Eagle in the Sky - Smith Wilbur - Страница 63

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Land Rover was very close and then flapping heavily up into the trees to

crouch there grotesquely with their bald scaly heads out-thrust.

There were sixteen dead buffalo, lying strung out along the line of the

herd's flight.  On each carcass the belly had been split open to let the

vultures in, and the sirloin and fillet had been expertly removed.

He killed them just for a few pounds of meat?  Debra asked

incredulously.

That's all, David confirmed grimly.  But that's not bad, sometimes

they'll kill a wildebeest simply to make a fly whisk of its tail, or

they'll shoot a giraffe for the marrow in its bones.  I don't

understand, Debra's voice was hopeless.  What makes a man do it?  He

can't need the meat that badly.  No, David agreed.  It's deeper than

that.  This type of killing is a gut thing.  This man kills for the

thrill of it, he kills to see an animal fall, to hear the death cry, to

smell the reek of fresh blood, his voice choked off, this is one time

you can be thankful you cannot see he said softly.

Conrad Berg found them waiting beside the corpses, and he set his

rangers to work butchering the carcasses.

No point in wasting all that meat.  Food there for a lot of people. Then

he put Sam to the spoor.  There had been four men in the poaching party,

one wearing light rubbersoled shoes and the others bare-footed.

One white man, big man, long legs.  Three black men, carry meat, blood

drip here and here.  They followed Sam slowly through the open forest as

he patted the grass with his long thin tracking staff, and moved towards

the unsurfaced public road.

Here they walk backwards, Sam observed, and Conrad explained grimly.

Old poacher's trick.  They walk backwards when they cross a boundary. If

you cut the soar while patrolling the fence you think they have gone the

other way leaving instead of entering, and you don't bother following

them.  The spoor went through a gap in the fence, crossed the road and

entered the tribal land beyond.  It ended where a motor vehicle had been

parked amongst a screening thicket of wild ebony.  The tracks bumped

away across the sandy earth and rejoined the public road.

Plaster casts of the tyre tracks?  David asked.

Waste of time.  Conrad shook his head.  You can be sure they are changed

before each expedition, he keeps this set especially and hides it when

it's not in use.  'What about spent cartridge shells?  David persisted.

Conrad laughed briefly.  They are in his pocket, this is a fly bird.

He's not going to scatter evidence all over the country.  He picks up as

he goes along.  No, we'll have to sucker him into it.  And his manner

became businesslike.  Right, have you selected a place to stake old Sam

out?  I thought we would put him up on one of the kopies, near the

String of Pearls.  He'll be abe to cover the whole estate from there,

spot any dust on the road, and the height will give the two-way radio

sufficient range.  After lunch David loaded their bags into the luggage

compartment of the Navajo.  He paid the servants two weeks wages in

advance.

Take good care.  He told them.  I shall return before the end of the

month.

He parked the Land-Rover in the open hangar with the key in the ignition

facing the open doorway, ready for a quick start.  He took off and kept

on a westerly -heading, passing directly over Bandolier Hill and the

buildings amongst the mango trees.  They saw no sign of life, but David

held his course until the hill sank from view below the horizon, then he

came around on a wide circle to the south and lined up for Skukuza, the

main camp of the Kruger National park.

Conrad Berg was at the airstrip in his truck to meet the Cessna, and

Jane had placed fresh flowers in the guest room.  Jabulani lay fifty

miles away to the northwest.

It was like squadron Red standby again, with the Navajo parked under one

of the big shade trees at the end of the Skukuza airstrip, and the radio

set switched on, crackling faintly on the frequency tuned to that of

Sam's transmitter, as he waited patiently on the hill-top above the

pools.

The day was oppressively hot, with the threat of a rainstorm looming up

out of the east, great cumulus thunderheads striding like giants across

the busliveld.

Debra and David and Conrad Berg sat in the shade of the aircraft's wing,

for it was too hot in the cockpit.

They chatted in desultory fashion, but always listening to the radio

crackle, and they were tense and distracted.

He is not going to come, said Debra a little before noon.

He'll come, Conrad contradicted her.  Those buffalo are too much

temptation.  Perhaps not today, but tomorrow or the next day he'll come.

David stood up and climbed in through the open door of the cabin.  He

went forward to the cockpit.

T, Sam, he spoke into the microphone.  Can you hear me?

There was a long pause, presumably while Sam struggled with radio

procedure, then his voice, faint but clear:I hear you, Nkosi.

Have you seen anything?  'There is nothing. Keep good watch.  'Yebho,

Nkosi.

Jane brought a cold picnic lunch down to the airstrip, they ate heartily

despite the tension, and they were about to start on the milk tart, when

suddenly the radio set throbbed and hummed.  Sam's voice carried clearly

to where they sat.

He has come!

Red standby, Go!  Go!  shouted David, and they rushed for the cabin

door, Debra treading squarely in the centre of Jane's milk tart before

David grabbed her arm and guided her to her seat.

Bright Lance, airborne and climbing, David laughed with excitement and

then memory stabbed him with a sharp blade.  He remembered Joe hanging

out there at six o'clock but he shut his mind to it and he banked

steeply on to his headin& not wasting time in grabbing for altitude but

staying right down at tree-top level.

Conrad Berg was bunched in the seat behind them, and his face was redder

than usual, seeming about to burst like an over-ripe tomato.

Where is the Land-Rover key?  he demanded anxiously.  It's in the

ignition, and the tank is full Can't you go faster?  Conrad growled.

Have you got your walkie talkie?  David checked him.

Here!  It was gripped in one of his huge paws, and his double-barrelled

.  450 magnum was in the other.

David was hopping the taller trees, and sliding over the crests of

higher ground with feet to spare.  They flashed over the boundary fence

and ahead of them lay the hills of Jabulani.

Get ready, he told Conrad, and flew the Navajo into the airstrip,

taxiing up to the hangar where the Land Rover waited.

Conrad jumped down at the instant that David braked to a halt, then he

slammed the cabin door behind him and raced to the Land-Rover.

Immediately David opened the throttle and swung the aircraft around,

lining up for his take-off before the Navajo had gathered full momentum.

As he climbed, he saw the Land-Rover racing across the airstrip,

dragging a cloak of dust behind it.

Do you read me, Conrad?

Loud an clear, Conra s voice boomed out of the speaker, and David turned

for the grey ribbon of the public road that showed through the trees,

beyond the hills.

He followed it, flying five hundred feet above it, and he searched the

open parkland.

The green Ford truck had been concealed from observation at ground

level, again in a thicket of wild ebony, but it was open from the sky.

For Akkers had never thought of discovery coming from there.

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