"You want them to walk away with the ring, sir?"
"We will make their entrance easy and their exit difficult, but if they can get it off the estate, then I think they would be entitled to keep it, but only if they can get it off the estate." Kahlenberg's eyes searched Tak's face. "You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"So we let them in and make it difficult for them to get out. If anything should happen to them, I suppose the crocodiles would welcome extra food."
Tak's eyes narrowed.
"Is it your wish something should happen to them, sir?"
"Well, it would be awkward if they got into the museum and then got away to talk. We wouldn't want Interpol here making inquiries. The Vatican was particularly incensed at losing the bust of Jupiter. How that rogue ever got it out of the Vatican has always puzzled me. No, it wouldn't do for Interpol to know the museum is below ground."
"But there was some suggestion, sir, that you were returning the ring to Mercial."
"Yes . . . I will return the ring but not his operators."
Tak didn't follow this, but he waited.
"Our Zulus would welcome a manhunt for a change, I think?"
"They can be relied on, sir."
"Yes . . . they are very close still to the savage. That may not be necessary, of course. Our enterprising four could get lost. Still, let them be alerted. Arrange some sort of reward and insist on proof."
"Yes, sir."
"I must admit such a hunt would amuse me." Kahlenberg's thinlipped mouth tightened. "When they have been hunted down and the ring returned to me, I will mail it to Mercial." He rubbed his jaw as he stared at Tak. "We mustn't make a mistake. It would be dangerous if even one of them got away. What chances do you think
they have against a hundred of my Zulus and the jungle?"
Tak considered the problem, then shook his head.
"No chance at all, sir."
"That's what I think." Kahlenberg paused, thinking of the photograph locked in his desk. "Pity about the woman."
Tak got to his feet.
"Is there anything else, sir?"
"Yes . . . let me have the Borgia ring."
When Tak had gone, Kahlenberg flicked down a switch on the intercom and said, "Send Kemosa to me."
A few minutes later an old, bent Bantu, wearing immaculate white drill came into the office. Kemosa had served Kahlenberg's father and was now in charge of the native staff, ruling them with a rod of iron. He stood before Kahlenberg, waiting.
"Is the old witch doctor still on the estate?" Kahlenberg asked. "Yes, master."
"I never see him. I thought he was dead."
Kemosa said nothing.
"My father told me this man has great experience with poisons," Kahlenberg went on. "Is that correct?"
"Yes, master."
"Go to him and say I want a slow working poison that will kill a man in twelve hours. Do you think he could supply a poison like that?"
Kemosa nodded.
"Very well. I want it by tomorrow morning. See he is suitably rewarded."
"Yes, master." Kemosa inclined his head and went away.
Kahlenberg pulled a legal document towards him and began to study it. A few minutes later Tak came in carrying a small glass box in which, set on a blue velvet support, was the Caesar Borgia ring.
"Leave it with me," Kahlenberg said without looking up. Tak placed the box on the desk and withdrew.
After reading the document and laying it down, Kahlenberg picked up the glass box and leaning back in his chair, he slid off the lid and took out the ring.
He took from a drawer a watchmaker's glass and screwed it into his eye. He spent some moments examining the ring before he found the minute sliding trap, covered by a diamond that gave access to the tiny reservoir that held the poison.
They left the Rand International hotel a little after 08.00 hrs. and headed for Harrismith on the N.16 highway.
They were all wearing bush shirts, shorts, knee stockings, stout soled shoes and bush hats around which was a band of cheetah skin. The men all eyed Gaye as she climbed into the front seat of the Land Rover. The outfit set off her figure and suited her. Again Fennel felt a stab of frustrated desire go through him.
Ken Jones took the wheel and Garry and Fennel sat on the rear bench seat. It was a tight squeeze for the four of them and their equipment. Each had brought along a rucksack containing their personal essentials and these were piled on the rear seat between the two men.
The sky was grey and the atmosphere was close and steamy and they were glad when they had left the city and had got on to the open road.
