Kosi Bay

by Michael Niemann

The SUV raced around the shallow lagoon. Its tires spun in the loose sand. Magnus Hardy watched the maneuver and hoped the car would get stuck. But it found traction again and disappeared into the coastal woods.

Damn! That left him standing on a godforsaken beach, wearing nothing but his shorts and sunglasses. The afternoon sun burned hot on his shoulders. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his sunglasses. He took them off, wiped his face and replace them. Through the smeared lenses he saw a few clouds drifting in from the Indian Ocean , too high to provide any shade.

The argument with Marlies, his wife of five years, had come out of the blue. But the pattern wasn't new. A conversation would spiral out of control like a small plane losing its rudder. Then Marlies would slam the door, leave the house, storm out of the restaurant. But she'd never left him stranded on a beach.

"She could've left my bloody hat," he mumbled to himself.

Get away from it all at Kosi Bay . Sitting in their living room in Johannesburg , the brochure from the Kwazulu-Natal tourism office sounded convincing. Of course, they hadn't gotten away from it . Marlies had continued to fret about the lack of anti-retroviral therapy at the hospital in Yeoville where she worked with AIDS patients. It had been her constant complaint for at least a month.

"You're batting at windmills," he'd said. "The administration's doing what it's told from above. No use getting all worked up about it. Just wait for a change of heart in Pretoria . It's bound to come sooner or later."

"Wait? While patients are dying needlessly? That's not an option. We need to fight for their right to live," she'd shot back at him.

That's when he'd smiled and told her that she looked gorgeous.

She had, at that moment, looked gorgeous--her face full of righteous energy, her green eyes sparkling, her nostrils quivering and her auburn hair pushed back by an impatient hand. Everything he loved about her.

But then her face had changed to an incredulous grimace. Then she'd muttered something angry and stormed off.

A wave washed over his feet. Its coolness felt refreshing and, for a moment, the water tempted. But he resisted. The saltwater drying on his skin would have felt worse than the sweat. Besides, what little was left of his sunblock wouldn't have survived a swim. And he needed a sunburn like he needed time alone on a goddamn beach.

A few gulls banked above him, squawking, checking him out for food. Not seeing any, they turned away for more promising targets. He was thirsty. Where's a decent gin and tonic when you need one?

He turned abruptly and headed for the trees beyond the dunes, sending a flock of sandpipers scurrying. He needed shade.

At the edge of the sand he looked for a way into the woods. No chance. Grass and nettles formed a dense ground cover from which bushes with thorns and red berries grew. Everything formed a thicket that left no access, least of all to a man wearing only shorts and dirty sunglasses.

He followed the edge of the vegetation. Bright green leaves flittered in the breeze. Lianas wound their way with abandon around anything upright. The silvery flowers of one bush seemed dainty until he noticed that they covered thick thorns. The entire forest had an armored quality that reminded him of why he hated nature.

A steep outcropping of sand loomed ahead. He clambered up on hands and feet. He didn't see the narrow ridge until he tumbled down the even steeper slope on the other side.

"Bloody hell!"

He got up and shook the sand out of his shorts. His sunglasses were buried somewhere in the sand.

Protected from the wind, the trees had spread much closer to the edge of the sand. A darker patch stood out. Magnus stumbled towards it and saw a break in the wall of green, a low portal.

He crouched and found the shade he'd been looking for. His mood improved instantly.

***

A narrow path led further into the woods. The branches at its edge were not broken by a hippo or other large animal. They were cut as if their gardener had had a go at them.

He looked around--no clue as to why anyone would trim the vegetation here. But somebody had been there and not too long ago. If they were still around they could give him a ride or at least a drink.

He got up and followed the path which turned into a rickety boardwalk after a couple of turns. Careful of rusty nails, he climbed up an incline and down again into a shallow trough. A primitive shower and an outhouse sat on a bare spot next to the board walk.

The shower, simply a length of plastic pipe with a valve and shower head, was attached to a sturdy wooden pole. A wooden grate covered the damp sand in front of it. He opened the door of the outhouse and the stench of human waste made him gag. Breathing through his mouth he noticed a newspaper, its masthead dated the previous day.

That was promising. He might get a ride and show up Marlies.

Four huts, similar in size and all equally run down, occupied the hollow beyond the next hill. A weather-beaten sign nailed to a pole declared in stern Afrikaans and English that this South African military site was off limits.

He hesitated. What was that doing here? Kosi Bay was close to the Mozambican border. Maybe an old installation from the apartheid days. The sign had to be out of date.

The climate had been merciless to the huts. The wood siding of the first was rotting along the bottom edge. Dark spots of rot also pocked the edges of the windows, almost blind with dirt and cobwebs. Whatever paint had covered the planks was long gone and the exposed wood had assumed the same color as the surrounding tree trunks. A shade of gray that, while passing for charming in some eyes, spoke of decay and abandonment.

