The Cull

Prologue

She killed quietly, strangling the life out of her victim.

It was her special skill, the ability to take a life in the darkness, without making a sound. She was a single mother and she did what she did for the sake of her daughter, and herself, and she thought nothing of the act.

She had stalked her quarry carefully, creeping through the dry African bush under the bright light of a full, clear moon. She had paused in the shadow of a giant jackalberry tree and watched him. He cut a handsome figure, silhouetted against the silvery waters of the Sabie River. He was watchful, alert, looking around him and sniffing the wind for danger.

She had dropped to her belly and, with even more care than before, crept until she was within striking distance. He’d gone back to eating – one of the two things males usually had on their minds – and it was then that she had launched herself from the darkness.

It was quick, it was clean, it was necessary. It was what she had been designed for, what she had spent her life perfecting. Killing.

She needed to go about her business in silence because she, too, was being hunted. She had enemies, male and female, who were bigger, stronger than her, and some were far better armed than her.

The whispered voices of women were carried on the cool night breeze through the South African bush. In their language, xiTsonga, they called the killer Ingwe, and they were acutely aware of the danger she posed to them. They may all have been females – Ingwe and the women who patrolled the bush around her – but they were still enemies.

Ingwe listened, all her senses alert, as the life ebbed from the victim in her grasp. When at last he was still she laid him at her feet.

She lifted her head and sniffed the wind. The women were getting closer.

‘Be quiet,’ a voice hissed.

A lion called, mercifully far off, but a baboon barked its wa-hoo warning call. The baboon hadn’t seen her, but it might have seen the women, or possibly a spotted hyena.

Ingwe sensed imminent danger.

The women were getting closer and, as she had feared, a hyena lent its eerie whooping call to the cacophony of chattering baboons. Her enemies were closing in on her, but she would survive. She had to, for the sake of her daughter.

Ingwe grasped the neck of the impala ram firmly in her strong jaws, lifted him and climbed up the jackalberry tree, out of reach and sight of the women who passed below her.

Chapter 1

Sonja Kurtz was unsure of herself. It might have been an acceptable feeling for most people, but not for her.

She heard whispering ahead of her, and tittering laughter. The sounds multiplied her annoyance. ‘Be quiet.’

The women in front of her stopped making their noise. It would be Patience and Goodness, whose names belied their characters.

Sonja didn’t fear the bush, with its myriad deadly creatures, nor the armed poachers she was training the six Shangaan women with her to hunt. She was more worried about a lovely house on the banks of the Sabie River, just a few kilometres away, and a handsome man who was there right now, cooking dinner for her.

That picture of domestic bliss under an African moon worried her more than anything.

Tema Matsebula, the woman immediately in front of her, stopped and held up a hand. Tema clicked her fingers so that Patience and Goodness, the Mdluli sisters, looked back and also halted.

Sonja closed the gap between her and Tema. Tall, pretty and intelligent, Tema was the most serious and capable of her recruits to the Leopards Anti-Poaching Unit in the Sabi Sand Game Reserve. The Leopards were an all-female unit, based on the success of the first such outfit, the Black Mambas, in the Balule Reserve, north of where they were operating now.

‘What is it?’ Sonja whispered.

Tema pointed the barrel of her LM5 assault rifle, the semi-automatic version of the South African millitary’s R5, to the ground. There was a game trail, a dirt path made by the regular passing of animals towards the Sabie River. Across the path was a drag mark. Tema dropped to one knee, touched a muddy spot and raised her fingers to sniff them. ‘Kill.’

Sonja saw the compact pugmarks on either side of the drag trail; there had been an unseasonal shower of rain that morning so the tracks stood out clearly in the soil, which had retained some moisture beneath the surface. ‘Ingwe.’

‘Yes,’ Tema said quietly. ‘Leopard.’

The two women looked at each other, then down again, following the trail of blood and flattened grass that led right to the base of the trunk of the huge jackalberry tree under which they were standing.

Sonja saw, as no doubt her trainee did, the fresh pale scars that the leopard’s claws had carved into the tree’s bark. They both looked up. Sonja searched the high branches.

‘What is it now?’ Patience said. Her tone was typically surly. She would have been smarting from Sonja’s sharp command for her to be quiet. Patience took every order as an insult.

‘Ingwe,’ said Tema.

Patience’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped as Tema pointed upwards.

