Jan Cronjé
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Jan Cronjé lives in South Africa, writing
romance adventure and spy fiction novels. When not at the
keyboard working on a book, he can be found in front of an
easel applying paint to the canvas with the same zeal that goes
into his writing.
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Searching for a man-eating lion in the
wilderness of Africa, with two attractive women competing for
David Barrington’s affection, the task for Barrington, the game
hunter, becomes an almost intolerable chore.
Excerpt
Word Count: 62200
Buy at:
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| Excerpts |
Sunset
Lion |
Chapter 1
David leaned back against the seat of the Airbus. His mind was
occupied with the contents of a fax he had received from Jürgen
Möller. They both had been big game hunters. Whatever there was
to learn about hunting, David had learned from Möller. A tragic
accident during a culling expedition had brought their safaris
to an end. The vehicle they had been travelling in had
overturned, and Jürgen’s legs were pinned under the Jeep for
almost an hour before a second hunting party helped free him. He
lost the use of his legs and was confined to a wheelchair.
David, who’d been driving, sustained minor injuries, though he
was hospitalised for three weeks with a broken leg, cracked
ribs, and a concussion.
Jürgen spent six months in hospital, during which time David and
Jürgen’s lady friend Mia had taken care of the business. They
tried to talk Jürgen into selling and moving to Europe when he
was discharged from hospital. Despite his handicap, Jürgen
refused to leave his beloved wilderness and spent most of his
time afterward writing books about the different cultures and
wildlife of the African bush, becoming a well-known name in the
field.
A year after the accident, David traded his rifle for a camera.
He began travelling the world and eventually settled in the
United States. He took a solemn oath never to hunt animals
again. Therefore, he found Jürgen’s request somewhat odd—to
visit him in Africa to hunt down a lion.
A man-killer beast. At first, David thought his friend was
joking, but the fax, that followed, convinced him the man was
serious. He agreed. Should he go to Africa, the only shooting he
would do, would be with his camera. Jürgen didn’t argue, and
David left on the first flight from the States to Africa. They
could further discuss the matter after his arrival in Africa.
David had already had a trip to Africa in mind; therefore, he
accepted the invitation.
* * *
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the stewardess
announcing their descent for Lusaka Airport. His muscles felt
stiff after the long flight as he peered out the window,
straightening the backrest and fastening his seatbelt. The
African landscape slid past like a huge carpet of wonderful
colours as the plane lowered to line up with the runway. Despite
the strain of the flight, he felt excited. He was back in a
country he loved. The tranquillity of the African bush always
had a peaceful effect on him. He watched as his luggage was
transferred to the King Air, used for ad hoc charters to points
not served by the feeder airlines. He’d changed into khaki
shorts, a short-sleeve shirt, and comfortable hiking boots. A
new flat brim felt hat—the Stetson of Africa, which he had
purchased from a curio shop—completed his ensemble. He had to
praise Mia for her efficiency. She had taken care of all his
travelling arrangements. He wondered why Jürgen never married
the woman. They had been living together for the past fifteen
years. She had been a Zoology student who bade farewell to her
studies in favour of a life in the bush. She moved in with
Jürgen and had seemed happy ever since.
* * *
David turned as he became aware of someone behind him.
“Are you my passenger?”
David glanced at the tall black male wearing blue jeans and a
sweatshirt with the slogan of a freedom fighter printed on the
front. A pair of Ray Bans sat askew on his nose.
“If you’re the pilot, I’m your passenger,” he replied in the
same abrupt manner.
“Yes, I’m the pilot. We’ll be leaving soon.”
He brushed past David and inspected the netting securing the
cargo. David watched with interest as the man completed the
pre-flight checks on the aircraft. He recalled doing it himself
when he was a fighter pilot for the South African Air Force. He
had converted from Mirage Cheetah fighter planes, to twin engine
light aircraft after he completed his military training and
became a safari leader. That was how he had met Jürgen, who was
already an established big game hunter with a strong foreign
clientele. The ground proceedings ended, and the King Air took
to the sky. It was clear to David the pilot knew how to handle
the aircraft. The take-off was smooth and stable. They were
heading in a north-easterly direction, and David—preoccupied
with his own thoughts—turned his head as the pilot broke the
silence.
