The Lion Conspiracy (eBook)
288 Seiten
Muswell Press (Verlag)
978-1-7394716-7-5 (ISBN)
Peter Hain grew up in South Africa. He is a lifelong Human Rights campaigner, and currently a Labour member of the House of Lords. Hain has written or edited twenty-one books including Mandela, Outside In, Pretoria Boy, The Rhino Conspiracy and The Elephant Conspiracy
Spring wind cool, sun rising, clear, bright-blue sky over the green hills, as father and son trekked steadily through the undulating path of Parque Nacional de Monfragüe in west-central Spain, famed for its rich birdlife.
Above them black vultures surfed the thermals, their razor-sharp eyes on the lookout for food scampering on the ground.
Earlier, father and son had spotted a couple of rare black kites, dark brown plumage, though head paler, circling over the beautifully designed visitor centre near the National Park’s northern entrance surrounded by blooming wildflowers.
As they trudged forward, taking care not to slip on the jagged layers of rocks cascading up and down the footpath, an Iberian magpie, pinkish belly and blue wings, flitted between the squat Spanish oak trees; the magpie was said to have been brought by early seafaring explorers from east Asia: Japan in particular.
His son had been set on their visit, didn’t want to stay in their native South Africa, which had plenty of similar attractions, instead wanted to take his dad out and away from the stresses of his life, wanted space to bond with him.
It was well over four years since his mom had asked his dad to leave their home – as much a shock to him and his sister, both teenagers, as it had been to their dad. Theirs had seemed a comfortable family in which to be raised. A fun dad – when he was around – and a caring mom.
Since then, they’d grown apart, seen little of each other, as a new man had moved into their home, resented initially, accepted gradually. Hardly saw their dad anymore, though he phoned regularly – always interested in their progress, congratulating them on good school grades, discussing their options for future qualifications. Asking darkly after his sister’s boyfriends, warning they were probably up to no good at her tender age, making her even more determined to see them.
Meanwhile, his dad had seemed to enter a mysterious life, spent a lot of time in Zama Zama game reserve, didn’t talk much about it, hadn’t even invited him down from their family home in Johannesburg to visit the wildlife park near Richards Bay on the KwaZulu-Natal coast, seemed to have grown simultaneously more intense and happier, having found a new love in the owner, Elise – though his dad hadn’t volunteered that, had to be prised out of him.
But now they were together in this magical place on a ten-kilometre walk, where they scanned with their binoculars and talked like they never had before.
The Sniper told his son the rudiments of his exploits, swore him to secrecy, because otherwise his life would be endangered. He felt he had to explain, as he supposed he would to his daughter too. Felt they deserved to know.
He described his early life aged eighteen as a military conscript, trained in the art of long-distance sniping right at the end of the war against Mandela’s African National Congress.
He’d been something of a star, though didn’t tell his son exactly that, always understated, modest, not one for the limelight. He told him instead of his recent conscription by Zama Zama to battle against poachers, how it had dragged him further into combating criminal and political conspirators, utilising his sniper skills.
‘Did you kill people?’ his son asked quietly.
The Sniper nodded. ‘I had to, didn’t relish it, still don’t. Responsibility weighs heavy. But the consequences of not doing so would have been terrible – for the rhinos and elephants, for the whole country.’
The son nodded, said nothing, absorbed the admission; he didn’t really know whether to consider his dad a soldier or a killer.
Sensing that, the Sniper added quietly: ‘When I was in the army, I never questioned my duty as a sniper. Just following orders, serving the state. Same as when they instructed me to protect Mandela during his walk to freedom in February 1990. But out of the army, as a civilian, it’s become more complicated: protecting Mandela’s legacy, protecting endangered species, combating poaching and its protector, political corruption, stopping ruthless criminals.’
Below them, the sun even hotter now, relieved that they both were wearing brimmed bush hats, they spotted a red deer stag, with large, branched antlers, meandering through a glade, chewing grass, a relatively rare sight for visitors.
The two men, one young and lean, the other greying but fit, talked incessantly – about the magical tranquillity of their surroundings, excited at spotting wildlife, but also about the Sniper’s recent life, how he had helped thwart both the rhino and elephant conspiracies, felt uneasy about his shadowy role, lethal but secret and – apart from his tight band of activists, including, more recently, the Security Minister Yasmin Essop – totally deniable.
Even admitted to his son he was worried about whether his sniping skills were being blunted with ageing, wasn’t sure he was up to it anymore.
