Free Fatal by Arno Joubert Page B

said that the burn wounds would look fine after a couple of months and another graft. Thank you for the donation to our charity.” He hesitated for a moment. “I was still meaning to call and thank you personally,” he said apologetically.
    Metcalfe leaned back in his chair. “Never mind, Captain. It was my pleasure. The Burn Foundation is a cause that is close to my heart.” He drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. “Captain, I need your help to do some good as well.”
    “Anything, Senator,” the captain answered without hesitation.
    “I need you to take out a poaching ring for me. My undercover man has planted a beaconing device in their area. I will give you his exact coordinates. This operation will be authorized by me.”
    “No problem, Senator.”  
    The man sounded keen to pay back his debt. Good, these military types were so predictable, strong moral code and all.  
    “When will you need to do this? And where?” he asked.
    Metcalfe scratched his chin. “In fifteen minutes, lower part of the Kruger National Park."
    "That's not a problem, Senator. I have some F-15s on standby in Swaziland. We can be there in ten minutes,” Captain Babbitt answered.
    Metcalfe smiled and nodded. "Excellent, Captain. Oh, and one more thing.”
    “Yes, Senator?”
    “I need you to take out an area of five hundred yards around the beacon. I want to get rid of the entire gang and the contraband that they have with them.”
    Captain Babbitt went silent. Metcalfe heard him breathe. “We recently received a shipment of IFB-500s. I could set it for low impact detonation, which would make the kill-zone radius about a mile,” he said, his voice sounding hesitant. “But everything in that area would be annihilated, including animals and plants.”
    Metcalfe cupped the phone and chuckled, then took his hand away. “I understand, Captain. It was a difficult decision, but it’s all for the greater good.” He sighed. “Collateral damage, Captain.”
    “Very well, Senator. Thank god I don’t need to make the decisions.” He chuckled. “I will warm up the burners. We should be there in ten minutes.”
    “Excellent, Captain. Godspeed.” Metcalfe disconnected the call. He shook his head in amazement. These military men with their codes of honor and false morality drilled into them by years of brainwashing. Sock puppets, each one of them.

     

Roebuck lowered the binoculars. The hair stood up on his neck. Something wasn’t right.  
    Metcalfe seemed preoccupied; he wasn’t as involved in their smuggling ring anymore. He had confronted Metcalfe a couple of months ago. Without Metcalfe’s oversight, things were going wrong. Supply routes closed. Business was slow. Roebuck hadn’t received his regular payment for more than a month.
    And now this Bryden mess. Metcalfe should have stepped in a long time ago.  
    No, Metcalfe was busy with something else, about that he was certain. And they didn’t want to let him in on it. He was sure Callahan and Perreira knew what it was all about. He would get Perreira to square up to him after he had completed this mission.
    Their phone conversation bothered him as well. The pause? No, there was something else. Why did he want to know how far Bryden was from his location?
    He lifted his gun and studied Bryden through the scope. The man was packing his supplies and weapon into the hollowed-out trunk of the gigantic baobab tree, then he closed the opening with some branches.  
    Bryden travelled light. A backpack with binoculars and a camping stove. A couple of bottles of water. He was sweeping the ground in front of the tree with a leafy branch, then he scattered some pebbles and sand around the entrance.  
    Bryden peered up the hillock, then marched in Roebuck’s direction.
    “C’mon Bryden, come to papa,” Roebuck whispered, steadying the crosshair on Bryden’s chest.
    Bruce Bryden turned around and lifted his eyes towards the sky, and then Roebuck heard the F-15 Strike