He surveyed the hollow again and shouted "Hello! Anybody here?"

No answer. No sound.

Disappointed, he pushed against the door of the hut. It opened with a groan. The inside looked as bad as the outside. Candy wrappers, empty beer bottles and other refuse lay strewn on the floor made of rough planking. Two cots covered with sleeping bags stood against the back wall and a large pile of something covered with an olive tarp occupied the far corner of the room.

Encouraged by the sign of human occupation, Magnus shouted "Hello!" again. Still no answer.

He stepped into the hut and checked the sleeping bags but found no indication of ownership. His eyes came to rest again on the tarp. He wished he'd have thought of covering their bags with a tarp during the rain the night before. Clearly, these people, whoever they were, knew the climate and the limitations of their accommodation. He stepped closer and lifted the edge of the tarp.

Although he knew immediately that he wasn't looking at luggage, it took him a moment to realize what he had uncovered. The pile consisted of a dozen wooden crates, about one and a half yards long, twenty inches wide and equally high, all painted with the same olive color. In the fading light, he could make out letters stenciled in black along the side of the crates.

Together, they formed a carefully stacked pile that reminded him of the nestled layers of blocks in Tetris, the computer game that had occupied much of his first year at the university. Except here, the completed layers did not disappear magically for bonus points. Which would have been altogether better for him.

He lifted the lid of the top crate. It opened easily and revealed carefully packed guns with curved magazines. AK-47s. He'd seen enough pictures in the news.

***

The screech of an ibis high above broke the silence. Magnus realized he had stopped breathing. He inhaled deeply. Drops of sweat formed on his forehead. This was not good. He ran towards the door and jerked it open. The sight of a man with a gun stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Stop! Hands behind your head!" the man hissed.

Magnus had never faced a real gun before, had always rejected the advice of his white friends to arm himself for protection. Now he understood. The gun intimidated. He raised his hands slowly and folded them behind his head.

"Don't shoot," he stammered quite unnecessarily.

The man was wearing fatigue trousers, combat boots and a sweat stained khaki t-shirt. His face showed the ravages of the climate as much as the lumber that framed the door. It was deeply tan in that rough weathered way people acquire when they spend much of their lives outdoors.

He motioned with the gun. Magnus stepped on the boardwalk. His mind skipped through possible options. Bolting was out of the question--too late for that. Rushing the man would be suicidal. So Magnus fell back to what he knew to be his strength, negotiating.

"Sorry, old chap. Didn't mean to trespass. Simple accident, really. My fault."

"Shut up," the man replied. But Magnus did not give up.

"Bit of a pickle, izzit ?" Magnus tried his best tone, honed in hundreds of sales meetings. "Me barging in here unannounced; secret blown and all that. But don't worry. My lips are sealed. Not my business what you chaps are up to." He turned slightly, moved his right hand from behind his head and slid his thumb and index finger across his mouth.

"Shut the fuck up and put your hand behind your head!"

The man prodded Magnus with the gun. The feeling of the metal against his skin send a chill down his spine.

At the second hut the man motioned Magnus to open the door and pushed him into the room. The door slammed shut again and Magnus heard the sound of something being wedged against it. He pushed but the door would not budge.

Emboldened by the disappearance of the gun, Magnus banged against the door.

"Hey, let me out of here!"

Then he kicked the door only to wince in pain over his foolishness. The hut was completely empty. Nothing he could use to force the door. He examined the window. No moving parts. He didn't feel brave enough to break the glass with his bare hands. And the noise would have alerted the man with the gun.

"Let me out! You can't keep me here! People will be looking for me."

Silence.

He sat down on the floor and wallowed in self pity for a while. Marlies shouldn't have left him. He shouldn't have walked into the forest. After a while, he fretted about his captors. No telling who these people were.

And what about those guns? He remembered a news item a few months ago about secret weapon caches hidden by the apartheid forces to arm shadowy gangs so they could disrupt the first free election in 1994. He also remembered reading that many of them had not yet been accounted for.

***

The door flew open with a bang and a tall man with close cropped white hair entered the hut. A sharp nose defined his angular face like an exclamation point. Thin lips and eyes the color of rain clouds complemented the stern expression. This was a man used to giving orders. And being obeyed.

His captor followed--still holding the gun. The rear was brought up by a younger man in jeans and T-shirt carrying another pistol. He looked familiar.

"Who are you?" The white-haired man spoke with the cadence of an Afrikaner who resented having to speak English.

Magnus, somehow expecting an introduction as if this were one of his business meetings, hesitated a moment.

"Magnus Hardy's the name," he finally replied.

"What are you doing here?" the man continued.

"Nothing!" Magnus said. He swallowed. "Happened to be walking on the beach, looking for shade. Saw the path and followed it. My mistake, of course, shouldn't have done it. Sorry."

"Well, it's too late for sorry."

