make him look good, even if she made him feel like shit for the rest of the trip. It wasfinally seven oâclock. He rummaged in his rucksack for the satellite phone and slipped it out of its black nylon case. Cheryl-Annâs number was pre-set, so he scrolled down and pressed send.
The phone rang.
Outside the lion called and was answered by another. Great, Sam thought, stereophonic death.
The phone rang.
âCome on,â he said, checking his watch.
â
The service you are calling is not responding. Please try again later
,â a transcontinental-accented female voice echoed from the other end of the line.
Having drinks by the river, he presumed. He wondered what the mood was like between Cheryl-Ann and Stirling and Tracey. Perhaps they were locked in a heated debate right now about whether to hang, draw or quarter him. Sam dialled the number again.
He drummed his fingers on the plastic-coated floor of the tent while he waited for Cheryl-Ann to answer. Nothing.
FIVE
Sonja clapped her hands. âShoo!â she commanded the trio of tancoloured mangy African dogs. The heavily pregnant wart-hog didnât pause to acknowledge her intervention, and continued snuffling in the overturned rubbish bin as she had been when the dogs were nipping at her hindquarters.
â
Eish
, you must be eating for four or five, my girl,â Sonja said to the grunting, farting creature as she passed it.
Sonja walked on, through the dusty car park of the small shopping centre near the entrance to the Chobe Safari Lodge. Chipchase had done a good job of cleaning and stitching the holes in her thigh. The skin was pink, there was no blood, and while her leg still ached she had been well enough to walk on it by the second day. She still hadnât confirmed to him that it was she who had tried to assassinate the President of Zimbabwe, although she hadnât denied it and he had stopped probing her for more information for the time being.
She wanted to buy some food for the road, and to cook a meal for him in part payment for his kindness. Also, despite his offering her the use of his laptop and mobile phone to check emails, she wanted to do that in privacy, from an anonymous computer.
Near the Choppies supermarket was a
bureau de change
with half a dozen internet computers. âFifteen pula fifteen minutes,â the bored African woman behind the counter said to her. Sonja sat down on a buckled plastic chair and opened the browser. She went to her Hotmail account and logged in as sallytravelling. Apartfrom the usual spam there was one message from steeleman1043@yahoo.
Where are you?
read the subject line of the email. She clicked on it and the full message was equally brief and to the point.
No answer on your satphone. Advise locstat asap. Too bad about the job, but I have another. M
.
âToo bad?â she said out loud. An African man two terminals down looked at her and she smiled an apology. She wasnât sure she wanted her locstat â her location â posted anywhere on the internet. She doubted the Zimbabwean CIO possessed state-of-the-art cyber monitoring equipment, but perhaps they had friends in North Korea or China who did. She hit the reply button and typed:
Satphone US. Iâm heading for home
.
You know where to find me
.
Her satellite phone really was useless, as it had been squashed at some point during her escape. She had bought a cheap phone and a prepaid SIM card at an Indian shop in Kasane on her walk the day before, but she couldnât risk giving that to Martin, as it would be easily traceable.
Sonja looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone in the
bureau de change
and logged into her Channel Islands bank account. True to his word â and she had no reason to doubt him â Martin had deposited her share of the first payment for the Zimbabwean job. It was some small comfort that she had received a reasonable payment for nearly losing her life. No matter
The phone rang.
Outside the lion called and was answered by another. Great, Sam thought, stereophonic death.
The phone rang.
âCome on,â he said, checking his watch.
â
The service you are calling is not responding. Please try again later
,â a transcontinental-accented female voice echoed from the other end of the line.
Having drinks by the river, he presumed. He wondered what the mood was like between Cheryl-Ann and Stirling and Tracey. Perhaps they were locked in a heated debate right now about whether to hang, draw or quarter him. Sam dialled the number again.
He drummed his fingers on the plastic-coated floor of the tent while he waited for Cheryl-Ann to answer. Nothing.
FIVE
Sonja clapped her hands. âShoo!â she commanded the trio of tancoloured mangy African dogs. The heavily pregnant wart-hog didnât pause to acknowledge her intervention, and continued snuffling in the overturned rubbish bin as she had been when the dogs were nipping at her hindquarters.
â
Eish
, you must be eating for four or five, my girl,â Sonja said to the grunting, farting creature as she passed it.
Sonja walked on, through the dusty car park of the small shopping centre near the entrance to the Chobe Safari Lodge. Chipchase had done a good job of cleaning and stitching the holes in her thigh. The skin was pink, there was no blood, and while her leg still ached she had been well enough to walk on it by the second day. She still hadnât confirmed to him that it was she who had tried to assassinate the President of Zimbabwe, although she hadnât denied it and he had stopped probing her for more information for the time being.
She wanted to buy some food for the road, and to cook a meal for him in part payment for his kindness. Also, despite his offering her the use of his laptop and mobile phone to check emails, she wanted to do that in privacy, from an anonymous computer.
Near the Choppies supermarket was a
bureau de change
with half a dozen internet computers. âFifteen pula fifteen minutes,â the bored African woman behind the counter said to her. Sonja sat down on a buckled plastic chair and opened the browser. She went to her Hotmail account and logged in as sallytravelling. Apartfrom the usual spam there was one message from steeleman1043@yahoo.
Where are you?
read the subject line of the email. She clicked on it and the full message was equally brief and to the point.
No answer on your satphone. Advise locstat asap. Too bad about the job, but I have another. M
.
âToo bad?â she said out loud. An African man two terminals down looked at her and she smiled an apology. She wasnât sure she wanted her locstat â her location â posted anywhere on the internet. She doubted the Zimbabwean CIO possessed state-of-the-art cyber monitoring equipment, but perhaps they had friends in North Korea or China who did. She hit the reply button and typed:
Satphone US. Iâm heading for home
.
You know where to find me
.
Her satellite phone really was useless, as it had been squashed at some point during her escape. She had bought a cheap phone and a prepaid SIM card at an Indian shop in Kasane on her walk the day before, but she couldnât risk giving that to Martin, as it would be easily traceable.
Sonja looked over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone in the
bureau de change
and logged into her Channel Islands bank account. True to his word â and she had no reason to doubt him â Martin had deposited her share of the first payment for the Zimbabwean job. It was some small comfort that she had received a reasonable payment for nearly losing her life. No matter
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