by David Holman
24
The journey to Compton Nash’s House was a short one, and during this taxi ride from the hospital to the south of the city, Munroe had briefed the others about his old Selous Scout buddy, explaining his specific expertise.
On learning this, Andrew Gable had quickly been reminded of ‘Q’ in the James Bond films, in the way that according to the description given by the South African, Nash seemed to be a technical wizard.
At the gates of the large bungalow, Munroe was first out of the taxi. Before leaving the hospital, he had phoned Nash to let him know of his intended visit. As they walked up the path towards the house, Cunningham noticed a large barn-like building to the side of it with a closed steel door in the centre. Hopefully what they had come for, was inside.
Nash was waiting for them, standing behind the insect screen in the doorway.
Gable had his first glimpse of him. He was short, with cropped black hair and a thick nose. He stared through steely-grey eyes, eyes that showed they’d seen a lot of action over the past few years.
Back in the taxi, Munroe had informed Gable and Cunningham that if you wanted specific equipment for a job, then Compton Nash was your man. Nash stood taking in his friends two companions and since Munroe’s account of him Gable had expected to see someone resembling actor, Desmond Llewelyn, at the door.
Munroe introduced them to him. ‘This is Peter Cunningham from Pretoria, and this is Andrew Gable from London, and don’t worry Compton, they’re good guys, trust me.’
Nash paused as if to check them over for himself, then pulling back the screen, embraced Munroe. ‘It’s been a long time man.’ He then shook hands with the others. ‘Nice to meet you, gentlemen.’ He gestured for them to step inside, adding that there were some beers with their names on them in the fridge.’
Gable suddenly felt relaxed in the company of this man. But on turning his head, also noticed a shotgun hooked above the door. He deduced from the caution portrayed by this man, he was either highly security-conscious or he valued his privacy.
Nash returned with the bottles and distributed them accordingly. He sat down, turning to Munroe. ‘So, Phil. I take it this is not just a social call. What can I do for you?’
‘We have a little problem and I was wondering if you could help us out, by letting us borrow Leona for a while?’
Nash shifted in his seat and took a few gulps of his beer. ‘Wow, this better be good. Why should I lend you Leona?’
The three men looked at each other, and eventually, Munroe was prompted to explain for the next ten minutes their situation and how they needed to get across the country by early tomorrow morning. By the end of his monologue, his old friend had turned a pale green.
‘Jesus, is this for real? Sounds like a plot for a blockbuster epic, if you ask me.’
Munroe confirmed the reality of the situation. ‘Having something like Leona, would probably help us out, mate.’
Nash looked at the other two men in turn. ‘When you said these were good guys, Phil,’ He turned to the others, ‘I take it you meant you two are government agents, or something?’
‘I’m NIS and Andrew is British Ministry of Defence,’ announced Cunningham.
Munroe decided to change the subject. ‘Don’t see Deena anywhere. Has she left you again?’
Nash smiled. ‘Not exactly, you know Deena, Phil. She’s off on one of her photo sprees, this time in Mali of all places, to get some inspiration for her next masterpiece.’ He drew their attention to the surrounding walls at the abstract portraits. As they all seemed to show the same style of impressionism, Gable presumed they were all hers.
‘She’s not a bad artist, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Nash chuckled at this Englishness. ‘She’ll appreciate that, Andrew, thanks.‘
Munroe explained to the others, Deena was half Shona, who Nash had met during a Fireforce operation while she was a war photographer in Zambia. He finished his beer and slammed down his can. ‘Right, drink up guys. It’s time to meet Leona.’
From his statement in the hospital, both Gable and Cunningham had been wondering what Leona could be? All he had managed to guess, was it was some kind of vehicle. They followed the small man out of his house and across to the outbuilding, they had seen on entering.
Nash stopped at the steel door and reached for a small box on the wall beside it. Opening it, he punched some numbers on a keypad and the door flicked open.
