ the man announced proudly, using the traditional abbreviation for the King’s African Rifles. ‘Are you the daughter of Bwana Mkubwa Sana?’43
‘I am of his house,’ Dawn admitted. When no response was forthcoming, she commented, ‘You have a fine elephant.’
‘She’s getting old, like me,’ Katabona said, wistfully it seemed. ‘These days, we’re pleased to take any kind of work we’re offered.’
‘And what have you been offered?’ the girl inquired, after another brief pause.
‘Nothing,’ the old man replied. ‘I took Kidogo to the Russians hoping there would be something for us to do. They said there wasn’t, but I told them I’d wait in case something came up.’
‘And did it?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Do you know what they’re doing?’
‘Collecting animals, they say,’ Katabona sniffed. ‘But the only ones I’ve seen are those town-living shenzis44 and the four foreigners who came with the mzungu.45 I’ve heard there’s one of the four-legged kind in the marquee, but I’ve never seen it. They only let a few of the blacks go inside and I’m not one who can.’
‘And you’ve no idea what it might be?’ Dawn asked, forming the impression that the old man had no liking for the occupants of the camp and suspecting he was not only much shrewder than he pretended, but possessed considerable knowledge of animals.
‘They call it a “punda simba”,’ Katabona answered. ‘But I’ve never heard of such a thing. One thing I do know, though. It doesn’t sound like any lion I’ve ever heard, or zebra for that matter.’
‘Or me,’ Dawn admitted, then the memory which had eluded her in Katya Viskovsky’s tent broke through. It was of a sound she had heard made by a predatory animal during a tour of wild life reserves in India and suggested why the name, ‘zebra lion’, had been granted. ‘In fact, if it isn’t a—’
Before the girl could complete her explanation, the Land-Rover’s engine began to splutter and lose power.
‘Why’s that happened?’ Abu demanded, as the vehicle’s motor stopped operating and it came to a halt.
‘The tank’s empty,’ Dawn Drummond-Clayton stated, looking at the petrol gauge on the dashboard. ‘But it shouldn’t be.’
‘I’ll fill it from the jerry cans,’ the trainee game scout offered, although he too was surprised by the lack of fuel, opening his door and getting out.
‘I’ll lend you a hand,’ the girl offered, feeling decidedly uneasy.
‘I can manage,’ Abu declared.
‘It will save time if I come and help,’ Dawn countered and looked at the old man. ‘Can I go out, please?’
Although Katabona left the vehicle and moved clear of the passenger door, the girl did not follow him immediately. Instead, she removed the panel which concealed the compartment under the seat. Pulling out her overnight bag, she extracted the Smith & Wesson revolver. Tucking the weapon into the waistband of her slacks, but leaving its holster and her knife inside, she returned the bag and followed the old man.
Once again, however, Dawn did not carry out a stated intention straight away. Abu was already unclipping one of the jerry cans in which was carried a reserve of petrol for use in such emergencies. Neither going to join him, nor freeing another can, she looked back along the road. Because of its winding nature and the dense woodland on either side, she could only see about a hundred yards.
It was enough!
Even before the vehicle came into view and she identified it as the Ford Bronco she had seen at the clearing, the sound of its engine approaching had increased her ill-at-ease feeling. It was traveling slowly and, although she could only make out the faces of the pair on the front seat, there were four occupants. They were the two male Russians and, as the distance decreased, she decided the others were Africans. At that moment, however, she was less concerned with the composition of the party than over the fact that Kravichenko was driving and, at his side, Golitsyn was holding a rifle. Discovering the bearded man was armed did nothing to decrease her growing sense of foreboding.
Even as Dawn’s suspicions with regards to the arrival of the Bronco were forming, something more struck her. She had been too engrossed elsewhere to realize it until that moment, but the old man was not to be seen. Which meant he must have gone directly into the undergrowth on leaving the Land-Rover. His departure had passed unobserved because she was occupied with arming herself and her speculations about the possible reasons for the vehicle from the clearing putting in what might be considered a fortuitous appearance.