"Listen, I don't care a bit about what you chaps are up to. Little gun running on the side? Hey, we all gotta make a living. No skin off my back."

The eyes of the white-haired man narrowed.

"Gun running? You think we're common criminals?" The man's face strained with anger. "You soutpiels just don't get it, do you?" he shouted, using a derogatory term for South African English speakers. "Sold out the country to the kaffirs , got your British passport, ready to leave when they come for you. Well, we're here to stay and we'll take our country back."

"I don't do politics," Magnus said, all contrite. "Got a small computer outfit in Jo'burg. Consulting, web design, internet solutions, that kind of thing. I'll be mum, I promise. Cross my heart and all that. You don't want me around here, I'd just be a bother."

"He's got a point," suggested the young man. He looked bored. Now Magnus was certain he had seen him before. Somewhere at their lodge.

"Who knows you are here?" the older man continued.

"Right here? No one. But my wife's sure to be looking for me soon. Left me on the beach earlier."

"That complicates things immensely."

He turned to the man who had caught Magnus.

"Johan, anyone suspicious on the beach?"

Johan shook his head.

"No one there, I checked after I nabbed him and Piet checked again just now. I did hear a car some time ago."

The man nodded and they left, locking the door behind them.

Magnus sat down on the floor again, surrounded by the growing darkness. He ran through the things he could have said, the arguments that would have been convincing. Nothing came to mind.

That young man, Piet. He had seen him at the lodge. Piet had been part of a crowd watching a rugby game in the bar. He didn't remember the teams--too much gin and tonic--but Piet had definitely been there.

He sighed.

By now, Marlies would be looking for him and she'd be either worried or angry. Probably worried. Marlies didn't hold anger for very long. When she was angry she'd make no bones about it. Then it would blow over, leaving no apparent residue. For that, he envied her.

It was dark when the door was pulled open again. The bright beam of a flashlight blinded him. Before Magnus could jump up, he was pinned to the floor. He screamed.

Someone kneeled next to his head and began pouring a liquid into his mouth. Magnus coughed and sputtered. He tried to close his mouth it was forced open and more liquid poured in. He swallowed. To his surprise, he tasted brandy--cheap brandy to be sure--but brandy nevertheless.

Fearing that it would be laced with poison, he tried to close his mouth again but a hand pressed against his Adam's apple and Magnus opened his mouth to scream in pain. A big splash of brandy forced him to swallow. Many more followed until he passed out.

***

Magnus came to again when he felt his body being dragged somewhere. Every bump send an arrow of pain to his head. He opened his eyes but could only see shadows. The stale residue of brandy dominated his mouth. He groaned.

Before he could sort anything out, he was pushed into an opening. Hands fingered him, he was straightened. All kinds of noise assaulted his ears. Someone wrapped something around him. It held him up like a harness.

Groping around in the void he felt a smooth plastic ring with his hand. A steering wheel? That didn't make any sense. The noisy racket dissolved slowly into the sound of a car engine revving at high revolutions.

Forcing his head straight, he realized that he was seated in the drivers seat of a car, a bakkie judging by the glass behind his head. He wanted to lie down and rest, but the seat belt held him in place. One of the men--he could not tell which one--slipped the shift stick into a gear, said "Bon voyage, Mr. Hardy," and pulled a stick that had been jammed somewhere. The door fell shut as the car lurched forward with sudden acceleration.

Magnus wanted to sleep but the accelerating car nudged something in his brain. He opened his eyes but could not see anything. The steering wheel gave him some stability.

That gave his brain the rest needed to process the situation. He was driving; it was dark; he could not see. Lights! He fumbled with levers and knobs until he saw the beams of the headlights pierce the dark. The windshield wipers were batting furiously at nothing. Pedals! His feet began searching for them. The right foot found one but pressing it produced no result.

The pickup bounced from pothole to pothole, following a sandy track into nowhere. His only salvation was the high berm on each side. Every time the truck veered to one side, it slid back onto the track.

A green traffic sign with white arrows pointing both right and left appeared in his field of vision. Behind it loomed a large dark mass. He contemplated the sign. His mind couldn't fit the pieces together. It looked like one of those Escher prints.

The sign grew larger with alarming speed. In the headlights, the dark mass resolved itself into two large boulders, one sitting on top of the other like the mouth of a giant, ready to devour him.

More by reflex than conscious thought, he yanked the steering wheel to the left. The truck lurched into a tight turn tilting precariously to the right. His head hit the side window. He yelped with pain. The traffic sign flashed past him. The rear of the truck grazed it with a thud.

The truck accelerated on the paved road. Trees flashed by in the lights. He could see no shoulders. Why was this truck driving in the first place? He couldn't figure that out.

The road seemed to split into two and he tried to steer toward the left, but just as quickly, the two lanes merged again and he violently pulled towards the right to avoid the trees. After weaving back and forth he decided to stick to the middle.