Walking inside the gloom, he reached for a pull cord and two straws of light flickered until illuminating the entire interior. He then took his entourage through the building. Passing a workbench with various half assembled gadgets,
Gable soon realised what Munroe had described in the taxi. This was indeed Q Branch. His attention was then drawn to a black crocodile-skin briefcase, noticing on closer examination that a small hole had been drilled out in the side of it.
Nash caught him looking at the item. ‘This is for a client who wants a camera put into it.’ He picked it up and placed it under the bench. There were also other objects ranging from disassembled walkie talkie radio sets, to long aluminium pipes and an empty sardine tin, its intended function was anybody’s guess.
‘Still making the toys, I see? You’ve got more products than Woolworths right now, man,’ quipped Munroe.
Nash laughed. ‘Have to make a living somehow, Phil, considering the future of this country.’
Gable stepped forward. ‘So, what do you think about this country’s future, then, Mr Nash.’
Nash shook his head. ‘Let’s just say, I think it’s going to be one hell of a ride, Andrew. To be honest, us whites are in for a rough time with a new black majority rule. Don’t forget these leaders have spawned terror groups. And, I can’t see it stopping there, either. Believe it or not, it will happen in South Africa, one day, you’ll see.’
On hearing this, Cunningham interrupted them. ‘That’ll never happen.’
Nash paused, deciding to give the South African one of his ‘don’t be so sure of yourself stares. ‘Shall we move on?’ He pulled them over to the far side where what looked like a big car, was covered with a green tarpaulin which Nash started to remove.
When it had been uncovered, Gable and Cunningham found themselves staring at the strangest vehicle they had ever seen. Looking like it had been constructed from spare parts, it seemed to have the chassis of a vintage saloon car, combined with an armoured capsule set within a steel cage, thin slits for windows and was raised on a high platform. At the rear, above the exposed engine, was a large fuel tank. Below the engine, a large pipe protruded. The vehicle also had a black canvas roof and a spare tyre bolted to the front of the capsule.
Nash turned to the newcomers. ‘This is Leona, guys. She’s a Leopard, AMAV, which stands for, Anti-Mine Assault Vehicle.’
Gable thought it looked similar to the ‘Pig’ troop transport, they had seen a few days ago on the way from the airport.
Munroe gave an appreciating smile. ‘She’s looking good, Compton. You’ve really looked after her well, man.’
Nash pulled down the entry door. ‘I’ve made a few modifications to her, since you saw her last, Phil.’ He pointed to the front section of the vehicle to two triangular panels. See, I’ve added these armour plates.’ He then turned, stepping onto the mounting platform, gesturing them to climb inside.
Cunningham and Gable soon saw how cramped it was. There were four metallic seats, two facing forward, two facing to the rear of the cab. The steering wheel was on the left side with the gearstick set in the centre.
Nash pointed out a box just above it. ‘This is a moving-map display from the wreck of a French Jaguar fighter, which crashed in Chad. I’ve changed all the maps, so they are more local to this part of Africa.’
He then pointed out other things. ‘These are the triggers for two grenade launchers on either side. It’s loaded, so be careful. He then drew their attention to a button by the side of the gearstick that had red tape over it. This is for the
Nitrous Oxide booster that I fitted. But I recommend you don’t use it, it’s set her on fire, twice. I have been tinkering with it since, but I still think it needs more work to put right.’ Nash also explained he had changed the original engine for a more powerful V8. ‘She’s also got solid rubber tyres.’ He climbed into the driver seat, retrieved a set of keys from his pocket and started the engine. The sound was like that of a powerful motorbike, and echoed off the walls of the building with thunderous force when he revved the engine.
Cunningham then looked at his watch, advising they’d better get going soon.
Nash turned off the ignition and looked at the others. ‘Can I be assured you’ll bring her back in one piece, guys?’
Munroe turned to ask him something. ‘By the way, do you still happen to have your little arsenal?’
Nash gave them a defeated look. ‘Jesus, guys. You’re not exactly prepared for these maniacs, are you?’
Cunningham looked at him sheepishly. ‘We couldn’t really bring weapons across the border, could we?’
