Tony Park - Silent Predator

Carla had some cheek, he mused, telling Sannie she believed she had left an earring in his suite at Tinga. Perhaps it was because she had been with Nick — and somehow he felt he was intruding on something — or perhaps it was just her over-the-top personality, but he didn’t feel she should be the first woman he slept with after Alex’s death. He had felt the stirrings of physical arousal when they had been drinking together and Carla had laid her hand on his thigh, but he had put the inevitable thoughts out of his head. He’d never had sex while away on a job; he’d been faithful to Alex during their marriage, and since then the opportunity had never arisen.

He’d politely fobbed off Carla, saying he was tired from his flight and his game drive. Undeterred, she had said, ‘Well, that’s one cup of coffee you owe me when you come back with your VIP.’ He’d turned her around and gently ushered her out of his room.

He wondered, as the aircraft took off, if Carla would still be interested in him when they returned. She had said, as she’d left, ‘I can’t promise not to try again.’

‘Mint?’ Bernard Joyce, Greeves’s defence policy advisor, asked him from across the narrow aisle. ‘Helps me unblock my ears when we take off and land.’

‘No thanks,’ Tom said.

Helen MacDonald had told him: ‘You’ll like being away with Bernard. He’s a scream. Camp as a row of tents, and sharp as a tack. He’s ex-Royal Navy — youngest second-in-command of a nuclear submarine ever.’

‘I hate Africa,’ Bernard said, leaning across. ‘Bloody dust and heat, and all those wild animals.’

‘I saw a leopard on my first visit, just a few days ago,’ Tom said.

‘Bully for you. Completely unnatural, if you ask me, driving around with no doors and windows, three feet away from lions and hyenas and the like.’

‘As opposed to cruising around half a mile under the water?’

‘Ah,’ Joyce said, raising an eyebrow, ‘I imagine our big-mouthed Kiwi spin doctor has been giving you the gossip on everyone?’

‘It’s all been good so far,’ Tom assured him.

‘I’m sure it has. We’re an odd bunch, we loyal foot-soldiers of Robert Greeves, but he’s a great man, Tom, don’t doubt it.’

He nodded. He was starting to think so himself.

Three of Tinga’s open-sided Land Cruisers were waiting at the Skukuza airstrip.

Once the official airport for the Kruger National Park, the Skukuza runway, which was inside the park’s borders, had been reserved for private charter aircraft since the building of a new regional international airport near Nelspruit about forty kilometres to the south.

‘Welcome, Minister Dule, Minister Greeves,’ Carla Sykes said. She looked sophisticated and attractive, despite the shimmering heat haze rising from the Tarmac. Tom reminded himself to concentrate on the job.

At Dule’s urging, Greeves posed for a photograph of the two of them, with three air force flight attendants, in front of the Boeing.

‘Oh, I found my earring by the way,’ Carla said both to Sannie and Tom as they all waited for the picture to be taken. ‘It wasn’t in Tom’s room after all, it was in the library!’

Sannie van Rensburg wondered who Carla had been fucking in the library. She was still angry at herself and her petty jealousy of the woman, and she tried to concentrate on the broad back and bald black head of Patrick Dule. She was in the back row of seats of the Land Cruiser carrying the two dignitaries, while Tom sat in front, next to Duncan Nyari.

There was something about Carla that grated on her — many things, in fact — but it was hard to fathom why she felt as strongly as she did about the woman. So she slept around, big deal, but it didn’t seem appropriate, she thought, for a woman in her position to flaunt herself in front of guests, particularly when they were there on business, as Tom Furey had been.

She chided herself again. Hadn’t she almost slept with her workplace superior? How professional was that? Anyway, all these thoughts only served to remind her that business and pleasure most definitely did not mix. It was good to be back in the bush again so soon. The sights and smells and general feeling of wellbeing she got from the Kruger Park almost made up for the fact that she would be missing her kids by nightfall. Little Christo had recovered from his head wound and was back at school. He’d asked if she would be seeing Tom, the Englishman who played football. ‘I want to show him my scar,’ he’d said.

Tom glanced back at her. She looked away, scanning the bush for wildlife and other lurking dangers.

Three of Tinga’s staff were waiting for the vehicles. Two carried platters filled with cool drinks; the third, a tray stacked with cold hand towels. Carla leapt from the Land Cruiser she had shared with the ministers’ staffers and started organising other employees to escort everyone to their rooms. The politicians were looked after first. The South African minister’s policy advisor was an Indian woman called Indira. Sannie found her brusque and bossy, unlike the minister, who was actually quite charming.

‘Sannie, won’t you please take my bag to my room. I have to go and check the meeting room for the minister,’ Indira said to her.

‘I’m sure the staff can do that,’ Sannie replied. She wasn’t the minister’s bag carrier, and she certainly wasn’t Indira’s lackey either.

‘Hello there,’ Tom said, walking up to the two women. ‘Sannie, have you let Captain Tshabalala know that we’ve arrived?’

‘Of course,’ she said, knowing she sounded irritated and seeing that he picked up on her feelings. She had overreacted, but he was telling her how to do her job now. She guessed that Tom was simply trying to ensure everything was being done by the book, and he couldn’t have known that Indira had just irked her as well. ‘Yes, Tom,’ she said, her tone softer now. ‘I’ve made the call.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’ll take a stroll along the board-walks on either side of the lodges.’

‘I’ll check out the conference room. The meeting’s not due to start for half an hour — it’ll give the politicians time to freshen up.’

He nodded, looked at her as though there was something else he wanted to say, but she guessed the presence of Indira, who was squawking into her cell phone beside her, stopped him. He left and she went off to the conference room, leaving the bags with Indira, who gave her a pained look, which Sannie ignored.

Sannie watched Tom walk away. She regretted snapping at him and wanted to tell him what Christo had said. Perhaps she would try to be a bit more civil to him later on. They might have time to chat while their principals were locked in their meeting and working lunch.

A maid was placing jugs of juice and iced water in the private room, but otherwise it was empty. Sannie walked out onto the deck and surveyed the bush around the lodge’s function area. There were no animals in sight, and no sign of spoor or flattened grass to indicate anything or anyone had been circling the room in the last couple of days. It was all clear.

When Sannie returned to the central reception area she saw Tom walking back from the far end of the boardwalk, but he was not alone. Carla was walking by his side — very close, as the walkway was quite narrow. She laughed, too loudly, at something he had just said and the cackle sounded to Sannie like a hyena’s call. Carla put her hand on Tom’s arm and any charitable thoughts Sannie had had disappeared.

‘Can’t wait to get the VIPs sorted,’ Carla said in an exaggerated stage whisper to Sannie as they approached her, ‘then we can all settle down to some lunch and gossip.’

Lunch at Tinga was every bit as good as Tom’s last meal at the lodge. This time they had kabeljou, a South African fish grilled and served with golden chips. A simple meal but very tasty.