Tony Park - Silent Predator

‘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.