Crys woke to the sound of a shot. She sat up on the stretcher with a jerk. It must have been just before dawn because there was a glow coming through the tent’s mesh window.
There was an urgent yell. It was Bongani: ‘Crys! Run!’
Then there was another shout, followed by another report, much louder this time.
She pulled on her jeans and T-shirt as quickly as she could and scrambled out of the tent.
But Bongani’s warning was too late. There was a man waiting for her, aiming a sawn-off shotgun at her chest. She froze, half crouching. Then she saw Bongani lying face down in the sand next to her tent. She stared at his body, then threw herself next to him.
‘Bongani!’ she cried. ‘Bongani!’
There was no response, no movement.
‘Talk to me, dammit, Bongani!’
‘Get up or I shoot you!’ Crys felt the barrel of the shotgun in her side.
She shook Bongani’s arm. Still no movement. She felt for his pulse. It was strong. She looked for blood, but found none. They must have knocked him out, not shot him.
‘Get up!’ The shotgun was against her head now.
The man leaned over, grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet. Her scalp screamed with pain. He shoved her away.
She looked around. Where was Constable Ngweni? Shouldn’t he have been protecting them? Or had he let this man into the camp? Then she remembered the shots that had woken her. They were in really bad trouble.
And it was their own fault for taking Ho’s briefcase.
Another man appeared, carrying what she thought was an assault rifle. ‘Where the money?’ he shouted. She didn’t recognise the accent.
Part of her head told her she should just tell him where the briefcase was buried. But another part quickly told her ‘no’. That would end with a shot to the head. She had to play dumb. That way these men would have to keep them alive.
‘What money?’ she gasped.
‘Where the money?’ he asked again. ‘We make this easy. Give me the money. Then you go.’
Crys shook her head, her brain accelerating through excuses to keep him talking. To keep them alive. ‘We don’t have any money. The tourists pay by credit card. We have hardly any cash. Maybe a hundred dollars. You can have it.’
He frowned. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly.
He took a switchblade from his pocket and opened it. Then he walked right up to her, rifle in his left hand, and leaned over so his face was close to hers. It was covered in pockmarks. She could smell his breath. His eyes were black. Then he looked down at her breasts and used the blade to slice open the front of her T-shirt. She felt a warm line of blood running down her front.
He brought the knife up again.
‘Help!’ she yelled.
‘Nobody hear you.’
She knew he was right.
‘Please. No, no. Wait!’
He stopped, but he didn’t lower the knife.
‘Maybe Mr Ho had money – the man who was killed. He said something about a lot of money … before he died. But he was delirious by then, so we didn’t take any notice. He was badly injured. We … we tried to save him.’
‘What did he say about money?’ Pockface demanded.
She had to think quickly. To survive. ‘Something about the plane. Money in the plane, I think. We didn’t believe him.’
The man moved the point of the blade to her left nipple and pushed hard enough that she could feel the sting.
Playing for time, she blurted out the story of the plane crash and finding Ho. She stammered and repeated herself. Trying to keep him listening. Trying to think what to do.
‘Maybe the police took it,’ she said. ‘That could be it. They searched the plane. Or maybe they missed it. Maybe it’s still there.’
Pockface shook his head. ‘Not there. We look.’
Crys heard a groan and looked down. Bongani had come round and was trying to sit up, one hand pressed against his head.
‘Bongani,’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’
He groaned again and staggered to his feet, standing unsteadily. The man with the shotgun kept him covered.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked again. She prayed he wouldn’t say anything to contradict her.
He nodded. ‘Didn’t hear them coming. Only when I heard the shot—’
‘Take it easy. Sit down. I was just telling them that we didn’t find any money…’
She felt the blade push harder into her nipple.
‘But maybe Ho hid it where we found him.’ She looked from Bongani back to the pockmarked man. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to leave it in the plane. He was trying to get away. That could be it. There were thick bushes there. He could’ve hidden a packet or something there easily.’
