Rage (Courtney Family Adventures)
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In Wilbur Smith's Rage, in the second half of the twentieth century, the future bears down on Africa--fueled by the sins of the past and the blood feuds of nations, tribes, and families. For the Courtney family, who have known this continent from the depths of its gold mines to the pinnacle of political power, a time of reckoning is at hand.
Shasa Courtney has lived, fought and loved amongst Afrikaners, Englishmen, and natives. His mother is by his side but the rest of the world around him is exploding. Even his family harbors secrets more dangerous than his own worst enemies.
Now, a continent is convulsed. Streets teem with protestors. Desperate and devious men forge volatile alliances. And Shasa faces shocking revelations amongst traitors, fugitives, and heroes--leading a beloved country into the flames of civil war…
since he had first met Tara. It was partly her unattainability that made her so desirable. Shasa was accustomed to getting what he wanted, even if it was a hard and heartless little vixen with a childlike face and body. He watched her eat the rare steak with the same sensual gusto as she made love. She was sitting cross-legged on the front edge of her chair and the hem of her dressing-gown had ridden up high on her thighs. She saw the direction of his gaze but made no effort to
positions. Within half an hour all of the huntsmen had been hidden in an irregular extended line below the ragged range of hills. Manfred De La Rey and Shasa had been placed together in a cluster of broken grey rock, and they squatted down to wait with their rifles across their laps, staring out across the flats that were speckled with darker scrub. The trucks, driven by the teenage sons of their host, headed out in a wide circle until they were merely specks against the pale
submitting a thesis for his doctorate, and his pre-flight checks went on so long that Shasa squirmed in the right-hand seat and only just contained himself from crying out, ‘For God’s sake, Garry, let’s get on with it.’ Yet it was a mark of his trust that he allowed Garry to take the controls of the Mosquito at all. Shasa was prepared to take over at the first sign of trouble, but he was amply rewarded for his forbearance when he saw the sparkle of deep pleasure behind Garry’s
shoulders and tried to find words, but after a moment he simply said, ‘I know how you feel, champ. But we have to get back home. I have to introduce my budget to the House on Monday.’ It was not what he had wanted to say, but he sensed that Garry knew that, and as they picked their way down the rough pathway in the dusk, they were closer in spirit than they had ever been. The budget for Shasa’s Ministry of Mines and Industry had been almost doubled this year, and he knew that the
huge old bull elephant, with smooth pad-marks the size of garbage-bin lids, and they left the jeep and followed him on foot for two days, sleeping on the spoor, eating the hard rations they carried. In the late afternoon of the second day, they caught up with the bull. He was in almost impenetrable jess bush through which they crept on hands and knees, and they were almost within touching distance when they made out the loom of the colossal grey body through the interlaced branches.