by Leon Mare
Sam walked past towards his car. ‘I am so sorry, Dr. Fisher.’
Dr. Fisher was snipping at the roses absently, while his mind was screaming. Damn you, don’t give up – get in there and talk! Love is not something that you can just switch off like a light bulb! ‘You should be, my son. Good bye.’
He went to his parents’ house a few blocks away. They had just returned from church, and his mother still had her hat on, which she insisted on wearing even though very few women did these days.
Their joy at seeing him quickly faded as the circumstances were explained over tea and scones.
‘So what the hell was going on in your mind, man. Are you bloody crazy? Patricia, go phone the Fishers. We’re coming over to sort this thing out.’
‘No, Dad. Don’t you understand? It is over. Already sorted out. She has made up her mind, and that’s it. I have to get back now. Mother, here is the ring. When everybody has calmed down in a few weeks’ time, just give it to her. Tell her she can throw it away or sell it or whatever. I have no use for it.’
Sam’s mother put her hand on his. ‘Your pride is going to cost you your wife, Sam. Don’t be hasty – she will forgive you, just give her time. Do you really still love her?’
‘I love her, Mom, but I know her better that you do. It’s over.’
When he arrived back in Nelspruit later that afternoon, he had difficulty in keeping the car on the road. He was waging a continuous battle against the sleep that promised oblivion. He was seriously considering driving straight through, but he had promised to let Linda know, and he also intended getting a flask of sweet black coffee from her to ward off the sleep over the last stretch.
She was waiting in the open front door, dressed in his favourite yellow summer dress, when he got out of the car. She had done something different with her hair, he couldn’t say what, and he caught a whiff of White Linen on the afternoon air as he got close to her. Devastating.
Wordlessly he put his arms around her and just held her tenderly. They stood there in silence for a long, long time as something gradually happened between them. ‘Come,’ she said and led him to the couch by the hand. ‘Coffee or something stronger?’
‘Something much stronger.’
She poured him a tall, dark whisky and a Pimms for herself. They touched glasses and sat sipping in silence for a while. She was idly moving her long nails through the short hair in the nape of his neck, and he was aware of the tension of the past fifteen hectic hours subsiding. ‘That’s very nice,’ he murmured.
She could bear the suspense no longer. ‘Want to tell me what happened?’ Very casually.
He sighed. ‘It’s over. Irrevocably.’
She felt her heart skip a beat, and conflicting emotions flooded her mind. She had won Sam for herself, and she felt like jumping for joy. At the same time remorse pounded in her brain, and guilt engulfed her like molten tar. She knew that she had caused Estelle pain which she didn’t even wish on her worst enemy. She knew she was going to have a hard time living that down, but it was a price she was willing to pay for her love for Sam.
It had been his honest intention to leave immediately, but what the hell, he thought, it was over anyway, and he needed some sleep badly.
The next morning Sam did some shopping before going to her office to say good bye. Fortunately Courie was in court, saving him the trouble of trying to be nice to the man.
The receptionist at Courie, Crawford and Partners was a stunner herself, and she flashed Sam a smile in the true Farrah Fawcett tradition. ‘May I tell Ms Crawford who is calling, please?’
‘Just tell her it’s the delivery boy from the florist,’ he said, very self-conscious about the single, bright yellow, long-stemmed rose in his hand.
‘Oh,’ she said, making wide eyes at him. ‘I will immediately go and tell the lucky woman to cancel . . .’
‘It’s all right, Ciska, you can back off now.’ Linda was standing in the door of her office, trying her utmost to singe the receptionist with a murderous look. ‘Rather see if you can get some coffee in here please.’
She closed the office door behind them and flung herself into his arms. ‘Oh Sam, I haven’t seen you for two hours, and I was already beginning to miss you. You think there may be something wrong with me?’
‘Yes, and it seems to be contagious. I’m experiencing the same symptoms. Light-headedness, shortage of breath and a sort of hollow sensation in the stomach.’
‘Spot on. And in the presence of the causative agent the other symptoms are enhanced by a rapid increase in the pulse rate and blood pressure. Is this for me?’ she asked, noticing the unique dark yellow rose.
‘The colour reminded me so much of you, I just couldn’t resist it. That summer dress of yours, your bikini . . .’
‘My, but we are observant. Thank you, Sam.’
On returning to her office half an hour later after seeing Sam off in the lift, she found that she couldn’t concentrate on her work. She kept longing to be with him and out in the veld with him. She thought of all the beautiful things he had shown her and she knew that her life would never be the same again. He made her richer than she had ever been, filled her very essence with the beauty of nature in a way that very few people ever experience. He had introduced her to the ultimate freedom of man – that of being one with nature, that of blending in and becoming one with the wind and the rain and stars. . .
She suffered through the rest of her boring day, toiling with people and papers, with contracts and court cases. It was all so empty and futile, and she longed to be with him, to watch the bateleur eagle soar free and to smell the dew on the wet grass.
After a lonely dinner that night, she decided to return to the office to see if she could catch up on some paperwork.
