Let the River Run
Copyright© 2026 by Jody Daniel
Chapter 23
Sirheni Rest Camp, Northern Kruger National Park.
Google stood silently beneath the harsh afternoon sun, his broad shoulders tense, his head bowed as he listened to Nadia and Steve recount every detail they could remember. The humid air hung heavy over the camp, carrying the scent of wet earth and river mud from the storm-swollen drainage ditch nearby. Around them, the bushveld pulsed with life — cicadas shrilled in the trees, hornbills barked somewhere beyond the fence line, and from deep within the mopane veld came the distant cry of a fish eagle.
Behind Google, Spanner and Socks stood rigidly attentive. Neither man interrupted. Both knew the look on Google’s face. It was the expression he wore whenever instinct told him something had gone terribly wrong.
Nadia rubbed both hands through her damp hair and exhaled shakily. Guilt sat heavily in her chest.
“Adrian is gonna kill me...” she muttered, her voice tight with anxiety.
Steve glanced sideways at her. Despite the tension, he tried to keep his tone steady.
“He will not.”
Nadia let out a humourless laugh and shook her head.
“I was supposed to watch her. Even my boss, Ash, is gonna kill me. Not to mention Mai-Loan...”
Steve frowned. The names meant nothing to him, but the fear behind them did.
“Who are they?” he asked cautiously. “And why did you need to watch her?”
For a brief moment Nadia hesitated, her eyes flicking toward the wilderness beyond camp as if expecting danger to emerge from the trees themselves.
“Long story,” she replied curtly.
She checked her watch again. Nearly an hour.
Every passing minute tightened the knot of worry in her stomach.
“But we’re wasting time,” she continued. “She’s been gone almost an hour already.”
Google finally lifted his head. His face remained calm, but his sharp eyes had already begun piecing together the fragments of the situation.
“Take me to where you last saw her,” he said. “Once I see the tracks, I’ll follow them.”
“Yes,” Spanner added immediately, eager for action. “Second only to Wolfie, Google’s the best tracker south of the North Pole.”
“Amen to that, brother,” Socks agreed with a firm nod.
Without another word, the five of them broke into a jog, racing back along the muddy path toward the drainage ditch. Heat shimmered above the ground while water thundered ahead of them. The ditch no longer trickled quietly as it had earlier. Freed from the fallen blockade, muddy water now surged violently through the channel, frothing and churning beneath the blazing afternoon light.
Halfway there, Google abruptly stopped.
The others nearly collided with him.
“Show me your shoe soles,” he ordered.
Nadia and Steve exchanged confused glances but complied, lifting their feet one after the other so Google could inspect the tread patterns beneath their boots.
Google crouched low, studying the mud carefully. His eyes moved methodically across the ground.
“Thanks,” he murmured.
Then he pointed toward two distinct sets of footprints leading away toward camp.
“If those are your tracks heading back...” he said calmly, “then these must belong to Miss Fourie.”
The group turned toward the second trail of prints.
At first glance they seemed ordinary — shallow impressions in the wet mud. But Google’s gaze narrowed.
“There was a struggle here,” he said quietly.
Immediately the atmosphere changed.
Steve’s stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
Google traced several overlapping impressions with his finger.
“No animal tracks,” he explained. “But there are additional boot prints layered over hers. At least two men. Maybe three.”
Steve’s eyes widened.
“She was attacked by poachers?”
“No,” Nadia said softly before Google could answer.
Her expression hardened instantly, every trace of panic replaced by cold recognition.
She stepped closer and stared at the footprints.
“They’re Russian combat boots.”
Silence fell heavily over the group.
Even the roaring water nearby suddenly seemed distant.
Steve looked between them, confused.
“Kait was abducted by Russian poachers?” he asked incredulously.
Nadia slowly shook her head.
The name formed on her lips like poison.
“Not poachers,” she hissed. “Sergei Vladimir Reznikov.”
A chill swept through the group despite the oppressive afternoon heat.
Even Spanner and Socks exchanged uneasy looks at the mention of the name.
Nadia’s jaw tightened.
“The Wolf.”
For the first time that afternoon, genuine concern crossed Google’s face.
Nadia reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone with trembling fingers.
“I need to make a phone call...”
On the bridge across the Sabie River.
