Max Kahlenberg always woke at 05.00 hrs. It was as if he had an alarm clock inside his head. During the seven hours in which he slept, he might have died. He had no dreams nor did he stir until he opened his eyes to watch the sun rise over the magnificent range of mountains that lay beyond the huge picture window opposite his bed.
The bed was enormous, set on a dais with a shell-shaped headboard done over in lemon-coloured silk. Within his reach was a set of push-buttons set in fumed oak. Each button controlled his method of rising. The red button opened and closed the lemon- coloured window drapes. The yellow button lowered the bed to the floor level so he could swing himself into his electrically propelled wheel chair. The blue button opened a hatch by his bedside through which his coffee tray came. The black button filled his bath automatically and at exactly the right temperature.
The green button operated the TV monitor at the end of his bed, putting him in direct contact with one of his secretaries.
Max Kahlenberg came awake and touched the red button. The window drapes swung open and he viewed the sky, seeing the scurrying clouds and he decided rain couldn’t be far off. He switched on the defused light concealed behind the headboard and thumbed the red button. He shifted himself higher in the bed as the hatch at his side slid up and a tray containing a silver coffee pot, a jug of milk, a container of sugar and a cup and saucer slid within his reach and the hatch closed.
Lying in the enormous bed, Max Kahlenberg looked like a handsome movie star. His head was completely shaved. He had wide set, blue-grey eyes, a well-shaped nose and a big, humourless mouth with a thin upper lip. He always slept naked, and as he hoisted himself up, he revealed a deeply tanned, magnificently developed torso.
He drank his coffee, lit a cigarette and then pressed the green button that connected him with one of his secretaries. The TV screen lit up and he saw Miah, an Indian girl, who did the early morning shift, reach for a pencil and pad. He regarded her with pleasure. He liked beautiful women, and made a point only of employing women who pleased his eyes. The girl, her thin dark face classically beautiful, her big eyes looking directly at him although she couldn’t see him, said, “Good morning, sir.”
Kahlenberg studied her, then said, “Good morning, Miah. Has the mail arrived?”
“It is being sorted now, sir.”
“I’ll be ready to dictate in an hour. Have your breakfast,” and he snapped off the set. He then pressed the black button which would fill his bath and lowered the bed to floor level. He threw off the sheet covering him.
At that moment Kahlenberg turned from a fine looking, handsome athlete into a grotesque freak. No one except his mother and his doctor had ever seen his legs. They had never grown from the time he had been born. In comparison to his well developed torso, they were two ghastly looking appendages, perfectly formed, unable to support his weight and which he loathed with a bitterness and revulsion that not only completely spoilt his life but had made him dangerously mentally disturbed.
No one was ever allowed into his bedroom while he was in it himself. It was only when he was dressed and in his chair which had a snap-on cover over his legs that he felt safe from prying eyes.
He hoisted himself into the chair and ran it into the vast bathroom.
An hour later, he emerged, bathed and shaved and having had a thorough work-out in the well-equipped gymnasium that led off the bathroom. He wrapped the lower part of his body in a cotton loin cloth, put on a white open neck shirt, snapped the cover over the chair and steered the chair into the long corridor that led to his office.
Coming towards him was a fully grown cheetah. This was Hindenburg, Kahlenberg’s constant companion. He stopped the chair and waited for the big cat to approach him. He rubbed the thick fur while the cat made a deep, throaty sound, then with a final pat, Kahlenberg sent the chair on its way, with Hindenburg following behind, and reaching a pair of double doors which opened automatically, he propelled himself into the room.
Kahlenberg’s office was vast with a window that ran the length of the view side of the room.
From his big desk, he had an uninterrupted view of his lawns, the banks of flowers, the distant jungle, the undulating grass covered hills dotted by the scattered rondavels of his Zulus to the Drakensberg Range.
His mail was on his desk marked with various coloured stickers, donating its priority.
Before going to bed, he had made notes of various affairs that needed attention. He pressed the green button on his desk and when the TV monitor lit up and he saw Miah seated at her desk, he began to dictate.
An hour later, he had finished the previous day’s notes. “That is all, Miah. Is Ho-Lu there?”
“She is waiting now, sir.”
“I’ll be ready for her in half an hour,” and he switched off the set.
He went rapidly through the mail of some fifty letters, made quick decisions that would add to his already vast fortune, then lit up the monitor screen again.