Sonja finally located the sleek silhouette, though the big cat was expertly camouflaged. It raised its head. ‘Nobody move.’

‘Eish,’ said Patience. She brushed past Sonja and Tema, waddling quickly back the way they had come.

‘Patience, I said don’t move.’

‘I don’t care.’ Patience spoke in her normal voice, not bothering to whisper. ‘Stop telling me what to do. I’m going home.’

There was a rustle in the branches above and a dappled blur as the leopard ran halfway down the tree trunk then launched itself into mid-air above Sonja’s head. Goodness screamed as the leopard hit the ground. Patience looked back, changed direction and ran.

‘Don’t run,’ Sonja called. The leopard seemed as startled and confused as the women around it. Sonja thought it might chase down the fleeing Patience. She raised her LM5 to her shoulder and took aim.

A burst of gunfire sent the women diving for the ground, but Sonja hadn’t fired the bullets. Panic spread through the women like a veld fire. Sonja took in Patience, yelling in pain this time, and crumpling to the ground. The leopard bounded away into the night, away from them all. Goodness screamed her sister’s name.

Tema returned fire, two shots. ‘By the big leadwood, towards the river.’

Good girl, Sonja thought. Tema had seen where the shots had come from and given a target indication, as per her training. Sonja got up. ‘Tema, with me.’ She looked to the other women in the patrol. They looked justifiably terrified. ‘Mavis, Lungile, Lucy, give us covering fire. And for fuck’s sake don’t shoot us in the back.’

Sonja stood and fired two rounds to the right and the left of the leadwood. ‘Where’s Goodness?’

‘She’s run away,’ Tema said, not bothering to hide the disgust in her voice.

Patience was a pain in the butt, but Goodness was her sister. Tema set off and Sonja, a couple of decades older but just as fit, ran to catch up with her. Patience was crying out to them for help. The three women behind them fired sporadic shots in the direction from which the first burst had come.

Tema arrived at Patience first and dropped to her knees. She checked the other woman and by the time Sonja reached them Tema had her first aid kit out and was placing a field dressing over a wound in Patience’s belly.

‘Keep the pressure on the wound,’ Sonja advised.

Tema looked up at her, and swallowed hard to control her fear. ‘She’s hurt badly.’

Sonja took her handheld radio from the pouch on her belt. ‘Sabi Sand warden, this is call-sign Leopard Niner, we’re in a contact with one woman wounded, request immediate casualty evacuation …’

A storm of fire erupted from the bushes ahead of them. Tema lay across Patience to protect her. Sonja dropped to her belly, brought her LM5 to bear and returned fire.

‘We can’t stay here, we’re exposed,’ Sonja said as bullets whizzed around them. ‘Covering fire!’ she called to the others.

Sonja willed herself to stand, and fired two more bursts towards her still unseen enemies. ‘Help me get Patience on my shoulders.’

Tema ignored the order, slung her rifle and bent and hoisted Patience, much heavier than herself, in a fireman’s carry. ‘I’m younger than you.’

Sonja shook her head. She put herself between her girls and the people shooting at them and kept firing while walking backwards, as they fell back to the others.

Lucy, Lungile and Mavis had moved to a position of cover, behind a fallen tree trunk. Tema, panting, lay Patience on her back behind the other women. Lucy dropped her rifle, put a hand over her mouth and started to sob when she saw how badly Patience was hit.

Tema grabbed her by a shoulder. ‘Stop that. Stop your crying. You must be strong.’

Sonja repeated her call for assistance and was told by the reserve’s warden that he had contacted the Mission Area Joint Operations Command at Skukuza Airport, inside the neighbouring Kruger National Park. An evacuation helicopter and armed response team were being scrambled. The headquarters for the anti-poaching effort in the Kruger Park and surrounding game reserves was only twelve kilometres away and the reinforcements would be with them in minutes.

Sonja shrugged off her daypack. From inside it she took her first aid kit and handed it to Tema, to replace the dressing on Patience’s wound, which was already soaked through with blood. She also fished out a pair of night vision goggles. She had planned to give each of the women in the Leopard patrol a chance to try out the device. However, their night-time movement and navigation training exercise had suddenly turned very real.

Sonja put on the goggles and scanned the bush ahead of them.

‘I hear movement,’ Lungile said.

Sonja nodded and held up a hand for silence. About fifty metres ahead of them she saw a man. A second then moved forward and dropped to one knee behind a tree.

