Sean and Tumi lay in the bush, in the shade of a marula tree, watching the two huts where they had discovered the hidden rifle.
Tumi shivered. Sean had told her the hour before dawn was the coldest, and he could see now that she believed him.
After they had discovered the weapon, Sean had sent her to their base camp with a list of supplies and equipment to bring back with her. He had stayed with Clyde and kept watch on the huts. Tumi had returned with both their field packs. She was now wearing civilian clothes that would not give away their position: black jeans, a dark blue shirt and hiking boots. Sean kept his gear packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice; his large pack contained all he needed for an overnight or extended patrol, including food for him and his dog, and extra water and sleeping gear.
Sean had set up sleeping shelters for both of them, green waterproof sheets strung between trees, and concealed them with branches. They had a line of sight, through the foliage, to the two round huts. During the afternoon and into the night Sean had instructed Tumi on the art of surveillance. They spoke in whispers and tied the two dogs to trees a hundred metres behind them, leaving them with water. Every few hours one of them went and checked on Clyde and Shikar.
Sean would have felt more comfortable with Benny in the bush; the two of them had spent many nights out in the hills and the dasht – the rocky desert – of Afghanistan and Sean could trust Benny not to bark and give away their position. Clyde was good at what he did best, following cold trails, but if the shit went down Sean wanted Benny’s aggressive attack-dog instincts by his side.
He watched Tumi studying the huts through the binoculars she had brought with her. She was impressing him. Tumi responded well to instructions and had a thirst for knowledge.
‘If we see someone come, what do we do? Grab him?’ she whispered.
Sean shook his head. ‘We wait, we watch. If he comes in a vehicle we radio it in to Craig. If it’s someone on foot we get the dogs and we track him, from a distance. You get pictures, first.’
Tumi nodded. She was a keen amateur wildlife photographer and she had brought her Canon camera with its 100–400 millimetre zoom lens. Tumi already had the hefty piece of equipment out and ready, the open case on the ground next to her.
‘And we can give the picture to the cops if we lose him – or her.’
‘Yes,’ Sean said. In reality, they would be in trouble from the police for mounting this unauthorised surveillance operation, especially if they lost whoever came to collect the rifle. He liked the way Tumi thought, outside of the box, open to the idea that the gun could be collected by a woman or a girl, as well as a man. It might make more sense for a poacher to distance themselves from the crime by sending a female.
‘You know,’ Sean said, ‘some of the poachers who enter the Kruger Park bribe a woman to travel with them, so they arouse less suspicion when they enter through the gate.’
‘Even better if the woman has a small child with her.’
He smiled. ‘I was just about to say that.’
‘I’d make a good poacher. In fact, my grandfather used to hunt bush meat, I’m ashamed to say.’
‘Nothing to be ashamed of,’ he said. ‘My father went to prison for embezzling the bank he worked for.’
‘Wow.’
Sean shrugged. ‘We all have our skeletons in the closet, Tumi.’
‘I learned a lot from him, though,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you –’
Tumi held up a hand. ‘Sorry. Sean, listen.’
He cocked his head. ‘Francolin.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Though the new name for them is spurfowl.’
‘I stand corrected,’ Sean whispered.
The bird was squawking and it wasn’t the normal early morning or late afternoon time for it to call.
‘Something, or someone, has disturbed that bird,’ Tumi said. She peered through her binoculars. ‘There.’
Sean looked where Tumi was pointing. She had good eyes. He took the binoculars that she offered him. He could see movement through the trees on the other side of the huts. Whoever it was stopped. Sean had to look hard to see the person there. They were being cautious.
The figure gradually emerged from the shadowy cover of the trees. ‘It’s just a boy.’
Tumi had whispered, but Sean still put his finger to his lips and she nodded in acknowledgement. She was right, the youngster was possibly no older than fifteen or sixteen, but he was moving with the exaggerated caution of someone who knew full well that what he was doing was not right. He carried a backpack. If the boy was caught with an unlicensed weapon he would be charged and fined; if it could be proved from ballistics testing that the hunting rifle had been used to kill a rhino, the boy could be looking at jail time. Hunting rifles of a calibre large enough to bring down a rhino – or an elephant, which was increasingly becoming the target of choice in Mozambique and the far north of the Kruger Park – were not easy to come by. Robberies, often violently executed, were carried out on farms where poachers were reasonably assured of finding the weapons they needed. Who knew, perhaps a farmer or his wife had been brutalised or even killed to get hold of this rifle.
