From the moment the three men entered the jungle, they were never out of sight from the watchful eyes of the Zulus, hidden in the undergrowth or concealed in the tree tops.
Miah took down the Zulus' reports in rapid shorthand, passed them to Ho-Du who rapidly transcribed them on a typewriter and then had them sent immediately to Kahlenberg.
Kahlenberg was enjoying this. The drama of the Land Rover had been observed and reported to him, and now he knew these three men were actually on his estate.
He turned to Tak. 'The Bantu is expendable,' he said. 'Give the order that if the occasion presents itself, he is to be got rid of. As he seems to be acting as a guide, it is unlikely the others will be able to find their way out without him.'
Tak picked up a two-way radio and spoke softly into it.
While he was speaking, Ken called a brief rest as they reached a clearing in the jungle. The three men sat down in the shade and all took a drink of water.
Ken talked to Themba for a few minutes. Themba pointed. Ahead of them was a narrow track that led into dense undergrowth.
'That's the track that leads directly to Kahlenberg's place,' Ken explained to Fennel. 'We can't miss it. We'll leave Themba here, and we'll go on. If we come unstuck, I don't want him involved. When we have done the job, we'll pick him up here and he'll guide us out. Okay?'
'You're sure we can find our way without him?
'We follow the track. It leads directly to the house.'
'Well, okay.' Fennel looked at his watch. 'How long will it take to get to the house?'
'About two hours. We'll go now. We'll get near enough to the house before dark.'
Fennel grunted and got to his feet.
Ken talked again to Themba who grinned, nodding his head.
'We'll take some food with us. I've got a water bottle,' Ken said, turning to Fennel. 'You'll have to carry your kit again.'
'Okay, okay, I'm not a cripple.'
Themba put some canned food into Ken's rucksack.
'We'll leave our other stuff here,' Ken went on, shouldering the rucksack, 'and the rifle.' He shook hands with Themba. Speaking in
Afrikaans, he said, 'We'll be back the day after tomorrow night. If we are not back in four days, go home.'
Fennel came up to Themba. He looked slightly embarrassed as he pointed to his bag of tools, then grinning sheepishly, he offered his hand. Themba was delighted and grinning widely, he gripped the offered hand.
As he fell into step beside Ken, Fennel said, 'I was wrong about him . . . he's a good man.'
'We all make mistakes,' Ken looked at Fennel with a sly grin. 'I seemed to have been wrong about you.'
Themba watched them walk into the jungle and disappear. He set out collecting sticks for the fire he would light at dusk. He liked being on his own and was always at home in the jungle. He was slightly curious why the two white men had gone off on their own, but decided it was no business of his. He was being well paid for acting as a guide, and already Ken had given him enough money to enable him to buy a small car when he returned to Durban where he rented a bungalow in which his wife and son lived. He didn't see much of them as he was constantly on various game reserves in the district, but every other week-end, he would come home . . . something he always looked forward to.
He made a neat pile of sticks near the tree where the equipment was stacked, then moved into the jungle to find a few dead branches to give guts to the fire.
Suddenly he paused to listen. Something had moved not far from him. His keen ears had distinctly heard the rustle of leaves. A baboon? he wondered. He stood motionless, looking in the direction of the sound.
Out of a thicket behind him, rose a Zulu, wearing a leopard skin across his broad muscular shoulders. The sun glittered; on the broad blade of his assagai. For a brief moment, he balanced the heavy stabbing spear in his huge black hand, then threw it with unerring aim and with tremendous force at Themba's unprotected back.
High in the evening sky, six vultures began to circle patiently.
