Free Fatal by Arno Joubert Page A

belly and settled in for the night. He didn't know much about the African bush. He relied on the one thing that helped him survive the Vietnam War and won him medals in Bosnia and Iraq.  
    Patience.
     

Bruce could smell the cigarette smoke from a hundred yards away. The cigarette shone brightly in the dusk as the poacher took a drag. These guys were amateurs.  
    He had been tracking them for less than a day. They left all kinds of telltale signs of their presence: discarded cigarette butts, flotsam of rubbish, and fire embers left to smolder. At times he came so close to their camp that he could hear their whispered conversations. They were overconfident, dismissing the death and capture of the poachers as the childish mistakes of amateurs.
    Bruce gathered from their conversations that reinforcements were on their way. He crouched and took aim, centering the scope's crosshair on the glowing cigarette. As it grew brighter, Bruce steadied himself then pulled the trigger. A red flame exploded from the rifle's nozzle, and the double smack from the bullet reported his shot was true.  
    A commotion broke out in the camp as the smoker gargled his bloody death curdle. Those things would kill you.
    Bruce stood up and sauntered back to his hideout two miles away. He wondered if the reinforcements would be any better than the scruffy lot that Perreira had sent yesterday.  
    He couldn't believe that Perreira was underestimating him; it must have been a lack of funds.  

     

Roebuck studied Bruce Bryden through his binoculars. The man had set up camp next to a massive baobab tree, halfway up the hill.
    Bryden was brushing his teeth. He took a swig of water from a tin cup, rinsed his mouth, and spat the water into a bush, then he washed the toothbrush and threw the dirty water into the bush as well.
    It was obvious that Bryden had reconnaissanced the area carefully before deciding on this exact location. Roebuck could see why. The tree was probably a couple of thousand years old; its circumference was fifty feet, easy. At night he would crawl into a narrow opening in the tree and close the entrance with thorn bushes. It was probably the safest place in the bush, leaving Roebuck feeling exposed on his rocky hillock.
    The baobab provided cover from the elements; no one would be able to see the flame from his gas stove. He had a clear view of the surrounding area. A dry riverbed ran along the edge of the hillock; with some digging he would have an ample supply of water.
    Roebuck lifted his eyes to the horizon. He had a clear view for miles in the cool morning air.   Bryden had left his camp late last night and Roebuck had followed. He headed in the direction of the poachers who had set up camp two miles from them. The place was lit like a beacon in the night; he had seen it clearly from his own vantage point.  
    Bryden had disappeared behind some brush, and then the crack of gunshots as Bryden eliminated them. They were amateurs. The cigarette coal was visible in the dark from a mile away. Now their campsite was deserted, embers still smoldering on the ground.  
    Colonel Roebuck glanced at his watch. 5:45 a.m. He dialed a number and waited for the call to be answered. “Metcalfe? Roebuck here. He took out José last night.”
    Metcalfe kept silent for a moment as if contemplating what to do. “All right, Colonel. Take care of him. How far away is he from your exact location?”
    Roebuck looked up, estimating the distance. “About three hundred yards. I’ll phone you back when he is dead.”  
    “Good. Wait another fifteen minutes before you proceed. Perreira needs to send a recovery crew,” Metcalfe said and disconnected the call.
     

Metcalfe disconnected and punched a number on his phone. It was answered after one ring. “Captain Babbitt, this is Senator Metcalfe. How is Suzy doing?”
    The man seemed glad to hear Metcalfe's voice. “Senator, very well, thank you. She’s recovering well after the skin graft. The doctor