Tom found the idea of driving in an African game reserve and passing families in cars towing caravans quite odd. It didn’t gel with what he’d seen in wildlife documentaries on satellite television. Sannie turned off the tar road — which in itself had been another surprise — onto a dirt track.
The African bush was a mix of drab grey-green stunted trees interspersed with bright new shoots of grass. The seasons were on the turn, and the sky was clouding again. It was hot — like being in the Far East, almost. The foliage was thicker than he had expected, and so far he hadn’t seen a single grassy savannah. As well as not meeting his preconceptions, South Africa was throwing plenty of challenges at him from a protection officer’s point of view. If the bush was this thick around the lodge it would be easy for someone with the right skills to get in close. It was the same as telling people back in England to keep their trees and hedges trimmed in their yards, so as not to provide too much cover for burglars. The difference here, of course, was that the villains would have to get past two-hundred-kilogram cats out patrolling the garden.
After leaving the police post at Skukuza they had crossed on low-level bridges the Sabie and Sand rivers. Sannie had slowed the Mercedes and he’d had close-up sightings of the huge bewhiskered snouts, piggy eyes and swivelling ears of hippos. A big-horned, scarred buffalo had watched them as it chewed a mouthful of grass. Tom tried to keep his cool, but it was undeniably exciting being this close to wildlife. He found himself wishing that Alex was with him to share the experience and this realisation dampened his excitement.
They followed the signs to Tinga Legends Lodge and at the end of the dirt track came to a rather ornate-looking dark wooden gate topped with curled wrought iron and set between two white posts. Without the press of an intercom or a buzzer, the gate opened automatically. Cameras or sensors, Tom thought.
The Merc’s tyres crunched along a gravelled driveway which took them around a landscaped circle to an imposing thatch-roofed building as tall as a two-storey house. A woman in a loose-fitting white blouse and tight khaki pants and boots stepped off the wide porch. Her face was framed by long, straight jet black hair and she wore a necklace of what looked like small gold nuggets. She appeared to be about thirty. Attractive. A pretty young African girl with her hair twisted into tiny spikes stood behind the white woman, holding a silver platter.
‘Beware of Carla,’ Sannie said. ‘She’s the closest you’ll get to a man-eater on this trip.’ They walked towards her.
‘Hello, welcome to Tinga, I’m Carla Sykes. You must be Tom?’
Tom shook her hand and then accepted a cold towel from the platter borne by the African girl, who Carla introduced as Given.
‘Sannie, how lovely to see you once again,’ Carla said. Tom thought her smile looked a little less sincere this time.
Sannie just nodded. ‘You too, Carla.’
‘Precious will organise one of the guys to bring your bags and move your car. Same drill as usual, Sannie. What can I get you to drink?’
Tom was dying for a beer, but said, ‘Ginger ale would be fine, please.’ Sannie ordered a mineral water and Carla relayed the orders to an African man standing behind an enormous dark wood bar off to their right.
Carla led them through the airy reception area. Sannie’s heels clicked pleasingly on the polished caramel-coloured floor, whose hard surface was softened here and there by Turkish rugs. Overstuffed leather lounges and chairs faced a huge fireplace, the mantel of which was topped with a black-and-white photo of a reclining leopard. In contrast to the outside, the lodge’s reception was cool and shaded, the light coming from soft bulbs set in antique wall fittings and an overhead chandelier. The barman emerged from behind his fortress-like bar and brought their drinks on a platter. Tom glanced at the cream-coloured walls. As well as more monochrome photos there were antique prints of animals. The place was a mix of colonial indulgence and modern ethnic African chic. Elsewhere this might not have worked — been too over the top — but the place felt smooth and sophisticated and welcoming all at once.
If the reception area was grand, it was understated compared with the spectacular natural view at the other end of the open hall. Carla stepped onto the patio overlooking a wide river studded with pinkish-coloured boulders and stands of lush green reeds. Something which sounded like a five-hundred kilogram goose on steroids honked from out there.
‘Hippo. You’ll have to get used to them, I’m afraid, Tom. This way.’ She touched his arm to steer him down a set of wide stairs to an octagonal-shaped stained timber deck with a giant tree in the centre. Off to the right was a grassy terrace set with a swimming pool, and below the deck was another open area with a smaller platform, jutting out over the river itself.