There was, however, little time for the girl to ponder over the reason for Katabona’s absence. All she knew for sure was it added to her belief that no good would come from the arrival of the two Russians and their African passengers.
Watching the Bronco coming to a stop a few yards from the Land-Rover, Dawn was grateful for the realization that the contours of the road were such that she had been partially concealed from the Russians as they were approaching. While they could see the upper portion of her body, the revolver in her waistband was below their range of vision. Remembering Katya’s questions about her carrying weapons, she felt sure the hiding place under the Land-Rover’s seat had not been discovered. So, provided her answers had been accepted, the two men would not know she had such a potent firearm readily available. She also realized that she would be unable to alert Abu to the situation, although he clearly was not aware of it. Certainly, if his behavior was any guide, he had no suspicions that their lives might be in jeopardy. He was merely pausing in his task and looking at the Bronco hopefully, anticipating an offer of assistance.
The passenger door of the Bronco opened and, followed by the Kikuyu and the Wakeke, Golitsyn hauled himself out. Although each of the Africans had a Tokarev Model TT30 automatic pistol in his waistband and was reaching for it, Dawn spared them no more than a glance. Nor did she devote any time to studying Kravichenko as he emerged from the other side of the vehicle. Her attention was upon the weapon in the bearded Russian’s hands and she knew it made an already sufficiently perilous situation infinitely worse.
While the girl did not identify the 7.62mm Avtomat Kalashnikov with which Golitsyn was armed any more accurately than she had the firearms carried by the Africans—having only noticed them as being handguns of an unspecified type and a potential source of added danger—the long, curved magazine beneath the frame and its general shape warned her it was what, in military terms, was classified as an ‘assault rifle’ and, as such, was capable of automatic fire.46
Instead of advancing, the bearded Russian confirmed Dawn’s fears almost as soon as he was out of the Bronco. Paying no attention to his African companions, he spread his heavy boots apart and, looking at Abu, began to raise the weapon.
‘Surrender!’ Dawn shouted in English, blessing her forethought in already having pulled the Smith & Wesson from her waistband.
Despite employing a word which she hoped would be understood and obeyed, the girl did not intend to wait and see if this happened. Even as she was speaking, crouching slightly so as to present as small a target as possible, she swung around the heavy revolver in both hands until her forearms rested on the bonnet of the Land-Rover. As she took aim along the barrel, her thumbs were drawing back the hammer.
Spitting forth an obscenity in his native tongue, Golitsyn began to turn the Avtomat in the direction of what he knew to be a target of greater priority than the young Ambaga. Seeing her command was being ignored and aware that he would not be deterred from shooting by considerations of her sex, Dawn had no qualms over her response. Squeezing the trigger, she caused the uppermost cartridge in the revolver’s cylinder to be discharged.
Caught between the eyes by the .41 Magnum bullet, which passed through his head and onwards with hardly any loss of velocity, the bearded Russian was thrown backwards. His unexpected action caused even greater consternation to the two Africans. Already alarmed by the sight of his skull being burst open and the lead hissing between them, they still had sufficient presence of mind to spring aside in opposite directions. As the stricken Golitsyn went blundering by to crash lifeless on the road, instead of attempting to retrieve the weapon discarded involuntarily when the bullet struck, each snatched at his automatic pistol. Taken equally unawares, Kravichenko nevertheless duplicated their actions by starting to draw the Tokarev he had put into his waistband before setting out from the clearing.
Remaining alert to everything that was happening by the Bronco, Dawn found herself on the horns of a dilemma. While she had removed the most serious threat posed by the quartet, the affair was still far from ended. The other three were armed and as unlikely as Golitsyn had been to accept a command to surrender. Between them, they would be more than she could handle unaided.
Before the girl could decide which assailant required her attentions most urgently, much of the need was removed. Drawing back the Smith & Wesson’s hammer as an aid to rapid firing and a steadier aim, she saw a figure appear from among the bushes and behind the two Africans. Despite the speed at which he was moving, she realized it was Katabona even though uncertain of what the slender black thing in his right hand might be.