‘Where you find him?’
She started to describe a route, making it as complicated as possible.
‘You show us.’
‘Bongani, can you find the way back to where Ho was hiding?’ she asked.
He nodded.
It was something. They’d bought a bit of time and maybe a chance to improve the odds – if they were really lucky.
The plane had crime-scene tape around it – out of place in the middle of nowhere – and the elephant carcass was starting to smell of rotting meat. A group of hyenas was busy with it. They looked up with bloody faces, but they didn’t leave their meal.
There was a police Land Rover pulled up nearby, but no sign of the policeman left to guard the plane. Crys was sure he was dead, given that these thugs had already searched it.
She drove up to the plane, and they all got out, Pockface still with the assault rifle and the other man with the shotgun. Crys poked around the plane pretending to look for tracks, trying all the while to think of a plan. But right at that moment she had nothing, not even a hint of an idea.
‘He headed up that game path,’ she said, pointing out a narrow, worn animal track winding through the bush.
‘Go,’ said Pockface, pointing along the path with the gun.
They started up the path, Crys leading, Pockface behind her, then Bongani and the other thug bringing up the rear.
Crys pretended to keep checking for signs, her eyes fixed on the path. She was in no hurry, but she was worried their captors would soon run out of patience. She had no idea what she’d do when that happened.
But then she did see some tracks – they were fresh, covering all the others. They crossed the game path and headed into the bush. She stopped, trying to hide her confusion. She wanted to keep this find to herself – stay a step ahead of her captors.
‘Bongani, is that the way he went?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Up to the right.’
She walked on a few paces.
‘He went off somewhere here,’ she said. ‘He was up in that thick brush.’ She pointed. ‘That’s right, isn’t it, Bongani?’
‘You said he was bad hurt?’ Pockface said, suspicious.
She shrugged.
‘Okay. You go.’ He waved the rifle towards the trees.
Just then Crys heard a branch snap, not far away. She was right about the tracks being fresh. The elephants were nearby. But going after them was a huge risk. If this was the same group that had been here when the plane crashed, they might still be pretty spooked.
She didn’t know how their captors would behave, and she didn’t know how the elephants would react. But what other option did they have?
Crys looked over her shoulder at Bongani. His face was impassive.
One of the trees moved slightly. She headed straight for it, thankful they were downwind.
When they reached the trees, she thought she’d mistaken the distance to the herd. All was quiet. Maybe too quiet.
‘Here?’ said Pockface. ‘Ho was here?’
His loud voice was all it took. There was trumpeting, and one of the elephants burst out of the bush towards them to investigate. Pockface gave a yell and pointed the rifle in the direction of the elephant. Crys screamed and hurled herself at him. There was a loud chatter right next to her as he let off a short burst. The elephant took off, and Pockface, surprised and winded, stared after it for a moment. That was long enough for Crys to kick him as hard as she could in the balls. So hard, she nearly fell.
He screamed and bent over, clutching himself, and she kneed him in his face. He collapsed on top of the rifle, and she kicked him in the head. He groaned and writhed on the ground.
Twisting around, Crys saw Bongani grappling with the second man. He’d reacted the moment she had and was now holding the man’s gun hand away from him with one hand and hitting him in the face with the other. Then he smashed the gun hand against a tree trunk. The guy screamed, and the shotgun flew into the bush. Crys was already running back towards the path.
‘Run, Bongani!’ she yelled. ‘Run!’
She didn’t look back, but could hear Bongani’s footsteps catching her up. There was shouting from behind him. Pockface and his friend were on their way. Their only chance was to reach the Land Rover before they were caught.
It seemed to take forever to get there. Crys’s chest was burning, her legs desperate to move faster. But they had a good lead. She jumped in the driver’s side and turned the key. Miraculously, the old vehicle started at once. Bongani was grappling with the door handle on the passenger side.
