Vultures of the Kalahari (eBook)

An SA Police Series Suspense Story, Book 2

Meiring Fouche, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
119 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
9780001021587 (ISBN)

Infos

A lone plane in the desert.

A fortune in stolen emeralds.

Two killers who will do anything to possess it.

In the vast, sun-scorched Kalahari Desert, Constable Buks Senekal discovers a derelict airplane hidden near the infamous Rooiberg mountain. It is the same mountain where a prospector was murdered years ago. The discovery plunges him into the heart of a deadly vendetta between two former partners. A ruthless ex-convict bent on revenge and a desperate hermit guarding their blood-soaked treasure.

Stripped of his weapon, beaten, and left for dead, Senekal is no longer the hunter but the hunted. Trapped between two cold-blooded killers and battling the brutal elements, his routine patrol becomes a desperate fight for survival. He is unarmed, exposed, and miles from help in a land that forgives no mistakes.

This high-octane mystery thriller is a pulse-pounding tale of greed, betrayal, and survival against all odds. Perfect for fans of classic adventure, gritty pulp fiction, and nail-biting suspense where the line between hunter and hunted is constantly shifting.

Return to the relentless world of the SA Police Series with Vultures of the Kalahari, a thrilling second installment that ratchets up the pulp, action, and mystery. For fans hungry for more, your next heart-pounding adventure begins now.

Textauszug

2. VULTURES OF THE KALAHARI

Chapter 1

When Constable Buks Senekal saw the vultures circling above the red dunes of the northern Kalahari, he first imagined it might be a wildebeest, or a gemsbok, or perhaps a wild calf that had perished. He was sitting in his jeep on the crest of a high dune, gazing north-westwards in the direction of Rooiberg. That is where the vultures were circling. There were not many of them. Perhaps a dozen or so. But they were circling low, and he knew what that meant. It meant a victim not yet entirely dead.

Buks Senekal’s eyes narrowed as he watched the circling birds. Perhaps he was completely mistaken. Perhaps they were circling over the remains of an animal brought down by poachers. Buks Senekal grew hot just thinking about it, for in this part of the Kalahari, it was one of the police’s major problems. This incessant poaching.

When Sergeant Van Wyk had left for his holiday, his last words to Constable Buks Senekal had been that he must keep an eye out for poachers. The culprits had become exceedingly bold of late. And they could be so cruel. Senekal had come across gemsbok from which only the haunches had been cut, while the rest of the valuable buck was simply left for the predators and vultures. During his time of service here at Kameeldoring, the small place lying lost in the Kalahari, he had once come upon a scene where nearly a hundred springbok had been shot dead in a heap. Only the biltong meat had been carved out, and the rest was left just as it was. The constable felt a restless excitement as he watched the vultures, and he decided, right then and there, to drive over. He knew this world, and therefore he knew precisely how to make the jeep leap over the dunes to where the vultures were moving.

It was not long before Buks Senekal emerged on the last dune before he would reach the vultures. He looked down upon a scene that utterly astonished him. Something so unexpected and seemingly impossible that, as was his custom, he bit down on his lower lip. He always did this when he was surprised, or when he was shocked.

Below him, enclosed by high dunes, lay a great pan, and on the other side of the pan, a group of camel thorn trees stood together. They were old trees with enormous, rounded crowns, and beneath them, he saw something that looked to him like an aeroplane. It cannot be, Buks said to himself upon this first impression. An aeroplane, here in the Kalahari? On this deserted pan? No, it could not be.

And the vultures. Why were they circling there?

Without further wonder, Buks sent the jeep snorting down the dune, straight across the flat pan, and in an instant, he swung in beneath the camel thorn trees.

Yes, it was as he had thought. It was an aeroplane. One of the small kind. A two-seater contraption that looked so flimsy and fragile that one could not imagine anyone being able to fly through the air in it. At first glance, Buks saw that the aeroplane had been neatly pulled in under the trees, ostensibly to protect it. Or could it have been done, perhaps, to conceal the aircraft?

He now understood what the vultures were doing. They were circling here merely out of curiosity and not, it seemed, because they had spotted a victim.

Buks had jumped from his jeep and was taking a quick look around the aeroplane. No, there was no sign of a human being. For a moment, he had feared that someone might have perished here, but he saw no sign of any such thing. All he saw was the aeroplane, standing motionless under the camel thorn trees.

Buks clambered onto the wing and looked into the cockpit. The transparent canopy was closed, and all he saw inside was a pair of flying goggles lying on the seat. Nothing else. There was not the slightest indication to whom the aeroplane might belong.

Buks peered curiously into the cockpit for a moment and then climbed off the wing again. Standing on the ground, he wondered what this all meant. Surely a poacher would not come in such a tiny aeroplane. He would barely be able to load a sugar sack of biltong in here.

