pleasure’ – BMW. One represents ‘reliability’ – Toyota. But no brand name can have more than one position. The human mind does not allow it. When a brand tries that, it fails, without exception.
At Mogale, she had said with knowledgeable enthusiasm, the same principle applied. Vulture rehabilitation was perfect. It was original, unique, strong, fresh, decidedly different – everything required for strong positioning. Branca’s lecture was the perfect pitch – it entertained, educated, was emotional, and spoke straight to people’s hearts. Until he mentioned the other animals, the cheetahs, wildcats, leopards and wild dogs. Then, Mogale became just another brand trying to be everything to everyone.
‘You have two choices. Give the mammal programmes another brand name, or leave them out of the lecture entirely. You makethe donors soft on vultures. They sit there thinking, “How much can I give to this amazing cause?” but then you go and multiply their choices suddenly, for no reason, and they don’t know how their money will be spent. If this was my concern, I would shift the other animals out, away from the raptors, set up another centre with another name, where the lecture and the tour focus on one species only.’
On the way out I considered it confirmation of my suspicion that she was – lying is not the exact word – about the other stuff, the attack, Jacobus.
It was my job for twenty years to spot threatening behaviour in people. The best indicator of that was a break in rhythm. Someone out of step with the flow of a crowd, someone whose breathing, movement or facial musculature danced to a different tune. The rhythms of speech – everyone has their own, but when there were great and sudden changes, it meant tension and stress, the bosom buddies of the lie.
Why she should lie, and about what, I could only speculate. People have many inexplicable, complex or simple reasons to lie. Sometimes they do it simply because they can. But Emma needed a motive.
The next item to occupy my mind was the formulation of a new Lemmer Law on Animal Fanatics, but I never got that far. When we drove out of Mogale’s gate the silver Opel Astra was parked across the road, noticeably and blatantly waiting for us.
There were two men in it, a black man in the driver’s seat, a white man in the passenger’s. But it was the barrel of a rifle that got my adrenalin pumping. It was propped vertically in front of the passenger, the barrel obscuring his face. The shape of the sight and muzzle identified it as an R4.
Emma was occupied with the road map, so she didn’t see them.
The firearm is the bodyguard’s single biggest problem; the unarmed bodyguard’s greatest fear. But that wasn’t my only concern. There was the possibility that I was wrong about Emma, about the threat, about her relationship with the truth. That had to wait, however.
I turned on to the tar road and drove off. In the rear-view mirror the Astra followed. No discretion. Two hundred metres behind us. A bad sign.
I accelerated gradually. I didn’t want Emma to know yet.
The road to Klaserie was straight and wide. Beyond 130 kilometres per hour the Astra dwindled, but then it began to close the gap. Past 150 and it was still there.
‘We’ll have to go through Nelspruit to Barberton and then take the R38,’ Emma said, deep in thought. ‘That seems to be the shortest route.’ She looked up and said, ‘We’re not in that much of a hurry.’
I lifted my foot from the accelerator. I knew what I needed to know.
She looked across at me. ‘Are you OK, Lemmer?’
‘I wanted to see what the BMW could do.’
She nodded, trusting me, and began folding the map.
‘What did you think of Wolhuter and Branca?’
Even if there hadn’t been an armed threat on our heels, that would not have been my topic of choice. I didn’t like Wolhuter and company. There is a Lemmer Law that states that he who needs to say ‘I’m no racist, but…’ is one.
At Mogale, she had said with knowledgeable enthusiasm, the same principle applied. Vulture rehabilitation was perfect. It was original, unique, strong, fresh, decidedly different – everything required for strong positioning. Branca’s lecture was the perfect pitch – it entertained, educated, was emotional, and spoke straight to people’s hearts. Until he mentioned the other animals, the cheetahs, wildcats, leopards and wild dogs. Then, Mogale became just another brand trying to be everything to everyone.
‘You have two choices. Give the mammal programmes another brand name, or leave them out of the lecture entirely. You makethe donors soft on vultures. They sit there thinking, “How much can I give to this amazing cause?” but then you go and multiply their choices suddenly, for no reason, and they don’t know how their money will be spent. If this was my concern, I would shift the other animals out, away from the raptors, set up another centre with another name, where the lecture and the tour focus on one species only.’
On the way out I considered it confirmation of my suspicion that she was – lying is not the exact word – about the other stuff, the attack, Jacobus.
It was my job for twenty years to spot threatening behaviour in people. The best indicator of that was a break in rhythm. Someone out of step with the flow of a crowd, someone whose breathing, movement or facial musculature danced to a different tune. The rhythms of speech – everyone has their own, but when there were great and sudden changes, it meant tension and stress, the bosom buddies of the lie.
Why she should lie, and about what, I could only speculate. People have many inexplicable, complex or simple reasons to lie. Sometimes they do it simply because they can. But Emma needed a motive.
The next item to occupy my mind was the formulation of a new Lemmer Law on Animal Fanatics, but I never got that far. When we drove out of Mogale’s gate the silver Opel Astra was parked across the road, noticeably and blatantly waiting for us.
There were two men in it, a black man in the driver’s seat, a white man in the passenger’s. But it was the barrel of a rifle that got my adrenalin pumping. It was propped vertically in front of the passenger, the barrel obscuring his face. The shape of the sight and muzzle identified it as an R4.
Emma was occupied with the road map, so she didn’t see them.
The firearm is the bodyguard’s single biggest problem; the unarmed bodyguard’s greatest fear. But that wasn’t my only concern. There was the possibility that I was wrong about Emma, about the threat, about her relationship with the truth. That had to wait, however.
I turned on to the tar road and drove off. In the rear-view mirror the Astra followed. No discretion. Two hundred metres behind us. A bad sign.
I accelerated gradually. I didn’t want Emma to know yet.
The road to Klaserie was straight and wide. Beyond 130 kilometres per hour the Astra dwindled, but then it began to close the gap. Past 150 and it was still there.
‘We’ll have to go through Nelspruit to Barberton and then take the R38,’ Emma said, deep in thought. ‘That seems to be the shortest route.’ She looked up and said, ‘We’re not in that much of a hurry.’
I lifted my foot from the accelerator. I knew what I needed to know.
She looked across at me. ‘Are you OK, Lemmer?’
‘I wanted to see what the BMW could do.’
She nodded, trusting me, and began folding the map.
‘What did you think of Wolhuter and Branca?’
Even if there hadn’t been an armed threat on our heels, that would not have been my topic of choice. I didn’t like Wolhuter and company. There is a Lemmer Law that states that he who needs to say ‘I’m no racist, but…’ is one.
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