Zambezi by Tony Park Read Free Book Online

out.’
    ‘No big deal.’
    ‘Bullshit. You should have got the Congressional Medal of Honor for that stunt. God knows, I recommended you for it. But, Jed, I believe the best thing you can do for Miranda is to stay at home and comfort Patti. State will get news to you if they hear anything more about her.’
    ‘What is this bullshit, Tom? What are you trying to tell me? Are you warning me off? Since when does the Government of the United States of America investigate lion attacks?’
    ‘Jesus, Jed. I’m just trying to help an old friend. Sit tight on this one … that’s my advice to you.’
    ‘Yeah, Tom?’ Well, screw your advice, sir, he wanted to add, but held his tongue. ‘It’s my daughter who’s missing and I’m not waiting around while some pimple-faced Ivy League prick from the Timbuk-fucking-tu embassy conducts some sorry-assed excuse of an investigation.’
    ‘Jed …’ Cookson’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Look, I can’t talk any more, but just be careful, OK?’
    The call dropped out and Jed walked back to the bar. He ordered another beer, downed half of it and forced himself to be calm. What did Tom mean ‘just be careful’? He supposed Cookson was warning him about the general security situation, but, hell, Jed had just spent six months in a country where people had actively been trying to kill him. How dangerous could Africa be?
    He reopened his notebook and wrote Cookson – check Jed upended his beer glass, steeling himself as he felt the first twinges of nerves that always preceded flying. He picked up his suit bag and walked into the men’s room. In a cramped cubicle he changed out of his Class A uniform into comfortable travel clothes – a short-sleeved navy Ralph Lauren shirt, lightweight tan trousers and hiking boots. It would be hot where he was heading, and it was definitely not a place where he could wear a US Army dress uniform. He needed a shower and a bed to sleep in. He would get neither for more than twenty hours. He folded his uniform and gleaming patent leather jump boots into his bag and zipped it shut.
    He left the cubicle and checked his reflection in the mirror. He’d shaved off his beard prior to leaving Afghanistan and his chin stood out white compared to his cheeks. He didn’t feel as though he was getting older – he was still in excellent physical shape – but his face showed all its forty years and then some. He closed his eyes and saw Miranda again. He couldn’t lose her.
    Jed walked through the brightly lit airport terminal, past eager holiday travellers and grey-faced men and women in business suits. He had nothing in common with any of them.
    It was probably his imagination, he supposed, but the immigration officer seemed to be taking a long time to inspect his passport. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.
    The officer looked up at him but said nothing as he continued typing on his hidden console. Jed checked his watch. The final boarding call had been made five minutes earlier.
    At last the officer looked up and said, ‘How long are you intending on staying in Africa, sir?’
    Jed felt like telling the man it was none of his damned business. ‘I don’t know. A couple of weeks, maybe more.’
    ‘I need to know countries and duration, sir.’
    This had never happened to Jed before, although most of his international travel was courtesy of the USAF’s Military Airlift Command and the places he tended to visit didn’t require passports or customs declarations.
    ‘South Africa for one night. Zimbabwe for, say, two weeks. It depends.’
    ‘It depends on what, sir?’
    Jed was close to the brink. ‘It depends on how goddamned long I want to spend in the country Look, buddy, my flight is boarding.’
    ‘It’s not my fault, sir, if you haven’t left enough time to clear immigration.’
    Jed wished he had his nine-millimetre with him.
    The man tapped away on the keyboard again, then looked up and smiled insincerely as he handed back Jed’s passport.