"This is going to be a pretty dull run," Ken said. "Two hundred kilometres to Harrismith, then we turn off the National road and head down for Bergville. We'll get to Mainville for lunch, pick up our guide and then we have thirty kilometres through jungle to the camp. That'll be fun: we're certain to see some game."
"Who's looking after the chopper?" Garry asked, leaning forward. "You haven't just left it in the jungle, have you?"
Ken laughed.
"I hired four Bantus to guard it. I know them . . . they're okay. It only arrived yesterday. You've nothing to worry about."
Gaye said she was glad to leave Johannesburg.
"I didn't like it."
"I don't know anyone who does," Ken returned. "But you'd like Cape Town and go crazy about Durban."
The three chatted together as the Land Rover ate up the miles. Garry noticed that Fennel was sullenly silent. He sat forward with his heavy bag of tools between his feet and his little eyes continually eyeing Gaye's back and the view he could get of the side of her face.
Every so often they came upon a series of beehive shaped huts where they could see the Bantus moving aimlessly about, and tiny boys guarding lean, depressed looking cattle and herds of goats.
Gaye asked a stream of questions which Ken answered. Fennel paid no attention to the chatter. All he could think of was to get Gaye alone. He was confident, once he did get her alone, she would submit to him. He had no interest in black people and he wished Ken would stop yakking.
It was after 14.00 hrs. when they drove into Mainville's town centre that consisted of an untidy square, shaded by magnificent flamboyant trees in full flower. To the left of the square was the post office. Next to it was a native store and across the way was a shop run by a Dutchman who seemed to sell everything from a pair of boots to a bottle of cough mixture. The Bantus, sitting under the trees, watched then curiously, and two or three of them waved languidly to Ken who waved back.
"You seem to be a known character around here," Gaye said.
"Oh, sure. I get around. I like these guys and they remember me." Ken drove around the square and headed for a large dilapidated garage. He drove straight in.
Two Bantus came over and shook hands with him as he left the Land Rover. Ken spoke to them in Afrikaans and they nodded, beaming.
"Okay, folks," he said turning to the others. "We can leave it all here and go to the hotel for lunch. I could eat a buffalo."
"You mean they won't steal any of this stuff?" Fennel asked.
Ken regarded him, his mouth tightening.
"They're friends of mine . . . so they won't steal any of the stuff."
Fennel climbed down from the Land Rover.
"Well, if you're sure about that."
The other three walked out into the blinding sunshine. Since leaving Johannesburg the sun had come out and it was hot.
The hotel was plain but decent and Ken got a good welcome from a fat, sweating Indian who beamed at the other three.
"Seen Themba?" Ken asked as they walked into the big diningroom.
"Yes, Mr. Jones. He's around. Said he would be here in half an hour."
They all had a good chicken curry lunch, washed down with beer. From their table, they could see across the square to the garage and Fennel kept looking suspiciously at the garage.
"They're not stealing anything! Ken said sharply. He had become exasperated by Fennel's suspicion. "Can't you enjoy your lunch, for God's sake?
Fennel squinted at him.
The stuff in that tool bag is worth a lot of lolly," he said. It's taken me years to collect. Some of those tools I've made myself. I'm making sure no goddamn blackie steals it."
Seeing Ken's face flush with anger, Gaye broke in to ask about the hotel. The tension eased a little, then Ken got to his feet.
"I'll fix the bill, then go look for Themba."
"Is he our guide?" Gaye asked.
"That's right."
"And another black friend of his," Fennel said with a sneer.
Ken hesitated, then walked away.
Garry said, "Wouldn't it be an idea if you tried to be pleasant for a change? Right now, you act as if you have a boil on your ass."
Fennel glowered at him.
"I act the way I like, and no one stops me!"
"Plenty of time to squabble when the job's done," Gaye said quietly. "Be nice, Mr. Fennel."
He glowered at her, got up and walked out of the restaurant. Gaye and Garry paused to congratulate the fat Indian on his curry, and then followed Fennel across the square to the garage.
"He's sweet, isn't he?" Gaye said softly.
"He's a fat slob. If he goes on like this, he'll get a poke in his snout!"