Carla motioned them to take wooden seats around a table in the shade of the tree, again touching Tom. She gestured to the branches above them. ‘This is a jackalberry tree. Tinga is set on the site of an old National Parks Board camp called Jakkalsbessie, which is Afrikaans for jackalberry. It was a very exclusive place — a favourite of the ruling elite during the apartheid years. Because it’s so close to the Kruger air strip, which is just up the road, the bigwigs could fly in from Pretoria and Jo’burg and have their meetings and a little fun in seclusion.’
‘Where does the current name come from?’ Tom asked.
‘Tinga is an abbreviation of a Shangaan word, Tingala, which means “many lions”. The “Legends” part is based on the camp’s history. There are plenty of stories about secret meetings that used to go on here. It’s said that some of the African national parks staff here were actually undercover ANC operatives, who used to eavesdrop on the government’s dastardly business. Not that Mr Greeves will need to fear spies these days!’
‘I know you’ve been through all this before, Carla, and it must seem like a bit of a chore, but…’ Tom began.
‘It’s perfectly fine, Tom. I understand how things need to be done, and the value of an advance visit. We get plenty of overseas dignitaries staying here — and a few of our own, including our president — so I’m used to dealing with people such as yourself. Besides, I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon than in the company of a handsome policeman. You must tell me later about all the people you’ve been a bodyguard for.’
Tom smiled politely and noticed Sannie rolling her eyes.
‘By the way,’ Carla asked, ‘how is Nick? Is he ill? I got your email saying you’d be carrying out the advance and assumed he wasn’t well.’
‘Actually, he didn’t report for work the other day. We’re trying to locate him.’
‘Oh, shame,’ Carla said. ‘That doesn’t sound good. He always struck me as particularly… conscientious.’
Tom glanced at Sannie and saw she was making a show of looking away out over the Sabie River.
‘Were you in contact with Nick at all in the last week or so, in the lead-up to this visit?’ Tom asked.
‘Err, well… I mean, there was the official notification of the meeting between the two ministers, which came through two weeks ago from the British Embassy, and the bookings for the rooms and conference room…’
Tom said nothing. Something about Carla’s tone of voice and Sannie’s attitude and earlier remark told him Carla had had more than official contact with Nick. He knew that the best way to get someone talking was to keep quiet and let the other person fill the void.
‘Perhaps one or two other follow-up messages,’ Carla said, looking down and brushing the front of her pale linen pants with her palms. ‘There was nothing odd, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Odd?’ Tom said.
‘Well, Nick sounded fine in his emails. He liked Africa and working with Robert, and was looking forward to coming back again and seeing…’
‘Seeing?’ Sannie prompted.
Tom smiled inwardly. He didn’t mind that she had interrupted his questioning; he would have said exactly the same thing. Carla couldn’t stop talking once she started. Her accent was softer than Sannie’s and Tom guessed from her name being Sykes, which he assumed was her maiden name as she wore no wedding ring, she was a South African of British descent, as opposed to an Afrikaner.
‘Seeing all the fabulous game we have here on the concession,’ Carla said to Sannie, punctuating the sentence with pursed lips.
‘Thank you, Carla, I’m sorry to put you on the spot like that, but we’re trying to put together a picture of Nick’s movements and contacts over the days leading up to his not reporting for work. Any bit of information might help.’
‘Well, if I think of anything, I’ll pop by later,’ she said, smiling again at Tom. ‘Now, if there’s nothing else you need to discuss, I’ll show you to your rooms. Your afternoon game drive is at four, in just over an hour. I presume you want to go on it?’
‘The minister’s itinerary includes an afternoon drive, so I’d like to see the route we’ll be taking,’ Tom said.
‘Don’t forget your camera — for research purposes only, of course,’ Carla laughed. She appeared to be grateful the talk had switched from the topic of her and Nick back to preparations for the visit.
Their suites were separate dwellings, strung out along the Sabie River. The rooms were linked by a walk-way made of timber logs, set about a metre above the ground. While the bush had been cleared in front of each suite to allow uninterrupted views of the river, the trees and other vegetation between and behind the individual units appeared to be natural.
‘What about wild animals coming into the grounds?’ Tom asked Carla on the way to his room.