“Are you a hunter?”
“Yes. You can call me that.”
“Where are your guns?”
“I hunt with the camera.” David chuckled dryly. The man frowned,
puzzled by the statement. David left him in the dark a while
longer before he explained. “I’m a photographer. You know?
Pictures? I take pictures.”
David wasn’t sure if the man would know what he was talking
about. He therefore used the term normally referred to by the
black people when it came to photographs. He also said it with a
touch of sarcasm in his voice.
“Oh, I see.” He chuckled at his own ignorance and clicked his
tongue. “What pictures do you take? War pictures?”
David shook his head in frustration. He tried to keep his voice
as level as possible. “No. I’m not a newspaper reporter. I’m a
wildlife photographer. I take photographs of wild animals for
magazines.”
The pilot glanced at him across the rim of his Ray Bans. “Did
you come here for pictures?”
“Yes.” David sighed in relief as the man turned his head away,
glancing at the instrument display. His sudden lack of interest
in David was short lived.
“Why don’t you shoot with a gun? Don’t you like guns?
“Look, if I have to fire a gun, I will. I try to avoid it. What
about you?”
“Who, me?” He adjusted the Ray Bans and continued with a
self-important attitude. “I like guns. I was a fighter pilot. I
used to fly MiGs during the war.”
“Oh, you did?”
“Yes. Did you know, MiG pilots are the best in the world?”
“If the thought satisfies you, then who am I to argue?”
“You don’t argue? You agree with me?”
“Yes. I agree with you.”
He laughed disrespectfully. “You agree with me, but you know
nothing. You are a photographer. Me, I’m a soldier. I know what
I’m talking about. Can you fly a plane?”
“No. I leave that for brave people, like yourself.” David could
not understand the man’s hostile behaviour. Could it perhaps be
a scar which had been left on him by the war? He closed his eyes
and leaned his head against the headrest. The only sound which
filled the cockpit was the monotonous drone from the engines.
When he opened his eyes again, the pilot had altered the flight
path. David’s ear drums protested at the sudden change of
altitude. He sat up and glanced at his watch. They had been in
the air just under two hours. He stared out the window as they
approached the narrow grass landing strip near a small town.
The windsock draped motionlessly from its mast. He saw a Land
Rover with someone leaning against the fender as they touched
down. The plane bounced across the rough surface as the pilot
reduced the engine revs and applied brakes. The King Air came to
a halt, metres away from the parked vehicle. David recognised
the round face and broad smile as the figure at the Land Rover
came into motion.
Nafta’s broad chest and shoulders reminded him of the body of a
full-grown gorilla. His arms were as thick as a man’s thigh.
David noticed the man had developed a bit of a paunch since they
had last met. The rest of him was still pure muscle. They
embraced as David landed on the ground.
“Nafta! I greet you my friend.”
“I greet you too, Davie!
David tapped him lightly on his paunch.
“Getting a bit big around the waist, I see.”
Nafta laughed loud as he stroked his belly with his big hands.
They removed David’s luggage from the plane, and the pilot took
to the air without further ado.
“So, tell me, old friend, is everybody still well?”
“Very well, Davie.”
They had a lot of catching up to do. The hour’s drive felt like
minutes to David when they arrived at the homestead amongst the
age-old forest giants near the border between Zimbabwe and
Zambia. David had never met a more pleasant person than Nafta
when it came to conversation. The only subject Nafta had not
mentioned, was the so-called man-killer. David decided not to
touch on it until he had spoken to Jürgen. Mia was the first to
reach the vehicle.
“Davie, you are here!” She greeted him with kisses before he
could utter a word. Jürgen appeared in the door with his
wheelchair.
“Good heavens, Frau, give the man a chance to get out of the
car!”
“Hallo, Mia.” She clung to his arm as they walked toward the
door.