As the temperature relentlessly rose, layers were successively peeled off and stowed in the small backpack the son insisted on carrying – jesting his dad was ‘too old’ for that kind of load.
Suddenly the Sniper halted, lifting his finger to his lips signalling total silence to his son, and pointing through the darkness of the trees to where they were trudging, a clearing a couple of hundred metres away bathed in sunlight.
There, an extraordinary spectacle.
A couple of dozen black vultures – giant predators, viciousness epitomised, hooked beaks bloodied, largest birds in the Iberian Peninsula, wingspan fully three metres – were in a standoff with a single fox over a deer kill.
The fox, puny by comparison, repeatedly rushed at them, its jaws snapping, the birds retreating, flapping their wings, storming back, the fox darting in again.
Predators versus predators in a fight for life to eat the deer meat: a contest for survival.
Finally, and improbably, the fox triumphed, the birds seemingly making the best of a bad job and permitting it to gorge on the deer until it slunk off satisfied, the vultures greedily reclaiming their prey.
‘Pristine nature, no interference by humankind,’ whispered the Sniper.
‘But you sort of interfere with nature, Dad, don’t you?’ his son replied.
‘Aah but that’s different,’ he said, ‘only to protect it from criminals.’
Two more days of their journey through Spain together. They had already spent nearly a week walking in the snow-topped Picos mountains in the north, staying in small casas rurales, typical small hostels, comfortable, often quaint, usually historic, eating whatever was served up to them from the short menus offered, and drinking the local wines before collapsing early in their twin-bedded rooms, all ensuite, pretty cheap, sometimes with breakfast included, strong coffee, bread, and goat’s cheese usually.
Another captivating scene caused them to halt in their tracks. A couple of male deer rutting, antlers interlocking, wrestling slow motion for supremacy and choice of females on heat.
Then the Sniper’s phone rang.
An alien digital screech through the bird tweets, persistent calls from a cuckoo, the rustle of scampering wildlife amidst the lavender bushes all over the hillsides.
His son raised an eyebrow, seemed distracted, gazed out over the river Tagus with its sparkling clean water running constantly down from the mountains around.
‘Sorry man, have to take it,’ the Sniper grunted, recognising the number.
On the line was the Veteran, the leader of their small band of operatives.
The nub of it, the Sniper explained after he’d ended the call, was he was urgently needed back home for another mission.
The security minister had fixed with her oppo in Madrid to send an unmarked car to wherever he was tomorrow, thereafter to catch a flight from Madrid, connect in London and fly to Joburg.
No, it couldn’t wait. He was needed for a key operation, and soonest – like now.
Their walk that day was ending anyway, both tired and sweaty, needed a break, a cold beer each and a shared bottle of vino blanco de la casa – white wine of the house – to wash down their lunch under parasols amidst the buoyant, raucous chatter of a typical Spanish lunchtime.
As they relaxed, the Sniper diffidently, hesitantly, explained to his son what was happening. Expected angry resistance, even accusations of abandonment – again.
Instead: ‘No, dad, you must go. I can easily complete our journey on my own. Only a couple of days, and I’m a big boy now.’
‘Sure?’
‘Of course. Never understood why you kept disappearing in such mysterious ways. Now I do. And I’m proud of you.’
Not many sons told their dads that – usually only the other way around.
The lioness was close to the...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 28.3.2024 |
|---|---|
| Verlagsort | London |
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror ► Krimi / Thriller |
| Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen | |
| Schlagworte | Africa • Africa adventure • African wildlife. Nelson Mandela • animal rights • Anti-Apartheid • Big Game • big money • China • conservation fiction • geo-political • House of Lords • human rights campaigner • illegal trading • Illegal wildlife trade • international crime syndicate • Kenya thriller • Labour Government • lion extinction • Lions • Mafia • mafia smuggling • poaching • poaching thriller • political conspiracy • political manifesto • political thriller • Putin • Rhinos. Elephants • South Africa thriller • Suspense • The Elephant Conspiracy • The Rhino Conspiracy • Thriller • vicious • Vladimir Putin • wildlife • wildlife thriller • wildlife trafficking • Zanzibar • Zanzibar fiction |
| ISBN-10 | 1-7394716-7-9 / 1739471679 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-1-7394716-7-5 / 9781739471675 |
| Informationen gemäß Produktsicherheitsverordnung (GPSR) | |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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