Sean could sense that Tumi was itching for action, so he placed a gentle hand on her forearm and she nodded again. They stayed perfectly still, hardly breathing, as they watched the boy. He, too, was watchful, checking all around him as he moved straight towards the hut with the rifle in it.
Tumi grinned and Sean winked at her when they saw the youth head not to the front door, but to the old wooden desk, which Sean and Tumi had moved back outside. When he reached it he took off his backpack, set it down on the tabletop, unzipped it and reached inside. He fiddled with something for a few seconds, then slung the rucksack back over one shoulder. He picked up the desk and then pushed open the door of the hut with his back. He knew exactly what he was doing and where he would find the rifle.
Sean put his mouth close to Tumi’s ear. ‘Go back and get the bakkie and the dogs. Stay with them until I SMS you, OK?’
She gave a little frown at the prospect of potentially missing out on some action, and he couldn’t blame her, but she eased herself up and, while the boy was still inside out of view, crept back to where Clyde and Shikar were tethered.
The boy emerged after a few minutes, again carrying the desk. Sean focused on him with the binoculars. He wondered if he had left the rifle where it was – perhaps his job had simply been to check if the weapon had been disturbed. However, when the boy turned, Sean could see that something bigger had been crammed into his backpack and now it had angular protrusions. Sean guessed the lad had broken the rifle down into its two pieces; he knew what he was doing, all right.
It saddened Sean, but didn’t surprise him. Craig had passed on intelligence gathered from his sources in the villages near the Sabi Sand Game Reserve that teenagers in the local schools were sometimes targeted by poachers, who offered them what seemed like a fortune to try their luck burrowing under the security fence and trying to shoot a rhino. These amateurish poachers were invariably caught before they could kill an animal, but that didn’t stop others from trying.
The boy checked around him, then went to the closest tree to the huts, broke off a branch and returned. He started sweeping the dirt where he had walked, backing away from the scene.
Clever, Sean thought, but it wouldn’t stop the dogs from tracking him. As long as he didn’t have a car waiting nearby, or a bicycle, they would be able to keep pace with him. Sean wondered what the plan was for the boy, who now took a last look at his handiwork and then moved back into the bush.
Sean sent a message to Tumi, telling her to bring the dogs and the bakkie forward. A few minutes later he heard the vehicle’s engine and Tumi pulled up.
‘You take Shikar, follow the boy’s trail, and the rifle.’
‘Me? Alone?’
‘Yes,’ Sean said. ‘He’s a long way from the nearest community. My hunch is that he’s going to be picked up by someone. We need to be able to follow in a vehicle. Also, with the civilian clothes you’re wearing you won’t spook them.’
‘OK.’ Tumi smiled. ‘Shikar, soek!’
‘Tumi?’
She looked over her shoulder, holding back Shikar, who was already vacuuming the ground for scent of the boy and the rifle.
‘Be careful. Don’t get too close to him, just keep him in sight.’
Tumi patted the nine-millimetre Glock pistol in the concealed holster clipped to her belt and tucked inside her jeans, and further hidden by her shirt. ‘Will do.’
Sean had some time to spare. He needed to wait to hear from Tumi which direction the boy had gone in, and he didn’t want to crowd her or their target. He walked over to the hut and stood in front of it, hands on hips.
While he waited Sean mentally tallied everything the boy had done, from the time he had appeared. He looked again at the desk and opened its single drawer. There was nothing in it. The teenager, he recalled, had set his backpack down on the desk and reached into it, before re-shouldering the bag and carrying the desk inside.
‘Why?’ Sean asked out loud.
There was no one to answer the question. The kid, Sean told himself, had had to do something before he had his hands full, and it was something he needed to do with light – the sun was only just up and it would still be dark inside the hut, which had no electric light inside.
Sean went to the door and opened it. He took out his torch and played the beam around the floor, walls and the thatch roof. There were a few stalks of yellowed grass on the floor where the boy had removed the rifle, which was to be expected, and scuff marks in the dust.
‘What did you do?’ Sean murmured.
