Red Dune Country - Sexual Predators in the Heart of the Kalahari - An Adam Geard Story

Red Dune Country

Sexual predators in the heart of the Kalahari

An Adam Geard Thriller

© Peter Cleary 2019

ISBN 978-0-6399340-9-9

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright owner.

Published by Peter Cleary Books Mtunzini, KZN, 3867

www.peterclearybooks.co.za

peter@peterclearybooks.co.za

Cover photograph by Peter Cleary

Cover design by Jo Petzer of Cosmic Creations

This book is for Charlotte Stapelberg, a fellow dreamer of books, and an ardent Adam Geard fan.

Chapter 1

Adam Geard returned to Namibia in possession of two items he had not previously owned whilst in that country: a cell phone and a diesel-engined pickup.

It was all he had to show for his sojourn in South Africa. That was not entirely true. He had been able to add three new contacts to the memory of the cell phone: a woman he had admired and loved, a lawyer, and a forensic investigator. But the cell phone was temporarily useless as it had not been charged for two days.

The phone irritated him. He had only six contacts on the phone but continued to receive appeals for all kinds of insurances and services; obviously his number was being fraudulently given out by the cell phone company. But he decided against tossing it. Before he owned a phone, he had memorised phone numbers, now that skill seemed to have left him, and there were another three Namibian contacts that could be useful to him: a friend and lover, an ex-boss and an old army commander.

Adam had nearly sold the vehicle in Citrusdal in the Cederberg Mountains of the Western Cape, the last town he had stayed in. He could have caught a long-distance bus which would have taken him north on the N7 to the border and onwards on the B1, Namibia’s principal thoroughfare, all the way to Windhoek, the home of Heidi Kinder, one of the contacts on his dead phone.

But he was not going to Windhoek.  He was going to the red sand dunes of the Kalahari, and there was little public transport in those remote regions. The Isuzu would have a purpose, at least until he knew what he wanted to do.

Before he had accepted an assignment from Rivers for Life to survey the Himba people along the Kunene River, he had spent nearly a year near the town of Gochas, on the Auob River. Amongst his interests had been the Nama people, but he was mostly attracted to the semi-desert country of the Kalahari, and its startling annual rejuvenation when the rains came.

He thought it would be a good place to be.

The South African experience had centred on mountains: the Sneeuberg of the Eastern Cape and the Cederberg of the Western Cape. Time for a change.  The red dunes and the quiet valleys were calling him.

*

Adam came to the Auob valley in the late afternoon. He was driving on the C17, a good gravel road which he had joined when he turned off the B1 at Gibeon station, a hundred kilometres behind him.

He pulled the Isuzu onto the shoulder of the road, turned off the engine, and got out to better experience the place he had not seen for several years. Across the valley stood the small town of Gochas. At that distance he could not see any changes. But there was something different. Something he did not remember. A pungent smell of burning wood.

Looking east, down the river valley, he saw tendrils of smoke rising lazily into the still air. It seemed to him an assault of the natural order that he had so admired in his previous stay in that place, and when he got back into his vehicle, he drove down into the valley and turned right to investigate, onto the C15, the road that ran down the Auob River all the way to the South African border and the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park.

There were kilometres of devastation. He recognised the purpose, the making of charcoal, this time on an industrial scale. He saw some labourers loading small logs into a crude metal kiln and stopped to talk to them.

They were Nama people, the flatness below the bridge of the nose the most distinguishing feature, the legacy of their Khoi ancestors, although the look had been softened by cross-breeding with the Oorlam people, descendants of Europeans and slaves from as far afield as India, the people who were disparagingly called Hottentots. They stopped their work and watched his approach.

Hey, men, what are you doing?

The one closest to him answered.

"Kan jy Afrikaans praat, baas?"

"Ja, a little. Maak julle charcoal?"

He continued to question them with his poor Afrikaans, learnt that the charcoal operation was sponsored by the government for the removal of intrusive bush, in the case of the Auob River valley, the sickle bush. The men even knew some of the ecological reasons:  the clearing of the bush to improve grazing for domestic and wild animals, and the improvement of underground water resources.

Adam looked around him, saw with new eyes the way the sickle bush that had not been cleared presented a solid barrier of thorn. He knew something about sickle bush, had experienced those hard thorns, which could penetrate a thick boot sole, or even a car tyre, knew enough to have looked up the name: dichrostachys cinerea.