‘You stop! I kill you!’ Pockface was at the edge of the airstrip, about thirty metres away, the assault rifle levelled at Bongani.
‘Get in!’ Crys yelled. ‘Bongani, get in!’
He didn’t hesitate. He swung himself into the Land Rover just as it started moving.
‘Get down,’ Crys said, hunching herself low over the wheel.
Sure enough, the windscreen shattered and glass flew all over the Land Rover, and she felt a sharp pain in her shoulder. She accelerated and spun the steering wheel. There was another burst of gunfire and the banging of bullets hitting the vehicle’s side.
The Land Rover hit a log, and they nearly flew out. But she kept going, wrestling with the steering wheel to avoid trees and bushes.
After a few minutes of frenzied driving, she was sure they were out of range and slowed down a little, breathing heavily.
‘Eish!’ Bongani said. ‘You okay, Crys? There’s blood on your shoulder.’
‘I’m fine.’ It was stinging badly, but she could move the arm. It was just a flesh wound.
‘Head up that way,’ Bongani said, pointing to a track through the trees.
‘They’ll come after us in the police Land Rover – the one left at the airstrip,’ she said, adrenaline pumping through her brain, making her think, drive and fight the pain, all at the same time. ‘We have a head start, but it isn’t much.’ She put her foot down again and they lurched and bumped along the track.
‘Why didn’t he shoot me?’ Bongani shouted over the noise of the engine. ‘Why didn’t he shoot me when I was getting into the Land Rover? He had the gun right on me.’
‘That gun could cut someone in half at twice the distance. He must want us alive. That’s the only explanation.’
She changed to low-range gear to negotiate some deep sand.
‘Are you okay?’ Bongani asked. ‘Do you want me to drive now?’
She shook her head. ‘No time to change. They’ll be after us.’ She managed somehow to bring them out of a rut and they accelerated again.
‘Who are they? Where are they from?’ Crys said. ‘I didn’t recognise his accent.’
‘Portuguese, from Mozambique. Many of them help run smuggling operations here for the Vietnamese gangs.’
It was starting to make sense. Michael had said he was onto something big, and Anton had pointed out that it was dangerous. If Michael had become mixed up with people like the ones chasing them right now, that could explain his disappearance.
‘Were they the people you told Michael to follow?’
Bongani shrugged. ‘It’s possible. But I don’t know any of them.’
Crys wondered once again how much he really knew.
‘Go left here,’ Bongani instructed. They had come to a fork in the track. ‘It’s a short cut. I’ll tell you where to go.’
She swung off in the direction he said.
‘It will be harder for them to follow us now,’ said Bongani. ‘There are game-viewing tracks everywhere here.’ He clutched one of the roof supports as they bumped along the dirt track.
She could see what he meant. The track ahead was covered in tyre marks, and there were side routes branching off every now and again.
‘I think Ho wanted the money for himself,’ she said at last. ‘Maybe he wanted to buy rhino horn for himself. All he needed was a vehicle.’
Bongani nodded. He’d come to the same conclusion.
‘Bongani,’ Crys said after a long pause. ‘After what’s just happened, I agree with you: we can’t tell Mabula about the money. I don’t trust him – I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s working with this gang. How else could the Portuguese have known about the crash so quickly? And known to come to the camp? It had to be the police who told him.’
Bongani nodded.
‘And if we tell the police about the money, there’s no way they’ll let us go. We’ve got to stick to our story.’
Bongani nodded again, and they drove on in silence for a few minutes.
‘Do you think we should be going to talk to Mabula? He could lock us up if we don’t tell him…’
‘We must see him,’ Bongani, said. ‘If we don’t, where will we hide? He’ll have every road watched, and it will be much worse for us. We must go and talk to him. But not mention the briefcase.’
A few minutes later, Crys saw that at last they’d reached one of the dirt district roads. She sighed with relief.
‘Giyani is only an hour away,’ Bongani said.
She relaxed just a notch. But the pain in her shoulder was worse now.