Free Rhodesia by Nick Carter

Hugo and cut himself free in an instant, but Tommy Howe held the Luger very professionally and you could bet there was other firepower hidden here and there.
    Booty giggled. "If J. Edgar could see you now..."
    Nick felt heat travel up his neck. Why hadn't he insisted on that vacation-or retired? He said to Pieter, "I'll take that cool drink now if you'll get me out of this mess."
    "I don't suppose ye have another gun," Pieter said, and then showed his diplomatic generalship by not having Nick searched — after letting him know that he had thought of the possibility. "Unfasten him, lads. Please forgive the rough treatment, Mr. Grant. But you are trespassing, you know. These are bad times. One never knows. It does nae seem to me that we have any quarrel, unless the United States is getting ready to put hard pressure on us and that makes no sense. Or does it?"
    Tembo unwrapped the net. Nick stood up and rubbed his elbow. Truthfully — I don't believe you and I have any differences. Miss DeLong is my concern."
    Pieter neither bought it nor rejected it. "Come along up in the cool. You can use a glass on a day like this."
    Everyone except Tembo and Zanga sauntered to the patio. Pieter personally prepared a tall one and handed it to Nick. Another subtle gesture of mollification. "Any man named Grant takes Scotch and water. Did ye know ye were followed from the highroad?"
    "I thought so once or twice but I saw nothing. How did you know I was coming?"
    'The dogs at the small house. You saw them?"
    "Yes."
    Tembo was inside. He phoned me and then followed you. The dogs track silently. What you may have heard was his command to them to hold back and not alert you. It sounds like an animal's growl but your ear may have distrusted it."
    Nick nodded agreement and took a long draught of the Scotch. Ah-h-h. He noticed that van Prez occasionally lost the burr from his speech and talked like a well-educated Englishman. He gestured at the beautifully furnished patio. "A very nice home, Mr. van Prez."
    "Thank you. It shows what hard work, thrift, and a substantial inheritance can do. You're wondering about my name being Afrikaans and my actions and accent Scotch. My mother — a Duncan — married a van Prez. He came up with the first treks from South Africa and put together much of this." He waved a hand at the great expanse of land. "Cattle, tobacco, minerals. He had a keen eye."
    The others had distributed themselves on the foam-rubber chairs and lounges. The patio would have served a small, mom-and-pop resort hotel. Booty was in an adjacent conversation U with John Johnson, Howe, Maxwell, and Zanga. Mrs. Ryerson brought Nick a tray of snacks — meat and cheese on triangles of bread, nuts, pretzels. Nick took a handful. She sat down with them. "You had a long, hot walk. Mr. Grant. I could have driven you in. Was that your BMW parked near the highway?"
    "Yes," Nick said. "The strong gate stopped me. I didn't know it was so far."
    Mrs. Ryerson pushed the tray nearer his elbow. "Try the biltong. There..." She gestured at what looked like dried beef curled on the bread with dabs of sauce. "Biltong is just salted meat but it's delicious when prepared properly. That's a bit of pepper sauce on the biltong."
    Nick smiled at her and tried one of the canapés while his mind clicked. Biltong-biltong-biltong. For a moment he recalled Hawk's last keen, kindly glance and caution. His elbow pained and he rubbed it. Yeah, kindly Daddy Hawk, pushing Junior out the door of the plane for a parachute jump.
It has to be done, son. I'II be there when you hit. Don't worry, the chute is unconditionally guaranteed.
    "What do you think of Rhodesia, Mr. Grant?" van Prez asked.
    "Fascinating. Exciting."
    Martha Ryerson chuckled. Van Prez glanced sharply j at her and she returned his look with amusement. "Have you met many of our citizens?"
    "Masters, the tour contractor. Alan Wilson, a businessman."
    "Ah, yes, Wilson. One of our most enthusiastic advocates of