He left the hut again, picked up the desk and carried it inside, just as the boy had done. Just as he put it down his phone rang, and he looked at the screen.
‘Tumi, howzit.’ He held the phone in the crook of his shoulder and used the marks in the dust on the floor to place the desk where the pick-up guy would have put it.
‘Good. I can see the boy. Shikar and I tracked him through the bush. He’s on the tar road, the R536, sitting there. I think he’s waiting for a pick-up.’
‘Good job. I’m coming just now.’
‘Do you want me to grab him if you’re not here in time?’
Sean put his phone on speaker then set it down on the desk, which he climbed up on. ‘Don’t put yourself in danger, Tumi.’
‘We’ve been through this. My job is dangerous, Sean.’
He heard the exasperation, maybe even resentment, in her voice. ‘He’s our best lead to the guy who’s been killing our rhinos and trying to blow up our people and dogs. If we take him he might clam up and we’ll have no way of getting to his superiors.’
‘Well, if we lose him, then we’ll have no rifle, no lead, and – wait . . .’
Sean was carefully probing the thatch with his knife, the same way he had done when he’d found the rifle. The boy had not simply ripped out the rifle and then gapped it; he had gone to the trouble of replacing most of the dislodged thatch – some of it had fallen on the floor – but Sean wondered if he had left something else behind, the thing that he had checked inside his backpack when he had first gone to the desk.
‘What is it, Tumi?’
‘Damn, there’s a taxi coming. It’s slowing down for him. The kid didn’t even put his hand out to signal him.’
‘Pre-arranged pick-up?’ He continued searching. ‘Tumi, get the registration number and we’ll pass it on to the cops. They can stop the van, and get the rifle.’
‘Sean, the registration number is HGB106MP. Do you copy?’
He had a good memory. ‘Got it. But you call the cops.’
‘I’ve got to go. I’ll call you when I can.’
‘Tumi, wait.’
But she had ended the call. The tip of Sean’s knife hit something solid.
*
‘Wait!’ Tumi yelled. ‘Is this a taxi?’
She and Shikar emerged from the trees near the youth, and Shikar, excited to be so near her quarry, was pressing her nose up against the young man’s leg.
‘Get that damn dog away from me. Of course this is a taxi, sisi, are you blind?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes, I am.’ Tumi had put on her sunglasses and was looking past the boy. ‘I heard the bass coming from this thing’s speakers and guessed.’
‘Get in,’ growled the driver of the taxi.
‘There’s this girl,’ the boy said, ‘she wants a ride.’
‘Hurry up, boy,’ said the driver.
Tumi was facing away from the driver, but she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. He looked like a tough guy, scarred knuckles gripping the steering wheel, chunky gold chain, bald head and enormous shoulders. She had already committed the younger man’s looks and clothes to memory. There was no one else in the taxi.
‘She’s blind, baba.’
He had called the man ‘father’, but that was just a term of respect, probably, Tumi thought. Unless the gangster wannabe behind the wheel really was his parent.
The driver raised his voice: ‘What are you doing out here all alone in the bush, blind girl?’
‘There’s no need to shout. I’m staying not far from here, with my aunt, and I went for a walk to exercise but my guide dog got distracted by some animal or bird or something and wandered off the main road. I’m guessing that’s where I am now. Where are you going?’
‘To Mkhuhlu.’
‘Please take me. If you can drop me at the Shoprite I can find my way to my aunt’s from there.’
‘You’re a long way from the Shoprite.’
‘I’m blind, not crippled. I like to exercise and so does my dog.’
The driver laughed. ‘Your tongue’s as sharp as your body, girl. Get in. What’s your name, beautiful?’
‘Tovhi.’
‘Bandile, help Tovhi get in.’
Tumi kept up her act, not looking directly at either man, but watching them nonetheless. The boy took her elbow and Shikar gave a low growl.
‘It’s OK, girl, he’s not going to hurt me,’ she said to the dog.
‘Keep that thing away from me. It looks like it wants to hump me, or kill me or something,’ the teenager said.
Tumi forced a laugh and felt about for the seat. ‘She won’t hurt you. Sit, girl.’
It was hot inside the taxi, and it smelled of cigarettes, spilled booze and sweat. Tumi noticed a couple of empty Black Label bottles rolling around in the footwell of the front passenger seat. She caught the scent of beer on the driver’s breath when he looked over his shoulder. He waved a meaty hand close in front of her face and she forced herself not to flinch.