Even as the Kikuyu’s pistol came out, the old man was behind him. The girl was unable to see what was taking place, but the way in which his back suddenly arched and his features were suffused by an expression of agony, she could guess. Dropping the weapon, he advanced a couple of staggering steps and, with his hands reaching behind him, collapsed on to his face.
Seeing the way in which the Kikuyu was behaving, the Wakeke started to turn with the intention of discovering the cause. Although he found out, he was not permitted to make use of the information. Still moving with the same surprising rapidity for one so advanced in years, Katabona lunged and swung his right arm in an upwards arc. The knife he held, its blade red with the blood from his first victim, laid open the Wakeke’s throat almost to the neck bones. Giving an agonized gurgle that was intended as a cry, the man dropped his weapon and, clutching unavailingly at the mortal wound he had received, fell dying against the side of the Bronco. After delivering the second attack, the old man exhibited a similar alacrity by darting behind the rear of the vehicle.
‘Surrender!’ Dawn repeated, aligning her Smith & Wesson at Kravichenko.
Darting a frightened glance about him, the surviving Russian assessed his situation and concluded it was desperate. Not only were all his companions rendered hors de combat, but the people they believed would be easy victims had proved anything except that. The girl had lied about the way she was armed and demonstrated considerable ability in using the heavy caliber revolver. Despite having displayed surprise, the Ambaga was sufficiently recovered from it to have dropped the jerry can and was pulling his British Army bolt action rifle from the Land-Rover. Furthermore, the two African’s attacker might have disappeared from sight, but that did not mean he was no longer in the vicinity. In fact, he was almost certainly close by and ready to do whatever was necessary.
‘Don’t shoot!’ Kravichenko yelled, throwing aside his Tokarev. ‘I’m a Russian national and demand diplomatic immunity.’
‘We might let you live long enough to ask for it,’ Dawn replied, straightening up and glancing to where Katabona, still holding the blood-smeared all black Sykes-Fairbairn commando knife—which, she learned later, he carried in a sheath behind his back—advanced to retrieve the discarded automatic pistol. ‘But only if you tell us what you intend to do with the punda simba.’
‘How soon can we put them together?’ Katya Viskovsky demanded, glancing from the black-maned lion—which was in an even smaller and more cramped cage than the one it had arrived in—to the tiger prowling around the enclosure.
‘Soon,’ Agasha Nefedovna replied, her voice implying resentment at what she considered to be an intrusion into her part of the affair.
‘How soon?’ Katya repeated and a person who knew Russians could have told from their different accents that she belonged to a higher class of their country’s supposedly classless society than her bulky companion. ‘When the “Drummond” girl doesn’t return, others are sure to come in search of her.’
‘Another day, at least!’ Agasha stated. ‘By then, my tiger will consider the enclosure belongs to him and will attack any other creature that enters. But, to keep you satisfied, although I’d rather have the lion full of food, but kept cramped and stiff for longer, I’ll have everything ready tomorrow afternoon.’
The frown which came to the retired gymnast’s beautiful face was more noticeable than a similar emotion on the other woman’s sullen features. Experienced in her people’s ways, she knew the other was paving the way to lay the blame upon her if anything went wrong. However, aware of just how much was at stake, she was too wise to antagonize her associate and was determined to keep the peace if that was the only way she could guarantee the success of the plan which she had hatched and had brought them, their equipment and the tiger to Ambagasali.
Although Katya had been attending her last gymnastic tournament prior to retiring, her defeat at Dawn Drummond-Clayton’s hands resulted in the loss of the important and lucrative coaching job in Moscow she had hoped to receive. Instead, she had found herself directed to a far less exalted position at the university of a smaller city. Ambitious and an opportunist, she had sought for a way in which she might be able to regain favor.
