by Tony Park
‘Track?’ said Banger. ‘Dudes, welcome to my world. Jed, all new vehicles in South Africa over a certain value have to have satellite tracking devices fitted to them in order to qualify for insurance policies. There’s no way your embassy van wouldn’t have a tracker on it. Can you call the embassy and find out what company you guys use?’
‘Sure thing,’ said Jed.
Mike continued on the N1 while Jed made a call on his phone. When he hung up he used the screen on Mike’s sat nav to call Banger.
‘Howzit, Mike?’
‘Banger, it’s Jed here. The US embassy uses a company called Motor Track.’
‘Yes! That’s my company. I know some of the guys in Joburg. Jed, I need you to call Motor Track and report that van stolen. Leave the rest to me.’ Banger gave them the emergency number then hung up.
Jed dialled the number and made up a story about the vehicle being stolen from the car park of Wonderboom Airport. Mike was about to turn off to the airport when the phone rang again.
‘Banger here, guys. OK, a bru of mine in Joburg has a fix on your van. They’ve scrambled a chopper and the good news is the pilot owes me a favour. Their control room says your van is heading southwest on the N14. I think they’re heading for Lanseria.’
‘That’s Johannesburg’s second airport,’ Mike said for Jed’s benefit. ‘They could have an international charter booked from there.’
Jed nodded. ‘Banger, can you catch them?’
‘Man, I’m doing one-eighty now. I’ll catch them all right, now I know where I’m headed. You guys will be like a day behind me. The Motor Track guys use Bell Jet Rangers up here because the elevation’s so much higher than Durban. They need bigger choppers than those little R44s that Nia flies to cut it in this thin air on the highveld. Andrew Barton’s the pilot, and he’s got room for you two in the back. I’ll SMS you his contact details and you okes can tee up where to meet him.’
‘Roger that,’ said Jed. ‘And thanks.’
*
Nia sat at one end of the bench seat in the back of the van, furthest from the door, and Suzanne sat at the other, covering her with her pistol.
Nia shuddered at the thought of what might have happened to her, but was even more afraid of what the couple planned next.
‘We’re taking you to a storage unit,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’m not going to kill you. We’re going to tie you up and leave you there, no food or water I’m afraid, but if we get to Switzerland, use your new account number and passcode and find the money, then we’ll make a call to the storage people and they’ll come and get you. OK?’
Nia sniffed and gave a small nod. She wanted so much to believe that it might be the truth, that she might yet live.
‘However, if the account number or passcode are wrong we’ll make our way back here. It will take a little while, but you’ll still be alive, starving and dehydrated, and Franklin will torture you until you give us the correct information. Worst case scenario, we can’t come back to South Africa because the security’s too hot so you will die of starvation and we’ll still disappear.’
From the N14 they eventually turned onto the R512 which led to Lanseria Airport. The countryside here was still semi-rural and the traffic light. At a certain point, Franklin pulled over. He exited the vehicle, went around to the passenger side, and pulled out Chris Mitchell’s body. Nia watched as he dragged the senior CIA man to a ditch then got back in.
‘This is all about money, isn’t it?’ Nia asked.
Suzanne rocked her head from side to side. ‘Yes and no. I spent enough time in Syria to know that I didn’t want to live in an Islamic state any more, and Franklin spent enough time outside of America, doing his country’s dirty work, to know he didn’t want to call the Great Satan home. Neither of us wants the jihadis to get hold of a nuke. Of course, we also need some retirement money.’
The van was in the left lane and Nia saw a small car draw alongside them, on the right, keep pace with them for a second, then accelerate away. As it moved ahead of them she saw the distinctive Motor Track ‘Eye in the sky’ slogan on its rear. She caught a glimpse of the number plate: BANGBANG-ZN.
Nia bit her lower lip and her heart started to pound. Banger had bought an ex Motor Track Golf and hadn’t yet got around to having the logos removed. Bighead that he was, he had found time to get some personalised number plates made.
She thought fast. She needed to distract Suzanne and Franklin. ‘What about your baby, Hassan? Don’t you care about him?’