This time a flower-like Vietnamese girl was at the desk, patiently waiting. He greeted her and began dictating.
By 10.00 hrs. he had cleared his desk. He sat for some moments, relaxing, his fingers caressing Hindenburg’s head, then he flicked down a switch on the intercom and said, “Come in, please.”
There was a moment’s delay, then a tap sounded on the door which swung open.
Guilo Tak, Kahlenberg’s personal assistant came in, shut the door and approached the desk.
Guilo Tak was a tall, thin man with a mop of jet black hair that emphasized his cadaverous complexion. His black eyes were sunk deep and burned feverishly in his skull-like face. Born of an Italian mother and a Czech father, he had shown astonishing talent for figures at an early age. He had obtained a job in a Swiss bank and quickly proved himself a financial genius. When Kahlenberg had asked one of the directors of the bank if he knew of a man suitable to be his P.A., the director had no hesitation in recommending Tak.
Kahlenberg found him not only a financial genius but utterly ruthless, utterly efficient and utterly loyal. For some considerable time, Kahlenberg had been hiring expert art thieves to supply his museum. Considerable organization and discussions were needed and Kahlenberg begrudged the time. He had hesitated whether to hand these machinations over to Tak, and finally decided after some eighteen months, that Tak could be trusted. Tak was now not only in charge of the museum, but also handled Kahlenberg’s portfolio, often making suggestions and pointing to opportunities which Kahlenberg with his other occupations might have missed.
“Good morning, sir,” Tak said with a stiff little bow.
“Sit down,” Kahlenberg said, resting his elbows on his desk and staring at Tak, thinking what an extraordinary looking man this was. “Any news of the Borgia ring affair?”
“Yes, sir. The three thieves concerned arrived at the Rand International hotel a few minutes ago. Fennel arrived the day before yesterday. He came from Paris. A garage owner, Sam Jefferson, has been buying their equipment. I have a list of it here if you wish to see it. I have also photographs of these people taken as they arrived at the airport.” He paused to give Kahlenberg a quick glance before laying a large envelope he had brought with him on the desk. “You may find the woman attractive.”
Kahlenberg glanced at the blown-up photographs of the three men and laid them on the blotter but he sat for some moments studying Gaye’s photograph. Then he glanced up. “What do you know about her?”
“All their dossiers are in the envelope, sir.”
“Thank you, Tak. I’ll see you later.”
When Tak had gone, Kahlenberg picked up Gaye’s photograph and again studied it for several minutes, then he opened a drawer and put the photograph away. He read the four dossiers, studied the list of equipment, read that the camp was situated near Mainville and a helicopter had arrived there the previous day. He put all the papers back into the envelope and locked it away. He sat staring with hooded eyes down at his blotter for a long time, then with a slight nod of satisfaction at the decision he had reached, he set his chair in motion and snapping his fingers at Hindenburg, he propelled himself out into the garden and along the broad path for a half hour’s break. The big cat wandered by his side.
Back at his desk at 11.00 hrs., Kahlenberg dealt until lunch time with more papers that had arrived. He lunched on a smoked trout with horseradish sauce and a coffee, then returning to his office, sent for Tak again.
“How much did I pay for the Borgia ring?” he asked.
“Sixty thousand dollars. Mercial paid a quarter of a million. We got it very cheaply. Now Mercial is paying Shalik half a million to recover it. Absurd, but without it, his Borgia collection is spoilt.”
“I am inclined to let him have it back,” Kahlenberg said, staring at Tak who said nothing. He knew by now the way Kahlenberg’s mind worked. “It might be amusing, but it wouldn’t do to let these four have it without working for it, would it?”
Tak inclined his head and continued to wait.
“So why not let them arrive here? As you say the woman is attractive. It will be interesting to see if Fennel who is supposed to be such an expert can break into the museum. Let us encourage them. I can leave the details to you.”
“You want them to walk away with the ring, sir?”
“We will make their entrance easy and their exit difficult, but if they can get it off the estate, then I think they would be entitled to keep it, but only if they can get it off the estate.” Kahlenberg’s eyes searched Tak’s face. “You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So we let them in and make it difficult for them to get out. If anything should happen to them, I suppose the crocodiles would welcome extra food.”
Tak’s eyes narrowed.
“Is it your wish something should happen to them, sir?”
