Sean couldn’t work out how it had happened, but he was back in Afghanistan. The dust, the smells, the light; Benny, curious as ever as he worked off-lead, sniffing the rock wall that ran alongside the pathway that cut through the fields.
Why? he asked himself. Why had he gone back when he’d sworn he never would? Craig was there as well, ahead of them, with his dog, Brutus, just entering the outskirts of the village and approaching the first flat-roofed mud-brick family dwelling.
No! Sean tried to yell the warning, but the word wouldn’t form and he couldn’t stop Craig and Brutus before the wall of the compound beside them erupted, just as he had known it would. Sean saw the flash of light, felt the thump in his guts and the storm of heat, dirt and rock wash over him.
Sean was on the ground, Benny was barking, Craig was screaming. Sean knew he had to get up, to go to his friend, who had been wounded. At the same time, experience told him there would be another IED planted somewhere nearby, and an insurgent watching, waiting for someone like him to move forward to help Craig. They hated dogs, these people, feared them for their effectiveness. To kill two dogs in one day would be a victory.
Behind them an American was yelling into his radio. ‘Troops in contact, troops in contact!’
‘Medic!’ someone else called.
Benny was up first, and even though he hated loud noises, he knew his job. Sean got to his knees, then his feet, and stumbled forward. Benny worked, all the time, sniffing the wall, oblivious to the chaos. Dogs were like people; some were better at their jobs than others. The Americans liked Craig; he was confident and outgoing, and unlike Sean, a natural leader. However, while Brutus was a good dog, Craig always said, not bothering to hide his envy, that Benny was a brilliant explosive detection dog.
Sean knew that if it were him lying bleeding and screaming in the dust, Craig would not have hesitated to charge forward, but as Sean started to jog, his feet felt encased in lead, the fear of the probable imminent explosion almost crippling him.
Benny, who was in front, stopped sniffing and sat down, ears up and tail pointing straight. He was passively indicating, silently watching a spot in the dry-stone wall where he had, no doubt, detected more explosives.
Shit, Sean thought. As he had suspected, there was another IED there, waiting for them. Somewhere, someone had a mobile phone or a garage door remote, waiting to press a button to detonate it. Sean knew he should stop, get a metal detector and check the wall, but Craig was writhing in pain in the dust. He had to get to him.
Sean ran to Benny and briefly ruffled his neck, rewarding him for making the find that might now kill them. ‘Here, boy, come.’
He braced himself for the explosion, but nothing happened, and Sean ran past the spot where Benny had indicated and dropped to his knees beside Craig. ‘You’re going to be OK, boet.’
Benny trotted away, but Sean was preoccupied with his comrade. He ran his hands over Craig, checking him and trying to still him. Sean ripped open the remains of Craig’s shirt and unwrapped a shell dressing. Craig’s chest was peppered with shrapnel and there was a larger hole in his side that was oozing blood.
Benny growled. Sean looked back over his shoulder and saw a man wearing a black turban climbing over the rock wall.
‘Benny, rim hom!’ Sean yelled, giving the command for Benny to attack. His dog’s demeanour changed instantly as he switched from curious detector to attacker and launched himself up and into the Taliban gunman. Benny’s jaws latched on to the man’s arm as he was trying to bring his AK-47 to bear.
Sean turned and reached behind him, scooping up his M4 carbine from the dust and swinging it around. He thumbed the safety catch to fire and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
*
Sean sat up on his stretcher, his bare torso drenched with sweat. For a moment he didn’t know where he was. When he realised it wasn’t Afghanistan, and that he had been dreaming, relief flooded through him. But it was banished just as quickly by the reality of the memories that plagued his sleep and, sometimes, his waking hours.
The nightmare was true. In real life, however, Sean had shot the Taliban insurgent, killing him with a bullet to the head as Benny had continued to savage him, but a second later the man’s accomplice had rectified whatever fault there’d been in the remote detonating system and the rock wall had exploded, injuring Benny. The medics had worked first on Craig and then, while they waited for the evacuation chopper, on Benny. Sean had been left with the blood of his friend and his dog soaking into his uniform.