Inserting her key in the frosted glass doors, she noticed that whoever had left last has forgotten to switch off the lights. She locked the door behind her, and as she headed towards her office, she thought she heard someone in Courie’s office. She stopped in her tracks and cocked her head, listening.
Then she recognised Courie’s voice, and she relaxed. She went to the door of his office to say hello, but was stopped in her tracks once more when she caught the meaning of his words.
‘No ifs or buts,’ he was shouting at someone over the telephone. ‘I want that consignment out of the country by next week. And if he gives you any more trouble, kill the bastard. Make it look like an accident, anything, but get him out of my hair. Those tusks are worth a million and a half, and I don’t intend jeopardising the whole operation because of a junior official’s passion for gambling.’
He slammed the phone down, and she could hear his chair creak as he got up. She looked around desperately for a place to hide, but there was none she could reach before he got to the door of his office. Instead she walked into his office, nearly colliding with him as he stormed out, swinging his jacket over his shoulder.
Courie got such a fright he nearly fell over backwards. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ he blurted. What little colour he had drained from his face, and it was obvious that he was shocked.
She smiled, pretending not to have overheard anything. ‘I’m your partner, remember? I happen to work here.’
‘I mean now. At this time of night.’ He pulled himself together and fixed her with a penetrating stare. ‘How long have you been eavesdropping?’
Fear was a thin voice, screaming a warning from inside her mind, but she ignored it. ‘Long enough. What the hell are you involved in?’
‘A client. Got caught poaching elephant, and he wants us to represent him. But that’s beside the point. What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, eavesdropping at my door?’
‘Don’t try to bullshit me, Courie. What are you involved in? I sincerely hope I heard wrong.’
He regarded her for a while, clearly trying to guess how much she had overheard. The he made up his mind with a shrug. ‘Listen to me, Linda, and listen very carefully. Believe me wh
en I tell you that you don’t want to involve yourself with my private business. I’m not sure what you have heard and what you haven’t, but my sincere advice to you is to forget all about it. Pretend you never heard a thing, and I’ll overlook your little impropriety.’
Linda had her blood up now, and she cast all discretion to the wind. ‘Don’t you dare threaten me! Who do you think you are, some kind of bloody gangster putting out contracts on people’s lives and smuggling ivory? And you’re a lawyer! My partner, at that!’
‘Linda, keep your nose out of this,’ he warned with an icy fury in his voice. ‘There is no way you can prove anything, so just forget about it before this thing escalates into something neither of us wants.’
‘This had better be a bad dream, Courie,’ she hissed back at him. ‘Because I’m going to start digging, and God help you if I find anything.’ She walked into her office and slammed the door violently.
Courie shrugged again. ‘Then so be it,’ he whispered and walked out.
Chapter Eight
The kingdom of Swazliand is one of the neighbouring states where a considerable number of South Africans go to play. Since the days of King Sobuza, Swaziland had always been committed to peaceful co-existence, but that fact that it also borders on the troubled Mozambique makes it, like Botswana, a sort of neutral territory where not only black and white, but communist and capitalist mix freely.
Approximately halfway between Mbabane and Manzini, in the Valley of the Kings, is one of the stronger pillars of the Swazi economy. The Royal Swazi Spa is surrounded by lesser hotels, guest farms and shopping centres. For a price, anything could be had in this valley. For the more daring of the visitors from South Africa, this is paradise. The conservative South African government, to a large extent knuckled under by the very strong Calvinistic churches, outlawed gambling, pornography and other ‘sins’ in general. Horse racing, for some or other obscure reason, was allowed, but real gambling was only to be found in the neighbouring states. This, of course, was an indirect way of pumping millions into their economies. A voluntary contribution by the South African taxpayer, as it were.
In this mecca Joao was enjoying himself immensely, while awaiting the arrival of his contact. If you had money to spend, then this was the place to do it in. There was no comparison between this and the sleazy dives that he used to frequent in Maputo.
And Joao had money. Lots of it. The Mozambique National Resistance had been very generous towards him. He had donated his arms cache to them, and they had donated R10,000 to him. In his previous environment this would have lasted him more than a lifetime, but at the rate he was going he would be lucky if he had anything left by the end of the weekend. The rate at which the roulette tables and high class women could skin a man never ceased to amaze him. But he kept going back for more. He was very popular with the ladies, most of their customers being aging businessmen down from Johannesburg, there for a quick inept fumble, which usually varied from drunken impotence to premature ejaculation. This gigantic man was a machine that even succeeded in making the most inured call girl enjoy her work.
Roulette was the game he enjoyed most, as there was no thinking involved. You could play, and still pay attention to your drink and your companion, which was something akin to both having your cake and eating it. After a particularly good win, he pressed his head back into the magnificent breasts of the lithe-bodied creature standing behind his chair, and laughed uproariously. When he saw Courie standing directly behind the players opposite him, he was jarred back to reality instantly. Courie did not acknowledge him, so he did likewise. Joao got up and grinned at his companion, squeezing her voluptuous body lightly. ‘Come on, beautiful, you try your luck for a while. I’ll catch you later.’
Courie bumped into him on his way to the toilet, and instructed him to go to Room 212.