‘We’ve got low-level electric fences around the accommodation which deter rather than prevent the game moving to and from the river. Our guests like the feeling of being in the wild and everyone is escorted to and from their suite after dark by a security guard.’
‘So animals such as lions could feasibly jump over the fences?’ Tom asked, doing his best to sound unperturbed.
‘We’ve got a resident leopard that manages to wander around at will. I think he walks under the fence. You might get to see him if you’re lucky,’ Carla said brightly.
‘Right.’
Inside the suite he could see why Tinga charged what it did. This was as luxurious as he imagined an African safari lodge could be. The room was arranged in a linear layout with the separate lounge, bedroom and bathroom all facing the river through large plate-glass windows. Sliding doors opened from the lounge onto a private deck with table, chairs, sun beds and a personal plunge pool. Tom knelt and dipped a finger in. It was heated. Of course.
Back inside there was airconditioning, a sound system, widescreen television and a DVD player, and a phone and computer connection. The bathroom boasted a deep tub on a raised platform, for game viewing while washing, and a shower big enough for two.
‘I’ll leave you to settle in,’ Carla said.
She was a beautiful, sexy, apparently single woman. Why wouldn’t she and Nick have become involved? Tom wondered. It wasn’t a particularly professional thing to do, although Nick wouldn’t have been the first protection officer to get lucky on an away trip. Tom thought that he’d have to report back to Shut-tleworth and maybe get Carla to print out hard copies of Nick’s emails. If Nick had been telling her he was looking forward to getting back to South Africa to see her, that was a good indicator he had no plans to skive off from a free trip here.
Tom dumped his bags and then, using the key Carla had given him, went next door to the room which would be used by Greeves. This part of the recce was second nature to him.
He walked through the room first, making sure the layout and orientation were the same as his. He checked the locks on the entry door and the sliding door out onto the private deck, testing them, making sure they could be secured from inside. He’d get a list from Carla later of how many duplicate keys and master keys the lodge held, and who had access to them. Walking out onto the deck he looked to see if any of the other suites overlooked this one. As he had expected, privacy was part of the package at Tinga, which was good, but it also meant Tom couldn’t keep an eye on the exterior of Greeves’s suite. The bush was as thick around this room as it was around all the others — and that was a minus.
The lack of other team members continued to niggle at Tom. There were ways around this, though. The police at Skukuza didn’t have the manpower to provide night duty uniform cover, so Tom intended bringing a passive alarm system back with him from the UK. He would set up infra-red sensors on the deck and outside Greeves’s door, so that if the beams were broken Tom would get a warning signal in his room. The risk wouldn’t normally warrant the extra security, but in this case technology could help make up for the lack of round-the-clock coverage.
Tom checked the room’s landline was working, and noted the internet connection as well. He would check out the private dining room in which Greeves and his South African counterpart would take their meals when he went up for his own, after the game drive. He’d also put Carla on notice that he’d need a list of restaurant staff, cleaners and other people who had access to the areas the officials would visit. He wanted dates of birth and other details of new employees. He’d give the list to Sannie to run through the South African criminal records system.
Satisfied for the time being, Tom locked the door to Greeves’s room and went back to his own. He changed out of his business shirt, jacket and chinos into a pair of dark blue shorts and a white T-shirt, and swapped his brogues for a pair of trainers and white socks. Feeling himself starting to tire after the flight and long drive, he grabbed a can of Coke out of the well-stocked mini-bar. There was a knock at the door.
‘Shame, man, you can’t go into the bush dressed like that!’ Sannie said. She was wearing green shorts — which were very short — rubber sandals with Velcro straps decorated with some sort of geometric African pattern, and a sleeveless khaki button-up shirt which hung over her holster.
‘Why not?’ he asked, mildly offended.
‘We’ll be getting out of the vehicle at some point. I’m not having some bloody elephant charge that snow-white target you’re wearing! Stay here, I’ll be back.’
Miffed, Tom turned on the television and watched some people in a soap opera talking Afrikaans. He understood not a word. Then there was another knock on the door.
‘Here,’ Sannie said. ‘Your new best friend Carla said this should fit your “big broad shoulders”. Jissis, but that woman is transparent.’