He knew why this memory had come back to him. He saw again the flash of light and felt the thump of the explosive shock wave that had shattered the peace of the African night, and he heard again the young woman’s screams. Tumi. He had learned her name as he’d knelt beside her, holding her hand as they waited for the helicopter. While Charles had provided first aid for Tumi, Sean had worked on Gemma, her dog. The Weimaraner had taken the brunt of the blast and she was lucky to be alive, but he was not sure she would make it. Gemma’s left front leg was a shattered mess of skin and exposed, jagged bone and her body had been peppered by shrapnel. Her left eye had been bleeding. Both Tumi and Gemma had left on the chopper while the rest of them waited for Craig to arrive in the bakkie and extract them. Sean had sat there, while they waited, hugging Benny. The past and the nightmares he had long sought to escape and subdue had vividly returned to his present.
Sean screwed his eyes tight. The permanent safari tent he lived in at the anti-poaching encampment was baking. He swung his legs over the side and, too late, remembered the broken glass. He felt the prick on the sole of his foot and snatched it back. Sean lay down again, closed his eyes and his head started spinning.
He rolled over on his side. There was no way he would make it across the glass-mined floor and out to the ablutions. He vomited on the cement slab floor of the tent.
At least Charles and Oliver, who had been dismissed to their homes in the nearby communities, were not around to see the state he was in. It was Sunday and, he remembered, he had a braai to go to, at Christine’s house, which had once been his home. His stomach flipped. Every time he saw her it was silently wrenching for him, inevitably bringing back memories of the brief but happy times they’d had together and making him feel again the shame of their break-up and the emptiness that had followed it. He took a look at the mess in his tent and grimaced at the smell of alcohol. At least the nearly finished bottle of Captain Morgan rum wasn’t broken.
He surveyed the floor. The mountains of Afghanistan, when he’d flown over them in helicopters, had reminded him of broken beer bottles, the kind people stuck on the top of breezeblock walls in the old days, before razor wire. Sean felt stupid about breaking the glass, and throwing up. He didn’t binge drink very often, as he couldn’t handle it; alcohol was not his preferred method of escape from reality.
Sean mapped a route through the glass and tiptoed outside. He walked barefoot to the ablutions, urinated, and found a mop, broom and a bucket. Benny’s ears pricked up and he stood and came to the gate of his enclosure. Benny slept with Sean in the tent most nights, but thankfully Sean had locked him in his kennel before he got too drunk. Sean had wanted to drink himself to sleep without Benny trying to get on the stretcher with him. The dog’s night home was spotless and roomy and fronted on to a grassy yard that was also fenced.
‘You always look happy, even when I lock you in the doghouse.’ Benny grinned and panted. ‘How do you do it, my boy?’
Sean went to his tent and did his best to corral and sluice out the mess. He gagged more than once as he worked, feeling disgusted with himself. That wasn’t new. He rubbed his chin. He should shave and shower before he went to the braai. Benny would enjoy the outing. Sean just needed to try to stop thinking about the girl and the dog lying there bleeding. Maybe he would drink again today, just not as much as last night. It was better than the alternative, and he was glad he had agreed to go to Christine’s place, and not spend his weekend in Nelspruit.
‘One day at a time,’ he said to himself as he mopped.
Sean knew there would be more questions, from the police and the national parks hierarchy. The media would already be clamouring for people to talk to; he had deliberately not checked his phone or laptop to see what was on social media about the bomb.
His mind started to turn and he knew he would regret the path he was taking, even as he took the first steps. What if I had gone ahead?
Right now, he knew what he wanted, what he needed to soothe the tremor in the hands that held the mop, to banish the thoughts of the explosion and the blood from his mind. He needed the tinkle of the digital bells, the soft snickery sound of the cards leaving the shoe, the clack of the chips in his hands.
Sean wanted an escape to dull his emotions, but at the same time he gave silent thanks that he would not have an opportunity. He felt the quiet rage bubble inside him.
Benny barked.
Sean went outside the tent and looked around. Benny could use a wash after last night, and Sean definitely needed to shower. Also, the tent was still far from clean. He filled a bucket and walked towards the enclosure.
Benny’s eyes widened in terror.
‘Somehow, you always know when it’s bathtime.’ Sean laughed and tipped the water into a cut-down drum. He found the bottle of dog shampoo nearby and squirted some in.
