They sat on the front edge of the hill and played their binoculars over the forest below. Behind them Job laid out the food box he had carried up, and in minutes he had a fire going. It had been too early to eat breakfast before they left camp, but now, at the odor of frying bacon and eggs, Claudia felt saliva flooding her mouth.
While they waited for their breakfast, Sean pointed out the terrain. "That is the Mozambican border over there, just beyond the second kopje, only seven or eight miles from here."
"Mozambique," Claudia murmured, peering through her binoculars. "The name has such a romantic ring to it."
"Not so romantic. It's just another triumph of African socialism and the carefully thought out economic policy of chaos and ruination," Sean grunted.
"I can't take racism before breakfast," Claudia told him icily.
"all right." Sean grinned. "Suffice it to say that just across the border there you have twelve years of Marxism, corruption, greed, and incompetence, just beginning to bear fruit. You have a civil war raging out of control, famine that will probably starve a million people, and epidemic disease, including AIDS, that will kill another million in the next five years."
"Sounds like a fun place for a vacation," Riccardo said. "How about breakfast, Job?"
Job brought them plates of eggs and bacon and fried French bread followed by mugs of strong, aromatic coffee. They ate off their laps, glassing the forest through their binoculars between mouthfuls.
"You're a pretty good cook, Job," Claudia told him.
"Thank you, ma'am," Job answered quietly. He spoke English with only a slight accent. He was a man in his late thirties, with a tall, powerful physique and wide-spaced intelligent eyes in the handsome moon face typical of the Matabele and their Zulu origins.
"When did you learn" Claudia asked.
The Matabele hesitated and glanced at Sean before he said in his deep soft voice, "in the army, ma'am."
"Job was a captain in the Ballantyne Scouts with me," Sean explained.
"A captain!" Claudia exclaimed. "I didn't realize--" She broke off quickly, looking embarrassed.
"You didn't realize there were black officers in the Rhodesian army," Sean finished for her. "There's a lot more to know about Africa than what they show you on CBS television."
Shadrach, the second gun bearer, was sitting fifty yards farther along the crest, where he had a better view toward the north. Now he whistled softly and pointed up that way. Sean wiped the last of the egg yolk off his plate with the toast and stuffed it into his mouth. He passed the plate to Job. "Thanks, Job, that was great." And he went to join Shadrach. The two of them peered down into the forest.
"What is it?" Riccardo called impatiently.
"Elephant," Sean replied. Both Riccardo and Claudia sprang up and hurried to join them.
"There? Where?" she demanded.
"Big one?" Riccardo asked. "Can you see his tusks? Is it him?"
"Too far to be sure, a couple of miles." Sean pointed out the indistinct gray blur among the trees, and Claudia was amazed that such a huge animal was so difficult to see. It took some minutes before it moved slightly and she was able to pie it out.
"What do you think?" Riccardo asked. "Could it be Tukutela?"
"It could be." Sean nodded. "But it's a thousand to one against it."
Tukutela. Claudia had listened to them discussing this elephant at the camp fire. Tukutela, the angry one, was one of those legendary animals of which there were only a handful left in the whole length and breadth of Africa. A bull elephant with tusks that weighed over a hundred pounds each. Tukutela was the main reason her father had come back to Africa for the last time. For he had once seen Tukutela. Three years before, he had been on safari with Sean Courtney, and the two of them had followed the great elephant for five days. Matatu had led them over a hundred miles on the spoor before they had come up with him. They had stalked to within twenty paces of the enormous, ancient beast as he fed on the fruits of a morula tree. They had studied every wrinkle and crease in his riven gray hide. They were so close could have counted the remaining few hairs in his tail, the rest worn away over the years, and they had gazed in silent awe upon his ivory.
Riccardo Monterro would have willingly paid any price to possess those tusks as his own trophy. He had asked Sean in a whisper, "Isn't there any way I can have him?" And he had seen Sean hesitate before he shook his head.
No, Capo We can't touch him. More than my license and my concession are worth." For around his neck Tukutela wore a collar, a sturdy thing of nylon, tough as a heavy-duty truck tire, and suspended from it was a radio transmitter.
Some years previously, the old bull had been darted from a helicopter by members of the government elephant research project, and while he was unconscious, they had riveted the radio collar around his neck. This made Tukutela a "designated research animal" and placed him beyond the reach of legal safari hunters.
Of course, he was still at risk from ivory poachers, but no licensed hunter could legally hunt him.
While the elephant was under the influence of the drug, Dr. Glynn Jones, the government veterinarian in charge of the project, had measured his tusks. His report was not for general publication, but his secretary was a nubile blonde who thought Sean Courtney was the most awe-inspiring thing she had ever seen in her young life. She had duplicated a copy of the report for Sean.
"From Jonesy's measurements, one tusk will weigh a hundred and thirty pounds and the other a few pounds lighter," Sean had whispered to Riccardo as they studied the old bull, and they had stared at the tusks hungrily.
At the lip they were as thick as Sean's thigh, and there was no taper to them. They were stained almost black with vegetable juice and the tips were rounded off bluntly. According to Dr. Jones, the left tusk was eight feet four and a half inches, the right tusk eight feet six and a quarter, from lip to tip.
In the end they had walked away and left the old bull to his solitary wandering. Then, only six months ago, the blond secretary had been making breakfast for Sean in her tiny bachelor flat in the Avenues in Harare, when she mentioned quite casually, "Did you know that Tukutela has thrown his collar?"
Sean was lying naked on her bed, but he sat up quickly. "What did you say?"
"Jonesy was in an awful pet. They put the radio direction finder on Tukutela. and all they got was his collar. He had managed to tear it off at last and had hurled it into the top of a msasa tree."
"You clever little beauty," Sean said happily. "Come here and get your prize." And the girl had dropped her dressing gown on the floor and rushed across the room.
So Tukutela had thrown his collar and was no longer a "designated research animal. " Once again he was legal game. That same day Sean had sent a cable to Riccardo in Alaska. He had received the reply the following afternoon.
I'M COMinG STOP BOOK ME fuLL SAFARI 1ST JULY TO AUGUST 15TH STOP I WANT THAT JUMBO STOP CApo. "
And now, as Riccardo stood on the crest of the kopJe, studying that far-off smudge of elephant gray in the forest below, he was shaking with excitement.