They were moving like soldiers, Sonja observed. One stayed still and looked for targets, ready to give covering fire, while the other moved. These men were disciplined, trained. And they were not running away, which was unusual for poachers, who tended to flee the scene once they were observed or ambushed. Also out of the ordinary for poachers was that these men had fired first.

Sonja scanned the frightened faces around her. Only Tema looked calm as she finished changing Patience’s dressing. ‘Ladies, listen to me. We have to hold on until the helicopter gets here, but these men, they are coming for us.’

‘No!’ Lucy cried.

‘Shut up,’ said Tema. ‘Listen to the commander.’

Lucy shook her head. ‘This woman wants to get us all killed.’ She started to stand but Tema slapped her face. Lucy, taken aback, sat down, rubbing her cheek.

Sonja was their mentor, not their commander, but now was not the time for semantics. If these men were not running away it meant they were intent on bringing the fight to them. If her Leopards would not, or could not fight, they might not survive until the cavalry arrived.

‘Listen up. I’m going to try to outflank them, draw their fire and keep them busy. When the shooting starts, carry Patience further back, towards Lion Sands. You know the way to the lodge, Tema?’

‘I do, madam. But I am coming with you. Lungile knows the way, she used to be a chef in the lodge there, right, sisi?’

Lungile nodded.

Sonja got back on the radio and updated the warden so he could relay the news to the inbound helicopter. Sonja didn’t want armed rangers in the sky firing on the girls as they moved towards the luxurious safari lodge on the banks of the Sabie River. ‘And tell the chopper there are at least two men armed with AK-47s, probably more, looking for a fight.’

‘Roger,’ said the warden over the radio. ‘Security’s advice is for you to retreat, as well.’

‘Whatever. Out,’ Sonja said. ‘Go with the others, Tema.’

‘No, madam.’

‘You’re not my maid, Tema, call me Sonja, and do as I tell you.’

Tema shook her head. ‘You are right, Sonja, I am not a maid, not any more, but you are our trainer, not our commander. I am a Leopard and I am coming with you. My job is to hunt poachers.’

Sonja wasn’t given to public displays of affection, not with her daughter, Emma, who she loved, nor her boyfriend or lover or friend with benefits or whatever Hudson Brand, who waited in his house along the river cooking dinner for her, liked to think of himself as. But she reached out her free hand and squeezed Tema’s arm. ‘All right. Let’s go.’

Lungile and Lucy picked up Patience, and Mavis carried her weapon and the first aid kits. Sonja and Tema retreated with them, and when Sonja was sure they were out of sight of anyone watching them, she and Tema broke off to the left. ‘Keep going until you get to Lion Sands or the chopper finds you,’ she said to the others in parting.

Sonja had expected the poachers to open fire on them as soon as they started moving, but quiet had returned to the bush, with the exception of the baboons, who were still unsettled by the firefight and the leopard.

The poachers may have retreated, but Sonja had not heard any movement in the dry bush, nor seen anyone through the night vision goggles. The men had advanced on the patrol, but then seemingly gone to ground. None of it made sense. She tried to process the events as she and Tema moved quietly through the thorny dry bushveld.

This was supposed to have been a training exercise only, to get the Leopards used to working and navigating at night. The property they were on, Lion Plains, had been hard hit by rhino poachers, but a combination of increased anti-poaching patrols and a recent scarcity of rhino sightings in the area had meant that poaching activity had been quiet for the past four weeks. It had seemed an acceptable risk to conduct the night exercise, but now they were in a very real fight with an enemy who was not acting in a way that passed for normal for illegal hunters.

Sonja was still wearing the goggles, and taking point, moving in the lead, but she stopped when Tema clicked her fingers.

Tema moved to Sonja and brought her lips close to her ear. ‘Men talking.’

Tema pointed ahead and to the right. The women slowly lowered themselves to one knee, behind a wickedly barbed buffalo thorn tree. Sonja had the benefit of modern technology, but her ears had suffered an adult lifetime spent around guns and explosives; Tema had a twenty-two-year-old’s hearing.

They waited and watched. Sonja saw movement and brought up her rifle. There were two men. One carried an AK-47 and the other a longer weapon. At first Sonja thought it was a hunting rifle, but it looked bulkier.

‘What is that gun?’ Tema whispered.

The men stopped and the man with the odd weapon said something to his comrade.

