The leopard went over the fence with the ease of a bird taking flight.
Daniel smiled. He knew that the poor tormented brute would head unerringly for its home in the misty forested mountains.
After what it had suffered, it deserved that freedom at least, he thought.
Thirty minutes later he reached the hired Volkswagen. He drove to the airport and parked it in one of the Avis bays. He dropped the keys in the return box of the locked and deserted Avis office and then went to his Landcruiser in the public carpark.
At the Capital Hotel he packed quickly, stuffing his few possessions into the canvas valise. He used one of his neckties as a sling for his arm.
All that exertion had aggravated the injury. The sleepy night clerk at the hotel cashier's desk printed his credit card and he carried his own bag out to the Landcruiser.
Unable to restrain his curiosity he drove past the Chetti Singh supermarket. There was no damage to the main building, although in the back alley a couple of firemen were still hosing down the pile of scorched garbage and the smoke-stained rear wall, watched by a dozen or so local residents in their nightclothes.
He turned westwards and left Lilongwe, heading back towards the Zambian border post. It was a three-hour drive.
He turned on the radio and tuned to the early-morning service of Radio Malawi, listening to the music and news reports.
He was approaching the border post when it came on the six o'clock news.
It was the second item after a report on the breaching of the Berlin Wall and the flood of East Germans to the West. Meanwhile, here in Lilongwe we have just received a report that a prominent Malawi businessman and entrepreneur has been savagely mauled by his own pet leopard. Mr. Chetti Singh was rushed to the Lilongwe General Hospital where he is now in the intensive-care unit. A hospital spokesman said that Mr. Singh was suffering from extensive injuries and his condition is described as critical. The circumstances of the attack are unknown, but the police are seeking an employee of Mr. Singh's, a certain Mr.
Chawe Gundwana, who they hope will be able to assist them with their enquiries. Any person knowing the whereabouts of Mr. Gundwana is asked to report to the nearest police station. Daniel switched off the radio and parked outside the Malawi immigration post. He was expecting trouble.
customs a There might be an APB out on him already, especially if Chetti Singh was in a condition to speak and had given Daniel's name to the police. Chetti Singh's survival had not been part of Daniel's calculations. He had expected the leopard to do a more thorough job.
His mistake had been in moving the Cadillac too soon. It had distracted the leopard from its victim.
One thing was certain: Chetti Singh was going to need a few gallons of blood transfusion. In Africa that involved an additional hazard.
He hummed his own version of the old song: Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
if the leopard don't get him, then I must.
Then with some trepidation, he took his passport into the border post. He need not have worried. The law was all smiles and courtesy.
Did you enjoy your holiday in Malawi? We are always pleased to see you, sir.
Come again soon, sir. Old Hastings Banda had them well trained.
They all appreciated the vital role that tourism played in their lives.
There was none of the have-not resentment that was so evident in other parts of the continent.
He folded a five-dollar bill into his Passport as he approached the post on the Zambian side, a hundred yards in distance but, it seemed to him, a mighty leap back into the dark ages as he passed between the two countries.
He telephoned Michael Hargreave within an hour of arriving in Lusaka, and Michael invited him to dinner that evening. Where are you heading next, you roving bedouin you? Wendy demanded as she served him a second helping of her famous Yorkshire pudding. God, what a lovely adventurous, romantic life you lead. I really must find you a wife; you make all our husbands restless. How long will you be with us?
That depends on what Michael can tell me about a mutual acquaintance called Ning Cheng Gong. If he's still in Harare, that's where I will be heading. If not, well, it's back to London, or possibly Taiwan.
You're still chasing after the Chink? Michael asked, as he pulled the cork from a bottle of reasonable deuxime cru claret that had come out in the diplomatic bag. Are we allowed to know what it's all about yet?
Daniel glanced at Wendy, and she pulled a face. Do you want me to go to the kitchen? Don't be an ass, Wendy. I've never had any secrets from you, Daniel soothed her, and then turned back to her husband. I have proved to my own satisfaction that Ning Cheng Gong arranged the attack on the Chiwewe ivory godown. Michael arrested the claret glass on the way to his lips. Oh dear. Now I see what it's all about.
Johnny Nzou was your pal, I remember. But Ning! Are you sure? He's an ambassador, not a gangster. He's both, Daniel disagreed. His hatchet man was a Sikh from Lilongwe, name of Chetti Singh. They have quite a few secrets between them. Not only ivory, but everything else from drugs to diamonds. Chetti Singh. I've heard that name recently.
Mike thought for only a second. Yes, on the news this morning. He was mauled by his own pet leopard, wasn't he? His expression changed again. Just about the time you were in Lilongwe.
What a coincidence, Danny. Has it got anything to do with your arm being in a sling, and your smug expression? I'm a reformed character, you know me, Daniel assured him. Would never dream of any rough stuff, but I did find out something from Chetti Singh during my brief chat to him before the unfortunate incident with the leopard. It's something that might interest you spooks at MI6. Michael looked pained. Ladies present, old boy. We don't mention the firm like that. Never bruit it about. had form. Wendy stood up. On second thoughts, I will go and keep an eye on Cheffie. I'll be ten minutes, enough time for boy talk, I hope. She took her wine-glass with her. Coast clear, Michael murmured. Fire away, Danny. Chetti Singh tells me that there is a coup being set up in Ubomo. Omeru is going to get the chop. Oh, dear me; not Omeru. He wears a white hat. One of the good guys. That will never do. Have you any details? Not many, I'm afraid. Ning Cheng Gong is in it, and his family, but not as principals, I suspect.
I think they are merely eager sponsors of the proposed revolution, with expectations of rights and privileges later on. Michael nodded. Usual set-up. They get a slice of the pie when the new ruler of Ubonio divides it up. No idea who he will be? None, I'm afraid, but it will be soon. My bet is within the next few months. We'll have to get a warning to Omeru. The PM might want to fly in an SAS battalion to guard him. I know she's particularly pro the old boy and Ubonio is, after all, a member of the Commonwealth. I'd be obliged if you could check up on Ning Cheng Gong while you're at it, Mike. He's gone, Danny. Flown the coop.
Spoke to my opposite number in Harare only this morning. Of course, I knew of your interest in him, so I dropped the question into the conversation.
Ning held a farewell party at the Chinese embassy on Friday evening and flew home on Saturday. Damn it, Daniel exclaimed. That shoots down all my plans. I was going to go down to Harare Wouldn't have been a good idea, Michael broke in. It's one thing feeding an ordinary law-abiding citizen to his own leopard, but one can't go around beating up ambassadors. It's considered very poor form indeed. He's no longer ambassador, Daniel pointed out. I could follow him to Taiwan. Another very mediocre idea, if you don't mind my saying so.