Tumi saw the older man mouth two words at the boy. ‘She’s fine.’
Tumi swallowed. These men were both criminals. Maybe she should have done what Sean had told her. Still, if they tried something she had Shikar, and she had her Glock under her shirt. Maybe they would be armed, but they wouldn’t be expecting her to have a gun. The boy had the poacher’s hunting rifle in his backpack, but that was broken down into two pieces. Sean had stripped and checked the weapon as well, but he hadn’t taken the ammunition out of it; he didn’t want to give away the fact that they had discovered the rifle. Her mind was reeling, going over what might happen next and what she should or should not have done. The fear was rising inside her, but she told herself to stay calm.
‘You all right? You look worried,’ the boy said.
‘Bandile, right?’
She saw how the kid rolled his eyes and looked to the back of the driver’s head. He was obviously not happy that the man had used his name but did not have the temerity to chastise him.
‘Whatever,’ he said. ‘Tovhi, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, are you scared?’
‘I was lost in the bush, what do you think?’
‘You’ve got a smart mouth, sister.’
‘Don’t like smart girls, Bandile?’
‘I like all girls, pretty ones, that is,’ he said.
‘How old are you?’
‘Seventeen, nearly eighteen.’
‘Hmm.’ She smiled, still looking ahead. ‘How come you’re not in school today?’
He shrugged. ‘I got more important things to do than mathematics or science.’
‘What’s more important than an education?’
‘Money.’
The driver turned up the volume. Rap bounced around the walls of the minibus. ‘You got that right. You want a beer, Tovhi?’
She wanted to keep her wits about her, but the driver had been suspicious enough of her to try and check if she was blind. He was relaxing now and she wanted to keep him at ease.
‘Sure, but I’d prefer a Vodka Cruiser.’
The driver reached over to a small plastic cooler box sitting on the front seat, fished a Black Label out of the slurry and handed it back to Bandile.
The boy opened the bottle and put it in her hand, wrapping her fingers around the cold wet glass, then reached for another.
The driver’s hand struck with the speed of a mamba, slapping the side of the boy’s head. ‘No beer for you.’
The boy rubbed his cheek, but placed the bottle back in the cooler box.
Father and son, I was right, Tumi thought. Neither of them seemed to be a criminal mastermind, but she had no doubt they were dangerous. Rival taxi companies went to war sometimes and settled their disputes over routes and monopolies with AK-47s; the father looked like a battle-scarred veteran and the son, who wore a surly frown after his rebuke, seemed mean. He was staring at her breasts now. Tumi suppressed a shiver.
‘So what were you doing out in the bush away from anything?’ she asked vaguely in the direction of the boy.
‘I had work to do. Important stuff.’
‘In the middle of nowhere?’
‘How do you even know where you were?’
She giggled. ‘You’re right about that, I was lost. I figured I’d get as far as the entrance to the Kruger Park and then turn around and head home.’
‘Long walk for a blind girl,’ the father said from the front.
‘About twenty kilometres. Not far if you like to keep your figure.’
The driver took out a beer and steered with his knees while he levered the top off with his teeth. He glanced over his shoulder at his son. ‘You get what you were sent for?’
‘Yebo,’ said the boy.
‘Good. Boss’ll be pleased.’
‘I want to do more,’ the boy said, the pair of them ignoring her while she sat quietly, sipping her Black Label. ‘I want to get out, do some business myself, not just run errands.’
‘Ha. There will be time for that. You just keep your nose clean and do as he tells you, and don’t upset him. My cousin is not forgiving of fools, boy, remember that.’
Tumi filed away the new piece of intelligence about the family relationship.
‘What’s your next job?’ Tumi asked.
‘I have to go to Mozambique.’
Through her sunglasses Tumi obliquely saw the father look back and scowl.
‘You need to talk less, boy.’
‘Hey, don’t mind me,’ Tumi said.
The boy shifted across the seat of the taxi, closer to her. Shikar, between them, gave a low growl.
‘Take care of that dog,’ the boy said.
‘She takes care of me.’
‘She got you lost.’ The boy laughed. He reached over and put his hand on her knee.
Tumi squealed and Shikar barked.
‘Get your hand off me.’