From across the Sabie River, inside the Kruger Park, came the whine of a turbine engine and the thwap of rotor blades cleaving the cool night air.

Sonja looked at the men. They had heard the helicopter approaching, because they, too, scanned the sky, but they did not run for cover. Instead the big man reached to the front of the weapon, under the barrel, and unfolded a spring-loaded bipod.

‘Shit.’

‘What is it?’ Tema asked.

‘That’s an RPD light machine gun. Russian made. They’re not just hunting rhinos with that bloody thing.’ Sonja scrabbled for her handheld radio.

‘National parks helo, national parks helo, this is Leopard Niner, anti-poaching call-sign. If you read me, break away, do not, I repeat, do not come to this location. There are armed tangos with a machine gun waiting for you. Abort mission, fly to Lion Sands.’

Sonja waited for a reply. The warden she had been speaking to earlier called and said he had heard her and would try to relay the message. In the meantime the helicopter bore down on them, low and fast, its nose-mounted searchlight tracing a path towards them.

The man with the AK-47 aimed his weapon skywards. The gunner, however, had moved behind a leadwood tree and Sonja could not get a bead on him.

‘They’re going to shoot down the helicopter,’ Sonja said. ‘They used us to draw it in, to set an ambush.’

Tema looked scared for the first time that night. ‘What are we going to do?’

Sonja had turned her back on wars, on fighting and dying, and had agreed to this job on the basis that she was a trainer, not a fighter. All that had changed in a few short minutes.

‘We’re going to kill them.’

‘Shouldn’t we try to warn the helicopter again, wait for the police?’

Sonja raised her LM5 and took aim at the man who was about to help the RPD gunner take on the helicopter. He wasn’t pointing a gun at her or threatening anyone right now, but in about five seconds both gunmen would have a clean line of sight to the helicopter.

She drew a breath, watched the tip of the barrel of her rifle rise, then exhaled half a lungful of air. She squeezed the trigger.

The man with the AK-47 staggered and fell and the machine gunner let off a long burst, prematurely, Sonja hoped.

From the bush on either side of the gunner two other AK-47s started firing on full automatic. Their combined fire and a warning from the reserve’s warden, which Sonja heard squawking through her radio, made the helicopter pilot bank sharply and peel away.

The machine gunner stepped from behind his tree and saw Sonja. He let loose a twenty-round burst and she and Tema split and sprinted for cover.

Tema flattened herself behind a tree and looked, wide-eyed, to Sonja. ‘What do we do?’

The machine gun had stopped firing. ‘We advance.’

Sonja looked around her tree, fired at the gunner who had also ducked back behind cover, then ran forward. She had the satisfaction of hearing Tema laying down covering fire. When Sonja had closed the distance between her and the men she dropped down behind a granite boulder and started firing. ‘Move, Tema!’

The other woman started running. Off to her right Sonja saw a fifth poacher break cover and raise his AK-47.

‘It’s a woman,’ the man yelled.

Sonja took aim at him and fired twice. The man fell before he could get a shot off. ‘Damn straight it’s a woman.’

Sonja searched for targets but couldn’t see any more men. She fired a few shots into the bushes where she’d last seen the machine gunner. Tema came abreast of her. ‘Stop, Tema, get down.’

Tema did as ordered but looked to her, panting. Sonja thought she could almost see disappointment, maybe anger, on the younger woman’s face. ‘Why? We have them on the run, let us finish them.’

‘They’ve got an RPD machine gun. If they find good cover and reload we’ll be tickets. You have to learn when to break contact, when to retreat.’

Tema’s lips were pressed firmly together. ‘I don’t want to retreat. I don’t ever want a man to think he can hurt me again just because I’m a woman.’

Sonja nodded. ‘I don’t think that will happen to you again, Tema.’

Tema scanned the bush, searching for targets, while Sonja checked in on her radio. She listened to conversations between several men.

‘What now?’ Tema asked.

‘The national parks helicopter was hit by ground fire. The pilot reported a fuel leak and turned back to Skukuza. Patience is in luck, though, there’s another chopper coming from one of the lodges and they’re going to take her to the hospital in Nelspruit.’

‘Thank the Lord,’ Tema said.

Sonja listened into her earpiece again. ‘Yes, and thank that British billionaire and bunny hugger Julianne Clyde-Smith who owns Khaya Ngala Safari Lodge. It’s her helicopter. Now, let’s get back to the girls.’