Two lights appeared ahead but he kept to the middle of the road. The lights came closer. He figured they would disappear just as the two roadways had. Only when the lights were blinding him did he swerve to the left. A car--now he heard the screaming of the horn--careened past him, the horrified expression of the other driver visible for a flash.

The pickup did not recover from the sudden maneuver. It sped into a ditch he was not aware of. A big splash and the gurgling sound of water were the last things he heard.

***

A familiar throbbing pain in his head was his first sensation. God, not another hangover! His stomach wasn't too happy either. He kept his eyes shut. Moving his head brought a sharp pain in his shoulder. Maybe more than just a hangover. The bed felt unfamiliar, lumpy. He tried to roll to his other side and winced with pain.

He squinted through narrow slits and noticed the bandages on his left leg. Beyond the white iron bed frame, four other beds stood against the wall, all occupied. A child was whispering to a woman in the leftmost bed, the other occupants were staring at the ceiling.

His movements roused someone's attention. A head appeared before his eyes. He focused. Marlies. She sported that faint smile of mothers who realized that their kid wasn't in as much trouble as he could have been--vaguely angry but mostly relieved.

"You know, if you had waited just a little longer, I would have come for you. No need to go on a bender and smash someone's car."

Magnus tried to smile but only grimaced. He swallowed but his throat was too dry.

"Could I have some water, luv?"

Marlies's face disappeared and reappeared. She held a glass of water to his lips but his head was too low and she spilled a third of the glass down his neck. It felt refreshing. She put his hand under his head, lifted it to the glass and tried again. Magnus swallowed what he could. His stomach churned.

"It seems no bones were broken," she said. "They don't have an X-ray machine here, but the nurse is pretty certain that you are basically intact, just bruised."

He smiled weakly.

"How long have I been here?"

"They found the car wreck early this morning and by the time I heard of it it was almost noon. I got here as soon as I could."

"Do they have something for the pain?"

"They are out of the strong stuff. But they have aspirin. Let me get you some."

She got up and Magnus closed his eyes again.

After some rest, his head felt a little clearer, but his body still ached. He could turn his head a little and saw Marlies sitting on a rickety chair. She had dozed off. A heavyset nurse was serving tea and toast to the patients in the beds across from him. Some sat up in their beds. The child--was it a boy?--fed the woman. It dawned on him that Marlies and he were the only white people in the room.

Her words echoed in his mind. Car smashed, going on a bender. He remembered the beach, Marlies's tantrum, the heat, his expedition into the coastal bush, the men with the guns.

Marlies woke with a start and looked at him.

"Ready for your aspirin?"

Magnus nodded. She put two pills into his mouth, lifted his head and put the water glass to his lips. He swallowed all of it.

"Want some toast? Tea?"

The thought of ingesting anything but water sent another wave of nausea through his body. He shook his head. The nurse came anyway, poured a cup of tea and set it on the table next to the bed. The table wobbled and some tea spilled.

"So, what happened?" Marlies pulled her chair closer.

"I was kidnapped," he began. He spoke slowly with frequent pauses, both to gather energy and reconstruct the past day. When he was done, she looked at him for what seemed like a very long time.

"You expect me to believe this?" she finally asked.

"Would I make such a story up?" He closed his eyes.

"Well, you are right there. That would require more imagination than you usually have." She laughed angrily. "But, all joking aside, who'd you go drinking with? Whose car did you smash?"

"I'm telling you the truth. Those guys in the military camp forced cheap brandy down my throat and set me up so I would kill myself."

Magnus sighed. It did sound ridiculous. Marlies shook her head.

"Suppose there was really a bunch of guns. And suppose they were really such bad terrorists, wouldn't they have just killed you?"

"I told them you'd be looking for me."

"Oh, so now the wife is the great deterrent." Marlies shook her head again. "It just doesn't add up. Even if I believed you, how are you going to convince the police? They've been here already."

Magnus closed his eyes. The aspirin seemed to be working and he let himself drift off.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he opened his eyes again. Marlies peered into his face.

"He's awake, I guess you can talk to him now," she said to someone.

Magnus tried to move his head and saw a stocky black man in a blue uniform.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy. I'm Sergeant Bhutelezi of the Manguzi Police. You were driving in a state of serious intoxication. You are lucky to be alive. I'd like to ask you about the accident."

He spoke with a clipped accent. Magnus had to concentrate to understand him.

"Where did you do your drinking? Where did you find the bakkie? "

Resigned, Magnus mustered his strength.

"I did not go drinking and I did not find the bakkie ," he said. "I was kidnapped by a group of terrorists when I stumbled upon their weapons cache. The forced me to drink a bottle of brandy and sent me off in the pickup so I would kill myself. They very nearly succeeded."

"So your wife told me. And where is this weapons cache you supposedly found?" The Sergeant's face remained stoic.

"It's in the coastal bush by Kosi Mouth towards the Mozambican border."