Benny cowered in the far corner but Sean strode into the enclosure, cornered him and grabbed him. As he lifted his dog he heard a rasping sound like a saw cutting through wood.
Sean stood still and Benny whimpered and looked to him.
‘Hush, boy. I know that cat scares you, but you’re safe in here.’
It was unusual but not unheard of for Mbavala, the neighbourhood cat also known as Vin Diesel, to be calling in broad daylight.
Sean set Benny down in the water despite the Malinois doing his best to prevent any of his four paws getting wet. Once he was in he settled, marginally, but kept looking around, eyes and nose searching for the leopard.
The big cat ruled this part of the Sabi Sand and his territory included part of the Kruger Park across the river and along the watercourse to the Hippo Rock Private Nature Reserve, where people had holiday houses. He was the size of a lioness, a huge specimen, with muscled legs and a bullish neck that had earned him his nickname, after the solidly built American actor, Vin Diesel. His other name, Mbavala, meant bushbuck, in the local Shangaan language, in honour of his favourite prey.
Leopard, Sean knew, generally made their distinctive call when looking for a mate, and Vin/Mbavala had sired a few generations in his time. However, Sean suspected the big cat might also just be taunting his canine neighbours, who had moved in to their new home near Lion Plains in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve as rhino poaching had increased.
Sean scooped water over Benny’s back and lathered him with shampoo. ‘He can’t get you in here.’
Benny didn’t seem reassured and Sean knew just how cunning leopards were, and how highly they rated dogs on their menu.
Vin Diesel must have had sex on his mind, because they didn’t hear the cat again. Sean finished cleaning Benny and lifted him out of the tub. For his efforts Sean was showered with a spray of water as Benny shook himself dry. Sean filled the bucket again and went back to his tent to finish cleaning. When he was satisfied that he had made the tent presentable again he set off to rid himself of the doggy and boozy odours that emanated from his body.
Sean stood in the outdoor shower and looked up at the perfectly clear blue sky. He had seen death, in Afghanistan, but he had hoped never to see again the terrible aftermath of an improvised explosive device.
There had been near misses in the past; poachers had been known to place a hand grenade with the pin removed under the carcass of a freshly slain rhino so that when the anti-poaching rangers or police arrived to investigate they might be killed or injured when they shifted the dead animal.
But this was different. It had been a properly designed IED, similar to those he and Benny had encountered in Afghanistan, that had injured Gemma and Tumi. This was a first for the war on poaching, and while it had dredged up the traumas of his former life, he wanted to take the fight to the enemy. Sean knew that as Benny was the best EDD – explosive detection dog – in this part of South Africa, they had important, dangerous work ahead of them. The Lion Plains dog unit’s primary role was to deter or catch poachers and detect rhino horn and guns and ammunition. None of the other dogs had been specifically trained to detect bombs, like Benny had been in Afghanistan, and it would take time to get them up to speed. Sean felt frustrated; he would have liked to be out in the bush helping search for clues or evidence about who had planted the bomb, but the police had told them all to stay clear of the crime scene for now.
Sean shaved in the shower, rinsed off and dressed in shorts, a T-shirt and sneakers. He took his car keys from the pocket of his green uniform trousers and whistled to Benny, who had retreated to the fence in order to keep a watch out for the neighbourhood cat.
‘He’s gone, Benny.’
Sean went to his Hilux bakkie, got in, whistled again, and Benny jumped up next to him on the passenger seat.
*
Christine Glover held up the blue sundress and looked in the mirror.
It matched her eyes, but she wondered if it was too short. She surveyed her body and pulled in her tummy, just a little. She told herself she was still in good shape.
She pulled the dress over her head, tugged it down over her hips and zipped it up. She looked in the mirror again and sighed.
From the top of the chest of drawers next to the mirror she took her rings. As she slid them on she looked at the picture of her ex-husband Sean and his best friend Craig in Afghanistan.
They both had beards and wore tan baseball caps. Craig was in full camouflage gear while Sean wore a black T-shirt that moulded to his muscular upper body. They carried American M4 rifles, and their dogs were next to them. Benny was by Sean’s side and poor Brutus was with Craig. Behind them was a building made of mud brick that would not have looked out of place in an illustrated version of the Bible. There was even a donkey in the corner to complete the scene. The men were grinning, arms around each other’s shoulders. Benny was looking up at Sean, adoringly, maybe even a little jealously.
