Deon Meyer - Blood Safari

He couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

‘Saturday!’ he shouted at me. ‘Saturday? And you’re only calling now?’

‘Carel, calm down.’

‘That’s three days! How dare you only call me now? How bad is Emma?’

‘Carel, I want you to shut the fuck up and listen. I owe you nothing. I’m phoning you as a courtesy. I know who attacked us. I’m going to get them, every one. Not for you. For Emma. I am on a farm by the name of Moüasedi, on the gravel road between Green Valley and Mariepskop. It’s just a question of time before I get them.’

I hoped he would ask the right question. He didn’t disappoint me. ‘Who? Who was it?’

‘It’s a long story and I haven’t got the time right now. I’ll tell you everything when it’s over. It won’t be long. I’m going to blow the whole thing wide open.’

‘You were supposed to protect her, it was your job.’

‘Goodbye, Carel.’ I cut the connection.

He would phone back immediately, I knew. I checked my watch. Nineteen seconds and Emma’s phone rang. The screen said ‘Carel’. I killed the call. Waited again. This time it was twenty seconds. Killed it. Another nineteen and it rang again. My money was on three times, but Carel was a determined Rich Afrikaner. He tried six times before giving up. I could see him in his den, angry and indignant, with a cigar between his fingers. He would pace up and down and try to remember what I had said about the hospital and the doctor and then he would phone them.

It was time for me to make my third call. I keyed in the number.

‘Serious and Violent Crimes Unit, how may I help you?’

‘May I speak to Inspector Jack Phatudi, please?’

‘Hold on.’

She put me through to an extension that rang and rang. Eventually, she got back on the line.

‘You are holding for?’

‘Inspector Jack Phatudi.’

‘The inspector is not in. Is there a message?’

‘Yes, please. Tell him that Lemmer called.’

‘Who?’

‘Lemmer,’ I spelled out my surname for her.

‘OK. What is the message?’

I lied blatantly. ‘Please tell him that I know who gave the note to Edwin Dibakwane.’

‘Edwin Dibakwane?’

‘Yes.’

‘I will tell him. How can he contact you?’

‘He’s got my number.’

‘OK.’

To make doubly sure, I also phoned the SAPS offices in Hoedspruit to leave him the same message, but to my surprise they said, ‘Please hold for Inspector Phatudi,’ and then he answered with an unfriendly ‘Yes?’

‘Jack, it’s Lemmer.’

A few seconds of silence. ‘What do you want?’

‘I know who gave the letter to Edwin Dibakwane.’

‘Who?’

‘I can’t tell you now, Jack. First, I want you to apologise for yesterday. Your manners leave a lot to be desired. I hope your mother doesn’t know how you behave.’

He lost his temper instantly. ‘My mother?’

‘Yes, Jack, your mother. I am sure she taught you better manners than that. Are you going to say sorry?’

He answered me in sePedi. I couldn’t understand the words, but I gathered from the tone that it wasn’t an apology.

‘Then I’ll say goodbye, Jack,’ I said. I cut off the call and switched Emma’s cell phone off.

The broad stretch of thick bush between the farm entrance and the homestead was a problem. The good news was that I would be invisible inside. The bad news was that I couldn’t watch the potential access routes and the house at the same time.

I chose a hiding place just over ten metres away from the edge of the thicket, where I could see the gate and more than a kilometre of access road plus a large stretch of the boundary fence without being seen. There were no shops selling binoculars that were open in Nelspruit. I would have to make do.

I removed stones and branches so I could sit comfortably against a tree. I placed the Glock within easy reach. I opened the box of ten Twinkies, took the contents out of the plastic and arranged them on the upturned khaki bush hat I had bought at Pick ’n Pay. It was food that did not crunch or otherwise make a noise. I put the four bottles of Energade down beside the Twinkies and opened one. Not ice cold, but good enough.

I checked my watch. Just under an hour since I had contacted Donnie. Theoretically they could turn up any moment. I didn’t think they would. He would have to call the other masked wonders first. They would have to discuss weapons and strategy. Up till now they had been night owls on escapades. My best guess was that they’d show up around midnight. Maybe later. In the meantime, I would wait. Just in case.

I ate one Twinkie. Drank Energade.

I read on the box that more than five hundred million of these confections were sold annually. Since 1930 Twinkies had attained cult status. President Clinton put one in a time capsule. The American Association of Press Photographers had recently held an exhibition of photos with Twinkies as the subject. People even made wedding cakes out of Twinkies.

I put the carton down. I wondered why Clinton didn’t put a cigar in the time capsule. That would have pleased Carel the Rich.

The piece of open veld out there was suddenly in shade.

The sun had set behind Mariepskop. It was going to be a long night.

35

When you’re hiding, you have to sit still.

I’m not good at sitting still. Despite my best attempts to make the hollow in the tree comfortable, after an hour it was full of irritations. When I shifted my body I did it slowly and deliberately, so my movements would not attract attention.

But I knew no one was watching me. It was a lesson I learned early on in my career as a bodyguard – people can sense when someone is watching them. I was usually the one watching, on constant alert for possible risk. Nine times out of ten the object of my observation became aware of it. It’s a primitive instinct, but it exists. Some people react quickly, their sense is well developed, the reaction swift and aggressive. For others, it is a slower process, a systematic awakening that is at first unsure and seeks confirmation. I had learned to watch more subtly. I experimented with sidelong glances, peripheral vision, and realised that it made no great difference. The observed feel the interest, not the focus of the eye.

In the bush around me the nightlife began to stir. It was a whole new series of noises made by insects, birds and unidentified animals, a rustling of leaves and twigs. Midges and mosquitoes showed interest, but the insect repellent I had rubbed on did its job.

Twice I stood up slowly to stretch my limbs and encourage circulation. I ate and drank, watched and listened. I was calmer now that events were set in motion and a new row of dominoes was set up. I wondered who would make the first one fall.

I thought about Emma and how badly I had read her, how prejudiced I was. I don’t like rich people. It’s partly envy, let me confess, but it is also experience, because I have been watching them for the past eighteen years. First, it was the wealthy influen-tials looking for the minister’s ear, more recently it was my ‘clients’, as Jeanette referred to them. The overwhelming majority of rich people were bastards, self-important and self-obsessed.

Especially the Rich Afrikaner.

My father had saved a bunch of yellowed photos in a flat tea tin on the top shelf of his wardrobe. Two were photographs of our forebears: my great-grandfather and his three brothers, four bearded men in white shirts and jackets. According to my father it was taken at the turn of the century after the loss of the family farm, when the Afrikaner had nothing. The four Lemmers’ poverty was obvious from the cut and simplicity of their clothes. But there was a look in their eyes of pride, determination and dignity.