And as he wondered, he saw something else. Half-concealed behind the trunk of one of the camel thorns stood a largish jerrycan. Apparently a jerrycan of fuel. He saw a second jerrycan, and when he unscrewed the cap, he saw that it was water. Drinking water, apparently.

And however much Buks Senekal searched for tracks, he could discern nothing. Judging by the dust and sand that had been blown up against the aeroplane’s wheels and also around the two jerrycans, he concluded that the aircraft must have arrived yesterday or thereabouts. If there had been any tracks, the night wind, which had blown so fiercely last night, had obliterated them all.

Nevertheless, Buks walked around the camel thorn trees, trying to find some indication as to where the person or persons who had come in the aeroplane might have disappeared. But after a quarter of an hour, he gave up the effort. There was no sign of a track.

Buks Senekal frowned deeply as he walked back to the jeep. What on earth this could mean, he did not know. The vultures had departed. Apparently, their curiosity was satisfied, or else they had realised there was nothing for them to scavenge here.

Buks took his binoculars, stood beside the jeep, and began to survey the surroundings. He first looked out over the great pan. An ideal landing spot for an aeroplane. Then he examined the dunes that fringed the pan. He searched for signs of tracks over the dunes. But he perceived nothing. The dunes were silent and without message. Then he looked further, towards Rooiberg, high and rugged and proud in the sunlight. Its highest crags were magnificent, a soft blue in the distance. Its ravines were ominous and full of secrets. An impressive mountain, this Rooiberg. It rose from the abundant dunes of the Kalahari, sloped steeply upwards, and then suddenly, the perpendicular cliffs began, shooting up towards the blue sky. Rooiberg was fairly densely vegetated, but there were places where it was bare, where the water usually ran down too swiftly.

Buks Senekal gazed at the mountain for a long time, and he wondered if Rooiberg might have something to do with the aeroplane’s arrival. Could there be a connection between the aeroplane and the mountain?

But that was a question the young constable did not try to answer. He had no reason to believe it was so.

Then he looked again at the small yellow aeroplane and wondered when the person who had landed here would decide to depart. He, Buks, would very much like to be here when the mysterious pilot took his leave of the Kalahari again. Because he desperately wanted to know what a man with a small, light aircraft was looking for in this part of the world. This pan was about forty miles from Kameeldoring, and Kameeldoring was about the most remote place Buks Senekal had ever heard of. Here, where the aeroplane stood, one was well and truly lost in the Kalahari. Few white men ever dared to venture here, for this was a waterless region. It was state land, and no farmer was to be found in the vicinity. In these parts, there were still San who mostly sheltered in the foothills of Rooiberg. They came here only to hunt. The only other intruders here from time to time were the poachers. But even they were not very numerous, because this region was almost impassable by motor vehicle and because water was virtually non-existent here. A man could get lost here in the blink of an eye, and only the most enterprising and audacious of the poachers dared venture here.

To Buks, it was a mystery. Therefore, he decided to take another look. He clambered onto the wing, slid the canopy back, and looked into the rear seat. There was nothing of note there either. But Buks came to a conclusion. He was certain that only one man had come in this aeroplane, for the fuel can and the water jerrycan must surely have been placed in the rear seat. There was no room for such things up front with the pilot. And if two such jerrycans were in the back seat, there was no more room for someone to sit. Buks felt grateful that he had at least been able to reason something out. On the inside of the door of the front seat, he saw a small pouch. He leaned over and put his hand inside. He felt a piece of paper and pulled it out. When he unfolded it, his eyes widened. It was a map or a plan. It was crudely drawn with pen and ink. But when Buks Senekal saw what was sketched there, his heart gave a jolt. Only a few places were marked on the map. Kuruman, Kameeldoring, Aroab in South West Africa, Upington, and the small place of Ghanzi in Bechuanaland.

The places were all clearly marked. They were connected by lines, and next to the lines, distances were written. And near the middle of the map, there was an indication next to which “Rooiberg” was written. And at a spot near Rooiberg, a cross had been drawn.

A little way to the east of Rooiberg, there was a smaller indication, and in it was written “pan”. Apparently, this was the landing spot.

Buks carefully folded the map and put it back in the pouch. Then he made another deduction. The person who had drawn that map knew the area around Kameeldoring and Rooiberg. He had a feeling that this aeroplane had something to do with Kameeldoring. But what?

And that cross. That was interesting. It indicated something. But what? That was another question Buks could not answer. He crouched there on the wing of the aeroplane, lifted his cap, and scratched his head. An interesting coincidence, he thought, that fate had brought him here, to this remote place before the Rooiberg, at this very moment. He looked thoughtfully at the markings on the aeroplane’s fuselage. But they told him nothing.

He sat like that for a long while, and...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.9.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 9780001021587 / 9780001021587