Christine touched the picture with a fingertip. Like the two men who had shared her life she had been to Afghanistan and was no stranger to death, but the bomb that had hurt Tumi and Gemma had shaken her. If someone was deliberately targeting dogs and handlers then that was a direct threat to her livelihood, her staff and the people closest to her.
Christine heard a car engine outside and went to the front door.
Craig drove his Land Cruiser up the long driveway of Christine’s farmhouse and turned off the engine. She paused before going out to greet him. He stayed sitting in the vehicle, gripping the steering wheel for a few moments, then got out.
Christine drew a deep breath and walked out to meet him. ‘How did it go?’
‘Tough. I’ve been with the cops last night and all this morning, not to mention the Sabi Sand’s warden and national parks public relations people. Everyone’s worried about the use of a bomb.’ They hugged and he kissed her on the mouth. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Thank you.’
He smiled. ‘I need to have a shave and get cleaned up.’
They walked into the house together, to the master bedroom. Craig unbuttoned his shirt, took it off and tossed it on the bed. He went into the en suite bathroom and turned on the sink tap. His torso was lean and hard, the muscles in his back well defined. Christine’s eyes were drawn again to the picture on the chest of drawers.
Craig looked over his shoulder and followed her gaze before she had time to meet his eyes. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes.’ Christine nodded decisively. ‘Probably not the best day for a braai, though, after what’s happened.’
He shrugged and lathered his face with shaving cream. ‘Ja, we’re going to have our work cut out for us, but at least the guys can blow off a little steam. It might help them and they can talk about what happened.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’ Christine sat on the bed. She could see he was tired, but she needed to be kept up to date. ‘What did happen?’
‘From the preliminary investigation it looks like the IED was command-detonated,’ he said.
‘You mean someone was there, waiting, to trigger it via remote or something.’ She knew the terminology. The thought that this had been a deliberate ploy to take out a dog and/or a handler chilled her.
‘Yes. The national parks PR people are predicting there’s going to be a huge amount of interest – probably more about the dog than Tumi.’
Christine shook her head. ‘Tumi’s OK?’
‘Yes,’ Craig said. ‘I know that Julianne Clyde-Smith thought that Tumi might be of interest to the media as our first female anti-poaching dog handler, but not this way.’
Christine felt a flash of anger. ‘Well, Julianne Clyde-Smith may own Lion Plains and hold our contract, but this is my anti-poaching unit and I decide who gets the limelight. We need to protect Tumi.’
‘I agree,’ Craig said as he shaved. ‘I think that with this new threat we have to keep her away from the press. If someone’s out to get us and our dogs we don’t want to make Tumi a bigger target than any of us is already.’
‘Good. Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice,’ Christine said.
‘Perfectly understandable.’ He put down his razor, flashed her a smile, then rinsed his face. ‘It’s a trying time for all of us. There’ll be questions in the days to come about her level of training, and about this change in tactics by the poachers, but we don’t want whoever is targeting us to learn more about us than they already know.’
‘Yes. As operations manager I want you to be our main media spokesperson. Let the others know to keep quiet if the media contacts them.’ Christine stood and went to Craig and handed him a towel from the rack. ‘How is Gemma doing?’
‘I called Graham and he drove down from Hazyview in the middle of the night, collected Gemma from Nelspruit and took her back to his surgery,’ Craig said. Graham Baird was a local wildlife and domestic animal veterinarian who had recently moved his practice from Hoedspruit to nearby Hazyview. ‘He had to amputate one of her front legs and she’s lost the sight in one eye. The blast shook up her internal organs. Graham’s not overly optimistic but he said the fact she’s still alive at all proves she’s a fighter.’
‘Let’s hope she makes it,’ Christine said. ‘I’ll also need you and Sean to give the dogs some training in explosive detection. Other than Benny, none of the dogs can detect anything bigger than a bullet.’
‘Good idea, but you know that could take three months or more.’ Craig hung up the towel. ‘I can work that into our selective detection training program, dig out some explosives for them to find while they’re busy ignoring my dirty socks.’
‘I wish I could ignore the smell of your dirty socks,’ Christine said dryly as he went to the bed, sat down and unlaced his boots.