“Well, it would be awkward if they got into the museum and then got away to talk. We wouldn’t want Interpol here making inquiries. The Vatican was particularly incensed at losing the bust of Jupiter. How that rogue ever got it out of the Vatican has always puzzled me. No, it wouldn’t do for Interpol to know the museum is below ground.”
“But there was some suggestion, sir, that you were returning the ring to Mercial.”
“Yes… I will return the ring but not his operators.”
Tak didn’t follow this, but he waited.
“Our Zulus would welcome a manhunt for a change, I think?”
“They can be relied on, sir.”
“Yes… they are very close still to the savage. That may not be necessary, of course. Our enterprising four could get lost. Still, let them be alerted. Arrange some sort of reward and insist on proof.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I must admit such a hunt would amuse me.” Kahlenberg’s thinlipped mouth tightened. “When they have been hunted down and the ring returned to me, I will mail it to Mercial.” He rubbed his jaw as he stared at Tak. “We mustn’t make a mistake. It would be dangerous if even one of them got away. What chances do you think
they have against a hundred of my Zulus and the jungle?”
Tak considered the problem, then shook his head.
“No chance at all, sir.”
“That’s what I think.” Kahlenberg paused, thinking of the photograph locked in his desk. “Pity about the woman.”
Tak got to his feet.
“Is there anything else, sir?”
“Yes… let me have the Borgia ring.”
When Tak had gone, Kahlenberg flicked down a switch on the intercom and said, “Send Kemosa to me.”
A few minutes later an old, bent Bantu, wearing immaculate white drill came into the office. Kemosa had served Kahlenberg’s father and was now in charge of the native staff, ruling them with a rod of iron. He stood before Kahlenberg, waiting.
“Is the old witch doctor still on the estate?” Kahlenberg asked. “Yes, master.”
“I never see him. I thought he was dead.”
Kemosa said nothing.
“My father told me this man has great experience with poisons,” Kahlenberg went on. “Is that correct?”
“Yes, master.”
“Go to him and say I want a slow working poison that will kill a man in twelve hours. Do you think he could supply a poison like that?”
Kemosa nodded.
“Very well. I want it by tomorrow morning. See he is suitably rewarded.”
“Yes, master.” Kemosa inclined his head and went away.
Kahlenberg pulled a legal document towards him and began to study it. A few minutes later Tak came in carrying a small glass box in which, set on a blue velvet support, was the Caesar Borgia ring.
“Leave it with me,” Kahlenberg said without looking up. Tak placed the box on the desk and withdrew.
After reading the document and laying it down, Kahlenberg picked up the glass box and leaning back in his chair, he slid off the lid and took out the ring.
He took from a drawer a watchmaker’s glass and screwed it into his eye. He spent some moments examining the ring before he found the minute sliding trap, covered by a diamond that gave access to the tiny reservoir that held the poison.
They left the Rand International hotel a little after 08.00 hrs. and headed for Harrismith on the N.16 highway.
They were all wearing bush shirts, shorts, knee stockings, stout soled shoes and bush hats around which was a band of cheetah skin. The men all eyed Gaye as she climbed into the front seat of the Land Rover. The outfit set off her figure and suited her. Again Fennel felt a stab of frustrated desire go through him.
Ken Jones took the wheel and Garry and Fennel sat on the rear bench seat. It was a tight squeeze for the four of them and their equipment. Each had brought along a rucksack containing their personal essentials and these were piled on the rear seat between the two men.
The sky was grey and the atmosphere was close and steamy and they were glad when they had left the city and had got on to the open road.
“This is going to be a pretty dull run,” Ken said. “Two hundred kilometres to Harrismith, then we turn off the National road and head down for Bergville. We’ll get to Mainville for lunch, pick up our guide and then we have thirty kilometres through jungle to the camp. That’ll be fun: we’re certain to see some game.”
“Who’s looking after the chopper?” Garry asked, leaning forward. “You haven’t just left it in the jungle, have you?”
Ken laughed.
“I hired four Bantus to guard it. I know them… they’re okay. It only arrived yesterday. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
Gaye said she was glad to leave Johannesburg.
“I didn’t like it.”
“I don’t know anyone who does,” Ken returned. “But you’d like Cape Town and go crazy about Durban.”
The three chatted together as the Land Rover ate up the miles. Garry noticed that Fennel was sullenly silent. He sat forward with his heavy bag of tools between his feet and his little eyes continually eyeing Gaye’s back and the view he could get of the side of her face.
