Burning Angels

Powerful, territorial, surprisingly fast for their bulk, and intensely protective of their young, the hippo was the single most dangerous animal in Africa. And Katavi’s dwindling water sources had brought them crowding together in their packed, irritable and stressed-out masses.

If you put too many rats in a cage, they’d end up eating each other. If you put too many hippos in a waterhole, you’d end up with the mother of all heavyweight fights.

And if you were a hapless human caught in the middle, you’d end up a squidge of bloody puree under a charging hippo’s feet.

Jaeger had awoken on the crater rim to a breathtaking sight: the entire floor of the caldera was a sea of fluffy white cloud. Illuminated a burning pink by the early-morning sun, it had looked almost firm enough that they could step out from their rocky ledge and walk across from one side of the crater to the other.

In truth it was an expanse of low-lying mist, thrown up by the lush forest that carpeted much of the caldera’s interior. And now that he was down amongst it, the view — plus the smells and sounds — took Jaeger’s breath away.

The rope coiled, Jaeger and Narov began to move. But their arrival here had set off alarm bells already. A flock of flamingoes rose from the nearby lake, taking to the air like a giant pink flying carpet, their high-pitched cackling squawks and cries echoing around the crater walls. The sight was awe-inspiring: there had to be thousands of the distinctive birds, drawn here by the rich minerals deposited in the volcanic waters of the lake.

Here and there Jaeger could see where a geyser — a hot spring — gushed a fountain of steaming water high into the air. He took a moment to check the way ahead, then signalled Narov to follow.

They flitted through the alien landscape, just the odd hand gesture pointing out the route to take. They understood instinctively each other’s quiet. There was a breathtaking otherworldliness to this place; a sense of a world lost in time; a sense almost that humans should never set foot here.

Hence their desire to slip through in utter silence, unnoticed by anything that would make of them its prey.

34

Jaeger’s boots broke through a crust of dried, sun-baked mud.

He paused at the pool before him. It was shallow — too shallow for any crocs — and crystal clear. It looked as if it would be good to drink, and marching under the burning sun had left his throat as dry as sandpaper. But a quick dip of the fingers and a flick of the tongue confirmed what he had suspected. This water would kill you.

Welling up from deep below ground and heated to near boiling point by the magma, it was still hot to the touch. More to the point, it was so salty it made him want to gag.

The crater floor was peppered here and there with these steamy, volcanic springs, bubbling toxic gases. Where the sun had baked the saline waters dry, a thin layer of salt had crystallised around the edges, giving the bizarre impression that frost had somehow dusted the ground this close to the equator.

He glanced at Narov. ‘Saline,’ he whispered. ‘Not good. But there should be water aplenty in the caves.’ It was blistering hot. They needed to keep drinking.

She nodded. ‘Let’s get moving.’

As Jaeger stepped into the hot, briny pool, the crisp white crust crunched under his mud-covered boots. Before them lay a grove of baobab trees — Jaeger’s favourites. Their massive squat trunks were silvery grey and smooth, reminding him of the flanks of a powerful bull elephant.

He headed towards them, passing one that would require the full complement of his team just to link their arms around its swollen circumference. From that massive base the trunk rose statuesque and bulbous to a stubby crown of branches, each like a gnarled finger reaching out to grasp at the air.

Jaeger had first had a close encounter with a baobab a few years back, and in the most memorable of ways. En route to the safari that he’d taken with Ruth and Luke, they’d paid a visit to South Africa’s Sunland Big Baobab, in Limpopo province, famous for its 150-foot girth and its vast age.

Baobab trees start to hollow out naturally once they are a few hundred years old. So large was the Sunland Baobab’s interior that it had a bar built inside it. Jaeger, Ruth and Luke had sat in the cavernous heart of the tree, drinking chilled coconut milk through straws and feeling like a family of Hobbits.

Jaeger had ended up chasing Luke around the knobbly, gnarly interior, rasping out Gollum’s favourite phrase: My precious. My precious. Ruth had even lent Luke her wedding ring to add a little authenticity to the scene. It had been magical and hilarious — and in retrospect, utterly heartbreaking.

And now here was a grove of baobab trees standing sentinel before the dark and gaping maw of the entrance to Kammler’s lair; his kingdom beneath the mountain.