She walked into the suite while he pulled off his white T-shirt and donned a khaki golfing shirt with a Tinga lion’s-head logo on the left breast. ‘You think there was something going on between her and Nick?’ Tom asked.
Sannie laughed. ‘ Think? I know. I caught her coming out of his suite one night on an advance visit. She’s hot for cops, that girl.’
‘What do you think?’ Tom said, showing off the new shirt.
‘At least we won’t be killed by an elephant. Let’s go.’
Tea, filter coffee and a selection of cakes and homemade biscuits were laid out in the reception area when Sannie and Tom returned. An American family, parents and three children, was busy clearing the spread. At Sannie’s suggestion she and Tom skipped afternoon tea and headed outside to where two Toyota Land Cruisers were parked. Carla introduced them to their guide, whose name was Duncan Nyari. ‘It means buffalo,’ he said. ‘Nyari, that is.’
The vehicles were open on all sides but each had a canvas roof supported by a metal framework. In the back were three rows of tiered seats covered in green rip-stop canvas. Duncan gave them a briefing which came down to a few key rules: don’t stand up, as the movement would alarm any animals they were watching; keep the noise down; and don’t get out of the vehicle unless told to.
‘You are working for Mr Robert Greeves?’ Duncan asked Tom as he and Sannie climbed into the seat immediately behind the driver’s.
‘Yes.’
‘He is a good man. He loves Africa and its animals, and the people too. He has provided some textbooks for my eldest son for his university studies — even though I did not ask him for these. He is a good friend.’
Tom nodded, silently impressed. Greeves had a reputation as a hard arse in politics — some in the media called him ‘Iron Bob’ — so it was interesting to hear he had a human side as well. ‘Will we follow the same route today that you’ll be taking Mr Greeves and Mr Dule during the visit?’
Duncan shrugged. ‘Generally we go where we think the animals are — we get calls on the radio from our vehicles and talk to other guides and people on the road. However, we will stay in the area of our concession for the most part for the ministers’ visit, so you won’t have too much contact with the other park users.’
‘Going where the animals are sounds fine. Unpredictability’s good.’ In Tom’s line of work the most dangerous periods were when people were entering and leaving buildings — homes, offices, even the heavily guarded Houses of Parliament — at set times. The things which couldn’t be changed provided opportunities to potential assassins.
As they drove out of Tinga’s electronic gates Duncan explained that Tinga was one of a number of private concessions within the Kruger National Park. The concessions had been awarded several years earlier as a means of raising revenue for the National Parks Board. The old Jakkalsbessie camp had been partially destroyed by catastrophic floods which hit the park in February 2000 and, rather than rebuild it, the government had decided to lease the site and a parcel of land to a private operator for exclusive game drives. Tinga’s concession encompassed a block between the parallel-running Sabie and Sand rivers — prime game-viewing country with year-round water. The lodge’s vehicles were also free to roam the public roads in the national park, which were open to holiday-makers from South Africa and abroad. However, inside their own concession they were able to drive off road into the bush — something strictly forbidden in the rest of the park.
Sannie produced a map book of the Kruger Park, the pages of which were illustrated with drawings of wild animals, birds and reptiles, and descriptions of their behaviour. Tom followed their progress as they turned onto a sealed road and crossed the Sand River via a single-lane low-level bridge. Duncan pulled into a passing bay to let a car towing a caravan pass. ‘Hippo,’ he said, pointing to their right.
Tom put down the map book and grabbed the camera from his day pack. ‘They say the hippo kills more people than any other animal in Africa, but I don’t believe this,’ Duncan said.
‘What does then?’ Tom asked, switching on the digital camera.
‘Mosquitos,’ Sannie said.
‘True,’ said Duncan. ‘Snakes kill about a hundred and twenty thousand people around the world every year, plenty of them in Africa. Myself, I think the crocodile kills more than the hippo. The deaths take place in the remotest parts of Africa, particularly along the Zambezi River, but you never hear about these on the radio or television. However, when someone gets killed by a hippo, that’s news.’
Tom was disappointed. The hippo had submerged again.
‘Never mind, there’ll be other hippos, I can assure you,’ Sannie said as Duncan pulled back out into the bridge’s main lane.
