"I'm sorry, Miss jayTimon Nbebi confirmed it. "Fun, gab era had to be yew careful when he tackled Zebiwe. He knew if he seized hi In" for his political activities, he would have the entire Matabele tribe in revolt. You and Mr. Mellow provided him with the perfect opportunity a non-political crime. A crime of greed."
"I'm being stupid," said Sally-Anne. "If Zebiwe wasn't the master poacher, was there ever a poacher? And if there was who was it?"
"General Fungabera himself, "said Timon Nbebi simply.
Ak
"Are you sure?" Craig was incredulous.
"I was personally in charge of many of the shipments of 0, animal contraband that left the country."
"But that night on the Karoi road?" "That was easily arranged. The general knew that sooner or later Zebiwe would be going to Tuti Mission again.
Zebiwe's secretary informed us of the exact time and date.
We arranged for the truck loaded with contraband, driven by a Matabele detainee we had bribed, to be waiting for him on the Tuti road. Of course, we had not anticipated Tungata Zebiwe's violent reaction that was merely a bonus for us." Timon drove as fast as the track would allow, while Sally' Anne and Craig hunched down in their seats, their artificial elation at their escape rapidly giving way to fatigue and shock.
"Where are we heading?" Craig asked.
"Botswana border." That was the landlocked state to the south and west which had become an established staging post for political fugitives from its neighbours.
"On our way I hope you will have a chance to see what is really happening to my people. No one else will bear witness. General Fungabera has sealed off the whole of south-western Matabeleland. No journalists are allowed in, no clergymen, no Red Cross-" He slowed for an area where ant bears had dug their holes in the track, burrowing for the nests Of termites, and then he accelerated again.
"The pass I have from General Fungabera will take us a little further, but not as far as the border. We will have to use side roads and back roads until we can find a crossing place. Very soon General Fungabera will learn of my defection, and we will be hunted by the whole of the Third Brigade. We must make as much distance as we can before that happens." They reached the main fork in the track and Timon stopped, but kept the motor running. He took a large, scale map from his leather map-case and studied it attentively.
"We are just south of the railway line. This is the road to Empandeni Mission Station. If we can get through there before the alarm goes out for us, then we can try for the border between Madaba and Matsurni. The Botswana police run a regular patrol along the fence."
"Let's get on with it." Craig was impatient and becoming fear fill the comfort of the weapon across his lap beginning to fade. Timon folded the map and drove on.
"Can I ask you some more questions?" Sally-Anne spoke after a few minutes.
"I will try to answer,"Timon agreed.
"The murder of the Goodwins, and the other white families in Matabeleland were those atrocities ordered by Tungata Zebiwe? Is he responsible for those gruesome murders?"
"No, no, Miss Jay. Zebiwe has been trying desperately to control those killers. I believe that he was on his way to Tuti Mission for just such a reason to meet with the radical Matabele elements and try to reason with them."
"But the writing in blood, "Tungata Zebiwe Lives"?" Now Timon Nbebi was silent, his face contorted as though he fought some inner battle, and they waited for him to speak. At last he. sighed explosively, and his voice had changed.
"Miss Jay, please troy to understand my position, before you judge me for -what I am about to tell you. General Fungabera is a persuasive man. I was carried along by his promises of glory and reward. Then suddenly I had gone too far and I was not able to turn back. I think the English expression is "riding the tiger". I was forced to move on from one bad deed to another even worse." He paused, and then, in a rush, "Miss Jay, I personally recruited the killers of the Goodwin family from the rehabilitation centre. I told them where to go, what to do and what to write on the wall. I supplied their weapons, and arranged for them to be driven to the area in transport of the Third Brigade." There was silence again, broken only by the throb of the Land-Rover engine, and Timon Nbebi had to break it, speaking as though words were an opiate for his guilt.
"They were Matabele, veterans, war-hard men, men who would do anything for the return of their personal liberty, the chance to carry weapons again. They did not hesitate."
"And Fungabera ordered it? "Craig asked.
"Of course. It was his excuse to begin the purge of the Matabele.
Now perhaps you understand why I am fleeing with you. I could not continue along this path."
"The other murders the killing of Senator Savage and his family?" Sally-Anne asked.
"General Fungabera. did not have to order those," Timon shook his head. "Those were copycat murders. The bush is still full of wild men from the war. They hide their weapons and come into the towns, some even have regular jobs, but at the weekend or on a public holiday, they return to the bush, dig up their rifles and go on the rampage. They are not political dissidents, they are armed bandits and the white families are the juiciest, softest targets, rich and helpless, deprived of their weapons by Mugabe's government so they cannot defend themselves."
"And it all plays right into Peter Fungabera's hands.
Any bandit is labelled a political dissident, any grisly robbery an excuse to continue the purge, held up to the world as proof of the savagery and intractability of the Matabele tribe," Craig continued for him.