Piranha. Rudie van Rensburg

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      She and Gert had spotted the poachers two hours earlier. The three men had immediately ducked into a clump of bushes and Gert had carried on flying, as he always did, to create the impression that he hadn’t seen anything.

      A few kilometres on, they’d seen the rhinos near the Maritube dam. It was clear that they were the poachers’ target – as with all poaching units, one of their group would be an outstanding tracker. Gert had landed at Punda Maria at the anti-poaching unit’s ranger station and they’d driven here in two Land Rovers.

      Natasha smiled as she remembered Gert’s surprise when she said she was staying for the operation. Usually, the two of them would return to the closest camp to wait for the anti-poaching unit, but today was different. Ever since Werner Erwee had given her the bad news, she was determined to prove the Americans wrong. She had three months before the budget was cut … three months to prove to IESA’s donors how wrong that resolution was. What she wanted was a major breakthrough that would make them feel guilty and cause them to reconsider their ridiculous decision.

      Werner didn’t believe her plan would work, but he was a natural pessimist. He’d never been the right person for this post as IESA’s head honcho. She needed a leader with more passion, someone who would fight tooth and nail – and even fists – for the cause. The responsibility now rested entirely on her shoulders.

      A thing that had been worrying her for a long time was that too many anti-poaching operations failed. Just look at the number of times poaching gangs get off scot-free. She wanted to be present from now on to see how that happened so that she could make recommendations to SANParks. She wanted to add value at every possible level.

      She took the binoculars from Gert and trained them on the three men. They’d advanced considerably and she could see what looked like backpacks on their backs. They were jogging along, ducking under the low branches of thorn trees.

      ‘Do you think it’s okay for us to be hiding here? There might be shooting,’ Gert whispered.

      A layer of sweat shone on his upper lip and his light skin was starting to glow from exposure to the sharp midday sun. Behind the controls in the helicopter, he was entirely at ease, but down here, in the bushveld, he was out of his comfort zone. Before retiring to his current job, he’d flown rich tourists around and got used to staying at luxury lodges with them. ‘I like my comforts,’ he’d once admitted to her.

      ‘Stay behind the rock if you’re afraid,’ she said.

      ‘I’m not afraid,’ he said irritably, ‘but neither you nor I have weapons. And how do we know there aren’t lions around? I …’

      She hushed him with a gesture. She could see the poachers now, through the binoculars, walking in formation, spaced about twenty metres from one another. This was going to complicate things for the rangers – all hiding behind the baobab – who were planning to surprise them. Natasha hoped the leader was aware of the change. There was no time now to warn him.

      The middle poacher, who looked like he was the tracker, was heading directly for the baobab. The other two were about thirty metres either side of him now. Natasha swore under her breath as the rangers jumped out from behind their tree. Too soon! Too bloody soon!

      The poacher nearest them turned around, dropped his backpack and ran. He weaved in and out of the acacias like a fleeing antelope. A shot rang out, but the poacher kept running.

      The rhinos lifted their heads, ears twitching. They started stepping around fretfully.

      The rangers, under loud command of their leader, chased after the fugitive. One of them spotted the poacher on the left of the formation trying to hide behind a shrub. Two rangers stormed towards him, but he slipped away into the thicket.

      More shots. To Natasha’s great relief, the rhinos had disappeared in the opposite direction. Then she spotted the third poacher. He was heading directly towards her and Gert. He spotted her as she got up from behind the rock, and quickly changed direction.

      She knew immediately that he was heading for a dense clump of shrubs about seventy metres off. She didn’t stop to think but sprinted towards the nearby patch of acacias. She was ahead of the poacher and the trees would provide enough cover for her to ambush him.

      She looked around for a weapon as she ran.

      ‘Natasha! What the fuck are you doing?’ Gert’s voice boomed behind her. ‘He’s got a gun!’

      She ignored him, snatching a branch off the ground as she ran. She raced full tilt. Thirty metres … forty metres.

      A thorn ripped through the fabric of her sleeve, leaving a burning pain on her upper arm. She stumbled over a rock, re-balanced and ducked under a low-hanging branch. Her lungs were on fire, but she charged on, pushing herself, her found weapon ready in her right hand.

      She reached the big acacia she’d been aiming for, unsure if the poacher had seen her. Then she heard his footsteps not far from her. She peered carefully around the trunk. He was heading towards her, the gun clasped in both hands in front of his chest. The backpack was tugging at him and he kept throwing glances over his shoulder.

      He was unaware of her. She gritted her teeth and secured the branch she held in both hands. Then he was there, his breath racing, leaves and dry grass crunching under his soles.

      He raced past the tree without seeing her. Three long strides and she swung her branch with all her might, hitting the back of his head. He stumbled but stayed on his feet. She swung again, this time a full blow against his temple.

      He sank to the ground with a groan, the gun tumbling away from him. Natasha dropped the branch and dived after it, snatching it as it skidded on the dusty ground. She jumped up and aimed it at him.

      The poacher sat frozen on his haunches, hands in the air, eyes bulging.

      Gert puffed up to her. His shirt hung out of his trousers. There was a bloody scratch on his cheek. ‘Jesus, Natasha,’ he panted. ‘Do you have to be such a fucking cowboy?’

      * * *

      We’d hardly got into the car when Smiley told us Vicci’s cousins were visiting from England and she wouldn’t be joining us.

      He was lying, of course. He’d planned this. He wanted a chance to be alone with Sophia. I was livid and immediately tuned in to Sophia’s body language. Was she going to fall for his charm? How was I going to compete?

      Suddenly, Smiley was an expert on The Beatles. They prattled non-stop, all the way to the farm, about the revolution the band had started in the music world. I became invisible beside the bubbling Sophia, a passive audience.

      At the farm, Smiley informed us his father had arranged with the chief of the local village for us to visit there. ‘It’ll be an unforgettable experience for Sophia,’ he said, as he carried Sophia’s bag to the room next to his – the room that had always been mine.

      When I gave him a look he said, innocently, ‘You’re going to be in the rondavel where Vicci always sleeps. My mother doesn’t want Sophia to stay there.’

      On the narrow path to the village, Sophia didn’t – as I had fantasised – hold my hand. She and Smiley walked ahead of me, chattering without pause.

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