Perhaps the government programme was a good thing. The cleared land was raw, but he saw the possibilities when the grass grew back. He thanked the men, drove back to where he had turned down the valley and took the short tar road up the slope of the valley and into Gochas.

*

The woman who opened the door was tiny but what he noticed the most was the broad smile that transformed her face into a mass of wrinkles.

Not you again!

Hello, Toni.

Ah, Adam, I’m so glad to see you, man. It’s been years. You’ve got to stay with me.

I see you’re still the same old democratic Ma Bekker, the conscience of Gochas.

"Ag, man, don’t joke. Come in."

He stepped into the pleasantly cool house and she closed the door behind him. Adam knew where to go and he set off down the passage but she caught up to him and held tightly to his arm.

Adam, listen to me. It’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you.

He felt the warmth of her affection and welcome and was a little taken aback.

Is everything all right, Toni?

"Ja-ja. Well, not everything, but I’m fine. Come and have some coffee and tell me all about what you’ve been doing."

They sat on her back verandah, the coolest place in the afternoon, situated as it was on the east side. It was what they did at that B&B:  breakfast on the front verandah, supper on the back verandah. There was a dining room but it was only used when there was a dust storm.

Adam had spent almost three months at Ma Bekker’s Guest House all those years ago. She made it difficult for him to leave. It was only the distress call from Heidi Kinder which had torn him loose.

Ma Bekker was mostly of Nama descent and she had a fancy Christian name, Antoinette, given to her by her mother who had a French father. It was complicated. Adam steered clear of delving into the ancestry of people he met in Namibia. He also steered clear of any discussion of Ma Bekker’s late husband, who had been the mayor of the town at the height of his powers, but who had gradually become an embarrassing drunk and had died before he was sixty.

The interrogation began.

He told her enough, the places and some of the events, not touching the dangers he had been in, not touching the men he had killed in self-defence and in revenge. Adam Geard had an old-fashioned morality:  defender of the vulnerable and the disadvantaged.

How did you get here, man?

I’ve got a bakkie.

No! Not you, Adam. I’ve never seen you drive!

Where’s your belief, Toni?

"Ag, I don’t mean it that way. You walk and you catch buses and taxis. I’ve never seen you drive, but come, show me your bakkie and let me show you your room. One at the back, hey, like before?"

Yes, thank you, that’s cooler.

How long you stay?

I don’t know. Maybe a few days.

No, you have to stay longer. Money’s not a problem, is it?

He laughed.

No, Toni, money’s not a problem.

*

There were two couples at the dinner table, including Adam, the only guests. Both couples were Europeans in their sixties, from France and Germany. They had the curiosity of travellers on a strange continent.

"And what do you do, monsieur?" asked the diminutive French woman with the tobacco voice.

I do nothing.

Oh, is this possible? You are young.

Ma Bekker attempted to rescue him, but made it worse.

"Ag, don’t listen to him. He is an adventurer, a fine marksman and sometimes a geologist."

That focused all eyes on him with unwelcome attention.

Are you a native of Africa? asked the German man with a hint of disdain.

Yes. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about myself. Ma Bekker is a romantic, quite capable of elaboration. I’m just drifting through here and my story is of little interest. I’d much rather hear your stories of where you’ve been and where you’re going.

It did not stop the strange looks and whispered conversations, but he was left to enjoy the meal, one of the main reasons why travellers who visited the district came back to Ma Bekker’s establishment.

When the other guests left for their rooms Adam stayed on. He had not yet caught up on the local news, and he was also worried about the lack of energy in his old friend. It seemed she had become tired of the daily round, had lost her optimism, something she had never done in even the darkest days of her husband’s fall.

So, you want to know what is happening in our little district?

Tell me about yourself first, Toni.

Why?

You have lost your zest for life. Something has hurt you, taken away your belief in the future.

"Ag, it will pass."

But will you tell me about it?

She stared at him, making up her mind, her brow deeply creased with the effort.

There are evil men, Adam, and the government does nothing about them.

Who are they?

"Do you remember Dirk Kramer? The one they call Kaptein?

I don’t think so. Where does he live?

He owns a big game lodge down the river nearby the border. But they say he also has many businesses in Windhoek and mostly he lives up there, with his mistresses, close to all his friends in the government.

What has he done, Toni?