Suzanne glared at her. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Come on, you’re his mom.’
‘Shut up,’ Suzanne said.
‘I can’t believe you’re such a heartless bitch, Suzanne.’
Suzanne pointed her pistol between Nia’s eyes. ‘He’s somewhere safe. That’s good enough for me!’
‘You’re worse than an animal, Suzanne. At least a hyena or a vulture cares for her young.’
Franklin, who had been concentrating on driving, turned back to her. ‘Shut the fuck up, bitch, or you’re dead.’
‘No, you are,’ said Nia.
He looked back at her again. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
*
‘He’s distracted.’ Banger’s voice came through their headsets from the hands-free microphone in his car. ‘Looking back. Time to giddy-up, amigos.’
‘Don’t mix your Western vernacular,’ Jed said.
Banger laughed.
Mike had his pistol drawn and ready, as did Jed. Andrew Barton, the Motor Track helicopter pilot, had held position behind and above the Mercedes van while Banger overtook the vehicle and moved into position. Banger was now in front of the van.
‘Slowing now,’ Banger said, his voice calm and serious again.
‘No other vehicles in sight,’ said Mike. ‘You sure you want to do it this way?’
‘Affirmative,’ said Banger.
Mike took a deep breath. They had discussed the options and Banger had argued that if the helicopter made itself known to the fleeing terrorists then they might kill Nia. For the same reason they had avoided contacting the South African police. Seeing an impromptu roadblock would also force their hand. They had to do this hard and fast.
‘All clear?’ Banger said.
Mike and Jed checked left and right out of the Jet Ranger and gave each other the thumbs-up. ‘All clear, Banger,’ Mike said. ‘No traffic for a kilometre behind us.’
‘Mike,’ Banger said.
‘Yes?’
‘Do me a favour, bru, two in fact.’
‘Sure.’
‘Tell Nia I love her, even though I did fuck things up.’
‘Don’t be morbid. You’ve got an airbag and there’s no one in front of you,’ Mike said.
‘I’m serious, dude.’
‘OK,’ Mike said, ‘will do. What’s the other favour?’
‘Take care of her, man.’
‘Cars coming up behind us,’ Jed said. ‘Now or never.’
‘Remember, Nia’s on the left side. Adios, amigos,’ Banger said.
Mike watched as Banger bled off speed by lifting his foot off the accelerator. On this stretch of the R512 the road had narrowed to a single lane. When there was just fifty metres between the Golf and the Mercedes van behind it, the driver of the van switched on his right indicator, to overtake.
The Golf’s tail-lights glowed bright red as Banger stood on the brakes and pulled on the handbrake and the van ploughed into him.
Banger held firm as his tyres blew out and sparks flew from the rims of his wheels. Andrew brought the Jet Ranger around to the left, trailing the vehicles which, locked together, skidded down the road. As they came to a halt Andrew dropped to a hover, a metre off the ground.
Jed and Mike already had the doors open and they jumped out. Jed went around
the rear of the van, pistol up and ready, and headed towards the driver’s door. Mike went to the left-hand side, where Banger had reported seeing Nia. The window on that side of the van shattered as two shots came his way. Mike dropped to the ground.
Mike moved backwards, to the rear of the van, hoping to get a clean shot from the rear.
‘Mike, she’s got a grenade!’ Nia called, her words followed by a cry of pain.
A woman’s hand reached out of the broken window and tossed out a hand grenade, which hit the ground with a metallic thud a couple of metres from the van. Mike moved behind the vehicle and ran. The explosion rocked the van and smoke washed over them.
Mike glanced around the right side of the Mercedes and saw that Jed had his gun up, pointing at the driver.
‘Franklin, toss your gun out,’ Jed called.
Franklin opened the door and staggered out from behind the inflated airbag. He carried a pistol in his right hand. Mike took aim at his broad back. He couldn’t fire, though, in case he hit Jed, who was just beyond Franklin.
‘Drop it, buddy,’ Jed said. ‘Let’s talk.’
