Leopard Hunts in Darkness - Smith Wilbur (книга бесплатный формат .TXT) 📗
"He has had secret meetings with a stranger, a foreigner, a man who I believe is an important member of Russian intelligence."
"Are you sure, Timon?"
"I have seen the man with my own eyes." Craig thought about that for a few seconds, and then reverted to his original question.
"Okay, leave the Russians for the moment where is Tungata Zebiwe? Where is Fungabera holding him?"
"Again, I do not know, I'm sorry, Mr. Mellow."
"If he is alive, then may the Lord have mercy on his soul," Craig whispered.
He could imagine what Tungata must be suffering. He was silent for a few minutes and then he changed the line of questioning.
"General Fungabera has seized my property for himself, not for the state? I am correct in believing that?"
"The general wanted that land very badly. He spoke of it often."
"How? I mean, even qjjsi-legally, how will he work it?"
"It is very simple,".Timon explained. "You are an admit red enemy of the state. Your property is forfeited. It will be confiscated to the state. The Land Bank will repudiate the suretyship for your loan under the release clause which you signed. The custodian of enemy property will put up your shares of Rholands Company for sale by private tender.
General Fungabera's tender will be accepted his brotherin-law is custodian of enemy property. The tender price will be greatly advantageous to the general."
"Add
41 bet," said Craig bitterly.
"But why should he go to such lengths?" Sally-Anne demanded. "He must be a millionaire many times over.
Surely he has enough already?"
"Miss Jay. For some men there is no such thing as enough."
"He cannot hope to get away with it, surely?" "Who is there to prevent him doing so, Miss Jay?" And when she did not reply, Timon went on, "Africa is going back to where it was before the white man intruded. There is only one criterion for a ruler here and that is strength.
We Africans do not trust anything else. Fungabera is strong, as Tungata Zebiwe was once strong. "Timon glanced at his wrist-watch. "But we must eat. I think we will have a long day ahead of us." He pulled off the track, and drove the Land-Rover into a patch of second-growth scrub. He climbed onto the bormetand arranged branches to cover the vehicle, hiding it from detection from the air, and then opened the case of emergency rations from the locker under the passenger seat. There was water in the tank under the floorboards Craig filled a metal canteen with sand and soaked the sand with gasoline from the reserve tank. It made a smokeless burner on which to brew tea. They ate the unappetizing cold rations with little conversation.
Once Timon turned up the volume on the radio to listen to a transmission, then shook his head.
"Nothing to do with us." He came back to squat beside Craig.
"How far to the border, do you reckon?" Craig asked with a mouth full of cold, sticky bully beef.
"Forty miles, or a little more." The radio crackled to life again, and Timon jumped u PI and stooped over it attentively.
"There is a unit of the Third Brigade just a few miles ahead of us," he reported. "They are at the mission station Jim at Empandeni. There has been action against dissidents, but they had dealt with them and they are moving out.
Perhaps this way. We must be careful."
"I will check that we are hidden from the road." Craig stood up. "Sally-Anne, douse the fire! Captain, cover me!" He picked up the AK 47 and ran back to the track.
Critically he examined the patch of scrub that concealed the Land-Rover and then brushed over his own tracks and those of the vehicle with a leafy twig, and carefully straightened the grass that the Land-Rover had flattened where it left the road. It wasn't perfect, but it would bear a cursory examination from a speeding vehicle, he thought, and then there was a faint vibration on the windless air.
He listened. The sound of truck motors, strengthening.
Craig ran back to the Land-Rover and climbed into the front seat beside Timon.
"Put your rifle back in the rack," Timon said, and when Craig hesitated, "Please do as I say, Mr. Mellow. If they find us, it will be useless to fight. I will have to try and talk our way through. I couldn't explain if you were armed." Reluctantly Craig passed the weapon back to Sally Anne She racked it and Craig was left feeling naked and vulnerable. He clenched his fists in his lap. The sound of motors grew swiftly, and then over them the voices of men singing. The song grew louder, and despite his tension Craig felt the hair prickle on the nape of his neck to the peculiar beauty of African-4voices raised in song.
"Third Brigade," Timon said. "That is the "Song of the Rain Winds", the praise song of the regiment." Neither of them replied, and Timon hummed the tune to himself, and then began to sing softly. He had a startlingly true and thrilling voice.
"When the nation bunts, the rain winds bring relief, When the cattle are drought-stricken, the rain winds lift them up, When your children cry with thirst, the rain winds slake them, We are the winds that bring the rain, We are the good winds of the nation." Timon translated from the Shana for their benefit, and now Craig could see the grey dust of the trucks smoking up above the scrub, and the singing was close and clear.
There was a flash of reflected sunlight off metal, and then through the foliage Craig caught quick glimpses of the passing convoy. There were three trucks, painted a dull sand colour, and the backs were crowded with soldiers in battle camouflage and bush hats, their weapons held ready at the high port position. On the cab of the last truck rode an officer, the only one of them wearing the red beret and silver cap badge He looked directly at Craig, and seemed very close, the screen of foliage suddenly very sparse. Craig shrank back in his seat.