“Come in, Davie. Man, you haven’t changed a bit!” His eyes
sparkled behind the silver-framed glasses.
“You still look the same as always, you old jackal. How are
you?”
The German laughed spontaneously behind his beard. “Much better
now that you’re here.”
David was surprised to notice the man’s grip was still as firm
as ever. Jürgen moved the wheelchair out of the way.
“Come in, come in. Frau, is the coffee ready?”
That was tradition here: coffee, which reminded David of jet
fuel. He had tried to calculate how many cups of the strong brew
the man consumed per day, but had stopped counting. Nothing
seemed to have changed in the ten years he had been away. The
large kitchen, with its gas stove and dark teakwood table and
chairs were still there, as he remembered. The pleasant aroma of
freshly baked German scones filled the room. He suddenly felt at
home again. Jürgen manoeuvred the wheelchair toward the table.
David took a seat opposite him. It was a good hour later when
they moved to the thatched gondola next to the swimming pool.
Jürgen had said nothing about the reason he had summoned David
to Africa. David knew the man well enough not to push him. It
was after the second home-brew lager, a technique which the man
had perfected to the finest standard, when he tactfully brought
up the subject.
“I’m glad you could come, Davie. I couldn’t say too much in the
fax. That’s why I wanted you here. In fact, I was asked by the
authorities to contact you.” He let his words hang in the air
for a while before he continued. “They are on panic stations.”
“What’s going on? Surely, their rangers can pick up the beast’s
trail and take him out.”
“They’ve tried. Believe me, Davie, they’ve tried. They can’t
find a thing on this animal. No tracks, or even the slightest
bit of scent. They’ve tried with the best hunting dogs they
have, even that didn’t help.”
“How can that be? Are they sure it’s a lion who’s doing the
killings? By the way, who got killed?”
“It’s a lion, all right. I saw the bodies. A hunter from
Australia and a student from Belgium.”
David sat silently for a few moments. He glanced at Mia and
winked at her before he continued. “Have they searched the
trees? Maybe this lion has learned to fly.”
Jürgen uttered a sound of frustration. “Don’t joke about this,
David. What I’m telling you is the truth. There’s a dangerous
animal out there and it must be stopped. That’s why you’re here.
You must do it; I can’t. I’m stuck in this damn chair!” He
reached into the cooler box for two more beers.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to doubt what you’re saying. It just
sounds so damn strange. I mean, you and I have both seen lion
killings. I agree, not where humans were taken out, but still, a
killing is a killing. There must be a way to get a track on this
animal. We also know that in most cases, only old worn down
animals will go for man. It just sounds too weird to me.”
“I know.” He passed David a beer. “Be honest now. Doesn’t it
excite you a little to think you might be the one who can stop
this beast?” He filled his glass as he peered across his
spectacles. “Just a little?”
David couldn’t hide his smile. Jürgen knew how to push the
buttons. The expression on the bearded face was enough to make
him decide he would do what his friend expected from him. He
slurped the froth from his beer and licked his lips.
“Like I said. I will try to find this animal, as long as I don’t
have to kill it.”
Jürgen stared at him for quite a while. “What if you have to?
What if you come face to face with it, and it’s you or him? Do
you think he’ll pose for you and say cheese, take as many photos
as you want? Come now, Davie. You know as well as I do, it
doesn’t work like that. The Winchester is still in the same
condition as the day you left it. I took good care of it while
you were away. I think it’s high time someone feeds some lead
through it again. I have loaded enough fresh rounds for you to
practise before you go out there.”
David had to agree. His friend was right. If he decided to take
on the job, he had to carry a gun, and be prepared to use it.
Tracking a big cat was not something which compared with an
early morning jog in the park. He downed the beer and glanced at
the pool.
“All right. We can talk again later, but now I’m going to get
into the pool. Not even a lion will stop me.”
Jürgen laughed as he reached for another beer.
“I knew you would do it. What did I tell you, Frau? He still has
it in his blood.”
He watched David walk toward the thatched roof bungalow to
change into his swimming trunks.
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