"Ah, yes, the old army camp. A favorite place for fishing parties." Magnus detected an air of resignation in the Sergeant's voice.

"I can tell you that that was not a party."

"Mr. Hardy, the bakkie you crashed in your drunken state was reported stolen last night. It belongs to a Piet Mulder. Did you drink with Mr. Mulder?"

"I don't know any Piet Mulder. And I didn't steal the car. They forced me into it." Magnus turned his head and said to Marlies: "Some more water, please?"

Marlies took the glass, lifted his head and let him drink. After he sunk back into his pillow he closed his eyes again. Marlies looked at the Sergeant and shrugged. A nurse brought a cup of tea to the Sergeant who settled down into another chair. He seemed to have all the time in the world.

"Your husband, does he drink a lot?" He asked without any preliminaries.

"You don't mince words, do you?" Marlies replied. "He drinks more than I think he should, but he isn't a drunk if that's what you are asking."

"Well, you know him better."

Magnus opened his eyes again and struggled to sit up.

"Wait, did you say Piet Mulder?"

The sergeant nodded.

"One of the men in the group was named Piet," Magnus continued. "Yes, and I have seen him before at the lodge. I bet that's him. Arrest him, that'll clear up this entire mess."

The sergeant sighed.

"Mr. Hardy, Piet Mulder is just a recent addition to the local boer drunks. When we first saw the car, we thought he had finally done himself in. That man is no more capable of organizing a terrorist group than a crocodile is able to climb a tree. You are going to have to do better than that."

"That's all I can do. I've given you information about a terrorist plot and you should investigate that rather than bugging me. I'm the victim."

His raised voice attracted the attention of the other patients in the room. The boy stared at him as if he had just now realized there were white people in the room. The sergeant raised his hands and got up.

"No need to tell me how to do my job, Mr. Hardy. I will talk to Piet Mulder but I doubt he'll remember anything. He never does." He nodded to Marlies.

Once he had left the room, Marlies turned to Magnus.

"You didn't have to be so beastly to him. He's just doing his job."

***

They arrived back at the lodge in the late afternoon of the next day. The ride back had been painful for Magnus. He limped into their thatched cottage, slid into a chair and put his right leg up on the other.

Their one room cottage was sparsely furnished--a large bed with a mosquito net slung to one side, the two chairs he occupied and a table. In the corner next to the door stood a noisy refrigerator and a curtained cupboard with a two-burner propane stove and a small sink. A large window offered a view of the adjacent cottage.

Marlies put a pillow under his leg and smiled.

"How's that? Better?"

Magnus nodded with a wan smile.

"Could you bring me a gin and tonic, luv?"

She just shook her head.

"What the hell, it's time for drinks anyway. I could use one myself."

She rummaged in the cupboard and placed two glasses on the table, took a bottle of gin from the refrigerator and hesitated.

"We're out of tonic. I'll get some at the bar."

After she left, Magnus got up, poured himself a glass and downed it in one large swallow. The gin burned all the way to his stomach and he instantly felt better. He poured another and limped to the large window. The next cottage seemed empty. A pile of bedding lay next to the door. Their neighbors probably left while he was in the hospital.

Looking past the cottage and the banana trees he saw a black worker pull a cart with more dirty laundry along the path that connected the cottages. And, ambling behind that worker, as if he had no care in the world, was Piet.

Magnus drew in a sharp breath. He grabbed the window, trying to yank it open. It didn't budge.

"Wait!" he called out. "Hold it right there!"

The worker, who had been gathering the sheets, looked up, could not locate the voice and bent back down. Piet turned onto the path that led to the main building and the bar.

Magnus stumbled towards the door. He yanked open the door and almost ran over Marlies and her bottles of tonic water.

"Quick! It's him!" Magnus stuttered. "Get him!"

Marlies looked at him flabbergasted.

"What on earth has gotten into you?"

"It's Piet! He's bloody getting away." Magnus pointed towards the main building.

Marlies saw the glass on the table.

"Started your drinks early, didn't you."

But Magnus was already out of the door, limping to the main building, stumbling over a root catching himself, pushing onward. Marlies followed him, put his arm over her shoulder and coaxed him towards the bar.

The bar's main feature was a long rough hewn counter. Assorted liquor bottles were arranged on a shelve behind it. A television hung on the wall tuned to an interminable cricket game. There were no mirrors or similar bar fittings. The rest of the space was as sparsely furnished as their cabin--just tables and chairs.

There were only men in the bar, drinking beer and watching the cricket game. Piet was leaning against the counter, bantering with the bartender.

"That's him," Magnus shouted, pointing at Piet. All faces turned towards him.

Marlies left him by the door and marched up to Piet and pressed both fists against her hips.

"Did you try to kill my husband last night?"

Piet's eyes widened, his forehead creased and his mouth fell open. All heads turned towards Piet. The TV commentator droned on, but nobody paid attention.

"Well, did you or didn't you?"