"Remember what Armo said . . . he's dangerous."
Garry scowled.
"So am I. It bothers me that Ken has to travel with him."
But he was less bothered when he saw a tall, magnificently built Bantu, wearing bush clothes with a bush hat pinned up Australian fashion on one side, shaking hands with Ken.
"That must be Themba. Well, Ken and he can take care of Fennel; that's for sure."
Ken made the introductions. Whereas Garry and Gaye shook hands, Fennel just stared at the big Bantu and then walked over to the Land Rover to make sure his bag of tools was still there.
"Themba only talks Afrikaans," Ken explained. "So conversationally he's a dead loss to you two."
"I think he looks wonderful," Gaye said admiringly.
"He's great. We've worked together for five years . . . no better tracker in Natal."
They climbed into the Land Rover. Themba occupied a small swing-out seat at the rear, placing him above the others and giving him a good view of the country.
"Now, we go into the jungle," Ken said. "If there's any game to spot, Themba will find it."
Another ten minutes of driving brought them off the main road to a grit road and the drive became bumpy.
"It gets worse as it goes on," Ken said cheerfully, "but you'll get used to it."
It did get worse, and Ken had to cut down speed. Pot holes began to appear in the road and the Land Rover banged and bumped, making everyone hold on, with Fennel cursing under his breath.
A mile or so further on, Themba said something to Ken, and Ken slowed and steered the Land Rover off the road into the bush. They were moving slowly now and they all had to look out for thorny bushes and low hanging branches which became hazardous as they went on.
Suddenly before them was a big waterbuck with its majestic antlers, looking towards them. It turned and was away with high leaping steps, displaying a perfect ring of white fur around its rump.
"Oh, I love him!" Gaye explained. "And that white ring . . . it's marvellous!"
"Do you know how he got that?" Ken asked, grinning. "I'll tell you. When the waterbuck arrived at the Ark, he rushed up to Noah and said, "Mr. Noah, please where is the nearest toilet?" Noah said, "You'll have to wait. All the toilets have just been painted." The waterbuck said, "I can't wait." It's had that ring ever since."
"Why don't you look where you're driving and stop the yak?" Fennel growled while the others laughed.
"Can't please everyone all the time," Ken said, shrugging, and continued on.
Gaye was noticing that many of the trees were broken and dead, giving the bush a stricken look.
"Did lightning do all this damage?" she asked.
"What, those trees— No . . . elephants. Must have had a big herd through here at one time. The elephant is the most destructive beast of any wild game. They strip the trees and smash them as they move. Wherever an elephant has been, you'll find dead trees."
A little later they came upon five giraffes and Ken stopped within fifty metres of them. The animals stood motionless, staring.
"I wish I hadn't packed my camera," Gaye sighed. "They seem completely tame."
"They're not tame . . . they're eaten up with curiosity," Ken explained, and even as he spoke the gigantic animals turned and lolloped away, covering the ground at high speed although seeming to move like a slow motion film.
"Lions dig for them, but they seldom catch them," Ken went on, setting the Land Rover moving again.
"Are there any lions in this district?" Gaye asked. "I'd love to see one."
"You will, and hear them too."
Themba from his perch above them was continually calling to Ken, giving him directions.
"Without this guy," Ken confided to Gaye, "I'd never find the camp. He has a compass built inside his head."
After half an hour's drive, during which time they disturbed a large herd of zebras which went crashing away into the thick bush almost before they could be seen, they came out of the bush on to a wide flat clearing where the helicopter was parked.
Squatting before the helicopter were four Bantus who rose to their feet with wide grins as the Land Rover pulled up.
"Here we are," Ken said getting out of the truck. "I'll pay these guys off. We don't want them hanging around. Themba and I can get the tent up."
Garry went at once to the helicopter. Gaye slid to the ground and stretched. It had been a bumpy ride and she felt stiff and hot. Fennel got down and lit a cigarette. He showed no inclination to help Themba unload the equipment, but stood with his hands in his shorts pockets, eyeing Gaye as she stood with her back to him, her legs wide apart, her hands on her hips.