With cat-like tenacity, Nash vaulted out of his seat and jumping down from the Leopard, took the others over to what looked like a trapdoor on the floor. He pulled it open to reveal a set of metal stairs leading into a basement. Flicking a light on, the others stared in awe at the rows of firearms mounted on a wall. He moved towards them and took off three automatic pistols, handing them one each. ‘Makarovs. Courtesy of the USSR.’
As Gable was handed the pistol, he decided to not ask his host how he had managed to acquire these particular weapons.
Nash then reached into a drawer for a box and handed it to Munroe. ‘Spare ammo.’
Munroe then set his eyes upon what he deemed an old and reliable friend in combat. ‘Any chance of having the Sterling?’
Nash gestured to the wall. ‘Help yourself, man.’
Munroe grabbed the British manufactured sub-machine gun and clicking back the breach, snapped it home with the trigger. ‘Just like riding a bike. You never forget.’
Nash then presented him with two magazines for it. Then, as they fumbled with their guns, he stood back to look at Munroe’s two friends in their formal suits. ‘You two, look like your about to shoot a bloody menswear commercial.’ He walked over to a metal cabinet, pulled out three sets of Rhodesian Army issue camouflage kit and thrusted them into their arms. ‘There, put these on, they should fit. I’ll just sort some boots for you as well.’
Half an hour later, the three men now wearing combat gear, boarded the Leopard, Munroe climbing into the driving seat.
Nash was standing outside. ‘Remember what I said about the Nitrous.’
Munroe played with the keys as the other two secured themselves in their seats. He looked at Nash. ‘Why don’t you come with us, man?’
Nash shook his head. ‘Love to, but I’ve got some clients needing some things done, so I’ll just say rombo rakanaka, which is Shona for good luck, guys.’ He slammed the door shut and stood back as Munroe slowly moved the vehicle out into the open, and then with the increase of pitch from the eight-cylinder Volkswagen engine, drove out of the gateway.
25
Alex Swan had arranged for his wife to go back to his room at the Ambassador Hotel and on leaving him, she vowed to be back to collect him later.
The doctor had showed signs his English patient was now fit enough to leave the hospital.
In the meantime, Swan had a light dinner washed down with strong coffee. Afterwards, he had settled into today’s copy of the national newspaper, The Herald; he was not surprised the articles were mostly about the forthcoming Lancaster House Agreement talks in London. He then noticed a familiar figure had walked into the ward, and Swan was only surprised in how long it had taken Damien Wyatt to pay him this visit.
The Head of Internal Security, acknowledged him. ‘Mr Swan, so glad to see you’re not too hurt by what happened,’ he said, shaking Swan’s free hand and pulling the armchair across to sit down. ‘The doctor informed me about you. I would have come a lot earlier, but with these talks in London due soon, things have been a bit busy.’ He smiled. ‘So, how are you feeling?’
Swan explained his injuries and what he could remember about the incident.
Wyatt sighed. ‘Well, at least you weren’t badly hurt. Any ideas on who it was? Do you remember the car? The more details we have, the better chance I might be able to help.’
Swan could recall the type of car it was, the colour, but that was all.
Wyatt nodded, and paused as if to take in the information. ‘Did you happen to see the driver?’
Swan shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t, it all happened too fast. I saw the car, then next thing I saw, were the lights inside the ambulance. My colleague, Mr Gable, said that I had been knocked cold for a while after I fell on the ground.’
Wyatt shifted in the chair. ‘So, what about this other business with Gifford. Has there been any further developments in trying to find this farm?’
Swan had been expecting this. Wyatt obviously needed to know how close they were getting. He decided to play him, and there was no need to bring old Doogie into this. ‘Gable is dealing with it, he thinks he may be onto something we could follow up tomorrow.’
Wyatt suddenly showed interest. ‘What’s this then?’
‘He got talking to someone in our hotel who knows of him.’ Swan noticed that Wyatt started to look concerned, but was it a sense of intrigue or panic?
‘So, what’s this person told Mr Gable?’ Wyatt asked him.