They stood and Tema looked over her shoulder to where the remaining men had disappeared. ‘I don’t want them to get away.’

‘Neither do I,’ Sonja said. ‘It makes me sick. But that’s what happens in war; sometimes you have to retreat.’

Tema was coming down from the adrenaline high of her first combat and Sonja knew what that was like.

Tema sniffed and wiped her eyes, the resentment gone from her voice, which was softer now. ‘This is a war.’

Chapter 2

Julianne Clyde-Smith was waiting at the entrance to Lion Sands Game Reserve when Sonja Kurtz and an African woman in the same camouflage uniform, also carrying a rifle, jogged down the access road.

A male staff member held up a platter to Sonja as she arrived. ‘A hot towel, madam?’

Sonja just stared at the man for a second. He turned to the African woman, who greeted him in xiTsonga and accepted a towel.

‘Sonja, hello, I’ve heard what happened,’ Julianne said.

‘How’s my woman?’ Sonja said to Julianne. No nonsense, just as she’d expected. ‘I just saw your helicopter take off.’

‘She’s serious, but my head of security, James Paterson, is on board, and he’ll make sure she’s well looked after. Both he and my pilot, Doug Pearse, are ex-military. James has replaced her dressings and put in an IV.’

Sonja nodded. ‘And my other operators?’

‘That’s a special forces term, I believe?’

‘Well, they started the night as trainees, but their shit just got real, as the Americans would say.’

‘Quite. Can I stand you a drink? Your ladies … er, operators, are also at the bar,’ Julianne said.

Sonja frowned, but seemed to bite back the retort that was forming. ‘With me, Tema. We need to talk about what happened tonight, all of us. Any sign of Goodness?’

‘No, she’s still missing,’ the girl called Tema said.

‘Miss Clyde-Smith,’ Sonja began.

‘Jules to my friends. Please.’

‘Julianne, thank you for the use of your helicopter. We really appreciate it, and I know of the work and the money you’ve put into conservation issues.’

‘If you have a woman missing I can task my helicopter to help in a search as soon as it returns from the hospital.’

‘Thank you,’ Sonja said. ‘She’s a local woman so I’m hoping she will head here or to the reserve gate.’

‘How about that drink?’

Julianne led the way through the white rendered open reception area to the bar on the left. A log fire burned in the fireplace, more for ambience than necessity as it was a mild evening. Sonja’s other three women got to their feet as she entered.

‘Sit,’ Sonja said. ‘What are you drinking, Lungile?’

‘Coke. We assumed we were still on duty.’

Sonja gave a small nod. ‘It’s no time for celebration.’ She turned to Julianne. ‘Will you excuse us, Julianne?’

‘Can I have ten minutes of your time, first?’ Julianne asked. ‘I’d like to speak to you privately.’

‘I really need to talk to my people.’ Sonja turned away from her.

‘Yes, I understand completely, but I have some information about the poaching gang behind tonight’s terrible business.’ Julianne beckoned to a waiter and ordered a large bottle of sparkling water and two glasses.

Sonja looked back. ‘They were way better armed than the average bunch of ragtag poachers from Mozambique, but OK, I’m listening.’

‘I know who’s bankrolling that gang, and I know about their machine gun, the RPD.’

‘How did you know about that?’

Julianne gestured to a couch in the corner of the bar. She led the way and Sonja followed. Sonja set her LM5 assault rifle down on a side table and sat down. The waiter brought their water and poured for them.

‘You look exhausted.’

‘Don’t worry about me. Talk to me,’ Sonja said.

‘You’re very direct,’ Julianne said.

‘You knew my name, just now, when I arrived, but we’ve never met. Did one of my girls tell you?’

‘Google’s a wonderful thing,’ Julianne said. ‘I know you need to get back to your troops so I’ll cut to the chase. I want to offer you a job.’

Sonja looked her in the eye. ‘I’m not in the market.’

‘Then what are you doing here, with these women?’

‘It’s a voluntary position. An old army friend who runs a charity that pairs military veterans with anti-poaching units asked me to work with the Leopards, to mentor them. He thought having a woman with some military experience train them for a few months might be better for them than just another male ex-soldier. Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a personal connection to the property next to this one, where the Leopards are based.’

Julianne had not only googled Sonja, she’d had James, the head of security for her global IT, tourism and online media company, conduct a thorough check into Sonja’s background. ‘Yes, your partner was killed at Lion Plains while filming a documentary on the plight of South Africa’s rhinos.’