There are rumours. It is a hunting lodge, down there, but they say men come there for sex. They say he gets young Nama girls to come there. They say he might be selling those girls to other lands.

Why doesn’t someone find out if the rumours are true?

The police are afraid of him. He has friends in the government. They say even some ministers.

"There are lots of they says, Toni. Who says?"

"Ja, I know. Everyone talks about it. But there is one who says more, but she is just a woman."

Tell me.

"Before you get to Kramer’s lodge there is a smaller place, a small lodge, more like a farm, not fancy-pansy, just some rooms and a store with a restaurant. It has been in the Lambertini family for longer than I have lived here. They are an Italian family who came to South West after the Great War. The father died three years ago and the daughter came with her husband from Windhoek to take over the lodge. They have two children, boys, who they left in boarding school in Windhoek, so it was just the husband, Francisco, and his wife Carla.

Last year Francisco was killed in a hunting accident on Kramer’s farm. Nobody investigated. The police only listened to Kramer’s story. They say Kramer killed him because he wants the Lambertini farm.

"They say again, Toni."

You can go and talk to Carla. She will tell you.

Chapter 2

The cell phone rang while he was still in bed the next morning. He looked at the screen for the identity of the caller, expecting an unknown sales pitch.

Heidi.

Is it really you?

She laughed and he was delighted to be hearing her again after all the time they had been away from each other.

Yes, just me. So, you sneak back into Namibia without calling me?

How do you know I’m in Namibia?

Your phone company told me.

How does that work? Is it even legal?

If you’ve got influence. My influence comes from Matonga’s secretary. Do you know he is Minister of Home Affairs now?

I heard. So he keeps track of me? He’s never forgiven me for those shenanigans on the big river. And you also want to keep track of me?

Of course, you’re my best friend.

Adam felt awkward, as he always did when they had not been together for a long time and comments of endearment were made. Heidi Kinder was the woman with whom he had wanted to share the rest of his life, but she was gun-shy, having lost her husband in a car crash and never wanting another permanent commitment, never wanting to put herself back into a situation where her grief had almost led to her taking her life.

They had agreed to put no limit on other relationships, but Adam felt the guilt when he had been with other women. He did not know if she felt the same way.

He was also a little disturbed by the obvious conclusion that Matonga felt it to be an advantage if he informed Heidi when Adam was in Namibia. Did he perceive her to be an influence for the good, a form of control mechanism?

I know what you’re thinking, Adam.

He wondered if he should surprise her with a question about the Matonga connection and decided not to do so until he saw her, and gave her an answer she would expect.

You always do.

When are you coming to see me?

Hearing your voice again, I’m tempted to come today.

But?

There’s something I want to check out while I’m down here.

In the Hardap district?

You even know the district I’m in?

Yes. What is it you want to look into?

"Do you know the name Dirk Kramer, the man they call Kaptein?"

There was a silence on the line.

Heidi?

I’m still here. Don’t look into the affairs of that man, Adam. Please.

You’ll have to explain.

Controversy surrounds him, and he’s well-connected in government circles. I think Matonga is one of his contacts. They say he kills those who stand in his way.

Have you personally met him?

Yes.

And?

He has the morals of an alley cat.

He felt a spike of jealousy.

Has he come onto you?

Unfortunate choice of words, Adam.

Yes, sorry.

No, Adam, I have never allowed him into my bed.

I didn’t ask.

I know, but I don’t want you even thinking it. He is an awful man and you must please not look into his affairs.

Adam ignored her plea, plunged into his questions.

Is he involved in human trafficking?

Oh, shit no! I’ve never heard anything like that.

Yes, but if he’s unscrupulous, what better place to hide activities like that than in the middle of the Kalahari dunes?

What have you heard?

That he runs his hunting lodge near the Mata-Mata border as a brothel with young Nama girls and that he might be trafficking them.

That would be truly awful. I suppose he’s capable of it. But what can you do? Sorry, wrong question. I know exactly what you can do if you set your mind to it. What’s your plan?

I don’t really have one. I’ll go down and check into a neighbouring lodge, spend a few days, ask a few questions.

He’ll get to hear of it.

Well, that won’t be a bad thing, will it, if he is guilty and he comes after me? We will know then.

I shall worry.

Me too, Heidi, but what if the rumours are true? I’ll keep in touch.