Swan was beginning to enjoy this. ‘He said that Gifford supplied some sheep to him,’ he lied, ‘nothing about the location of the farm, though. Apparently, this was all done at a cattle market in Bulawayo, but we do have a contact number which we perhaps could trace.’
Wyatt leaned forward. ‘Do you have it now? I could take it back to the office and work the trace for you.’
Swan shook his head, gesturing to his strapped arm. ‘Seeing that I’m in this predicament, I’ve left Andrew to chase it up.’
Wyatt nodded as if he was thinking things through. ‘I see, he sighed. ‘Is Gable at the Ambassador?’
Swan paused. Although he knew were Andrew was, and who he was with, he didn’t want Wyatt to go to the hotel to find that his wife was there. It could easily put her in danger. Wyatt could use her as collateral to keep them from preventing Mallinson’s plan. ‘I expect he’s probably already in Bulawayo. But we did agree he contact me in the morning.’
Wyatt looked defeated. ‘Okay, I guess we’ll have to see what he comes up with.’ He rose from the chair. ‘If he finds this farm, let me know and I can have a couple of K-Cars loaded with special forces, ready to go within the hour.’
‘Swan showed his ignorance. ‘This was the second time he had heard about these K-Cars?’
‘Allouette helicopter gunships,’ interpreted Wyatt.
Swan smirked. ‘That’s jolly decent of you.’
Wyatt suddenly took on a more abrupt tone. ‘Can I be frank with you, Alex? I’m rather concerned you think we are unable to handle things like this, ourselves. This is a threat to national security; our security and you are fully aware we have the resources to deal with it. We don’t really want our country to be used for some secret MI6 or whatever agency you’re with, operation. In my book, Gifford is a terrorist, and therefore must be prevented from doing what he’s about to do. So, if I can help in anyway, maybe we can work together on this.’
Swan had suddenly been taken aback. Did Wyatt just offer him an olive branch? This was not what he had expected in this game of bluff and double-bluff. It was turning to out to be quite a challenge. Could Wyatt be serious about this? Questions started to form in his head. ‘Maybe you’re right. Perhaps we should work together. After all, if Gifford has a small army, Andrew and I are hardly going to be in a position to take them on.’ He gestured to his strapped arm again. Besides, it’s not just Toby Gifford we’re after. Someone else is running the whole show. His name is Henry M
allinson.’
Wyatt’s eyes widened. ‘As in the shipping company?’
‘The same. We’ve tapped his calls, and several were made from his home in the UK, to here. In fact, he has arranged to meet Gifford in Kenya, late tomorrow.’
Wyatt sighed and rose from the chair. ‘Just let me know if you hear anything, else. I’ll go back to my office now and see what we have on Mallinson.’
Swan nodded, watching the Head of Internal Security move towards the door. Suddenly, he sensed a feeling of guilt. Providing he had for the first time not been out-bluffed, he knew he could do with this man’s help. After all, it had only been the bitter bias of Cunningham which had swayed him to think this way about this man, and as a personal rule, he had never usually let other people cloud his own judgement. He called out to him across the ward.
Wyatt turned. ‘Yes, Alex?’
Swan took a sharp swallow. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been a little dishonest with you. I know where Gifford’s farm is.’ He gestured to the Scotsman who was being made ready by nurses for his evening meal. ‘All thanks to that poor chap over there. And, it’s not an airstrip, it’s a runway laid by him, on the farm itself. A long one.’
Wyatt walked back to the bed. ‘Have you been bloody playing me?’
Swan apologised. ‘I think I may have been a haste tactful in what I told you.’
Wyatt stared at him with angry eyes. ‘Okay, I’m sure you have your reasons. So, where is it?’
Swan swung off the bed and reaching for a piece of folded writing paper, handed it to Wyatt. He allowed the South African to read it. ‘Gable should be heading there as we speak.’
Quickly memorising the location, Wyatt handed it back to Swan. ‘Is he alone?’
‘No, he’s with a couple of South Africans, believe it or not, one you’re already familiar with.’
‘Who?’
‘A NIS officer named, Cunningham.’
Wyatt’s blue eyes widened again. ‘Peter Cunningham?’