Sonja took a sip of water. ‘Good old Google.’

‘You’re experienced enough to realise, I hope, that training a few women from the local townships to shoot and navigate in the bush at night won’t stop rhino poaching.’

Sonja finished her drink and set it down on the carved wooden table.

‘I realise, Julianne, that anything that helps lift women out of the drudgery of being forced to take a job as a domestic servant because of rampant unemployment when they’ve attained a respectable matriculation mark at high school is a good thing. I also realise, through my experience, that a female recruit is as good as any man, and probably better because she’s not burdened by an overdose of testosterone or her own self-importance.’ Sonja stood and turned her back on her.

‘Drink up, girls,’ she called to the women.

Julianne Clyde-Smith wasn’t used to people walking out on her, but Sonja Kurtz was everything she’d thought she would be – tough, outspoken, fearless in combat, and dedicated to the people under her command. ‘How would you like to stop rhino poaching, or reduce it to near zero?’

Sonja looked back at her. ‘You’re right about one thing. Boots on the ground, male or female, here in the Sabi Sand, isn’t enough to stop poaching here. We’re barely holding the line.’

Julianne lowered her voice. ‘How would you like to get the men who trained and commanded the poaching team you encountered tonight, who shot your operator?’

‘They’re probably in Mozambique, across the border from Kruger. They’re out of our jurisdiction, and the fact is the Mozambican government has neither the will nor the expertise to capture the ringleaders, the middlemen, nor the buyers from Asia who come looking for rhino horn and elephant ivory.’

‘Yes, you’re correct on all counts, but would you like to get them?’

Sonja raised an eyebrow. Her face was streaked where her sweat had cut through her camouflage cream. She patted the breast pocket of her uniform as though she was instinctively reaching for a cigarette. Her fingers were caked with dried blood. ‘You want me to train the Mozambican police, work with them? They don’t take kindly to strangers telling them what to do.’

‘No. What I mean is that you could do it yourself, you and a hand-picked team, operating undercover in Mozambique and wherever the poaching kingpins are living with impunity.’

She scoffed. ‘An anti-poaching black ops unit? It’s the stuff of fiction. No one’s got the balls or the money or the political will to go through with it.’

‘I’ve got the money, plenty of it, and the will. Helicopters, drones, weapons, thermal imaging gear, night vision kit. Anything you want. You name it, you get it. You can even hire some balls if you need them.’

‘It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s nothing without hard intelligence and proper targeting. Plus, who’s going to take the risk of being caught in a foreign country illegally, and why? Not for money alone.’

Julianne had anticipated her questions. She didn’t want someone who was motivated by money, nor some radical animal rights campaigner. ‘As for intelligence, I can give you the name of the person who sold the poachers that RPD machine gun you saw tonight, and the name of the man who bought it and financed tonight’s mission. I can give you his address, the make of his car and its licence plate, and the names of his wife and children.’

Sonja looked over her shoulder to the members of her team, her Leopards. She seemed to be weighing it up, and then she called to them, ‘Have another drink, girls.’

Sonja came back to Julianne and resumed her seat. ‘How did you know about the RPD?’

‘My intelligence is better than the South African government’s. I warned them about a machine gun attack on the military or an anti-poaching team, or maybe one of the security forces’ helicopters. They thought I was mad.’

‘How do you know so much more than the people at the Joint Operations Command?’

Julianne smiled. ‘I’ve got more money than them.’

‘I know. I read the newspapers.’

Julianne’s phone was set to silent, but it vibrated in her pocket. She took it out. ‘Excuse me, this is James, my head of security. Hello?’

Julianne listened to James’s report; he was at the hospital in Nelspruit. She realised Sonja must have been able to read the look on her face.

‘Bad news?’

Julianne nodded. ‘I’m so very sorry. Your woman …’

‘Patience.’

‘There was nothing my men could do to save her. They did their very best. She died in my helicopter on the way to the hospital.’

Sonja called the waiter over, her face like stone, and said to him, ‘Bring us a bottle of Klipdrift.’

‘Sonja,’ Julianne said.

‘What? I need to be with my team now.’