The means had suggested itself one night after Katya had attended the university’s cinema. Part of the program had been a Hollywood action-escapism-adventure jungle movie, shown ostensibly to illustrate the exploitation of the African natives by the Capitalist Imperialists, but which she suspected the rest of the audience found as entertaining and enjoyable as she had after the usual round of ‘message’ ladened, propaganda-based films made in her homeland, or from British television, which were the usual fare. Part of the action had been a fight between a tiger and a black maned lion, ending in the latter’s ‘death’. A trio of Gasalis, receiving their education in Russia, were among the audience and she had been surprised by their reaction to the sequence. Instead of being amused by the sight of a tiger apparently roaming wild in Africa, they had behaved in such an amazed manner she had asked why. Learning of the connection between the black maned lion and Prince Simba Nyeuse, who her Government hoped to depose and replace by somebody more compatible, she had thought up a scheme she felt sure would produce her promotion.
Katya’s idea was based upon an episode from a series of books she had enjoyed while in England,47 although she was sure the hierarchy of her Government would not have approved of her reading them. On explaining, she had found the three Gasalis most appreciative and willing to supply their assistance. Fortunately, she had sufficient discreditable knowledge of a highly placed Party member’s affairs to ensure his support. Galling upon him, she had obtained permission and the necessary funds for the scheme to be implemented.
On being returned to their homeland, the three Gasalis had set about spreading a story claimed to be an old legend that had been suppressed by the rulers of their nation. It told how a creature with the appearance of a lion, yet striped after the fashion of a zebra and known as a ‘punda simba’ fought and killed one of the black maned ‘royal’ predators. Seeing this, the gods had decided that the royal family of Simba Nyeuse was no longer fit to rule and they were deposed to the benefit of the population.
Receiving reports that the improvised ‘legend’ was being accepted eagerly by the populace, although unaware that these were grossly exaggerated, Katya had been granted authority to carry on. Despite her flattering description to Dawn, Agasha Nefedovna was only a moderately competent lion tamer employed in a minor circus. However, she was the best who would accept the assignment and had agreed on being promised a successful outcome would be rewarded by promotion to a more prestigious appointment.
Supplied with the largest and most aggressive tiger available and the means by which to transport it, Katya had traveled from her homeland accompanied by Agasha, Philip Golitsyn—the inevitable representative of the M.V.D.48 who accompanied any party leaving the ‘people’s’ paradise on Earth to ensure they all returned—and Boris Gravichenko, a not too important director-cum-cameraman, who was to film the spectacle. Landing in an African country with strong obligations to Russia, they had been joined by four men from Kenya and Tanzania, who were to assist them and supply any local knowledge they required.
Although the original intention was to find and catch a suitable lion, the news of the stock-raiders’ capture had saved Katya’s party from needing to do so. With the connivance of the Secretary of State for Overseas Relations, long an overt supporter of Russia, they had arranged for the black maned beast to be delivered. There had, however, been something more than a mere precaution behind her insistence that the people who brought it must be killed. Despite her claim that she believed they had seen and heard enough to become suspicious, her primary motive had stemmed from a desire for revenge upon the beautiful and capable English girl whose victory in the gymnastic competition she blamed for her fall from grace.
Over an hour had elapsed since the four men had set off in pursuit of the Land-Rover. They had not yet returned, but Katya saw no reason for concern. The vehicle’s tank had been almost drained of petrol, but there was no way of estimating how much had been left to ensure it would start and leave the clearing. Nor had it been considered advisable that they should be killed there, with so many witnesses—not all guaranteed to remain loyal if it was considered an advantage to be otherwise—present. So the men were to follow until a depletion of the fuel brought the Land-Rover to a stop. Having disposed of the girl and her companion, Golitsyn was to make sure neither they nor their vehicle were found. Katya was convinced that nothing could go wrong. There had been a powerful hunting bow in the vehicle, but it was disassembled into its component parts. Except for the game scout’s rifle, no other weapons had been found. So it was agreed that the girl would be unarmed and, as it was to be unexpected, neither she nor the Ambaga would be able to oppose the attack when it was launched.
