Dictator

16

He was known as Killaman. He was thirty-eight years old and he’d been a soldier for twenty-five of them. It was he who had led the poaching expedition to kill the rhinos and lure the Strattens into the trap. Mabeki may have been the brains behind the operation, and President Gushungo’s consent had been required for it to go ahead, but Killaman had been the senior fighting man.

It had taken him a matter of seconds to exit the shebeen, race up the stairs, find his four fallen comrades and work out what had happened. His fury at the incompetence that had allowed one man to penetrate their defences and steal their most precious possession had swiftly given way to the realization of a golden opportunity.

Killaman gathered up the weapons lying by the bodies, shoved Mabeki’s pistol into the waistband of his trousers, and slung the straps of the AK-47s round his left shoulder. He retrieved the keys of the Hilux truck from the tabletop where they had been thrown when they’d first arrived in Chitongo. Then he went back outside and looked down at the men milling around in the road, some staring into the distance, others arguing about what to do next, the rest standing about aimlessly.

Among the milling rabble was the man who had fired at Carver, another member of the kidnap gang, who went by the name Silent Death. He was looking up at the building, waiting for Killaman to tell him what to do next. The rest were swiftly losing interest, now that the excitement seemed to have passed. Soon they would all return to the shebeen and the moment would be lost.

A series of pillars that supported the roof ran down the balustrade about ten feet apart. Killaman grabbed hold of one of them with his right hand and pulled himself up on to the balustrade so that everyone down below could see him, swinging his left arm up and making the guns hanging from it clearly visible.

‘Get the truck… go!’ he shouted at Silent Death, throwing the keys down to him. Then he turned his attention to the crowd. ‘Comrades!’ he cried. ‘Listen to me now!’

Killaman waited until every face had turned towards him and an expectant hush had fallen.

‘Something very precious that belongs to me has been taken – a white girl. I will offer ten thousand American dollars to any man who helps me recover this girl. Fifty thousand to anyone who kills the white man who stole her from me. I have guns for you to shoot, I have a truck for you to ride in. Now, who will join me?’

There was a clamour of volunteers. A couple of fights broke out as men competed for Killaman’s attention. He picked the four meanest-looking individuals he could find. Then he ordered them into the Hilux, clambered in next to Silent Death and set off in pursuit of the VW van and its passengers.