A smile began to appear at the edges of Piet's mouth, slowly developing into a broad grin.

"No, ma'am. I didn't. That him there?" He pointed to Magnus. "Can't say that I've seen him before. Must've been a different Piet."

He shrugged. The room broke into laughter, the bartender drowning out most of the other guests. Marlies' face flushed red with anger. She turned, walked back to Magnus and dragged him out of the bar. He was in no shape to resist.

***

The night was torture. Marlies refused to speak with him and spent the night pretending to sleep. His soreness kept him awake most of the night which he spent thinking about his predicament. More than anything, he wanted to prove to Marlies that he hadn't lied. But he was surprised by the realization that he also wanted to stop whatever these idiots were up to.

He'd been truthful when he told them that he didn't do politics. He hadn't taken sides during the waning days of apartheid, had focused instead on building his business. When the election finally happened in 1994, he was happy if for no other reason than the normality it bestowed upon all South Africans. Afterwards, it was back to business as usual. And business had been good in the five years since. He didn't need some hare-brained coup d'état to screw it all up.

At seven, Marlies got up, drank coffee, grabbed her swimsuit and towel and told him that she'd be off snorkeling. He was not invited.

Thirty minutes later, he decided to take things into his own hands. He got up and washed down some pain killers with the rest of the coffee and made some more. Realizing that he had not eaten for an entire day, he fried three eggs and the last of the bacon. The first bite of egg on bread filled his body with a pleasant warmth and he wolfed down the rest of the breakfast.

The combination of food and pain killers left him in a much better mood. He walked back and forth, testing his stamina, and found that he could move better than he expected. No long distance runner, but no limping invalid either. He grabbed his pocket knife, the bottle of pain killers and went out.

The grounds were quiet. The outdoorsy guests had left for their daily adventures and the loungers were still in bed. Too early for the room service crew to keep an eye on his movements. He locked the cottage door. Using the cover of the neighboring cabins and some banana trees, he reached the rear of the main building.

A breezeway connected a door, probably to the kitchen, with a storage shed. A perfect place to stop and get the lay of the land. He took three large steps and reached the entry of the shed.

The kitchen door opened with a loud creak. He jumped into the twilight of the shed and landed on his sore leg. The sudden pain took his breath. He willed himself to take two more steps and ducked behind a large freezer and a shelf holding boxes of various sizes.

Not a moment too soon. The kitchen door slammed shut and Magnus heard a voice.

"Ja, I got it ..." It was Piet, talking on his mobile. "Uh huh ... but colonel, I don't think ... uh huh ... ja."

Then silence as Piet approached the shed. Magnus shrunk deeper into the narrow space.

"The cargo is waiting by the boat. It'll be tight, two runs. I'm sure we're gonna make it ... uh huh. Ja, he's here. Saw his wife go off with a group earlier, will deal with him later. Good, I'm gonna call with an update."

Magnus heard him flip his mobile shut. Then Piet entered the shed. Magnus held his breath. He heard Piet's hand slide along the wall. A dim light bulb lit up over the entrance. Magnus's heart almost stopped. But the door to the freezer opened and provided a temporary cover. Then the bulb flickered and went off again. Piet swore and closed the freezer. He grabbed a box from the shelf and left the shed. Only when the kitchen door banged shut did Magnus allow himself to breathe again.

A boat? Were they ready to move the guns? Without the guns there was no evidence. He remembered that the lodge had advertised boat trips on the Kosi Lakes . That must be the boat Piet mentioned.

***

The sound of a car starting caught his attention. He snuck to the shed's entry. Not seeing anyone, he sidled around the main building. Laughter came from the front and a car door slammed. He rounded the last corner and saw the lodge's Land Cruiser drive through the gate.

There were other cars on the grounds and he set out for the makeshift garage behind the laundry shed. Three vehicles stood there in various stages of disrepair. Two were obviously out of commission. A pair of legs stuck out from under one and the second was missing two wheels. The third--an ancient Land Rover--was missing its hood, but otherwise looked serviceable.

He snuck up to it and saw the key in the ignition. He jumped in, stepped on the clutch and turned the key. The engine turned over but did not catch. The mechanic peered from under his car. Magnus tried again. Same result. The mechanic slid out and got up. Magnus looked around the instruments and found a choke lever. He pulled it and cranked the engine again. The mechanic shouted and ran towards the car. At last the engine caught. He jammed in the first gear and lurched forward just as the mechanic reached for the door.

Magnus managed to avoid the laundry shed and steadied the car on the track that led to the gate. He heard the mechanic yelling behind him and others ran towards him. With a high whine he shifted into second gear, slid into a tight turn and through the gate.

The Land Cruiser was long out of sight, but its tracks were clearly visible on the sandy soil. The ride was rough, the seats consisted of worn leather about the thickness of a postage stamp over hard springs. His body's soreness returned and he pulled out the bottle of aspirin and dry-swallowed two.