Always impatient, Katya had not been content to remain in her tent until the men returned. Hearing sounds which informed her Agasha was in the marquee, she had gone there. As she had expected, the woman was aggravating the tiger by prodding at it with a sharp stick through the bars of the enclosure. Despite knowing the other resented any interference, she could not resist the temptation to go over and request information about the possibility of commencing the filming.
‘Very well,’ Katya said, in tones redolent of an implied threat, as Agasha’s estimation was delivered. ‘Do as you wish!’
As the stocky woman was about to make an angry response, there came an interruption. From outside the marquee arose the squeal of an enraged elephant, the crackling of wood being broken and masculine bellows of alarm. However, there was something much closer to attract her attention. Nor was it overlooked by her companion.
Showing no sign of hearing the commotion behind her, the beautiful English girl was stepping through the gash she had slit with the knife she held down the side wall of the marquee.
‘You!’ Katya Viskovsky, too aghast to say or do anything more constructive, although she retained just sufficient presence of mind to speak English.
‘Me!’ Dawn Drummond-Clayton admitted, walking forward and returning to its sheath the Randall Model 1 ‘All Purpose Fighting’ knife with which she had gained her entrance.
‘What’s happening out there?’ Katya demanded, as the pandemonium continued, still unable to decide how to deal with the unexpected and unwanted visitor.
‘Just Kidogo pushing down the mess hall,’ Dawn explained, ‘with your men in it.’
‘Kidogo?’ Katya repeated incredulously, knowing this was the name—meaning ‘Tiny’—by which the aged owner spoke of his elephant. ‘But that old fool told us it had been trained never to push against a human being’s dwelling.’
‘She forgot her training,’ Dawn asserted calmly, reaching for the Smith & Wesson revolver in her waistband. ‘And so would you if you were being bitten where she is by several siafu.49
Frightened by threats from Katabona, Boris Kravichenko had told of the Russians’ intentions. Knowing what the consequences of a successful outcome could mean, the girl and her companions had agreed something must be done. Merely contacting the authorities, they realized, would not be enough. The film might be completed before any official action could be taken and the conspirators gone into hiding. Then, after allowing the hunt time to die down, they would continue with the interrupted scheme.
Dawn’s declaration that they must return to the clearing and try to liberate the black maned lion had met with the two men’s approval. It had been Katabona’s suggestion of how this might be achieved. Recollecting one important aspect of all domesticated elephants’ training, on hearing how he planned to use Kidogo to create a diversion, she had pointed out how it could spoil the scheme. However, he had claimed he could overcome the animal’s disinclination to damage property. While he had not gone into details, beyond saying he would require Abu’s assistance, she had had sufficient confidence in him to accept the offer.
Placing Kravichenko, bound hand and foot and gagged, into the traveling cage, the trio had concealed the Land-Rover and bodies in the woodland by the roadside. Taking the Ford Bronco as their transportation, they had made the return journey without the precaution against being seen proving necessary. Leaving it out of sight of their destination, they had gone the rest of the way on foot. Guiding them through the forest, having armed himself with the Avtomat assault rifle and two of the Tovarevs taken from the would-be killers, Katabona had insisted upon making a short detour to where a mass of safari ants were feeding upon the carcass of a bushbuck. Then he had shown why he had brought a small empty bottle from the Land-Rover with him, by scooping several of the voracious creatures into it and securing them with its stopper. Having done so, he led the way to the camp. As he had said might be the case, on hearing the snarls of the tiger being tormented, all the men were in the mess hall. This had become the policy while Agasha was working with the animal, designed to prevent any of the Africans from finding out what was happening in the marquee.
While the men had gone to collect Kidogo, the girl had made her way equally unchallenged to the side of the marquee. Waiting until they had brought the elephant to stand with its head almost touching the wall of the mess hall, she had begun to cut a means of entering. As she commenced, she saw how Kidogo was to be persuaded to act in the required manner. Taking the stopper from the bottle, which he had been given, Abu placed its mouth carefully against the animal’s sexual organ. Moving restlessly as they had since being confined, the little creatures soon began to emerge. The girl had not waited to watch the result when the ants started to bite with their huge pincer-like jaws, but Kidogo’s scream of mingled surprise and pain, followed by the other sounds, informed her that her assumption of what would happen had been correct.