On the other side of the river they drove up the steep bank, but before reaching the crest Duncan turned right onto a dirt track. By the side of the road was a stone cairn with a sign featuring a red circle with a white bar through it. It said No entry in English, and Geen toegang in Afrikaans.
‘This is the entrance to our concession. No other vehicles can come in here except ours. Once we get to this part of the park your ministers will be safe from prying eyes,’ Duncan smiled.
Tom was glad to leave the sealed road; this felt more like it, more as he’d imagined a drive in the African bush would be. There still was no sign of open savannah or thousands of migrating wildebeest — he knew these images were from Kenya and Tanzania, in any case — but there was a sense of tranquillity mixed with a spookiness about the thick bush on either side of the vehicle. Most of the trees seemed to be studded with thorns. It looked inhospitable in there.
In his early twenties Tom had served in the Territorial Army with the 10th Battalion of the Parachute Regiment for four years. He’d quite enjoyed spending weekends as a part-time soldier in the outdoors, but the freezing, barren hills of Wales and an exercise in the forests of Bavaria had given him few skills that would translate to the African bush.
Duncan slowed the vehicle almost to a crawl and looked down at the dirt.
‘ Ingwe,’ he said, almost to himself.
‘Leopard,’ Sannie translated. ‘How long ago, Duncan?’
‘Not long — maybe an hour or less. There is nothing marking the tracks — no ant footprints, no leaves blown in them. I know this one. He is a big male.’
‘I thought leopards were nocturnal,’ Tom ventured.
‘No,’ Sannie said. ‘They’re active day and night — opportunistic hunters and very adaptable. Here in Kruger some of them have become quite used to the presence of vehicles and actually use them to help them hunt. They use the noise of the engines to cover the sound of their movements as they stalk impala.’
‘You seem to know your stuff.’
‘Duncan’s the real expert. He’s probably forgotten more than I’ll ever know.’
‘I like guiding for people who know the bush,’ Duncan said modestly. ‘It makes me work harder. This leopard is following the river now, keeping to cover. We might come across him later.’
Tom found the drive informative and also relaxing as Duncan stopped every now and then to point out a colourful bush bird, a small herd of braying zebra, a pair of giraffe, and a shy bushbuck, which had a milk chocolate coat painted with delicate white stripes and spots. He’d almost filled his camera’s flash card when Duncan said, ‘Shush! No talking now.’
Tom and Sannie had been discussing the likelihood of media interest in the minister’s visit. Tom had explained that Greeves’s press secretary, Helen MacDonald, had emailed him advising that the Westminster press gallery had no particular interest in the sale of jet trainers to South Africa, although some defence correspondents would follow up the story and one journalist from a London tabloid had asked if there would be a photo opportunity of Greeves viewing game in the Kruger Park. Helen had said there would not, but warned Tom in her message that the reporter had been quite miffed that there would be no official photos released. There was the remote possibility he would hire a South African stringer to try to get a shot. Sannie had doubted the Johannesburg media would intrude on the visit to Tinga. ‘Compared with your lot, our media are positively well behaved,’ she’d said just as Duncan urged them to silence.
‘There, see the ear?’ Duncan whispered.
‘Got him,’ Sannie said.
‘I can’t see a bloody thing,’ Tom confessed.
‘Don’t look at the bush, look through it,’ Sannie replied.
She leaned closer to him, pointing across his chest to his side of the vehicle. He smelled her perfume. It was like roses. ‘Where?’ he said.
‘There, just past the blackened tree. Rhino.’
He saw its bulk. The dull grey hide was the perfect colour for blending into the dry, dusty growth. Its front horn looked as long as his forearm and hand. Its huge head was lowered, and now that the vehicle’s engine was off and they were all silent, he could hear the almost mechanical sound of its grazing, grunch, grunch, grunch, as it cropped the brittle yellow grass. The rhino’s big trumpet-like ears twitched and swivelled like antennae.
‘This is a white rhino. He cannot see very well, but his hearing is good,’ Duncan explained.
The massive prehistoric beast seemed placid enough to Tom, almost like a giant horned cow. ‘Are they dangerous?’
‘Like most animals, only if you by surprise get too close to them. Sometimes when we walk I will clap my hands, to make a noise to let him know that we are near. We don’t like them getting a surprise. The other ones, the black rhino, are more dangerous. They are aggressive and will sometimes charge if they are having a bad day.’