Every so often they came upon a series of beehive shaped huts where they could see the Bantus moving aimlessly about, and tiny boys guarding lean, depressed looking cattle and herds of goats.
Gaye asked a stream of questions which Ken answered. Fennel paid no attention to the chatter. All he could think of was to get Gaye alone. He was confident, once he did get her alone, she would submit to him. He had no interest in black people and he wished Ken would stop yakking.
It was after 14.00 hrs. when they drove into Mainville’s town centre that consisted of an untidy square, shaded by magnificent flamboyant trees in full flower. To the left of the square was the post office. Next to it was a native store and across the way was a shop run by a Dutchman who seemed to sell everything from a pair of boots to a bottle of cough mixture. The Bantus, sitting under the trees, watched then curiously, and two or three of them waved languidly to Ken who waved back.
“You seem to be a known character around here,” Gaye said.
“Oh, sure. I get around. I like these guys and they remember me.” Ken drove around the square and headed for a large dilapidated garage. He drove straight in.
Two Bantus came over and shook hands with him as he left the Land Rover. Ken spoke to them in Afrikaans and they nodded, beaming.
“Okay, folks,” he said turning to the others. “We can leave it all here and go to the hotel for lunch. I could eat a buffalo.”
“You mean they won’t steal any of this stuff?” Fennel asked.
Ken regarded him, his mouth tightening.
“They’re friends of mine… so they won’t steal any of the stuff.”
Fennel climbed down from the Land Rover.
“Well, if you’re sure about that.”
The other three walked out into the blinding sunshine. Since leaving Johannesburg the sun had come out and it was hot.
The hotel was plain but decent and Ken got a good welcome from a fat, sweating Indian who beamed at the other three.
“Seen Themba?” Ken asked as they walked into the big diningroom.
“Yes, Mr. Jones. He’s around. Said he would be here in half an hour.”
They all had a good chicken curry lunch, washed down with beer. From their table, they could see across the square to the garage and Fennel kept looking suspiciously at the garage.
“They’re not stealing anything! Ken said sharply. He had become exasperated by Fennel’s suspicion. “Can’t you enjoy your lunch, for God’s sake?
Fennel squinted at him.
The stuff in that tool bag is worth a lot of lolly,” he said. It’s taken me years to collect. Some of those tools I’ve made myself. I’m making sure no goddamn blackie steals it.”
Seeing Ken’s face flush with anger, Gaye broke in to ask about the hotel. The tension eased a little, then Ken got to his feet.
“I’ll fix the bill, then go look for Themba.”
“Is he our guide?” Gaye asked.
“That’s right.”
“And another black friend of his,” Fennel said with a sneer.
Ken hesitated, then walked away.
Garry said, “Wouldn’t it be an idea if you tried to be pleasant for a change? Right now, you act as if you have a boil on your ass.”
Fennel glowered at him.
“I act the way I like, and no one stops me!”
“Plenty of time to squabble when the job’s done,” Gaye said quietly. “Be nice, Mr. Fennel.”
He glowered at her, got up and walked out of the restaurant. Gaye and Garry paused to congratulate the fat Indian on his curry, and then followed Fennel across the square to the garage.
“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” Gaye said softly.
“He’s a fat slob. If he goes on like this, he’ll get a poke in his snout!”
“Remember what Armo said… he’s dangerous.”
Garry scowled.
“So am I. It bothers me that Ken has to travel with him.”
But he was less bothered when he saw a tall, magnificently built Bantu, wearing bush clothes with a bush hat pinned up Australian fashion on one side, shaking hands with Ken.
“That must be Themba. Well, Ken and he can take care of Fennel; that’s for sure.”
Ken made the introductions. Whereas Garry and Gaye shook hands, Fennel just stared at the big Bantu and then walked over to the Land Rover to make sure his bag of tools was still there.
“Themba only talks Afrikaans,” Ken explained. “So conversationally he’s a dead loss to you two.”
“I think he looks wonderful,” Gaye said admiringly.
“He’s great. We’ve worked together for five years… no better tracker in Natal.”
They climbed into the Land Rover. Themba occupied a small swing-out seat at the rear, placing him above the others and giving him a good view of the country.
“Now, we go into the jungle,” Ken said. “If there’s any game to spot, Themba will find it.”
Another ten minutes of driving brought them off the main road to a grit road and the drive became bumpy.
“It gets worse as it goes on,” Ken said cheerfully, “but you’ll get used to it.”