The father looked back again. ‘Keep the noise down back there. You, girl, you might be blind, but you look and sound like the kind to party. Don’t talk back at my son like that. He’s just being friendly.’
Tumi felt her blood start to boil. Violence against women, sexual and otherwise, was a big problem in South Africa. She wanted to teach these two fools a lesson, but she also needed to keep them happy and unsuspicious. She bit her tongue. ‘I’m sorry, baba, it’s just that Bandile gave me a fright when he touched me and my dog is very protective. She might bite someone if she thinks they’re a threat.’
‘I’m not a threat,’ Bandile said.
The father’s phone rang. He put his beer between his legs, drove with one hand and answered the phone with his other, talking loudly.
Tumi lowered her voice. ‘I know that, Bandile. So, tell me about this business you’re in. It sounds mysterious, all this lurking around in the bush and crossing the border to Mozambique. Are you moving something illegal, like drugs? Maybe you can help me score.’
She saw his grin out of the corner of her eye. Tumi felt like the boy was the kind of would-be player who enjoyed bragging to a girl and talking himself up, and now that she’d hinted that she used drugs he would be less likely to see her as the innocent little blind girl she had first appeared to be.
Bandile reached over to the seat behind them, where he had laid his backpack. He glanced forward to make sure his father was still busy, then unzipped the pack. He hunched over it first, shielding the contents from Tumi’s view, but then seemed to remember she couldn’t see.
Tumi was careful to keep looking straight ahead, but using her peripheral vision she saw the barrel of the disassembled rifle. Bandile reached in and pulled out a tin, then zipped up the bag. He opened the metal box and took out a joint. He held it under her nose.
‘Smell this.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Now we’re talking,’ she whispered.
Shikar’s ears went up and she barked.
‘Tell that dog to shut up,’ the father called from the front, then returned to his call.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ Bandile asked, tucking the tin into the pocket of his jacket.
‘Nothing, she’s just overly protective.’ Tumi cursed silently. She should have realised Shikar would indicate when she smelled the marijuana. The dogs were also trained to detect drugs as part of their security duties at the game reserve. Julianne Clyde-Smith was almost as fanatical about drugs as she was about poaching and Tumi had heard that more than one staff member had been suspended or fired for using or, more seriously, dealing to others. ‘Maybe we can light up later.’
‘Maybe,’ said Bandile.
‘So tell me,’ she said, leaning closer to him over Shikar, ‘what do you do, is it drugs you’re moving?’
He hesitated, but then she put her hand on his thigh and he smiled. ‘All I can tell you is it involves big money.’
‘Does it involve stolen stuff?’
‘Important stuff. The boss trusts me as he knows I’m smart and I know the bush as well as I know the town. I pick up important equipment for his business and today I made a drop-off as well.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘How important was the drop-off? Was it cash?’
He looked towards his father, yet again. ‘Can’t say.’
‘That’s not very impressive.’ She leaned even closer. ‘Do you have to get the boss’s approval to even talk to a girl?’
Tumi thought she might have pushed him too far. He clenched his fists tight and scowled at her.
‘No!’
The father was laughing and joking with someone now.
‘What were you doing?’
‘I had to collect some stuff, I told you. Dangerous stuff.’
‘Dangerous stuff?’ she asked. ‘I like dangerous guys. Was it drugs?’
Emboldened, he relaxed his fists. ‘No.’
‘What, then, tell me.’ She gave his thigh a little squeeze. ‘Nice muscles.’
‘A gun.’
‘Oh.’
‘What do you mean, “oh”?’
‘Well,’ she said, still looking ahead, ‘this is South Africa, you can get a gun pretty much anywhere.’
‘Not this kind of rifle.’
‘Rifle? Like an AK, you mean? How gangster are you, Bandile?’ She gave a teasing little laugh.
‘Big calibre, hunting rifle.’
‘Oh,’ she said, eyes suitably wide. ‘Like for taking out a cash-in-transit van or something big like that?’
He shook his head. ‘Maybe even more dangerous. People shoot you on sight if you get caught with a gun like this.’
‘Sounds hectic,’ she said. ‘Hey, want to give me your phone number?’
‘Sure,’ he said, not cool enough to hide his eagerness.