*

They were not imposing gates, two square stone columns and a metal gate rolled back, open. The sign read:

RED DUNES GUEST FARM

A smaller sign had additional information:

Horse Safaris

Restaurant and Store

We speak German and Italian

Adam drove over the cattle grid and headed the pickup down the gravel road. Through the parkland of mainly acacia trees and closely cropped grass he could see a complex of buildings, six or seven hundred metres away.

As he drew nearer he noticed that the buildings were on a ridge, and when he went to the right as directed, he saw that the complex of buildings faced the head of a small valley with large paddocks to the left and a small waterhole directly ahead, presumably to attract game, particularly in the evening and night.

Beyond the waterhole was the wide bare expanse of the Auob River, a dry watercourse that sometimes went years without enough water to flow. 

There were stables and horses in the main paddock and pigs and goats in smaller paddocks; it told Adam that there were no lions on the property, and he wondered when the last lion had got through the fence at the Kgalagadi Transfrontier Park, which was less than fifteen kilometres away.

He parked the pickup under an ancient camelthorn tree. There were no other guest vehicles, but a small tractor and a beat-up bakkie stood in an open garage under the building. The lack of activity gave to the scene an air of desolation, but it was clean, the fences in good order, the walls of the buildings recently painted. It was midday and even the birds were silent, but he heard the welcome noise of running water, a hidden borehole pumping water into the dam.

Adam climbed the stairs to a quadrangle open to the parking area. Two of the other sides had a verandah shading doors and windows to guest rooms, the third the shop and restaurant, in front of which there were tables and chairs under an awning of reeds, and in the centre, a small swimming pool.

There was nothing to see and virtually nothing to hear, that vacuum of sound that accompanies the heat of a windless day in the tropics.

When he opened the door to the store a bell rang at the back of the shop and he entered into a cool air-conditioned space, colourful with native art and glass cases holding all manner of canned and bottled foodstuffs, and local jewellery and baskets.

A young Nama woman came through a door at the back of the store.

She greeted him with a smile on her open face.

Hello, good sir.

Hello, yourself.

Can I help you?

Yes, I was wondering if you have a room for me for a few days.

Oh, yes, sir. I will call Carla.

Adam wandered around the store, anticipating a long wait. He heard the door open behind him.

The woman was striking. She wore riding clothes: jeans and short riding boots and a sleeveless shirt. She was dark and tanned, the face full of character with dark eyebrows, a prominent nose and full mouth. Her short hair and riding gear gave her a masculine air. He thought she had a Mediterranean face.

A funny thing happened. When he turned and she saw him fully, her face closed and took on a suspicious look and her first words were restrained.

What can I do for you?

I wondered if I could have a room for a few days?

Are you a horse rider?

No.

Then what is the attraction, mister?

He almost told her that Ma Bekker had sent him, but he did not want to reveal that until he had taken stock of the situation.

Just passing by. Your place looks attractive, a good place to hike. You have no big predators, do you?

We have hyena.

I can handle them. So what do you say?

Forgive me asking. Did Kramer send you?

Who?

Dirk Kramer, my neighbour. Did he send you?

I’ve never met him. What’s the problem here?

You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?

I don’t even know your name.

I am Carla.

Okay, Carla. My name is Adam Geard and I’ve been in South Africa for the last two years. I’ve just come back and I want to stay here, in the red dune country, for a while. So I ask again, do you have a room for me?

Her face dropped. She looked as if she was about to cry and he had his first real insight into the year she had endured since her husband died.

I am really, really sorry. I’ve been rude. My husband died a year ago and I’ve been through a terrible time. About the only thing normal for me are my horses. Please forgive me for being suspicious. Yes, of course, I would be happy for you to stay, and I can give you my best room which has a window that faces the waterhole.

Chapter 3

By the middle of the afternoon the Red Dunes Guest Farm had become a centre of activity. New guests had checked in, other guests had come back from day trips into the Kgalagadi and there was a gathering on the quadrangle of those who were going on the afternoon outride, collecting saddles, bridles and helmets, their conversation filled with anticipation about the prospect of viewing wild animals from the back of a horse.

Adam was waiting for the heat to moderate. He intended walking the fence of the property, which he had been told was over 12 kilometres in length. It was just what he needed after a sedentary period of some weeks, and the long road trip up from the Cape.