Tom stifled a laugh.
Eventually, the rhinoceros ambled away further into the thorn thickets, its hide impervious to the scratches, and Duncan started the Land Cruiser. The sun was accelerating towards the horizon and getting redder by the second as it entered the band of dust that seemed to hover above the drying bushveld. Duncan pulled off the dirt track onto a grassy clearing, overlooking a stretch of river.
‘Sundowners,’ Sannie announced. ‘My favourite time of the day.’
Duncan slid a trestle table from brackets at the rear of the Land Cruiser, politely declining Tom’s offer of help. He opened the tailgate and slid out a cool box and a hamper with glasses, plates of snacks and, to Tom’s surprise, a white tablecloth.
Sannie asked for a gin and tonic and Tom decided that the working day had come to an end. He took a can of Castle Lager from the ice. It opened with a satisfying pop. ‘The sounds of the African night,’ Sannie said as she sipped her G and T.
Duncan opened a can of Coke and the three of them stood in companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the sun slide behind the darkening bush. Birds cried and frogs began their evening chorus. Somewhere down in the river hippos honked in unison. Then came a noise that Tom struggled to identify. It sounded like a very loud, very deep wheezing. Ugh… ugh… ugh.
‘ Ngala,’ Duncan said.
‘Lion?’
‘You’re right,’ Sannie said. ‘Most people expect a big roar, like the MGM lion in the movies, but it’s more mournful; softer, even — unless, of course, they’re right outside your tent, then it’s bloody terrifying!’
‘You get lions around your tent here, in Kruger, when you camp?’ Tom asked.
‘No. Here it’s all electric fences. We went camping in Zimbabwe a few times, before it got bad up there, and in some of their parks there are no fences around the camps. We had lions walking through the camp ground. I nearly wet myself.’
‘Just you and the kids? That’s very brave.’
‘No. Me, my husband and the kids.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sannie,’ Tom said.
She shrugged. ‘It’s funny, but it’s at times like this, when everything is so nice and peaceful and calm, that I miss him the most. I can deal with problems at work, and the rubbish from the kids when they play up. I have to, being a single mom now, but it’s when everything seems to be perfect that I realise I don’t have anyone to share things with. Sorry. I don’t mean to sound so depressing.’
‘No, it’s okay. I was just thinking the same thing. How much Alex would have liked it here. We’d talked about going on a safari holiday for years.’ He realised how much harder the grieving process must be for Sannie, having to bring up her kids and be strong for them. He admired her not just for carrying on in the circumstances but for being so honest. She wasn’t afraid to talk about her grief, something he usually found hard to do.
‘It can’t be easy for you,’ she said.
‘We had our future planned. It was as if we put the first half of our married life on hold, with the idea that we’d make up for it during holidays and after an early retirement… My turn to apologise now. I don’t usually talk this much about Alex.’
She laid a hand on his forearm, briefly. ‘It’s not often I can find someone who’ll listen. I’m sure policemen are the same in England as they are in South Africa. We bottle up a lot of bad stuff and make out it doesn’t affect us.’
She smiled and Tom nodded. It was so hard not just to stand there gazing into her eyes. He felt a growing connection to her that was comforting, exciting and a bit scary all at once.
‘Where was your favourite holiday destination?’ she asked.
He was grateful she spoke again; he was starting to feel as self-conscious as a teenager. ‘A little Greek island, just off the coast of Turkey, called Lipsi. Beautiful, unspoiled, and far from the tourist crowds. A bit like here, I suppose.’
‘Oh, don’t be too sure about that. You should see Kruger in the school holidays — it’s like Jozi peak hour sometimes on the roads here.’
‘More drinks?’ Duncan said. They both said yes, though Tom was a little disappointed that Duncan had interrupted their conversation.
Unlike in England, darkness descended in Africa with the suddenness of a curtain closing. It was pitch black, the night moonless, as they drove back to the lodge. As well as having his headlights on, Duncan held a spotlight in one hand as he drove. He swivelled it continuously left and right, searching for the eyes of night creatures, which he explained would glow like reflectors in the bright beam.
He stopped and Tom peered into the inky bush. ‘In the tree — the big one,’ Duncan hissed.