Taking advantage of the girl’s attention being on Katya, Agasha Nefedovna acted with considerable speed for her bulk. Although the pointed stick she sent spinning through the air missed its intended mark, her efforts were far from wasted. Striking the revolver just as it was drawn free, the missile knocked it from its owner’s grasp. Nor did the lion tamer restrict herself to the throw, but lumbered rapidly forward.
Instead of trying to retrieve the Smith & Wesson immediately, Dawn faced the approaching woman. Waiting until an instant before the outstretched hands were close enough to clutch her, she stepped sideways. The evasive action was only partially successful. While Agasha was unable to stop, she swung a blow as she went by. Caught between the shoulders with sufficient force to send her staggering towards the enclosure, the girl also lost her grip on the knife she had just completed drawing.
Bringing herself to a halt not many feet from where the tiger was prowling balefully beyond the bars, Dawn looked behind her. Already the stocky woman was advancing to the attack. Once again, the girl knew there would not be time for her to try to reclaim a weapon she had lost. So she sprang as if meaning to meet the other’s charge. Showing just as good timing, she swerved at the last moment; but this time with greater success. Catching Agasha’s right wrist in both hands, she put all her not inconsiderable strength into heaving at it.
Such was the force of the tug, aided by her own forward impetus, that the lion tamer was propelled helplessly by her intended victim. In spite of realizing in which direction she was hurtling, there was nothing she could do to prevent herself from going. A hoarse bellow of alarm broke from her as she crashed into the side of the enclosure. Seizing the opportunity with which it was presented, the tiger sprang towards its tormentor. Her bellow turned to a scream, which ended abruptly as one of the striped paws came between the bars to descend with sufficient power to crush the top of her skull and she crumpled like a punctured balloon.
For all the horror inspired by the sight, Dawn knew there was nothing she could do for the stricken woman. Nor would there have been time, even if she could have. Taking advantage of Agasha’s intervention, Katya was running to where the Smith & Wesson had fallen. Having no doubt as to what use it would be put, the girl darted in the same direction. Throwing herself through the air for the last few feet in the fashion of a rugby player, she tackled the beautiful Russian around the waist with such vigor that they went reeling away from the weapon and, still in contact fell to the ground.
Rolling apart on landing, through no conscious effort on either’s part, Dawn and Katya rose at almost the same instant. Oblivious of everything except one another, they took not the slightest notice of the sound of gunfire crackling outside the marquee or the tiger as it continued to maul its victim through the bars. Hardly pausing once on their feet, they sprang together like two enraged wildcats and without offering to employ the unarmed combat techniques each had learned. Hands sank into hair, jerking and tugging, while feet flailed to land or miss as fortune dictated. Struggling in such a fashion, they swung around half a dozen times before losing their balance and once more going down together to roll across the grassy floor of the marquee. Nor did they adopt any more scientific methods during the close to three minutes they fought in that fashion before regaining their feet.
A punch thrown without conscious guidance by Dawn as they stood up landed on Katya’s nose. Jolted backwards a couple of steps, realization of her position struck the Russian along with the pain she felt and blood which began to flow from her nostrils. She was fighting more than just the girl who had spoiled her hopes of attaining high office. If she should be beaten, the lion would either be killed or liberated by the victress. Then, even should her men succeed in rescuing her, the scheme to bring death to Simba Nyeuse—the last four words having been adopted as the conspirators’ rallying cry—would receive a setback from which it was unlikely to recover. In which case, considering the expense incurred by setting it up, she was finished. Such a costly failure would never be forgiven by her Government.