He was interested to see that Carla had a short-barrelled carbine, of a type he did not know, possibly Italian. It was a weapon of choice for the cavalry of old, and a precaution that he agreed with. He had only his hunting knife and when he did set out, some time after the horses had ridden out of the paddock heading west, his first action was to cut himself a branch from a tree to serve as a walking stick and first line of defence.

Adam headed east and came to the fence several hundred metres later. This was the boundary with Kramer’s property, the one he was most interested in. He had been told Carla’s property was a rectangle with the shortest, southern section against the C15 road, only about two kilometres long and the long sides on the east and west, each approximately four kilometres in length.

It was a normal stranded game fence, two metres high with metal uprights every five metres and upright thin poles interlaced through the wire every metre or so. It was in average condition, designed to keep in the antelope and larger animals, but would not restrict the movement of smaller animals, which included the predators like jackal and the many members of the mongoose family. It was not electrified.

Adam could see that the fence was not patrolled on either side as there were no roads, nor even paths which would have been made by men walking the fence line. That surprised him, as he would have expected Kramer to have been more vigilant about security if he was running illegal activities in his lodge.

At first the terrain was almost flat and the going easy but once across the dry river bed Adam encountered the dunes which ran at an oblique angle to the fence. They were not high, mostly around five metres, but they were close together and he found himself spending considerable time climbing and descending dunes with loose sand.

The task was going to be a lot harder than he had initially thought, but he would stick with it and he started speeding up his pace, choosing better places to cross the dunes, always keeping the fence in sight.

It was almost dark when Adam got back to the lodge and he felt good, had felt the burn in his legs and the shortage of breath from honest endeavour. It had been a hard walk and he had seen many things that pleased him.

There were a few people on the quadrangle, Carla one of them, sitting alone at a table in front of the restaurant. She beckoned him to join her. She had washed her hair and it was still wet, and she had a blouse on which shone white in the gloom of the evening. The blouse and the vulnerable look of the wet hair made her look more feminine.

Won’t you join me, have a drink before you go and prepare for supper?

Yes, thank you.

He sat at her table and she gestured for the young girl who had first met Adam in the shop.

Meisie, help Mister Geard to a drink.

What will you have, sir?

A large glass of water and a beer, please.

Windhoek Lager?

No, a Tafel please.

Carla waited until the girl had left.

So, what did you see, Mister Geard?

We can be less formal, can’t we? I don’t even know your surname.

Well, I no longer have a husband so I’ve reverted to my maiden name, Lambertini.

She had said it with bitterness. He waited for her to say something else and she asked her question again.

What did you see, Adam?

Lots to please me.  Fences in good order, a nice herd of gemsbok, springbok by the dozens, kori bustards, lots more. You have a nice place here, Carla.

Thank you. Are you interested in buying, perhaps for Kramer?

No, I’m not a buyer.

Who are you, Adam?

Someone who doesn’t know a man named Kramer.

I wish I could believe you. I have been deceived so many times since my husband died.

There was no point in the subterfuge any more.

Ma Bekker told me about your difficulties, Carla.

She looked at him with astonishment.

And what, you’ve come to rescue me?

He ignored the sarcasm.

Tell me how your husband died.

I’m not going to talk to a stranger. How do I know that you didn’t hoodwink Ma Bekker?

She’s known me for several years. I stayed at her place when I was last in this part of the country. Do you take her for a naïve woman?

No, that she is not. But, I’m sorry, I just don’t understand your motive.

I don’t need a motive. I hear rumours that a man is running a brothel in the middle of nowhere, that he is using young Nama girls, maybe even trafficking them, and that he wants the farm next door, and perhaps had something to do with the death of the husband of the owner. That’s enough motive for me to come here and ask questions.

His words should have provided her with relief but the bitterness and the disappointment and distrust of men ran deep and she could not help being sceptical.

So you come in here like the Valkyrie to sort the bad guys out?

Something like that.

He tried for humour.

But the analogy doesn’t quite work, Carla. The Valkyries were women. Interesting ladies. They took those slain in battle to their Norse heaven, sometimes made love to them if they were heroes. They liked horses.

She stared at him and then her face softened and she smiled.

Maybe you’re real, Adam Geard. It would be quite something if you are. Stay a while and maybe I’ll trust you enough to talk.

*

Adam was almost alone on the deck of the quadrangle. A party of three was to his left, their voices