The late afternoon sun burned low over the Kruger bushveld, turning the surface of the Sabie River into rippling sheets of bronze beneath the bridge. Below us, muddy water rolled steadily around scattered rocks and sandbanks while a pair of hippos grunted somewhere downstream. The air smelled of dust, diesel, and river reeds baking beneath the African heat.
I leaned one hand against the warm steel railing of the bridge and watched the prisoners being dragged toward the convoy. The surviving mercenaries looked broken now — bruised, bloodied, exhausted.
“While you secure the prisoners and the vehicle, I’ll wait here,” I told TC.
He paused beside one of the black SUVs and studied me carefully. He knew me too well not to notice the exhaustion behind my eyes.
“It may take a while...” he warned.
“That’s okay,” I replied quietly. “I need to clear my head a little. Wrap my mind around the mission ahead. Pick me up on your way back.”
TC removed his sunglasses and narrowed his eyes against the glare.
“Are you sure, Adrian?”
I nodded immediately.
“Absolutely. Pick me up on your way back.”
“You don’t need anything from camp?”
I shook my head.
“Nah ... I’ll leave those details to you guys. Just make sure you bring me some fresh magazines.”
A faint grin tugged at the corner of TC’s mouth.
“Okay. See you around.”
He slapped the roof of the nearest SUV twice.
The squad mounted up immediately, boots thudding against metal running boards as engines roared to life one after another. Within seconds the convoy began moving south toward Skukuza, black vehicles rolling in tight formation across the bridge before disappearing onto the road beyond.
I stood there silently and watched them go. They would be gone at least an hour. Maybe two.
Time I did not have.
Every instinct in my body screamed that Sergei Reznikov would move soon. Men like him never stayed in one place longer than necessary. The Wolf was too experienced, too disciplined, too paranoid. If he suspected even for a second that we were closing in, he would vanish into the bushveld like smoke on the wind.
And if he moved Kait before I reached him...
I clenched my jaw hard enough for pain to shoot into my temples.
No. Not on my watch.
The last SUV disappeared over the rise toward Skukuza, leaving the bridge eerily quiet behind them. Only the murmur of the river remained now, accompanied by the distant cry of a fish eagle circling somewhere overhead.
For a moment I simply stood there alone in the middle of the bridge.
The weight of the past few hours pressed heavily against my shoulders. Every road seemed to lead back to one man. The Wolf.
I exhaled slowly and turned north.
Not far beyond the trees, hidden from view, about six or seven hundred metres, lay Skukuza Airport. And Jessie.
I started walking.
The bridge vibrated faintly beneath my boots as I moved along the roadside, the afternoon heat radiating upward from the tar in visible waves. Around me the bush carried on as though nothing had changed. Impalas grazed calmly in the distance. Vultures circled lazily overhead. Somewhere nearby a vervet monkey barked an alarm call from the riverbank trees.
But my mind was elsewhere.
“Would you like a lift to where you are going?” A husky female voice spoke from the shadows.”
“It depends where you are going...” I replied and looked into the dark eyes of Darya where she stood next to a four-track bakkie, a mean looking rifle cradled in her hands. I knew it was the fifty calibre.
“I might be going in your direction...”
“And what direction is that?”
“Towards a helicopter. You know where Kait is being held, don’t you”
“You just assumed that, did you not?”
“Adrian Grobler ... I know what you are planning. And if I were you, I’d be doing the same. But you are not going in alone...”
“You want to come along? It’s not going to be pretty, and it sure as hell isn’t a walk in the park.”
“Adrian, I fought in the mountains of Tajikistan ... I know combat...”
“Then let’s go.”
“Hop in, it will be quicker to drive than walk.”
Skukuza airport.
Darya parked her dusty 4x4 inside the hangar just as I rolled Jessie out onto the apron in front of it. The ground handling wheels beneath the helicopter’s skids rattled softly over the concrete seams before settling in the blazing mid-afternoon sunlight. Heat shimmered above the tarmac, turning the distant runway into a wavering mirage while the smell of aviation fuel and hot engine oil hung thick in the air.
For a few seconds I simply stood there beside Jessie, staring across the airfield without really seeing it.
My body was moving automatically, but my mind was somewhere else entirely.