Nature had the same oppressive presence here as it had on the beach. Tangled bushes, lianas, the occasional tree all pressing in on the trail. But this time he was grateful. It reduced his chances of losing the Land Cruiser. The few turn-offs he encountered showed no new tracks.

He thought he was driving towards the lakes, but the the curving track had messed up his sense of direction. The sun stood high in the sky to his left and he hoped that meant he was going East.

The trail headed up a steep incline. The engine struggled, he tried to downshift, but missed the moment and the car stalled. He turned the key and cranked the engine. No result. Impatient, he cranked again and again. By the time he remembered the choke, the smell of gasoline told him that he had flooded the engine.

With a curse he slammed he door shut and trudged up the incline. At the crest he realized how lucky he'd been. The Land Cruiser was parked about a half a mile away next to a dock and a motor boat.

***

The hike through the sand brought back angry memories from his beach adventure. But the anger spurred him on. After crossing what seemed about half the distance, he decided to leave the dirt track and circle through the bush.

The going was rough. His walking shoes were better than being barefoot but his unprotected knees and calfs took the brunt of the thorns that seemed to reach for him from all sides.

About twenty yards from the trail, he found a narrow path obviously used by animals, if the pile of fresh shit was anything to go by. He stepped around it carefully and wished he were back in his yard at home. This entire vacation had been a complete disaster.

He reached the water's edge and squatted behind a bush. He hadn't really thought through his plan, except that he was going to confront Piet and whoever else was there. Now that he had almost reached them, he realized it wasn't a plan at all. They obviously had guns and this time around, there would kill him. His body would be found in the water if a croc hadn't gotten to it first.

The thought of a croc made him nervous. But a quick scan of the water did not produce anything croc-like. He crawled forward, staying low. When he heard a voice he stopped again. He squatted behind a bush and peered around the bottom to get a better view. The area around the dock had been cleared of large brush.

Piet and Johan were busy carrying the crates from an old pickup to the boat. It was obviously a task they disliked and they undertook it with a grim silence interrupted only by the squeak of the dock. About half of the crates had already been stacked on the boat. Johan signaled for a break and leaned against the truck. Piet walked over to the Land Cruiser and grabbed a bottle through the window.

Back at the pickup, he offered Johan the bottle. Johan took a large swig and wiped his mouth with a grin. He said something but Magnus could not understand the words. After passing the bottle back to Piet, he climbed into the boat and disappeared behind the stack of crates.

"There's not enough space here," he yelled. "We have to stack some up front."

"Well, let's get on with it, then," Piet shouted back. "Once we're done here, you take the boat and I'm gonna deal with Hardy. Time he disappeared for good."

A chill ran down Magnus's spine. What could he do here? Nothing! He turned to crawl back into the bush.

Then a shout.

"Piet, look out! A croc!"

Piet jumped into the boat.

"Where?"

"Right by the end of the dock!"

Magnus saw the head of a large crocodile floating in the water. His side of the dock, no less. It just rested there, surveying the area.

"Get it away from there!" Piet shouted.

"You get it away!" Johan replied.

But he grabbed a long boathook and inched towards the croc. When he poked the croc, it shot up, opened its giant jaws, and bellowed. The boathook fell on the dock with a clatter and Johan jumped back on the boat. The croc rushed up the shore shaking its head.

"Shoot it!" Johan screamed.

But Piet was stuck on the back of the pickup. The croc waddled back into the water and swam away from the dock towards the area where Magnus was hiding. He saw it and crawled away from the shore, keeping his eyes on the water. His heart was beating and sweat ran from his forehead. No sudden moves now.

A branch broke with a loud snap. He couldn't see the croc but knew it was there. Then a big splash. Magnus jumped up and ran for the Land Cruiser. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the croc rushing up the shore. He remembered reading about their amazing speed on land.

A root caught his right foot. He stumbled, yelped with pain, caught himself, gave it one last push and grabbed the door handle. Locked! The croc raced towards the car. He jumped over the hood, yanked the driver's door open, slid in and slammed it shut.

The croc returned to the lake, content to survey the havoc it had caused. Then it slid back into the water and swam away.

***

Johan and Piet remained motionless and stared at him. Looking around the cab of the Land Cruiser, he understood their reaction. The gun that had intimidated Magnus three days earlier lay on the passenger seat. He grabbed it, cranked down the window and pointed it at Piet.

"Don't move! Put your hands up."

Piet reluctantly raised his hands to shoulder height. Magnus opened the door, stood up on the foot rail and pointed the gun at Johan.

"You too. Put your hands up and come over here."

"What about the croc?" Johan replied, one hand up, the other pointing to the water.

"It's gone. And if not, you'll have to run fast."

Piet had lowered his hands and fussed with one of the crates, but Magnus shouted a warning in his direction. Johan took careful steps from the boat to the dock and then to land. When he reached the pickup, Magnus left the Land Cruiser and walked over to them, keeping a safe distance.