Tom followed the shaft of light up the pale trunk and saw the cat. The leopard crouched on a branch. Gripped in its vicelike jaws was a fawn-coloured antelope — the cat had it by the throat.
‘He has killed that impala by suffocation,’ Duncan explained in a matter-of-fact tone while Tom’s heart pounded in his chest. He was awestruck, silent. Duncan started the truck’s engine again and turned off the road, moving at walking pace closer and closer to the tree. The leopard stared malevolently down at them, its eyes glowing like yellow beacons. Duncan shifted the light slightly to one side of the animal, so it was still visible but not shining directly into its eyes.
‘He can carry between two and three times his own body weight in his jaws. He needs to climb into a tree to eat his prey, otherwise lions and hyenas will steal it from him. This is the big male whose tracks we saw this afternoon on the road.’
‘Amazing,’ Tom whispered.
‘You’re very lucky,’ Sannie said. ‘Some people go their whole life without seeing a leopard.’
The cat walked backwards up the branch and hung the antelope’s carcass in a fork, wedging it there securely. He bit into its rump, his spotted face immediately stained red.
‘They kill by suffocation so that the prey does not make a noise and attract the other predators. The silent predator,’ Duncan said.
Tom lathered his body under the strong, stinging hot shower spray, washing away the African dust that had coated his skin. Despite the short time he’d spent in the afternoon sun, he noticed his arms and legs were already pinking up.
He reached across the ledge and grabbed his Castle. He’d liberated one from the mini-bar to drink while showering, which seemed an appropriately decadent thing to do in the five-star safari hideaway. He smiled as the cold lager ran down his throat in delicious contrast to the water on his body. It had, he thought, been a great day. Business travel for him usually meant moving from one hotel room to another. In the down time there were hotel restaurants and bars which were indistinguishable save for the language of the bar staff. The venues he’d had to advance were more often than not hotel conference rooms or function centres, or perhaps a school or a hospital — other favourite haunts of high-profile politicians. Never had he had an experience on a protection job as he’d had this afternoon. He could see the attraction now of protecting someone like Robert Greeves — even without the two beautiful women he’d also come into contact with.
Tom thought about Sannie and how vulnerable she’d seemed in the moment she’d mentioned going on holiday with her husband and kids. It was amazing that they’d both been thinking virtually the same thing at the same time. He sensed she was still brittle and shook his head at Nick’s insensitivity. Still, he could see how a ladies’ man like him would certainly consider it worth a try.
Carla Sykes had been all ears for Tom’s leopard story when Duncan had dropped them at the entrance to Tinga. He imagined she must hear guests talking about amazing game sightings every working day of her life, but she had seemed genuinely to be hanging on his words. She had laid a hand on his forearm and said, ‘You do realise how very, very lucky you’ve been tonight, Tom. I wonder how we’ll be able to top that experience?’
Flirty, no doubt. It was little wonder she and Nick had hit it off.
He dried and changed into chinos, brogues and a fresh shirt. He checked his watch. Seven-thirty. He opened the door of the suite.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said the uniformed African security guard and saluted him. The man held a torch as long as a night stick, and carried the real thing through a ring on his belt.
‘Evening,’ Tom said. He was impressed at the man’s punctuality. He’d followed the lodge’s rules and arranged for the guard to be at his accommodation at this time. As Carla had briefed him earlier, after dark the lodge encouraged guests only to move to and from the main building with a security escort. They obviously took the threat of encounters with nocturnal wildlife seriously. He didn’t know if Robert Greeves would expect an escort, but Tom felt a whole lot happier knowing there were people who knew the local scene available to perform this task. What would he, an Englishman in Africa, do if he and Greeves were bailed up by a leopard on the walkway? Draw his Glock and shoot it? He smiled at the thought and followed the man.
Sannie was already in the dining room, at a table for two, reading a paperback novel and sipping a glass of white wine. She had changed into jeans and a loose-fitting peasant top, and wore a necklace comprising a shell flanked by chunky wooden beads. She looked relaxed and fresh, and smiled at him when he walked in.
‘Sorry about the book,’ she said, putting it away in her handbag. ‘Too much time waiting around by myself in this job.’
‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘I’ve already ordered wine, do you want some?’
