Tony Park - Silent Predator

Carla stood on tiptoes, letting go of his hand. He knew he should move it, but it was an intensely erotic moment, made even more so by the risk of getting caught. ‘No,’ he said, finally removing his hand. He thought of Sannie, the way he had finally broken through her resolve and convinced her nothing had gone on between him and Carla.

She ground her lips against his, trying to open his mouth with her tongue. Tom broke the kiss and turned at the sound of a footfall.

‘Time to go,’ Sannie said, emerging from between the second and third Land Cruisers.

Sannie sat on the bench seat behind Tom for the trip back to Tinga. She ignored his pathetic attempts to explain away exactly what she had seen. Fondling that bloody woman and kissing her while the man he was supposed to be protecting was not ten metres away.

‘What were you thinking? You’re a protection officer!’ It was the only thing she said to him for the whole drive.

‘I told you, she made the move on me. I told her to stop it, and I always had Greeves in sight.’

She ignored him. To think she had almost let him into her life and, worst of all, had almost let him into her children’s lives.

Sannie had meant what she said to Tom earlier, about taking it slowly and just being friends for now, but she had allowed herself the briefest fantasy about what he might look like out of his shirt. His skin was pale — typically English — but his face and arms were showing the beginnings of an African tan. With his dark hair and thick eyebrows she guessed he had some Celtic blood in him. She felt stupid now, not only for allowing herself to have feelings for the man, but for the way she felt betrayed by someone she had no legitimate claim on.

Tom tried to apologise again when they all met in the reception area for pre-dinner drinks, to convince Sannie he’d done nothing wrong. He failed, spectacularly. She turned on her high heels and walked away from him.

‘Lovers’ tiff?’ Bernard sauntered over with a gin and tonic in his hand.

‘Misunderstanding.’

‘I’d go for the raven-haired one, if I were you. Better dress sense and I think she’d go off.’

Tom smiled and shook his head. He, Bernard, Indira, Carla and Sannie were seated together for dinner, while the two politicians dined at another table with three senior officials from the Kruger National Park and one of the lodge’s owners.

Sannie took the seat opposite Tom, but an elaborate silver candelabra made face-to-face conversation with her impossible, even if she had wanted to talk to him. Instead, Sannie chatted to Indira, whom Tom knew she disliked intensely, and Bernard, who managed to make her laugh a couple of times over dinner.

Carla was seated next to him, and he was sure he caught Sannie giving him the evil eye at the precise moment that Carla was squeezing his thigh under the table.

Greeves stood, clinking his glass with his fork, and made a short speech of thanks for the hospitality shown to them all by the staff at Tinga, and the South African government and National Parks Board. Dule responded, alluding to the ‘positive talks’ the pair had had on a range of issues.

After coffee, Greeves and Dule excused themselves at the same time. Carla winked at Tom, but he ignored her, as both he and Sannie followed the lodge security guards who were allocated to escort Greeves and Dule back to their rooms.

‘Thanks, Tom.’ Greeves opened the door to his suite. ‘Good work eluding that photographer today. Go get yourself a nightcap and I’ll see you at six in the morning. Don’t be late.’

‘Night, sir.’

Sannie was walking towards him, having just seen her principal safely off. ‘If you let me buy you a drink I’ll explain to you that this was all a mistake. There’s nothing going on between me and Carla.’

‘Then why was she stroking your cock during dinner? Goodnight, Tom.’ She made his name sound like a four-letter word as she left with her guard.

‘Bloody women,’ Tom said to himself. He could have gone back to his suite then. Should have. ‘Take me back to the lodge,’ he said to the security man instead.

Bernard and Indira had turned in, but Carla was behind the bar. She waved him over, then bent down, out of sight. By the time he reached her she had a frosted glass of lager waiting on the polished counter.

‘I shouldn’t,’ he said.

‘Go on. One won’t kill you.’ She poured herself a glass of wine.

Tom picked up the now dewy glass and took a long drink. She was right, one wouldn’t kill him. ‘You were pretty outrageous today, out in the bush.’

‘You haven’t seen anything yet.’ The security guard was hovering nearby, near the reception area. ‘Thanks, George,’ she called. ‘You can leave for the night. I’ll see Mr Furey back to his room.’

They walked to his suite and, when they stopped outside, he kissed her. A beautiful woman wanted him to make love to her. Sannie didn’t want to speak to him. He felt light headed, but put it down to dehydration, and maybe her perfume.

He needed Carla, right now, but when they got inside she excused herself and went to the bathroom. He felt dizzy, and had trouble parting the mosquito net. He cursed and sat heavily on the turned-down bed. He put a hand to his eyes. No. This wasn’t right.

When she returned she was naked, her hairless body gleaming gold in the soft light of the bedside lamp. The protest died on his lips as she lowered herself to her knees and undid the buckle of his belt.

Today

The Kruger Park Times was a small newspaper which served the national park and the private game reserves and local communities bordering Kruger.

Shelley du Toit was six months out of varsity and counted herself lucky getting a journalism job anywhere in the country. A white city girl, she was no expert on the bush and had only visited the lowveld a few times on school holidays. Shelley was determined to make up for lost time, however, and had gladly relocated to the other end of South Africa to get her first job as a reporter.

She was determined to become an expert not only on her country’s wildlife, game reserves and South Africa’s flagship national park, but also to practise the skills she had been taught at Rhodes University. Shelley was interested in hard news, as well as the usual puff pieces about fundraising activities, school sports and regurgitated press releases that filled any local newspaper. She had made it a priority, soon after getting the job and moving to the tiny dorp of Hoedspruit, to get to know Kruger’s police chief, Isaac Tshabalala.

Isaac, naturally, wanted to paint a picture of Kruger as a crime-free paradise, which was kept that way by the vigilance of his hard- working officers and, of course, himself. He wanted stories carrying regular reminders about the road rules in the park, and announcements of holiday blitzes on speeding and unroadworthy vehicles. That was all well and good, and Shelley was happy to oblige, but she had recently heard about a scam where park supplies — everything from toilet paper and soap, to sheets and towels — were being smuggled out and sold to middlemen in neighbouring communities. It was a black market in government property. A real-life, honest-to-goodness hard news story. Perhaps the first step on the road to her dream to work as an investigative reporter on a daily newspaper, initially in South Africa, and later abroad.

She had asked to see Isaac, to put some hard questions to him about theft of park supplies, and he had offered to pick her up early from Orpen Gate, the nearest entry to the park to Hoedspruit. He was going to check on the operation of some state-of-the-art speed cameras and told Shelley he would be happy to answer her questions on the condition she brought her camera with her and did a story on the new enforcement cameras. It sounded like a fair deal to Shelley.