It did get worse, and Ken had to cut down speed. Pot holes began to appear in the road and the Land Rover banged and bumped, making everyone hold on, with Fennel cursing under his breath.
A mile or so further on, Themba said something to Ken, and Ken slowed and steered the Land Rover off the road into the bush. They were moving slowly now and they all had to look out for thorny bushes and low hanging branches which became hazardous as they went on.
Suddenly before them was a big waterbuck with its majestic antlers, looking towards them. It turned and was away with high leaping steps, displaying a perfect ring of white fur around its rump.
“Oh, I love him!” Gaye explained. “And that white ring… it’s marvellous!”
“Do you know how he got that?” Ken asked, grinning. “I’ll tell you. When the waterbuck arrived at the Ark, he rushed up to Noah and said, “Mr. Noah, please where is the nearest toilet?” Noah said, “You’ll have to wait. All the toilets have just been painted.” The waterbuck said, “I can’t wait.” It’s had that ring ever since.”
“Why don’t you look where you’re driving and stop the yak?” Fennel growled while the others laughed.
“Can’t please everyone all the time,” Ken said, shrugging, and continued on.
Gaye was noticing that many of the trees were broken and dead, giving the bush a stricken look.
“Did lightning do all this damage?” she asked.
“What, those trees— No… elephants. Must have had a big herd through here at one time. The elephant is the most destructive beast of any wild game. They strip the trees and smash them as they move. Wherever an elephant has been, you’ll find dead trees.”
A little later they came upon five giraffes and Ken stopped within fifty metres of them. The animals stood motionless, staring.
“I wish I hadn’t packed my camera,” Gaye sighed. “They seem completely tame.”
“They’re not tame… they’re eaten up with curiosity,” Ken explained, and even as he spoke the gigantic animals turned and lolloped away, covering the ground at high speed although seeming to move like a slow motion film.
“Lions dig for them, but they seldom catch them,” Ken went on, setting the Land Rover moving again.
“Are there any lions in this district?” Gaye asked. “I’d love to see one.”
“You will, and hear them too.”
Themba from his perch above them was continually calling to Ken, giving him directions.
“Without this guy,” Ken confided to Gaye, “I’d never find the camp. He has a compass built inside his head.”
After half an hour’s drive, during which time they disturbed a large herd of zebras which went crashing away into the thick bush almost before they could be seen, they came out of the bush on to a wide flat clearing where the helicopter was parked.
Squatting before the helicopter were four Bantus who rose to their feet with wide grins as the Land Rover pulled up.
“Here we are,” Ken said getting out of the truck. “I’ll pay these guys off. We don’t want them hanging around. Themba and I can get the tent up.”
Garry went at once to the helicopter. Gaye slid to the ground and stretched. It had been a bumpy ride and she felt stiff and hot. Fennel got down and lit a cigarette. He showed no inclination to help Themba unload the equipment, but stood with his hands in his shorts pockets, eyeing Gaye as she stood with her back to him, her legs wide apart, her hands on her hips.
Ken got rid of the Bantus and came back to the Land Rover. “There’s a big pool beyond those trees and a waterfall,” he said to Gaye, pointing. “It’s safe swimming… no crocs.”
“Can I help?”
“No, thanks… Themba and I can handle it.”
He joined Themba, and together the two men unloaded the tent.
Breathing unsteadily, Fennel moved over to Gaye.
“A waterfall, huh? Suppose we go take a look at it?”
He was expecting her to refuse, and already his vicious temper began to rise. She regarded him, her face expressionless, then to his surprise, she said, “Yes… let’s look at it,” and turning, she walked ahead, making for the thick line of trees and high elephant grass that surrounded the clearing.
Fennel felt a hot rush of blood through his body. Was this an invitation? He looked quickly towards the helicopter. Garry was busy stripping off the engine tarpaulin. Ken and Themba were occupied with unfolding the tent. Shaking a little, Fennel strode after Gaye who had now disappeared into the bush.
He caught up with her as she moved along a narrow track and he slowed his pace, his eyes on her slim back and long beautiful legs. Some twenty metres further on they came to a small waterfall that fell some ten metres into a big basin of water which flowed at its far end into a broad stream. The basin formed a perfect, artificial bathing pool.
She turned as he reached her.
“Isn’t it lovely?”
The sun beat down on them. They were surrounded by trees. They could have been the only two people on earth.