While Craig occasionally went on patrol, his primary role was managing the anti-poaching unit and, as a partner in Christine’s business, he was also responsible for recruiting and training operators and dogs. Lately, he had been training all their dogs to differentiate between different human smells. Guides from the Lion Plains lodge sometimes took their guests on walks in the bush and Craig had explained to Christine that the dogs needed to be trained to not just follow or be distracted by any human scent they picked up, but to focus on the trail their handlers wanted them to follow. He had been using his own socks and clothing from the other team members as decoys while training the dogs.
‘In the meantime,’ Craig said, ‘Benny’s our only qualified explosive detection dog, so he and Sean are going to have to work overtime.’
‘How is Sean?’ She tried to make the question as casual as possible, but she knew that Sean, a sensitive soul despite his years of paramilitary service, would have been affected by the explosion that had wounded Tumi and her dog.
‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’
The reply was noncommittal, but Christine didn’t want to push it. They had discussed the fact that Sean would eventually learn, if he hadn’t guessed already, that Christine and Craig had become more than just friends and business partners. Christine had told Craig that she wanted to wait a little longer before he or she told Sean, maybe once they knew Sean was in a better place, mentally. In fact, Christine was waiting to see how things panned out with Craig, and whether what they had was going to be a lasting relationship instead of a rebound fling. It was difficult – Craig wouldn’t be human, Christine thought, if he didn’t also feel some discomfort over sleeping with his friend’s ex-wife.
‘You’ll need a shower as well before the braai,’ she said, keen now to change the subject.
After Sean and Christine had split, Craig had come to her financial rescue, investing in her farm and business, and she had given him the old farm manager’s cottage to live in. He nominally lived either there or in a tent at the anti-poaching camp on the Lion Plains property in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve, forty kilometres away, but lately he’d been keeping his toothbrush and a couple of changes of clothes in the big farmhouse, where Christine lived.
Craig finished taking off his boots and socks and stood. Even as she watched him undress her eye drifted back to the picture of him and Sean. He stepped back from her and out of his trousers. If he noticed her looking at the picture again he made no mention of it. He raised an eyebrow. ‘We’ve probably got time before everyone arrives. Let me shower first though, please.’
She nodded. He went into the bathroom, ran the water and stepped under. She didn’t join him, but by the time he had finished and towelled himself dry she had stripped down to her bra and pants. She wanted sex with him, loved his chiselled body, but the news of what had happened was threatening to unravel her. She forced a smile.
‘What’s wrong?’
She shrugged, then looked up at him, realising her brave face had slipped. ‘I don’t know. Everything. Nothing. I’m always worried when people – you – are called out at night. You and your guys have done such a good job at Lion Plains that you hardly ever have to deal with poaching incursions any more. I’ve got used to having you around, safe and sound, Craig.’
He went to her and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s all right. Sean will be OK. Tumi is going to be fine. Shame about Gemma, but she might pull through.’
‘Yes. Shame,’ she said. ‘Audrey, the English volunteer who was staying here last month said she was amazed by the way we South Africans use that word. She pointed out that it covers everything from a broken fingernail and a term of endearment for a cute baby to a death in the family.’
He took her in his arms and kissed her. ‘Shame, but I love you, my girl.’
She sighed. ‘Same. Hold me, please.’
He did, and didn’t try to stop the towel from falling from his waist. He undid her bra strap as they kissed some more and ran his hands down her back, over her bottom and inside the flimsy material of her underwear. Most days she wore plain khaki bush clothes on the outside, but she liked nice lingerie and she had put the dress on for him as well. She was trying to make this work, to forget about Sean.
While she wasn’t sure how much she loved Craig, she was level-headed enough to know she needed him. Now. Goddamn Sean; he had hurt her. Craig had rescued her.
He squeezed the soft skin of her bottom and she pressed herself harder against him.
For a moment she forgot Sean, the bomb, the injured dog and handler, and surrendered to the pure physical joy as he touched more of her. They moved to the bed and Christine lay back.
Craig rested a hand either side of her and looked down. ‘You’re beautiful, Christine Glover.’
Christine reached up and stroked his cheek. ‘I needed to hear that, Craig Hoddy.’