‘OK.’ Franklin held his gun arm out to the right, and just as it looked like he was going to drop it he turned his pistol on Jed and fired.
Jed returned fire, two shots, and Franklin’s body jerked, but he didn’t go down. Jed, on the other hand, dropped to one knee.
Mike didn’t know if Franklin was wearing body armour, or if one or both of Jed’s shots had been deflected by some of the police gear that Franklin still had on. Mike acted instinctively and fired a shot into the back of Franklin’s head. He pitched forward, dead.
‘I’ll kill her,’ Suzanne called from inside the van. ‘Both of you back off, put your guns down. I’m coming out.’
Suzanne was holding Nia close to her, one arm around her neck and the pistol in her right hand held up under Nia’s jaw. She eased Nia out first, and when her feet were on the ground Suzanne looked around her.
Mike had his pistol aimed at Suzanne. Jed was sitting, his gun also up, though his aim was wavering. He’d been hit somewhere in the chest or shoulder.
*
Banger used his Leatherman to puncture the airbag in his Golf. He crawled over the centre console of the little car to the passenger door, opened it, and slid out. He made his way on knees and elbows along the side of his car and halfway down the length of the Mercedes van.
He’d heard the grenade go off, and the firing. He pulled his Glock from the pancake holster on his belt and crawled under the chassis. He could see feet – Suzanne’s and Nia’s – and Jed Banks was sitting on the road, wounded, but holding up a gun. He also saw the body of a black man lying by the driver’s side, no more than a metre from his face. Banger edged forward.
‘Dunn, you’re going to flag down the next car that passes,’ Suzanne said.
Banger craned his neck and saw Mike Dunn’s battered bush shoes at the rear of the van. He inched even further forward, thinking that if he could get close enough to Suzanne, he could maybe take a killer shot. The angle was difficult, though, and he had to be sure that if he shot her the bullet wouldn’t go through her into Nia.
He looked right and then left again. Then Jed moved his head, just a fraction, and they locked eyes for a moment.
Jed spoke up. ‘Suzanne, this is over for you. You’re not going to get out of South Africa alive and get on a plane to Switzerland.’
‘Shut up, and drop your gun.’
‘Take me, Suzanne,’ Mike Dunn said from the right. ‘I’ve got the account number and the code.’
‘I’ve already got that. It took surprisingly little effort,’ Suzanne said. ‘And in case you didn’t know, your friend here moved the money into a new account and I’ve got that number as well. Toss your gun away, now, Dunn, to me, or I’ll start shooting her, someplace where it will hurt, but which will still allow her to move.’
Suzanne took a step backwards, so that she was half leaning into the van’s open doorway, as Dunn tossed his pistol to her. Damn, Banger, thought. Suzanne’s move made it almost impossible for him to fire up at her.
From above he heard the chop of rotor blades. Andrew was coming back in the Jet Ranger. Angus heard the whine of the jet engine getting louder as the helicopter approached. Suzanne shuffled a pace to the side.
Banger looked over to Jed, who gave him the slightest of nods, then started to stand.
‘Get down,’ Suzanne yelled over the noise of the helicopter. Dust and dirt blasted them from the rotor wash.
Jed half stood, then, seeming to think better of it, dived to one side. Banger rolled out from under the van, the sound of his scrambling on the road covered by the helicopter’s noise. He reached up and grabbed a startled Nia by the belt on her jeans.
Suzanne Fessey had moved her pistol from Nia’s chin so that she could fire two shots at Jed. Banger hauled on Nia’s belt and wrenched her from Suzanne’s grasp.
‘Run!’ Banger yelled.
Lying on his back, Banger fired up at Suzanne, two shots. One went into her body armour, but the other seemed to go under her vest and up into her body. She pitched backwards into the van.
Banger was fit, strong, and fast. As he sprang to his feet, bringing his gun up at the same time, he saw Mike Dunn catching Nia and ushering her deeper into the dust cloud.
Suzanne Fessey was not as badly hurt as Banger hoped. From outside the van he saw her bring her pistol up and aim it at Nia’s back. Banger did the only thing he could do – he dodged to the right, putting himself between Suzanne and Nia.