“Let’s have a swim,” Fennel said and stripped off his shirt. “Come on, baby, strip off.”
She looked at his hairy, muscular torso, her eyes watchful as she shook her head. “I swim in private, Mr. Fennel.”
“Aw, come on! You don’t imagine I’ve never seen a naked woman before, and I bet you’ve seen a naked man.” He grinned fixedly, his face flushed with desire for her. “You don’t have to be coy with me. Strip off, or I’ll have to help you.”
Her cool, unafraid gaze disconcerted him.
“You swim… I’m going back.”
As she turned away, he caught hold of her wrist.
“You’re staying here,” he said, his voice low, and unsteady, “and you’re stripping off. You want some loving, baby, and I’m the guy to give it to you.”
“Take your hand off me,” she said quietly.
“Come on, baby, don’t act coy… a little loving and then a swim.”
She moved towards him, and for a brief moment, he thought she was going to submit to him. Grinning he released his grip to encircle her waist. Her hand gripped his wrist and an excruciating pain shot up his arm, forcing him to cry out. Her foot slapped against his chest as she fell flat on her back. Fennel felt himself shooting into the air and then he splashed into the pool. The cool water closed over him, and when he bobbed to the surface and had dashed the water out of his eyes, he found her standing on the bank, looking down at him. Choking with rage, his arm aching, he glared murderously at her, seeing she was holding a large chunk of rock in her hands.
“Stay where you are unless you want your skull cracked,” she said.
Her stillness and her cold eyes warned him she wasn’t bluffing.
“You bitch!” he snarled. “I’ll fix you for this!”
“You don’t frighten me, you fat animal,” she said scornfully. “From now on, you leave me alone. If you ever try to touch me again, I’ll break your arm. If you weren’t so important to this operation, I would have done it just now. Remember that! Now have a swim and cool off, you revolting ape.” She tossed the rock into the water just in front of him, and by the time he had cleared his eyes, she had gone.
Kahlenberg was signing a batch of letters when his office door opened silently and Kemosa came in. He waited patiently in the doorway until Kahlenberg had finished and when Kahlenberg looked up inquiringly he shuffled forward. He put a small glass bottle on the blotter.
“There it is, master.”
Kahlenberg regarded the bottle.
“What is it?”
“The poison you ordered, master.”
“I know that… what is the poison?”
Kemosa looked blank.
“That I don’t know, master.”
Kahlenberg made an impatient movement.
“Did you tell the witch doctor exactly what I wanted?”
“Yes, master.”
“A poison that would kill a man in twelve hours?”
“Yes, master.”
“Is he to be trusted?”
“Yes, master.”
“What did you pay him?”
“Twenty goats.”
“Did you tell him if the poison doesn’t work, he will lose all his goats and I will burn his but and turn him off my estate?”
“I told him that if the poison doesn’t work, two men would come in the night and throw him in the crocodile pool.”
“Does he believe that?”
“Yes, master.”
Kahlenberg nodded, satisfied.
“Go to the medical chest, Kemosa, and bring me a syringe and a pair of rubber gloves.”
When Kemosa had left, Kahlenberg sat back, looking at the small bottle. His mind went back four hundred years. Caesar Borgia might also have contemplated a similar phial of poison, planning the end of an enemy, feeling the same pleasure that Kahlenberg was experiencing.
He was still sitting motionless when Kemosa returned with the syringe and gloves.
“Thank you,” and Kahlenberg waved him away.
When the door had closed, he opened a drawer and took out the glass box containing the ring. He took out the ring and put it on the fourth finger of his right hand. He studied the flashing diamonds thoughtfully, then he turned the ring so the diamonds were worn inside. The plain silver band now showing looked very innocent. He took off the ring and laid it on the blotter. Then he put on the surgical gloves. Screwing the watchmaker’s glass into his eye, he slid open the trap in the ring. Then laying the ring down again, he uncorked the bottle and drew some of the colourless liquid into the syringe. Very carefully he inserted the needle of the syringe into the reservoir of the ring and equally carefully pressed the plunger. When, through the watchmaker’s glass, he saw the liquid was level with the top of the reservoir, he withdrew the needle and slid the diamond trap into place. Laying down the syringe, he wiped the ring on his handkerchief, taking time over the operation. Still without removing his gloves, he began shaking the ring sharply over the blotter, looking for any signs of a leak in the reservoir. Finally satisfied, he put the ring in a drawer, put his handkerchief in an envelope and sent for Kemosa again. When the old man came in, he told him to destroy the syringe, the poison, the gloves and the handkerchief.