He smiled. ‘I’m glad I found you.’
‘Me as well. Kiss me, please.’
He did, on her mouth, each of her breasts, and then where the warmth told him she wanted him as much as he needed her. Craig kissed the inside of her thighs as he slid her sheer pants off.
She put her hands on his shoulders and brought his face back to hers and when he entered her it felt like he was taking her away. Their first time, two months earlier, had been charged with the feverish excitement of something illicit, even though she and Sean were already divorced. Afterwards, she had felt guilty, and she had told Craig it felt like she was cheating on Sean. Craig had assured her that she was not, but that he thought it might be best if they kept their relationship from Sean for a while longer. Christine had agreed, both because it was easier for her and because, if she was honest with herself, she feared that his knowing about it might lead to Sean leaving her life completely. If they could not be together, she at least wanted to know that he was OK.
Now, as Craig slowly brought her closer to finishing, they moved in unison, both wanting to prolong this journey almost as much as they wanted it done. Christine cried out, the noise as much of a release as the act.
‘I love you,’ he said, as he rolled onto his side.
She propped herself up on one elbow and stole another kiss. ‘Yes, I know.’
From outside they heard the honking of a horn.
‘Shit.’ Craig laughed, and Christine joined him as they both jumped up. As she reached for her dress and Craig rummaged through the drawer where he kept his things, Christine told herself to be pleased that she had lost track of the time.
*
Tumi Mabasa took a deep breath and knocked on the door. There was no answer.
She heard music and laughter from the rear of the house. It looked like a nice place from the outside and she guessed the braai was in full swing out the back. She walked down the driveway to a fence and peered over. She was stiff and sore, but other than some abrasions where a storm of rocks and dirt had blasted her exposed skin, and a nasty cut and bump on her head which had bled all over Sean, she had survived the explosion without serious injury. ‘Hello?’
Craig appeared from around the corner of the whitewashed single-storey stone farmhouse. ‘Tumi? What are you doing here? The doctor told me you were going to stay in the Mediclinic overnight?’
She forced a smile and instinctively touched her right side, where she had landed hard after the blast. ‘He said I was fine to go, after all.’
‘But surely you should be resting?’
Tumi shrugged, and that hurt as well.
‘Anyway, come through, please.’ He opened a gate for her and led her through.
Tumi saw from the number of empty beer cans and bottles that the party had been going for a while. She was acutely aware of the way the conversation stopped as Craig led her into the grassy yard. Benny walked up to her and sniffed her crotch. She pushed him gently aside.
Oliver Baloyi and Charles Dlamini watched her. Oliver didn’t even try to hide his scowl, but Charles’s look of wide-eyed surprise was punctuated with a big smile.
Charles jumped to his feet, too quickly. ‘Tumi! How are you?’
‘I’m doing OK, mostly thanks to you, Charles.’
‘Oh, I just put on a couple of sticky plasters,’ he said.
She felt self-conscious, embarrassed almost. Sean set down a bottle of Miller beer. His look was devoid of all expression. He walked over to her.
Tumi was scared. She knew of Sean Bourke mostly by reputation. She felt a fool now for the mistakes she had made on her first real-life patrol. Sean and Benny had, it was said, been responsible for the arrest of more poachers in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve than any other team of handler and dog. He had also killed men, she’d been told, in the course of his duty.
Sean came to her and stared at her with green eyes that would have been pretty if they hadn’t been so devoid of any recognisable emotion.
One hand was behind his back. ‘On my first patrol, in Afghanistan, with the US Special Forces, the first time me and Benny tried to cross a river, he panicked and went underwater and somehow went between my legs. He was on-lead and we got tangled up with each other, just like you did, on the chopper.’
She swallowed hard and, unbidden, felt her eyes start to prickle with tears.
‘Difference was,’ he went on, ‘I almost drowned. But I learned a lesson.’
‘I’ve been turning over what happened in my mind. You tried to get me to stop.’
He nodded, slowly. ‘Can you learn from your mistakes?’
‘I can. I’m so sorry, Sean. I was so focused on Gemma, and she was pulling me so hard that I didn’t pay attention to what was going on – I was letting her control me, not the other way around, and . . .’