‘I really am very sorry for your loss. I think you, of all people, someone who has lost so much, knows that we’re in a war here, and I can tell you that it’s escalating. Tonight proved that. I could be wrong, but I don’t think you’re the sort of person to be training people when you could be making a real difference on the front line. Will you please just come to my lodge and at least hear what I have to say? I believe it’s in your best interests. We have to do more, Sonja.’

Sonja stood. ‘I’ll think about it.’

*

Hudson Brand stirred at the sound of a diesel engine.

He had fallen asleep in the comfy green canvas and brown leather designer camping chair in front of the fireplace. The house in the Hippo Rock Private Nature Reserve, on the banks of the Sabie River just outside the Kruger Park, wasn’t his, but he’d come to think of it as home over the past few years. Hippo Rock was popular with South Africans and foreigners alike, a place where people could live side by side with wildlife.

Hudson rubbed his eyes. Headlights shone through the curtain and then the engine was cut. He heard footsteps, and swearing in German. He’d learned the hard way that Sonja lapsed into German when she was angry. He went to the door.

‘Well, good morning.’ He checked his watch. She should have been home from the training patrol by nine pm, but it was after midnight.

‘Don’t get smart with me.’

She was on the defensive already, which for Sonja meant being on the attack.

‘I’ve had a shit evening,’ she said.

Hudson smelled the booze on her breath. She brushed past him and dumped her webbing gear and LM5 on the floor. ‘I heard gunfire from the Sabi Sand side. I guess that was you.’

She glared at him, rocking a little. ‘Of course it was us.’

He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. He told himself not to get angry. ‘Want to talk?’

‘I want a fucking drink.’

She went past him, across the flagstone floor to the dark hardwood drinks cabinet where the home’s owners, Cameron and Kylie, who lived in Australia and kept the Hippo Rock house as a holiday home, stored their booze. Hudson’s arrangement with the couple was that he could use whatever food and alcohol he wanted as long as he replaced it. Sonja took out a bottle of brandy; she was drinking up most of the money he received in tips as a safari guide.

‘Klippies and Coke Zero?’

‘Ja,’ she said. She dropped into an armchair, and opened the bottle.

He went to the kitchen and organised half a glass of ice and cola. She added the brandy to the brim.

‘What happened?’

‘One of my girls was shot and died of wounds on an evac chopper. Another, the dead one’s sister, is missing somewhere in the bush after running from the firefight like a scared rabbit, but I got two poachers. Shit.’ She sagged deeper into the armchair.

He reached out from the chair next to hers and took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’m so sorry, Sonja.’

She shrugged off his touch. ‘They had an RPD, for fuck’s sake.’

‘A machine gun for rhino? That’s overkill.’

‘For a helicopter.’

He whistled. ‘That’s what I call escalation.’

She looked at him. ‘This is a war, Hudson. A real, live, shooting war, and we’re losing.’

He shrugged. ‘The parks guys, the police and army do OK. Think of all the rhinos that would have been killed if they did nothing, which is pretty much what’s happened in most of Africa over the last forty years.’

She leaned towards him and once again he could smell the booze on her breath. ‘Yes, but we’re not winning. We have to do more.’

‘Sure. Are you hungry?’ He wanted to try to take her mind off the evening’s traumatic events.

Sonja reclined in her chair again and raised her glass. ‘Eating’s cheating, that’s what the Australians say. Did I tell you about these Aussie guys I got drunk with in Afghanistan? All illegal, of course. They weren’t allowed to have alcohol.’

‘Dinner’s in the oven, but it’s as dry as biltong now. I saved you some.’

‘What?’

She sat up, like a cat with its hair raised. His first impression of her, when he’d met her in Etosha National Park in Namibia two years earlier, was of a feral animal. She had that look about her again now. ‘Nothing.’

‘You’re pissed off at me because I wasn’t home right on the dot? Is that it? Well, let me tell you, while you were here playing MasterChef, I was out fighting the fucking war.’

‘It’s OK, Sonja.’

She drained her drink, in only her second mouthful. She went into the kitchen. He heard the tinkle of more ice in her glass. ‘I’ll take a beer, if you’re offering,’ he called after her.

Sonja said nothing. He waited a minute then got up. She was standing by the refrigerator, her glass in her hand, staring at the sink and the two wineglasses, two plates, and the empty bottle of La Motte Shiraz that were in it.

‘Sannie van Rensburg came over for a sundowner. You remember, I told you she might drop by?’

She blinked at him a couple of times. ‘You mentioned a police captain named van Rensburg, not that she was