“Make certain they are all destroyed,” he said. “You understand? Be very careful not to touch the needle of the syringe.”
“Yes, master.”
When he had gone, Kahlenberg took out the ring and regarded it. Was this now a lethal weapon? he asked himself. The witch doctor must be over eighty years of age. Had he lost his cunning? Could he be trusted? If the poison were lethal, could the tiny hollow needle, hidden in the cluster of diamonds, have become blocked with dust? If it had he would be wasting his time, and this was something Kahlenberg never tolerated. He had to know for certain. He sat thinking, then making up his mind, he put the ring on the fourth finger of his right hand and turned the ring the wrong way round. He propelled himself into the garden, followed by Hindenburg.
It took him a little time to find Zwide, a Bantu about whom Kemosa had often complained, saying this man was not only incurably lazy but also ill-treated his wife. He was due to be dismissed at the end of the month, and to Kahlenberg’s callous thinking no loss to anyone.
He found him squatting in the shade, half asleep. When he saw Kahlenberg, he rose hurriedly to his feet, grabbed up a hoe and began feverishly weeding a nearby rose bed.
Kahlenberg stopped his chair beside him. Hindenburg sat, his eyes watchful.
“I hear you are leaving at the end of the month, Zwide,” Kahlenberg said quietly.
The man nodded dumbly, stiff with fear.
Kahlenberg stretched out the ringed hand.
“I wish you good fortune. Shake my hand.”
Zwide hesitated, his eyes rolling with embarrassment, then reluctantly stretched out his hand. Kahlenberg caught the dirty pink palmed hand in a hard, firm grip, his eyes intent on the man’s face. He saw him give a little start. Then Kahlenberg released the hand and set the chair in motion. When he had gone a few metres, he looked back.
Zwide was staring with a bewildered expression at his hand and as Kahlenberg watched, Zwide raised a finger to his mouth and licked it.
Kahlenberg went on his way. At least the needle had scratched, he thought. In twelve hours time he would know if the ring was lethal.
As Gaye reached the clearing, she heard the engine of the helicopter start up. She came to a standstill watching the propellers churning. She could see Garry at the controls.
She cried, “Hey! Wait for me!”
But he didn’t hear her. The machine took off, climbing steeply and then went out of sight behind the trees.
Ken and Themba had got the tent up. They had been also watching the take-off. Now they continued to unload the Land Rover. She joined them.
“Why didn’t he wait for me?” she asked. “That was mean!” Ken grinned.
“You ask him when he comes back. Where’s our lovely boy friend?”
“Having a swim.”
There was a note in her voice that made him look sharply at her.
“Trouble?”
“The usual, but I settled it.”
“You’re quite a girl.” His look of admiration pleased her. “Be careful of him… he’s vicious.”
“Themba and I can take care of him.” He dragged out the four sleeping bags. “I’m putting yours between Garry’s and mine. Themba sleeps next to me… then Fennel.”
She nodded.
“It’s only for one night, isn’t it?”
“Yes… for him and me, but two nights for Garry and you.” He looked up at the clouds moving across the sky. “The sooner we get off the better. If it rains the road will be a real mess. You’ll be all right on your own with Garry… he’s a good guy.”
“I know.”
He took the sleeping bags into the tent and laid them out. Themba was building a fire some little way from the tent. Ken collected the .22 rifle and pocketed some ammunition.
“I’m going after guinea-fowl. Want to come?”
“Of course.”
They set off together into the bush.
Fennel came out of the trees, moving slowly. His arm still ached. He looked around, then seeing only Themba busy with the fire, he went to the Land Rover, got out his rucksack and went into the tent. He changed out of his wet shorts and put on a dry pair. He came out into the dying sunshine and sat on one of the wooden cases. His mind was smouldering. Well, he would fix her, he told himself as he lit a cigarette. There was time. Get the operation over. On the way back, he’d teach her.
He was still sitting there, brooding, when the helicopter came in to land. After a while Garry came over.
“A beauty,” he said enthusiastically. “Goes like a bird.”
Fennel looked up and grunted.
“Where are the others?”
Fennel shrugged.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“How about a beer?”
“Yeah.”