He held up a hand, and his solemn stare told her to be quiet. A second later his face broke into a broad grin and his eyes seemed to come to life and twinkle at her. From behind his back he produced a Savannah Light cider and a Red Square vodka drink. She took the Savannah.
‘All I ask is that you learn, Tumi. Now, welcome to the team, and, ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses, please.’ Sean raised his beer. ‘To Gemma, who took most of the blast. May she recover.’
‘To Gemma,’ the others said.
‘And,’ he held his beer high again, ‘to Tumi, who will from this day forward be known as “Lefty” because of her two left feet.’
There was laughter from all of them except Oliver, and a clinking of bottles and glasses. Tumi smiled and gave a little bow.
‘Come, let me introduce you around,’ Sean said. Benny came up to her and sniffed her again. ‘He likes you.’
Tumi took a sip of cider. ‘I miss Gemma. I feel responsible for her nearly getting killed. She might still die.’
‘It could have been you,’ Sean said. ‘I know it’s hard, but you have to put it behind you. In addition to the police investigation we’re going to do everything in our power to find out who planted that IED, Tumi.’
Tumi nodded. Just then, a woman she recognised from the K9 Force company website emerged from the back door of the house carrying a bowl of salad.
Sean turned towards her. ‘Tumi, this is Christine Glover, the head of the company.’
Christine set down the bowl and came to Tumi, took her hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Howzit, Tumi, I’m so pleased you’re with us today. Because Craig’s responsible for recruiting and training I don’t always meet our new employees before they start, but I’m sorry that in your case it had to be after this terrible thing happened. I did hope for you to go through some familiarisation training with the rest of the unit before we sent you out on your first call, but last night took us all by surprise. So, please accept my apologies for literally dropping you in it. We’re all holding thumbs for Gemma.’
Tumi’s lip trembled. She was almost overcome by Christine’s gracious welcome. ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry I let you down.’
‘No such thing. We’re just all glad that you’re OK, but you must rest if you need to.’
Tumi nodded and saw a blonde woman, much younger than Christine, perhaps about Tumi’s own age, also emerge from what appeared to be the kitchen.
‘And this,’ Sean said, ‘is Zali Longmuir, who manages Lion Plains’s Jackalberry Lodge. I’m not sure how much you know about where we work, yet, but the Lion Plains property, which we patrol, is located within the Sabi Sand Reserve and has two luxury safari lodges, Jackalberry and Ivory.’
Sean was right; Tumi was still trying to get her head around all the names of the places, and while she had studied a map of the Sabi Sand Game Reserve and checked out Lion Plains and its owner, the wealthy British tycoon Julianne Clyde-Smith online, her situational awareness was still pretty limited. Julianne owned the property, Christine had the contract to supply anti-poaching rangers and dogs, and Zali, it seemed, worked for Julianne. Tumi was pleased she could show Zali that she was fit and ready for work.
‘Hi,’ Zali said. ‘Welcome, and nice to meet you. I’m relatively new, as well, I only started at the lodge three months ago. Shame, but you’re very brave to check yourself out of hospital.’
‘I don’t know about brave, but thank you.’ Tumi thought Zali was overdressed for a braai. She wore a red dress with a zipper that went all the way up the front from top to bottom and high, strappy black heels. She was very pretty, but looked like she was out to snare a man. ‘You’re not working today?’
‘No, thank God.’ She ran a hand down the front of her dress. ‘This is my escape outfit. I love working at Lion Plains in the bush, but sometimes I just want to go to town – even if town is Hazyview – and wear something other than khaki, if you know what I mean.’
‘I do.’
‘I had my hair and nails done at Perry’s Bridge this morning. On a day off I like to channel my inner girly-girl.’
‘I hear you, sisi. I’ll have to get the number of your hairdresser, you look amazing.’ Tumi raised her bottle in a salute, but really she was just humouring Zali. Tumi was not a ‘girly-girl’ and all she really wanted to do was work with animals in some way and do something meaningful to help conserve wildlife. Getting her nails done was not a priority.
‘Just wait until you’ve been out in the bush for a couple of months. You’ll be dying for a pedi.’ Zali turned to Christine. ‘I don’t know how your boss lady here manages to keep herself looking so perfect, what with tending to her cats and dogs every day. By the way, Chris, I’d love to see your lions some time.’
