Thriller-Writer: The opening chapters of CHASING SHADOWS

CHASING SHADOWS

Book 2 of the Shadows series

It watched from unwavering, hooded, reptilian eyes. Its massive body, at least four meters long, remained immobile as he stepped off the edge. Less than fifteen meters away, open jawed, soaking up the sun, watching, waiting. A foul footfall and he would roll down to within striking distance. These beasts could move rapidly over short distances. Faster, much faster, than a human. With the clamping of those teeth around a limb, it would be all over. A short drag to the river, a death roll, drowning and...

The red dust clung to the sweat on his lower legs as he slid down the scree. He used the geologist’s hammer in his left hand to brake his descent. This only served to raise more of the burgundy-colored dirt. His once-white shirt now stained with claret streaks where sudor and soil had mixed. He coughed, a rasping resonance as the cliff face reflected the noise in the still air. The caw of an unidentified bird responded from somewhere above. Otherwise the silence was marred only by the loose soil sluicing under his boots. A furtive glance below to ensure the reptile had not encroached on safe separation.

Perhaps he should have asked Joao, the official minder assigned by the Ministry, to accompany him. He could find himself in all kinds of trouble here. Everything from venomous snakes to crocodiles, from poachers to thieves. Not to mention he had exceeded the restrictions of his work permit just by being in this remote part of the country. If a patrol chanced upon him there was no telling what would happen.

He slowed his downward travel almost to a stop and glanced below. Another couple of meters and he could see a ledge which offered firm footing. More interestingly, the earth slide he had caused now exposed the rock face he sought. A darker brownish grey pierced the red tint of the African dirt. The prize, if his expectations were to be fulfilled, hinted at when the February rains had flushed the topsoil.

Now safe on the ledge, he looked up. The chisel point of the hammer would help him climb back up easily enough; that and the rope he had secured to the tow hook on the rear of his 4x4 Toyota Land Cruiser LC79 pickup. Going further down, toward the thankfully still croc, was not an option.

He turned his attention back to the exposed rock. Its color and composition seen this close up matched what he was looking for, but he needed to perform more tests before he could be sure. He reached into the bag hanging from his shoulder and extracted an insulated metal tube. After unscrewing the lid, he placed the tube carefully on the ledge. Next he extracted a pair of thick gloves and a small trowel. After donning the gloves, he held the trowel under the exposed brown-grey rock then chipped away with his hammer’s chisel point. In a few minutes, a decent sample had collected on the trowel. This he deposited in the tube and reapplied the lid. He returned everything to the bag and used the hammer and rope to climb the rock face.

Once alongside his truck, he stashed the bag out of sight under the passenger seat. For now, his find needed to be verified and then reported back. Once that was done, people way above his own paygrade would negotiate exploitation rights on an International level. He might receive a substantial bonus if everything turned out as he hoped.

He dropped his hammer on the floor of the passenger well then closed the door. Untying the rope and stowing it in the lockbox in the bed of the truck took a couple of minutes. Now he was ready for the long drive back to the coast.

He glanced up at the sky. At least no rain was expected, so he would only have the dust to contend with. Dust and potholes, mudslides, stray fauna. The usual assortment on West African roads.

Just as he was about to climb into the cab, a glint of bright light caught his eye. He reached into the door pocket and extracted his binoculars. Cranking them up to maximum power he could make out a plume of dust, no, two.

Vehicles coming fast from the west.

This could be a problem.

Two military Jeeps.

Four men in the first, three, and a .50 caliber machine gun, in the second.

He slowed to a stop and awaited their approach. The braking tires of the oncoming vehicles sent a red cloud tsunami at the closed windows of his own car. By the time it had settled, he was surrounded by angry faces, all porting the Israeli Galil ACE 31 assault rifles that had been issued to the country’s army the previous year after some astute arms trader had made the deal of a lifetime. All, that was, except the last man to descend from the jeep. His face was instantly recognizable. Hardly a day went by without Colonel Nelson Dembo’s visage gracing the few pages of the local, state-run newspapers. Officially he was the second most powerful man in the country, though many whispered his reach was far longer, and more deadly, than President General Jordan Savimbi. The joke was he had acquired the rank of Colonel after the coup that had placed Savimbi into the President’s Palace in the capital as a dig at his fellow rebel, the new President. Both Savimbi and Dembo had been Corporals in the armed forces of the previous regime. Savimbi, however, had sought to make his intentions clear and assumed the rank of General the very next day.

Dembo approached the Toyota taking every step as though time was irrelevant. The geologist lowered his window. When the Colonel spoke, the slow, plummy tones of his affected British upper-class accent grated on his ears.

“My dear fellow, what a surprise! I did not expect to find you out here, so far from the area your contract restricted you to. Please, do step out of your car.”

Dembo nodded to one of the men who stepped forward, yanked open the Toyota’s door, then dragged the geologist onto the dried mud ground.

The Colonel waited until he regained his feet then spoke again.

“Do you have a legitimate explanation for why you are here? A special permit, perhaps, from our beloved President Savimbi?” His smile was as wide as it was false.

“I, er, no, Colonel Dembo, I don’t have permission to be this far up-stream. It’s just professional curiosity. I’m due to finish my work in your country in a couple of weeks and decided I’d like to examine the rock strata along the river bed. Curiosity, nothing more.” He lowered his head hoping a humble demeanor would count in his favor.

“Ah. What do we have here?” The Colonel reached collected the geologist’s bag from the soldier who had been rummaging inside the Toyota’s cabin. He held aloft the metal sample tube. “And this, dear boy?”

“Just some dirt and rock samples I wanted to analyze back at base camp.”

“Why? Do they hold some kind of special interest for you?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. I just wanted to check for the presence of any indicators for minerals you might like to mine. You know, see if it would be worth your country’s time to sink a few boreholes and uncover economically viable mineral resources.”

“All without seeking permission…”

“I know, I’m sorry, I…”

“Do not interrupt me again!” Even the Colonel’s snobbish airs failed to hide the venom in the voice.

Seconds passed as though some divine figure had pressed the pause button. No one moved. No one spoke.

“Now, as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, even if your motives are, shall we say, altruistic, this isn’t your country where you can travel anywhere without restriction and dig holes in the earth to satisfy your curiosity. We own this land, not you. There is no Public access by default here.”

“I am sorry. It wasn’t my intention…”

“What have you found?”

“What?”

“Your sample. What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know for sure. I need more tests as I mentioned.”

“But a man of your experience…” Smiling to punctuate his phrase, a toothy reminder of the crocodile below the scree.

“I really don’t know, Colonel…”

“Don’t vacillate me. I am a man of learning, not one of these rag-tag blacks. You would do well to remember that.”

“Sir, that was not my intention…”

“Enough! You are to consider yourself detained.”

The geologist stepped forward, extending an imploring hand.

The soldier behind also advanced, bringing the butt of his assault rifle down hard on the man’s neck. As he slumped to the ground, fighting the blackness that rushed to engulf him, he heard the Colonel shout at the soldier.

“You fool! You might have killed him. I need him alive…”

Colonel Dembo pulled out his pistol, levelled it at the soldier’s head, and pulled the trigger.

“Sergeant Okeke, put him in the jeep.” He indicated the crumpled form of the geologist.

“What about…?” The sergeant’s bulging eyes were focused on the other body.

The Colonel, holstering his own weapon, stooped over and retrieved the dead soldier’s Galil. He turned and stepped into the nearest vehicle. His eyes caught movement down by the river.

“Throw it to the crocodile.”

* * *