Garry opened the carton. Themba came over with glasses and a thermos of ice. As Garry was opening the bottles, Gaye and Ken cane out of the bush. Ken had four guinea-fowl hanging from a string to his belt.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Gaye demanded.
Garry shook his head.
“Trial flight. First time I’ve handled her. Cockeyed for both of us to get killed.”
Gaye’s eyes opened wide. She took the beer Themba offered her with a smile. Ken drank from the bottle, sighed, then handed the birds to Themba who took them away.
We’ll eat well tonight,” Ken said and squatted down on the grass. “Let’s talk business, Lew. We two and Themba leave at first light… around 04.00 hrs. We’ll take the rifle and the shotgun, our sleeping bags, rucksacks and food.” He looked over at Garry, “You any good with a .22?”
Garry grimaced.
“Never tried.”
“I am,” Gaye said. “I’ll get you a guinea-fowl, Garry.”
“That’s fine.”
Fennel glanced up, looked at Gaye, then at Garry, then looked away.
“Okay… anyway, you have only one more day here. The day after tomorrow you take off for Kahlenberg’s place.” Ken took a pencil from his pocket and drew a rough circle in the sand. “I’ve been talking to Themba. He’s been up to Kahlenberg’s estate for the past two days.” He glanced over at Lew who was lighting a cigarette. “You listening, Lew?”
“You think I’m goddamn deaf?”
“This circle represents Kahlenberg’s estate. Themba tells me it
is guarded by a lot of Zulus south, west and east, but not on the north side. The road into the estate on the north side is reckoned impassable, but Themba has been over it. He says there’s one really tricky bit, but if we can’t get over it, we can walk. It’s our only safe way in.”
“How far do we walk if we can’t drive?” Fennel asked, leaning forward as Ken marked a spot on the north side of the circle.
“Twenty kilometres as near as damn it.”
Fennel thought of his heavy tool bag.
“But there’s a chance we can get through in the truck?”
“Themba thinks so, so long as it doesn’t rain too hard. If it really rains then we are in trouble.”
“Well; some people have all the luck,” Fennel said, looking over at Garry, but Garry wasn’t to be drawn. He got up and walked over to watch Themba cooking the birds. He wished he could speak Afrikaans. There was something about the big Bantu’s face that appealed to him. As if reading his thoughts, Themba looked up and grinned cheerfully and then continued to turn the spit.
Gaye joined Garry.
“Hmmmm, smells good… I’m starving.”
Themba raised a finger and crossed it with, a finger of his left hand.
“That means you have to wait half an hour,” Garry said. “Come over to the chopper. I’ll tell you about it.”
They walked over to the helicopter.
Fennel watched them, his eyes glittering. Ken had no desire to talk to him. He went over and joined Themba. They spoke together in Afrikaans.
“Looks like rain soon?” Ken said, squatting beside the Bantu.
“Could come tonight.”
Ken grimaced.
“Well, we’ve got the winch. If that doesn’t pull us out, nothing will.”
“Yes.”
They talked on. Half an hour later, the birds were cooked. It was dark now and the air heavy and close. They oil sat around the fire, eating with their fingers. Without Fennel, he party could have been gay, but his dour expression and his silence killed any light-hearted atmosphere.
When they had finished and Themba had cleared up, Ken said, “I’m turning in. We have to be up early tomorrow.”
“Yes… I’m dying to sleep.” Gaye got to her feet.
“Give you five minutes to get into your bag,” Ken said, then I’m coming in.”
Gaye disappeared into the tent.
“I guess I’ll join you,” Garry said, stretching. “That was some meal.” He looked at Fennel. “You turning in?”
“Is the smoke sleeping in there?”
“If you mean is Themba sleeping in there… he is.”
Fennel spat in the fire.
“I don’t dig breathing the same air as a black man.”
“Okay… take your sleeping bag out then.”
Fennel got swiftly to his feet and advanced on Ken, his fists clenched. He was much more powerfully built than Ken who wouldn’t have stood a chance against him. Garry stepped between them, facing Fennel.
“I’m getting fed up with you,” he said evenly. “If you’re aching to hit some one, hit me.”
Fennel eyed him, hesitated, then backed away.
“Go to hell,” he growled and sat down. He sat by the dying fire long after the others were sleeping, then finally realizing he must get some sleep, he entered the tent and crawled into his sleeping bag.
Towards 02.00 hrs. the sound of rain drumming on the roof of the tent woke them all.
Above the sound of the rain came the choked roar of a lion.