Christine’s smile was thin and tight and Tumi’s radar came on. Despite the apparent flattery she wondered if there was some animosity between the two women. ‘Sure, Zali,’ Christine replied. ‘You’re welcome to come for a tour any time. Same for you, Tumi.’
‘Thank you,’ Tumi said.
‘So,’ Christine said, ‘where are you from, Tumi? Are you a local girl?’
‘No, I actually grew up in Joburg.’
‘What part?’ Christine asked.
‘Illovo,’ she said.
‘Oh, a rich girl in our midst,’ Zali said, ‘and here I was telling you about the decadence of Hazyview’s spas.’
Zali laughed, and Tumi was sure she wasn’t trying to be mean, but she did not want to be seen as the privileged rich girl out slumming it. ‘My folks grew up in a rural area, near Mkhuze in KZN, but they’ve done OK for themselves.’
‘Good for them,’ Zali said.
Tumi’s family were from KwaZulu-Natal – KZN – originally and were Shangaan, like the people who lived near where her team would be operating on the border of the Kruger Park. It was a particularly poor part of South Africa and her mother had confided to her once that her grandfather had often snuck into the Mkhuze Game Reserve to snare buck and hunt with his dogs. He was long dead, but Tumi had never forgotten her grandfather’s fondness for his dogs; she wondered if she had inherited it, but she wasn’t going to tell her new work colleagues she was descended from a poacher.
‘It’s been a while since I lived in the city. I was studying at varsity for a while, living away from home, but I deferred. I wanted to get some work experience and save some money, and I’m mad about animals, so I worked as a field guide at Madikwe Game Reserve for a while, but then I decided I wanted to do something to help stop poaching.’
Craig coughed. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but Tumi, I need a full report from you in my email inbox by Monday morning, please. So, welcome and enjoy the braai, but go easy on the booze.’
She was grateful for the interruption. She didn’t want to explain why she’d had to quit university. ‘Yes, sir. I have to be careful in any case because I’m on painkillers. And I’ll bring the report to you in person. I’m not taking any time off.’
‘You take as much time off as you need. You’re no good to me with one side of your body peppered with debris. And you can call me Craig.’
‘Gemma, and the tree she wrapped her leash around, took most of the blast. I might not be able to work, sir, but I can still help out with the dogs, and I can still learn.’
Craig regarded her for a few moments and she wondered if she had said something wrong.
‘Very well. But take it easy. When you’re ready we’ll pair you with your new dog, Shikar, another Weimaraner.’
‘Shikar?’
‘It’s an Indian word,’ Craig said. ‘It means to hunt. She was Musa’s, the guy you replaced. She’s a good dog.’
‘Thanks.’ Tumi smiled. Zali excused herself and Sean shepherded Tumi through the backyard. The smell of sizzling boerewors, which Craig had returned to tending, made her stomach grumble.
Sean brought Tumi back to the other team members, Oliver and Charles. Both men had taken seats on green canvas camping chairs and they now stood.
Oliver turned away from them. ‘I’m going to the bathroom.’
‘Don’t mind him,’ Charles said when he’d left. ‘Oliver used to be a sergeant in the army. He trained recruits, so he takes pleasure in being rude to people. He’s a very fair person; he doesn’t discriminate on the basis of race or tribe or gender – he hates everyone.’
Tumi laughed along with Charles, but she was still uneasy about Oliver. The senior ranger had said virtually nothing to her the night before, when they had met for the first time, and now he seemed to be deliberately shunning her. She would try to reach out to him.
The fact was that she had screwed up her first patrol. She would need to work hard to earn the trust of these men, even the ones who were being nice to her. Tumi felt even worse, if that was possible, because her training had been part-funded by a foreign non-government organisation called Canines for Africa that raised money to provide dogs and handlers for the fight against poaching. Despite Sean’s gracious welcome to the team, she was terrified of failing at this job because she would not only have let herself down, but also the people who had invested in her training.
‘Sean?’ Tumi looked around, as did Sean. It was Zali. ‘Please can you come and help me lay the table?’ Zali called.
‘I can help you, if you like,’ Tumi said.
‘No,’ Sean said, smiling, ‘you stay here and talk to Charles, and try to get to know Oliver, if he’ll let you.’