"Throw your car keys over to me, slowly, one hand only."

He had noticed the keys missing in the Land Cruiser. Piet lowered his right hand, pulled a key chain from his pocket and tossed it half way in his direction.

"Johan, the keys to the pickup."

"They're in the ignition. I'll get them."

"No! Both of you, over to the Land Cruiser. Now."

They walked over to the SUV reluctantly.

"Get in. Close the doors."

Once they had closed the doors, Magnus picked up the keys from the ground. Then he backed towards the pickup and pulled its keys from the ignition. He aimed at the rear tire of the pickup and pulled the trigger. It didn't budge. He examined the gun. Did it have a safety? He looked for a lever or a button.

A sound from the Land Cruiser got his attention. Johan had quietly opened the door and stood by rear.

Another quick look at the gun. He found a lever, pushed it and aimed above Johan's head. The shot rang in his ears and the recoil jerked his arm back. He almost dropped the gun. Johan ducked behind the truck. Piet pulled out his mobile phone and lifted it to his ears.

Magnus aimed for the tires again, this time holding the gun with both hands. Four shots later, air hissing from rapidly deflating tires, he jumped on the dock and backed into the boat.

A shot sounded and Magnus saw Johan behind the Land Cruiser, pointing a gun. He fired back, then cut the tie rope with his pocket knife. The boat floated way from the dock. He started the engine and backed away into the lake. Another shot rang. The high wine of the bullet drowned in the roar of the boat's engine as Magnus sped towards the center of the lake.

***

He knew there were four connected lakes that emptied into the Indian Ocean . But he had no idea on which lake he was. The sun stood high in the sky. About noon, he guessed. Marlies was scheduled to leave the fourth lake at two o'clock. All he had to do was steer north, toward the sun.

The connection to the next lake was not very obvious. He followed the shore and saw the narrow channel at the last moment. The connections to the other lakes--he had started at the first lake after all--were equally difficult to find. An hour later, he reached the entrance to the fourth lake. He felt the propeller hit something in the narrow passage and the entire boat shook. But once through the passage, the motor caught itself again.

The fourth lake was criss-crossed by a complex pattern of undulating lines. As he approached the first one, he recognized them as the traditional fish traps mentioned in the tourist brochure. Rows of branches, staked close to each other into the bottom, formed an impenetrable barrier to fish. He saw no obvious passage through them. He wheeled the boat around and followed one line until he saw an opening. But that just led to another barrier.

A droning noise behind him attracted his attention. He looked back and saw a black spot in the sky approaching rapidly. The noise assumed a thudding quality. The spot turned into a helicopter.

He maneuvered the boat back a little, aimed for the middle of the lake and opened the throttle all the way. The front of the boat shot up and broke through the first row of stakes. The propeller crunched through some of the debris, but the boat barely lost momentum. Encouraged, Magnus kept his hand on the throttle and plowed through one trap after another.

The northern shore of the fourth lake approached rapidly. He looked for the snorkeling party at the inland side but didn't see anybody. He scanned the ocean side of the lake. Nobody there either. The noise of the helicopter grew louder.

Magnus searched for the exit to the ocean along the northern shore. A sandbar materialized out of nowhere. He turned abruptly. The crates slid to the left side of the boat, tilting it at a precarious angle. He struggled to maintain his balance.

At last, he spotted a channel that led past the promontory. He aimed the boat for the channel and opened the throttle. The boat shot forward and into the channel. The grating crunch told him too late that the channel was too shallow. The bow ground into the sand. The crates flew forward, and Magnus sailed through the air. He hit the wet sand like a bag of bricks and passed out.

***

Magnus felt a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes. Piet hovered over him, grinning. A sinking feeling spread from his stomach upward. He looked into the direction of the noise and saw a helicopter, its rotor turning slowly. Men were loading the crates into its hold. He'd failed, failed miserably.

Another face smiled down at him. Marlies? For a moment his brain refused to compute. What was she doing here? He struggled to sit but Marlies gently pushed him down.

"Shh, luv. Stay down. We don't know if you have any internal injuries."

Magnus swallowed.

"What are you doing here? What's going on?"

Piet squatted next to him.

"I can explain that. You've blithely stumbled into a conspiracy to overthrow the government. I'm an undercover agent for the National Prosecuting Authority..."

"You're a Scorpion?" Magnus shouted.

Piet nodded.

"Yes, my job was to track the guns. Your appearance sure threw a monkey wrench into my plans."

"Sorry," Magnus said.

"No worries. You forced their hand. They suddenly had to move the guns and their frantic communications finally revealed the extent of their network. Exactly what we needed. I think we got them all."

Two men lifted Magnus on a stretcher. Marlies walked next to him.

"I'm sorry, luv. I had no right to doubt you. But next time, please don't take on the whole world."

Then she bent down and kissed him gently.