With that sobering thought in mind, Katya forced herself to forgo a desire to spring recklessly into an attempt to repay the blow. Instead, as Dawn tried to deliver another, she countered it with a shoulder throw. Finding herself sent flying, the girl’s superb reflexes and instincts fined by years of gymnastic practice just managed to assert themselves to save her from injury. As she broke the fall, which still hurt—if not as badly as might have been the case—she too became aware of how rashly she had been behaving. The appreciation came not a moment too soon. Running up, Katya launched a kick at her head. Although she had not previously been involved in a fight with another woman, the unarmed combat lessons she had received supplied the answer in time to save her from what would have been an incapacitating injury. Forming an X-block with her crossed arms, she halted and caught hold of the leg before the foot reached her and, with a twisting thrust, toppled her assailant over.
On rising as quickly as before, the combatants showed more skill in the way they continued the conflict. Instead of a wild, hair-pulling melee, each demonstrated how well she had absorbed her instruction in self-defense. Throws were attempted successfully or prevented, holds, grips and locks sought for and either obtained or countered, while punches and kicks flew, guided thoughtfully instead of sent indiscriminately.
For five minutes without a pause, except when one or the other was sent sufficiently far away to prevent an immediate resumption and even then there was no unnecessary delay in coming together, the embattled pair went at it. Nor did they pay the slightest attention to what was going on outside the marquee. Engrossed to the exclusion of all else in their fight, neither was aware that the men who had avoided injury when Kidogo smashed through the mess hall had armed themselves and were exchanging shots with Dawn’s companions.
So well matched were they that, throughout the period, there was little to choose between Dawn and Katya. Each had lost her upper garments, but fought on naked to the waist. Perspiration soaked them, diluting the blood both were shedding from nostrils or grazes. Their exposed bosoms came in for punishment of the most grueling kind, too, but neither showed any indication of giving in. Nor, although they had rolled over or otherwise passed the knife and revolver on several occasions, had either attempted to arm herself.
At last, however, Dawn’s youth and somewhat better physical condition took its toll. Slowly she gained the ascendancy. This reached its climax when, caught in a full nelson, she broke free by forcing Katya’s arms open with sheer strength. Reaching over her shoulders, she sank her hands into the Russian’s matted, sweat-soddened hair which had long since been tom from its severe bun and reduced to an untidy tangle. Sinking on to her left knee and bending forward sharply while hauling on the hair, she catapulted Katya over her back.
Turning a half somersault, the Russian crashed supine without being able to apply the kind of break-fall which had reduced the impact of previous landings. Straddling her antagonist’s head and kneeling so as to hold it down between her thighs, the girl began to deliver punches to the offered bosom and stomach. As the first blow arrived, Katya struggled weakly and tried to fend off those which followed. Failing to protect the vulnerable areas under attack and already on the verge of losing consciousness, her feeble efforts soon ended and her bruised, tormented body went limp.
Realizing that the woman beneath her was no longer resisting and with exhaustion threatening to make her collapse, Dawn became aware of the commotion outside the marquee. There was the sound of helicopters landing. Where the shooting had previously been confined to rifles and handguns, the harsh chatter of automatic weapons commenced. It was quickly followed by voices yelling in Ambaga, Gasali and, in one case, Swahili, that the speakers wished to surrender. Lastly, an instant before she slumped forward in a faint caused by extreme fatigue, she had a vague impression that somebody whose voice she recognized was calling her name.
It was not until some time later Dawn recovered sufficiently to learn what was happening.
Hearing hints of the plot to overthrow Prince Simba Nyeuse, the head of Ambagasali’s Army Intelligence Service had instituted inquiries. Betrayed by an associate, the Minister of State for Overseas Relations had described the use to which the black maned lion would be put. Collecting Bunduki on the way, a force of troops in helicopters had been dispatched to deal with the conspirators. Although their arrival had been fortuitous in one respect they had found little remained to be done. Having taken cover behind the generator truck, Katabona and Abu had prevented any of their antagonists from reaching the marquee; but they were almost out of ammunition for their weapons when the rescue party appeared. Faced with such opposition, the survivors had surrendered with little further resistance. On investigating, Bunduki, the old man and the trainee game scout had found the organizer of the plot to bring death to Simba Nyeuse lying defeated beneath the girl who had once again proved capable of defeating her.