He nodded and over a drink they talked through the remaining details of the joint ministerial visit — timings, routes, vehicles, communications, and recapped the emergency plan. After discussing business and over a meal of marinated kudu steaks — a bigger type of antelope than the leopard’s meal they had seen earlier, Sannie explained — she talked about her kids and asked him why he and Alex had never had any.
‘It didn’t start out as a conscious decision. It was the job at first, for both of us. She was a doctor — an intern when I met her — and we were both working crazy hours. When I went to what was then known as Special Branch, a lot of my work was undercover or on surveillance, back when the IRA was our main threat. We got used to going abroad for our holidays — spending our wages on ourselves — so I suppose we both eventually agreed children wouldn’t really fit us.’
‘Do you regret it now, now she’s gone?’
He shrugged. ‘I would have liked to have had a reminder of her, I suppose, but I don’t know if that’s a good enough reason to have children.’
‘It was for me.’ Sannie frowned then sipped more wine to hide her sorrow.
He wanted to reach out and hold her hand at that moment, but he didn’t. He knew his attraction to her was growing by the minute, but there were plenty of reasons not to follow his instincts. Firstly, he told himself, it was unprofessional. He told himself, too, that he should still be feeling guilty, even though Alex had been gone more than a year. Thirdly — and if he was honest, most importantly — he didn’t want to do anything too soon which could jeopardise what might just be growing between them. He didn’t want her to think he was using their shared experiences as a pick-up routine.
After dinner Carla joined them for drinks. She had flitted from table to table during the evening meal, ensuring all was fine with the food and the service. The Americans had turned out to be demanding, asking for ‘plain grilled shrimp’ rather than the sesame-coated pan-fried prawns each the size of a small lobster which were offered on the menu. Two German couples had also arrived while Tom and Sannie had been on their game drive.
‘Meals for Mr Greeves and Mr Dule will be served in a private room,’ Carla explained as she sat down with a glass of wine in hand. She downed it quickly, Tom noted.
With the last of the guests escorted to their rooms, it seemed Carla wanted to make up for lost time. She ordered two more drinks before Tom had finished his cleansing post-dinner lager. Carla was full of questions about London and mentioned that several of her friends had left South Africa for the UK to escape what she called the abominable crime problem.
‘Of course, if I had a big strong detective to look after me and protect me from car-jackers I’d happily stay in South Africa,’ she cooed.
‘I’m sorry, but I’m quite tired this evening; please excuse me. Goodnight and see you in the morning,’ Sannie said.
Tom was sorry, too, to see her leave. He’d enjoyed her company all afternoon and evening and felt that Carla was intruding on something. Also, her crack about having a policeman to look after her was not only overtly flirtatious, but insensitive if she knew who Sannie’s husband was and how he had died.
‘It’s after eleven,’ he said, looking at his watch.
‘Party pooper,’ Carla chided him, giving him a light punch on the arm. It wasn’t the first time she had touched him during their conversation. With each drink she leaned a little closer.
Tom could read the signs — he wasn’t blind. Carla was pretty, flirtatious, sexy and getting increasingly drunk. He played a straight bat and said, ‘We’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I really should get some shut-eye.’
‘The security guard’s just seeing the girls back to their quarters. I’ll escort you — if you trust me to ward off any dangerous game, that is.’
He wouldn’t trust Carla behind the wheel of a car right now, and he had no idea how she would see off a lion if she couldn’t walk a straight line, but he shrugged and said, ‘Of course I trust you.’
Carla took a torch and walked ahead of him. He couldn’t help but notice the pleasing way her pants clung to her firm bottom.
‘Here we are, home sweet home. Nice and safe from the predators.’ She leaned against the wall beside the doorframe as he opened the door.
‘Night, Carla. Thanks for everything.’
‘Night,’ she said, and he thought he saw the trace of a pout crease her lips.
Tom turned on the lights inside and slipped off his shoes. With only an hour’s time difference from the UK he wasn’t jetlagged and, despite the impression he’d given Carla, he wasn’t all that tired. The game drive had been a buzz and he still hadn’t come down from it. While he was tossing up whether to have a final beer or not, there was a knock at the door.
Carla stood there, a wicked grin curling the corners of her mouth. ‘I didn’t ask you if you wanted your bed turned down, sir.’
She put her palm on his chest and pushed him into the room.