I forced myself to focus and began the pre-flight inspection. Years of flying had drilled the routine into muscle memory. My hands moved over Jessie’s fuselage almost without conscious thought — checking rotor linkages, hydraulic lines, fuel caps, skids, intake screens, tail rotor assembly. Every touch precise. Every movement methodical.
But inside my head I was running calculations. Angles. Distances. Perspective lines.
The photo Sergei had sent replayed endlessly in my mind. The background outside. A strip of green lawn. The angle of sunlight. The placement of two buildings seen through the open door and window. Most people would have overlooked those details. I couldn’t afford to.
The geometry was beginning to fit together now. The relative distance between the doorframe and the visible structures outside gave me a narrowing field of possibilities. Add in the orientation of the afternoon sunlight and the surrounding vegetation, and one location kept surfacing above all others.
More specifically, one particular building. One particular room. But assumptions got people killed. I needed certainty before I went after the Wolf.
“So,” Darya said behind me, “what type of firepower do you have, Adrian?”
I turned toward her.
She stood there beside the hangar entrance with a crooked smirk on her face, the late afternoon light catching strands of black hair escaping from beneath her cap. At barely five foot six, she looked almost absurd standing beside the weapon she used to take out the Land Cruiser.
Damn, I thought. She’s only slightly taller than the anti-material .50 cannon she’s used.
Then my attention locked properly onto the firearms in her hands.
“Here,” she said casually, stepping closer. “I assume you know how it works.”
She handed it to me grip first, a Heckler & Koch MP7 Compact carbine. Black. Beautiful.
The weapon was fitted with a suppressor, red-dot optic, tactical flashlight, and enough rails and modifications to make it obvious this thing had seen professional use before.
The tactical vest she handed me had four spare magazines in neat retention pouches. I also noticed the vest contained a radio, two flash-bang grenades, two smoke grenades and a Leatherman multi-tool. There was also a neat holster for my Beretta.
I took the weapon and checked it instinctively. Loaded. Safety on. Clean. Professional. Definitely not tourist equipment.
I raised an eyebrow at her. Darya had a similarly equipped vest on, making her look like the wrath of the titans itself. Oozing danger, lethal energy and “Don’t mess with me, ” attitude.
Beside her on the ground was a kitbag, and looking at the bulging of the bag, I did not wanted to know what was all packed inside.
“You travel light, I see.”
Darya shrugged. “Tajikistan, Afghanistan, Turkey, and North Africa taught me many things. You won’t believe how cold it gets in Siberia in winter...”
There was something cold behind that answer. Something personal. I decided not to dig deeper. Not now.
I slung the MP7 over my shoulder and pulled open Jessie’s cockpit door.
“I suppose you’re planning to divert to Sirheni before we hit the Wolf?” Darya asked.
“Why?” I replied without looking at her. “I already know Kait isn’t there.”
“No,” Darya said calmly, “but Nadia is.”
That made me pause.
“Nadia will be an asset too,” she continued. “Especially if Reznikov still has operators with him.”
I stared into the cockpit for a moment. She wasn’t wrong.
Finally, I nodded. “Then get onboard. We’ve got one hundred and forty nautical miles to cover, and soon we will lose the light.”
I climbed into the pilot seat, instantly surrounded by the familiar smell of avionics, warm electronics, hydraulic fluid, and sun-heated leather. My hands automatically found the switches on the overhead panel.
Battery master. Inverters. Hydraulics. Fuel pumps. Everything exactly where instinct expected it to be.
“One twenty to Sirheni,” I continued as systems powered alive around me, “then another twenty to Punda Maria.”
“Strapping in,” Darya replied.
The passenger door slammed shut beside her.
“Light the fires.”
I smirked faintly despite myself.
Moments later Jessie answered.
The turbine began its high-pitched startup whine, slowly rising in pitch until ignition kicked in with a deep, hungry roar that vibrated through the entire airframe. Warning lights flickered across the instrument panel before stabilising one by one. Rotor blades above us began turning lazily at first, then faster, chopping through the heavy African air.
Outside the cockpit glass, heat waves danced violently across the apron.
I kept one eye on the gauges while the RPM climbed steadily.
Ninety percent. Ninety-five. One hundred.
At one hundred and four percent rotor RPM, the machine settled into its smooth operational rhythm.
Jessie was alive.
I wrapped my hand around the collective lever and slowly lifted.