Sticking to her cover, Tumi used the voice recognition feature of her phone and asked Siri to enter Bandile’s number, which he recited to her, as a new contact.
‘So, you picked up the rifle today?’ she asked, picking up their conversation.
‘Like I said, it wasn’t just a pick-up I did today. I left something behind, something that would blow you away if you know what it was.’
Tumi swallowed. ‘Blow . . . blow me away? I don’t understand. You mean, like, I would be totally impressed by what you left behind?’
‘I’m not talking about blowing you away like that, sisi, I’m talking more about setting someone’s world on fire, if you know what I mean.’
‘Huh?’
Bandile’s father was winding up his conversation, saying his goodbyes. ‘Just picked up a blind girl with a dog,’ Tumi heard him say.
The boy eyed the older man nervously, and Tumi zeroed in on the driver’s conversation.
‘Don’t know what type of dog, but not a Labrador. What’s special about them?’
Tumi cursed silently. This oaf and his son obviously did not know that most guide dogs were Labradors, but whomever he was talking to did, and had planted a seed of suspicion.
She also needed to keep Bandile talking. ‘Sorry, I don’t follow what you mean, Bandile.’
‘I’ve probably said too much.’
The father looked back at them. ‘What have you two been whispering about? Hey? Tell me, boy.’
‘Nothing.’
The driver tossed his empty bottle on the floor, where it clinked against the others. He looked up and swerved as a cow ambled out from the overgrown verge. This guy would kill them with his driving, Tumi thought.
‘What breed of dog is that you have there?’ the driver asked.
‘She’s a Weimaraner. They haven’t traditionally been used as guide dogs, but people are experimenting with them overseas and now here. She’s great.’
He looked to her, away from the road again. ‘You were eavesdropping on my conversation, girl. What are you playing at?’
‘Nothing, I just heard you mention me and my dog.’
‘Damn cows.’ The father honked his horn.
‘Did you mean you planted a bomb, Bandile?’ she whispered to the boy.
He stared at her, not confirming but not denying it, as an innocent person would. Tumi needed to call Sean, but there was no way to do that with these two criminals listening in.
‘Dad,’ the boy said, urgency plain in his tone.
‘Watch him,’ Tumi said. Shikar started barking loudly.
‘Tell it to shut up,’ the driver said. ‘I can’t hear my son.’
Sean had shown Tumi how to train Shikar to bark on command. It was a useful trick that could be employed on routine patrols. Much of their work was keeping poachers out of the Lion Plains Game Reserve property. If a poacher approaching the property heard a dog barking, then he would think twice about entering, Sean had explained.
‘Shut up, dog!’ Bandile said. He reached for his backpack.
‘Shikar.’ Tumi was worried Bandile might have a pistol in the bag, or a knife. Though her voice was low her dog’s head snapped around. ‘Rim hom!’
Shikar sat up and bit down on Bandile’s arm. The boy screamed.
‘What’s going on?’ The minivan veered crazily.
‘Get it off me,’ Bandile yelled.
‘Sorry,’ Tumi said, ‘I don’t know what’s got into her. Stop it, baby, stop it. Leave him alone.’
Shikar recognised none of Tumi’s pretend commands and shook and worried at Bandile’s arm while climbing up onto the seat.
‘Get that dog off him or I’ll shoot it.’
Tumi put herself between the driver and Shikar and Bandile. She had no doubt he meant what he said.
‘Let us out of the van,’ she said. ‘I’m worried Shikar’s going to hurt him.’
‘I’m already hurt! This thing is trying to kill me. Help me!’ Bandile shouted.
‘Control that dog!’ the driver growled, but nonetheless he pulled the van over to the side of the road.
‘Shikar, ous!’ Tumi said. Shikar responded immediately to the command she had been taught to release the person she was attacking.
Bandile’s right arm was bloodied but he reached over with his left and opened the sliding door of the taxi. Tears welled in his eyes. ‘Get out!’
Shikar bounded out of the van and Tumi followed, hanging on to the lead. The driver eyed her, making no move to leave, but then changed his mind when he saw a police bakkie coming towards them. He put the van in gear and accelerated away.
Tumi took out her phone and called Sean. ‘Hurry up, answer.’
‘Tumi?’
She allowed herself the briefest sigh of relief. ‘There’s a bomb, where you are.’
‘I know, I’ve just found it.’