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Where Vultures Roost by Josh Stafford ISBN: 978-1-4137-0911-7
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Excerpt: Joseph chose his position with care. The kopje was the obvious place to hide. It had plenty of cover, but that would probably be the place where Ncube would send his men. No, he decided, the tree would be better. From the big mopane tree he would have a clear view of the exchange site, and besides, Joseph thought, the morning sun would be at his back. He swung the hunting rifle diagonally across his back and climbed quietly into the canopy of the tree. Joseph stood high in the tree, his body shielded by the tree trunk, with his rifle resting easily where the tree forked. It was a perfect hiding place. He had a clear view of the clearing and the kopje while the only part of him visible was his head and shoulders. With his camouflage he was virtually invisible. The rising sun brought a glimmer of daylight to the African bushveld: its rays, like well-trained soldiers, seeking out the darkness and destroying it. In the treetop Joseph shivered. Not long now, he thought. He took the rifle from his back, quietly pulled back the bolt and dropped a sixth round into the chamber. He pushed the original five rounds back down into the magazine,then held the trigger as he closed the bolt – and waited. Dawn broke with a myriad of colours, but Joseph did not turn and look at the dawn: even if he did, it was doubtful whether he would have appreciated the beauty of the birth of this new day. Eventually the sun rose completely, diluting the splendour and washing the colours away. Joseph waited quietly in the canopy of the big tree. A ring-necked dove settled nearby amongst the butterfly shaped mopane leaves and started to coo mournfully. Good, Joseph thought. If the birds don’t worry about me, then that means I’m well hidden. The waiting dragged on and Joseph checked his watch: it was twenty-nine minutes past eight. Another half-hour, he thought, and it will be over. A fly came and settled on the tip of his nose. Joseph tried to blow it off by pushing his lower lip out and up and blowing sharply, but the fly was stubborn and did not fly away. Slowly he brought up his hand and brushed it lightly away. It flew off, only to settle again, this time on his cheek. Oh no, he prayed, I don't need this distraction, Lord. Make it go away, please. But the fly persisted, crawling up his cheek and it started to drink from his tear duct. OK, fly – stay if you want, he thought. I won't let you distract me. The fly flew away. Joseph glanced down at his watch: it was twenty-nine minutes to nine. Has it only been two minutes since I last checked my watch? he wondered. He stared at the second hand and for an instant thought it had stopped, but then he saw it move again in its usual slow, jerky, ticking motion. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Joseph saw movement on the trail to the north of the clearing and glanced up. The commander was signalling the other two of his group to take cover in the kopje. Jameson was holding Sipho by the hand as they boldly walked into the clearing. Jameson did not look up or about him; instead he walked right into the centre of the clearing and squatted down, telling Sipho to sit quietly beside him. High up in the canopy of the tree, Joseph felt a surge of emotion, joy at seeing his son, safe, not more than fifty yards from him, but his stomach was churning at the thought of what he knew he must do. Part of him wanted to call out, to tell Sipho he was there, and that all would be well, but obviously he could not do so. Joseph took careful note of the two scouts' positions as he battled to control his nervousness. The first scout, Jongwe, selected a good spot, beside a large boulder in the kopje, with a full view of the clearing, but directly in line with the tree and the rising sun. Will he see my silhouette? Joseph wondered anxiously. No, he thought, the canopy is too thick, and besides, he would be looking directly into the sun. Ngwenya, the second scout, climbed higher in the kopje and selected a comfortable place where he could sit and watch the entire exchange. Joseph placed the crosshairs of the telescopic sight on Ngwenya's chest. One hundred and seventy five yards, Joseph thought. That means the bullet will drop about three and a half inches. Joseph shifted the rifle and, still looking through the telescopic sight, located Jongwe lying beside the big boulder. He placed the crosshairs on the scout's forehead. One twenty five yards, Joseph decided, almost spot on. Fifty yards from Joseph's big mopane tree, Ncube snatched Sipho from Jameson. "Give me the boy," the commander snarled. "I don't trust you." Jameson told Sipho to go to Ncube. "And I don't trust you either," Jameson glared back at the commander. "But in half an hour you will have your money and I can leave with Sipho." Ncube gave Jameson an evil grin. "You are wise not to trust me." Jameson shrugged and looked down. You think I'm a fool, he thought, but it is you who is the fool. Do you really think I would allow you to kill my brother? Do you think I would let you kill this child, especially as he is almost my own son? You will die, quickly, and soon you will be rotting in hell. Jameson looked up at Ncube with hate in his eyes and the commander saw it. "I think I'll kill the boy now," the commander taunted. "Then we'll kill the Chinaman and then I'll kill you." Jameson looked directly into the man's eyes. "Do you think Jabu is that stupid?" he asked quietly in Ndebele. "He's going to want to see his boy before he gives you the money – and I have to be the go-between. No boy, no me, no money." "That's OK by me," Ncube sneered, taunting him further. "I don't need it anyway." "And what of the other two? What of Jongwe and Ngwenya?" Jameson snarled at the commander. "Do you think you will live if you purposely lose the ransom? They are in this for the money now, not for the killing any more. You take away the means of them getting rich and see how fast they put a bullet in your ugly face. Especially Jongwe, as he never listens to you anyway – he'll probably be the one to do it." The commander glared at Jameson, knowing he was right. Instead the commander cruelly twisted the little boy's arm and Sipho cried out. While this exchange was taking place, Joseph quietly lifted the rifle bolt and closed it again. I'll take the commander first, he decided, then the second scout, the one higher up in the kopje, then the lower one. The lower one can't see me without looking directly into the sun. He placed the crosshairs on the commander's forehead and remembered what Moyo had said. Could he go through with this – could he really kill another person? Sipho tried to go to Jameson, but the commander refused, holding him cruelly. The boy began to scream. Ncube slapped the child and shoved him towards Jameson. "Shut that kid up!" The commander swore in Ndebele and slapped Sipho again, this time across the back of the head. Jameson grabbed the boy and held him tight to his chest, whispering to him soothingly. Ncube stood up, ready to kick the child, but Jameson turned his back to the commander, as if trying to shield the boy from the swift kick that he saw coming. Up in the tree, Joseph allowed the surge of rage to build in his body. He drew a deep breath and pulled back on the rear trigger, turning the front trigger into a delicate one-ounce hair trigger. Then he steadied himself and took careful aim in the centre of the man's forehead. In the fraction of a second before Joseph caressed the front trigger, the commander glanced up and, through the scope, Joseph looked directly into Ncube's eyes, feeling nothing inside himself but pure hate. |