The helicopter grew light on her skids.
Dust exploded outward beneath us in swirling brown clouds as Jessie rose smoothly from the apron and climbed into the blazing afternoon sky above Skukuza.
And somewhere far to the north, the Wolf waited.
At the JOC, an undisclosed location Near Cape Town.
The JOC pulsated with controlled tension. Banks of monitors cast cold blue light across the darkened operations room while satellite feeds, telemetry data, and tactical overlays scrolled endlessly across digital displays. The air smelled faintly of burnt coffee, overheated electronics, and exhaustion.
At the centre of the room, the massive tactical display wall tracked every active transponder inside Kruger National Park.
TC’s convoy was already moving south.
A line of blinking blue markers crawled steadily along the dirt roads toward the temporary secure camp outside Skukuza where the captured Cabo Delgado mercenaries would be processed and transferred. Everything about the movement looked clean. Professional. Controlled.
Exactly according to operational doctrine.
But one transponder remained behind. Ash noticed it immediately.
“Who is that?” he asked quietly. Even his voice sounded tired now.
Roxy glanced down at her tablet before answering.
“Adrian Grobler,” she replied. “He’s stationary on the Sabie bridge.”
Ash frowned. “Why?”
Roxy zoomed in on the telemetry feed.
“Stand by...” she murmured.
The blip suddenly began moving. “Now he’s mobile again. Heading north toward...” She paused. “Toward Darya.”
Ash folded his arms tightly. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Looks like the two of them are linking up.”
On the map the two transponder signals merged into one position marker.
“They’re together now,” Roxy confirmed. “Both stationary.”
“She’ll probably take him back to camp,” she added, more hopeful than certain.
Then Stella straightened sharply at her own console.
“Negative,” she interrupted. “They’re moving again.”
Ash looked over immediately.
“Direction?”
“North.”
Ash’s expression hardened instantly.
“To the north?” he repeated. “The airport is north.”
A knot formed in his stomach. “What the hell are those two up to?”
Roxy’s fingers danced rapidly across her keyboard as fresh telemetry populated the screen.
“They just entered the airport perimeter,” she confirmed. “And ... stopping at Grobler’s hangar.”
For half a second the room fell silent.
Then realisation slammed into Ash like a freight train. “The asshole is going after the Wolf,” he snapped. “And he’s taking Darya with him.”
Ash pointed sharply toward Stella. “Get him on the horn. Now.”
Beside him, Stella was already moving.
Her fingers adjusted frequency sliders while she patched secure VHF channels through the JOC communications suite. Audio levels spiked across the board as she routed the signal through satellite relay.
“I’ve got his transponder-linked comm package,” she said quickly, dropping one side of her headset over her ear. “Routing through the helicopter onboard systems now.”
The speakers crackled violently.
Then came the unmistakable sound of a turbine engine beginning startup procedures.
A high-pitched whine filled the operations room.
Growing louder.
Sharper.
More aggressive.
Jessie’s Allison turbine was coming alive.
Ash stepped forward immediately and pressed the master desk microphone.
“Zulu-Sierra-Charley-Charley-Romeo, this is JOC Main,” he said firmly. “Adrian, TC is pulling back to the safe zone to process the detainees. The FLO has officially confirmed Interpol is assuming jurisdiction over Reznikov.”
The turbine shriek intensified over the speakers.
Ash continued. “Your orders are to remain on station, lock down the aircraft, and stand down. Do you copy? Stand down.”
No answer came immediately.
Only turbine noise.
The rising scream of compressor blades accelerated through the speakers while warning tones chirped faintly somewhere inside the cockpit. The sound alone told every pilot in the room exactly what was happening.
Jessie was reaching flight RPM.
Roxy slowly lowered her coffee cup.
Nobody spoke.
Then Adrian answered.
The moment his voice came over the radio, the atmosphere inside the JOC changed.
Gone was the calm, soft-spoken bush pilot they all knew.
This voice was different. Cold. Controlled. Flat in a way that made the hairs rise on the back of Roxy’s neck.
“Ash...” Adrian said quietly.
The turbine pulsed rhythmically behind him.
“Listen to me very carefully.”
Nobody in the room moved.
“If you want the Wolf intact,” Adrian continued, “you’d better get TC and the Interpol boys to him before I do.”
The words landed like ice water.