Blood Safari by Deon Meyer Read Free Book Online Page A

entranced. Hornbills swooped from tree to tree. A herd of buffalo chewed the cud and stared in boredom. Emma was silent. Even when I pointed at the heaps of digested grass and said, ‘Elephant dung.’
    Mohlolobe Main Camp smelt of big money. The thatched roofs of the guest units were disguised along the banks of the Mohlolobe river, paved roads, hidden lighting, forced joviality from the staff in their khaki and olive uniforms. This was Africa for the rich American tourist, eco-friendly five-star luxury, an oasis of civilisation in the wild, cruel bush. I followed the signs to reception and we got out into a wall of heat, but inside the building it was suddenly cool. We walked down the passage to the reception desk. There was an Internet room on the left. They called it ‘The Bush Telegraph’. An expensive curio shop on the right was ‘The Trading Post’.
    A pretty blonde waited at reception. On the olive green of her shirt was a name tag. Susan. Hospitality Official. ‘Hi. I’m Susan. Welcome to Mohlolobe,’ with a big smile and a well-concealed Afrikaans accent. Sue-zin, not Soe-sun as it would have been pronounced in Afrikaans.
    ‘Hi. I’m Emma le Roux and this is Mr Lemmer,’ she said, equally friendly, to Sue-zin.
    ‘You wanted a two-bedroom suite?’ the blonde enquired discreetly.
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘We’re going to give you the Bateleur,’ as if she were doing us a big favour. ‘It’s right in front of the waterhole.’
    ‘That would be lovely,’ said Emma, and I wondered why she didn’t speak to the woman in Afrikaans.
    ‘Now, I just need a credit card, please,’ she said, looking at me. When Emma took out her purse there was a little moment when Sue-zin looked at me in a new light.
    The Bateleur suite was understated luxury, but all Emma did was nod in satisfaction as if it more or less lived up to her standards.The black porter (Benjamin. Hospitality Assistant) carried in our travel bags. Emma pushed a green banknote into his hand and said, ‘That’s fine, just leave them here.’
    He showed us the secrets of the air conditioning and the minibar. When he left Emma said, ‘Shall I take this one?’ and pointed at the bedroom to the left of the sitting room. It was furnished with a double bed.
    ‘That’s fine.’
    I took my bag to the other room, on the right, two single beds with the same creamy white linen as Emma’s. Then I took stock. The wood frame windows could be opened, but were kept closed because of the whispering air conditioning. Every bedroom and the sitting-cum-bar-room in the centre had a sliding door on to the veranda at the front. The locking mechanism was unsophisticated, not good security. I opened it and walked out on to the veranda. It had a polished stone floor, two couches and chairs in ostrich leather, two mounted binoculars and a view of the waterhole, now deserted apart from a flock of pigeons that drank restlessly.
    I walked around the building. Three metres of lawn, then the bush. Designed and situated for privacy. Not a single other unit, each named for some kind of eagle, was visible. Bad news from a bodyguard’s perspective.
    In theory, however, if anyone wanted to get at Emma, they would have to avoid the main gate, scale two metres of game fence and walk seven kilometres through the veld in lion and elephant country. Not much ground for worry.
    I went back in; the cool was refreshing. Emma’s door was shut; I could hear the whisper of a shower. For a brief moment, I visualised her body under the stream of water, then went to seek out the cold water in my own bathroom.

7
    We walked in twilight to the Mohlolobe’s Honey Buzzard Restaurant. Emma seemed a little down. She had been quiet at dinner the previous night in Hermanus. Maybe she wasn’t a night person, or perhaps it was the heat.
    While we sat in candlelight at the table she said, ‘You must be very hungry, Lemmer.’
    ‘I could eat’
    A waiter brought menus and the wine list.