As the bullets from Suzanne’s pistol smashed through his body Banger kept firing, until both of them went down.
Chapter 38
One year later
Mike put his hand on his hat to stop it blowing off as Nia flared the nose of her latest acquisition, a new Gazelle helicopter, and set down in an open grassy area near the lodge on the game farm Bandile Dlamini had recently purchased.
Mike opened the rear side door of the helicopter and Lerato stepped out, looking beautiful in a white off-the-shoulder wedding dress.
Next out was her father’s girlfriend, a glamorous Eyewitness News reporter who had met Bandile while interviewing him in the aftermath of last year’s terrible events. In her arms she carried a coffee-coloured toddler who was giggling with excitement from the helicopter ride. Harrison Dlamini, formerly Hassan Farhat, was now the ward of the wealthy former politician, a half-brother of sorts to Lerato.
Bandile himself was smiling widely as he climbed down and shook Mike’s hand. ‘So good to see you again, Michael, and in much better circumstances.’
‘Indeed,’ Mike said. ‘You must be very proud.’
Bandile looked to Lerato. ‘In the eyes of our culture Lerato and Themba are too young to be getting married, but their courtship was anything but traditional. By the way my former employee, who was selling the vulture heads without my knowledge on the day we met at the Mona market, has just been sentenced to a year in prison.’
Mike nodded. ‘Could have been longer, but that’s good news.’
‘I agree.’
Lerato came to Mike and he kissed her on the cheek and took her hand. ‘Good luck, Lerato.’
‘After what I’ve been through, this will be a walk in the park.’
Bandile led his daughter, partner and son to a waiting Land Rover game viewer, driven by one of his safari guides.
Mike went to Nia and hugged and kissed her.
She laughed. ‘Don’t ruin my makeup, you know I hardly ever wear it.’
She took a step back from him and unzipped her one-piece black flight suit. The logo above the left pocket was the same as the one on the shiny new helicopter, that of the Endangered Species Organisation. ESO was a relatively new wildlife charity, set up in Australia some eleven months earlier. Nia’s father was a board member.
Nia peeled off the flight suit and, with Mike holding one hand to steady her, stepped out of it. Underneath she was wearing a short, simple, sexy little black dress.
‘Like a female James Bond,’ Mike said.
‘I’ve always wanted to do something like that,’ she said, grinning. She reached into the helicopter and took out a pair of high heels.
He kissed her again. ‘I love you,’ he said.
They went to a second Land Rover, which took off immediately. The idea was that Mike and Nia would join the other guests first and take their seats while the bridal party followed slowly behind.
Mike and Nia got down off the game viewer after the short drive over rough ground. Themba was standing at the front, by the celebrant, looking very sharp and serious in a black dinner suit. His sister, Nandi, was in the front row on the groom’s side, smiling broadly. She had been released from the care of the foster family and now lived with Themba. He caught sight of Mike and Nia and waved.
They waved back and eased past some seated guests to take two vacant chairs. At the end of the row, with a beautiful blonde holding his walking stick, was Angus Greiner. He smiled at them and Nia nodded to him. ‘That’s Banger’s physical therapist,’ Nia whispered to Mike. ‘His rehabilitation’s taking a long time, but he doesn’t seem to be complaining.’
Mike chuckled in reply.
‘Mike, Nia, how you doing?’
Mike turned at the sound of the American accent. Jed Banks was sitting behind them, wearing a blue blazer and khaki chinos.
‘Jed,’ Mike said as they shook hands, ‘I didn’t know you got an invite.’
‘I’m a spy, right, who needs an invite?’ He grinned. ‘Seriously, I did get an invitation from the big man. We’ve talked a few times over the past year. You hear he might be running for politics again, on the other side this time?’
‘I did read that,’ Mike said.
Jed leaned closer to Mike. ‘Official report’s about to be released from Langley. The CIA’s position is that Chris Mitchell and Franklin Washington were killed while trying to apprehend a wanted terrorist, Suzanne Fessey.’