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It was another hour's drive to the rendezvous, where they found Claudia, Riccardo, and the others sitting beside a fire on the verge of the rough track. They climbed wearily into the truck, and Sean turned back and headed towards camp. It was four in the morning, over twenty-four hours since they had set out on the hunt with such high hopes.
They drove in silence for a while, Claudia asleep on her father's shoulder. Then Riccardo asked thoughtfully, "Do you know where Tukutela, has gone?"
"Beyond our reach, Capo," Sean told him grimly.
"Seriously." Riccardo was impatient. "Is there one of his regular haunts where he will be headed?"
"That's rough country in there," Sean murmured. "Chaos and confusion. Villages burned and deserted, two armies fighting each other, with Mugabe's lads joining in."
"Where has that elephant gone?" Riccardo insisted. "He must have an established range."
Sean nodded. "We have worked it out, Job, Matatu, and I. We reckon he holes up from July to September in the swamps below the Cabora Bossa dam. Then in late September or the begi
"So he'll be heading for the swamps now?" Riccardo asked.
"More than likely." Sean nodded. "We'll get another crack at him next season, Capo."
At dawn they reached camp, where there were steaming hot showers and freshly ironed clothes ready for them, and a huge breakfast spread in the dining tent. Sean loaded crispy bacon and fried eggs onto their plates.
"When we have finished breakfast, we'll catch up on some of the sleep we missed last night, sack out until lunchtime."
"Suits me," Claudia agreed readily.
"Then we'll have a conference. We must work out our plans for the rest of the safari. We still have almost three weeks. We can try for another bull elephant. I can't offer you anything like Tukutela, but we might be able to find a sixty-pounder for you, Capo."
"I don't want a sixty-pounder," Riccardo said. "I want Tukutela."
"Don't we all, but let's drop it now." Sean's irritation was undisguised. "We can't do anything about it. Let's just drop the subject."
"What if we crossed the border and followed him into the swamps?" Riccardo did not look up from his eggs and bacon, and Sean studied his face before he laughed mirthlessly.
"For a moment you had me worried. I thought you meant it.
We'll get Tukutela next season."
"There isn't going to be another season," Riccardo told him.
You know damn well Geoffrey Manguza is going to pull your license and take Chiwewe away from you."
"Thanks, Capo, you certainly know how to make me feel good."
"No sense fooling ourselves. This is our last chance at that elephant."
"Correction." Sean shook his head. "It's over for this season.
We had our chance and we blew it."
"Not if we follow him into Mozambique," Riccardo said. "Follow him into the swamps."
Sean stared at him, "My God, you are serious!" "I told you, there is nothing that I want more in this life than that elephant."
"So you expect Job and Matatu and me to commit suicide for a whim of yours."
"No, I don't expect it for a whim-let's say for half a minion dollars."
Sean shook his head, but no words came out, and Riccardo went on. "I feel responsible for you losing your license. With half a million you could buy a good concession in Zambia or Botswana or fifty thousand acres of game ranch in South Africa. Half a million. Think about it."
Sean jumped up from the breakfast table so violently he knocked his plate to the ground. He strode away without looking back.
He stood alone at the edge of the camp, staring down toward the river where a small herd of impala were drinking and a white headed fish eagle sat on a dead tree above the green water. He did not see them.
He thought about what it would be like next year without his own concession. He owed his brother Garry almost fifty thousand dollars, and his overdraft at the bank in Harare was touching ten thousand. Reema had told him the bank manager was anxious to speak to him, but Sean had avoided the appointment on his last visit to Harare.
He was over forty and he had accumulated nothing. His father might be delighted to welcome him back to the family company, but his brother Garry was the chairman now and he would be less enthusiastic.
He thought about air-conditioned offices, neckties and dark business suits, interminable meetings with lawyers and engineers, rush-hour traffic and the smell of the city.
He thought about his father's philosophy, heartily endorsed by his brother, that a man had to start at the bottom of the company and "work his way up.." Garry had more than twenty years" start up on him. Garry loved it and he hated it.
He thought about half a million dollars. With that amount of money in his back pocket, he could thumb his nose at his bank manager, at Geoffrey Manguza, at Garry Courtney, and at the rest of the world and tell them all to go and get stuffed.