The door was slightly ajar, and he walked in without knocking, to find Duncan Courie sitting at a small table, a bottle of J&B, two glasses and a bucket of ice in front of him. The small man jovially waved him to the opposite chair. ‘Hello, Joao. You are looking extremely well. Enjoying yourself?’
‘Very much so, Mr Courie. But the good life is in the long run going to make a man soft again. I sincerely hope you are here with some good news.’
‘Good news?’
‘News about some action. I am getting a bit tired of just sitting on my bum all day. I would like to try my hand at the thing I do best.’
Courie smiled and poured them each a stiff drink. ‘You are going to get all the action you need, man. I’ve got a very nice assignment lined up for you.’
They were interrupted by two taps on the door, followed by three more.
‘Just a second,’ Courie got up and went out. When he returned, he was carrying Joao’s suitcase, which he put on the bed.
‘Hey, what is all this about?’
‘Security, Joao. After you have received your instructions you are operational. Straight back to Mozambique without talking to anyone. Your bill has already been settled, and you have booked out.’
Before Joao could object, Courie held up his hand. ‘There was no more than five hundred rand on the table when you left, which you most probably would have lost anyway. Your hotel bill was considerably more than that, so don’t feel bad about it.’
‘I don’t have a problem with that. Sounds as if there is some action forthcoming.’
‘Very important action. And it must be done absolutely according to instructions. It is a tricky one, but if you do it right there is another thirty thousand in it for you. Unfortunately, we have to postpone the rhino/Jenkins hit for a while, but neither of them will go away. In fact, I think this is going to give you more satisfaction than just killing Jenkins outright.’
He kept Joao in suspense while pouring another drink. ‘We have a traitor in my organisation, who must be taken out in a way that will serve as an example to others. At the same time the authorities must be led to believe that it was a one-off act or terror, so timing is important. There must not be the slightest suspicion that it is anything but a random act.’
‘At the safe house in Maputo three other well trained men will join you. You will be the team leader, and they will follow your instructions without question. On Monday evening a truck will be delivered to you, at the safe house, on which you will find three crates. The contents off all three are identical. I want you to drive the truck to the border right opposite Nwanetzi on Tuesday. Early on Wednesday, cross the wire with two of the crates. Exactly 450 metres from the tourist road, on the Sweni fire break, there is an exceptionally big sycamore fig tree, around the base of which there are some dense shrubs. The contents of the two crates must be hidden here before Wednesday afternoon. The crates themselves must be returned to the truck. From the third crate you must remove a launcher and four rockets, as well as three land mines and eight anti-personnel mines. Leave the rest, and don’t worry about the truck. It will be removed later. Just stay with it till Friday. Early on Friday morning, enter the Park again, hide your explosives next to the tourist road where it can be picked up with safety, and go to the Nwanetzi lookout point. If you pick your positions right, it should be a short walk. Have you got everything right so far?’
‘The contents of the first two crates, Mr Courie – what’s that in aid of?’
‘Joao, there is something you will have to understand very clearly from the start if we want our relationship to work out. My organisation is involved in much more than just trading in game products. If there’s money in it, we do it. But if I don’t volunteer information, don’t bother to ask. I will see to it that you know all you need to know as far as your particular assignment is concerned. But that is all you need to know. Got it?’
‘I get the message, Mr Courie. Sorry about that. It sounds like quite an operation.’
‘It is, and make no mistake about it, I have a lot riding on you. Make this one work, and you are assured of a very cosy future in my organisation. I can always use trustw
orthy men who’ve got both guts and brains.’
‘It will work, Mr Courie, don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.’
‘Good. Be at the lookout point at eleven, and mingle with the tourists. And for God’s sake don’t let anybody see you emerging from the bush on foot. But you know your stuff, so I won’t go into that. There will be a dark green BMW 728i with the keys in the ignition. Take it, and pick up your stuff. Now, your target is the occupant of this car. You needn’t know what she looks like, she will be the only occupant.’ He passed Joao a photograph of a white Porsche 911 Targa.
‘A woman who is in a position to crack my whole organisation wide open at any moment. I will make sure that she doesn’t leave Nelspruit before ten, which should put her in the Park at about noon. She has been following the same pattern for the past couple of weeks, so she will most probably enter at the Orpen Gate again, drive straight to Satara, where she stops for no longer than ten minutes, and then follows the tarred road to Nwanetzi.’
‘Ah, a friend of our mutual friend?’
‘More than just a friend.’
‘Beauty-fucking-full!’ Joao laughed out loud, and poured another round of drinks. ‘I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Let him also suffer before I kill him.’
‘I thought you were going to like this. Leave him for the time being – getting her is top priority. To get back: having picked up the ordnance, get to Satara quickly, and from there drive very slowly towards Orpen. When she passes you, turn around and follow at a safe distance. Keep well back, because she has got a suspicious mind. Near Satara you must have her in sight, to make sure she stops. Get out ahead of her and blow her up on the Nwanetzi road. You work out the detail. Then head south along the border towards Komatipoort. Along the road there are quite a few places where tourists can pull off the tar to viewing points etc. Mine a couple of these spots on your way. The area is mostly sandy, so it should not be necessary to waste time digging holes for the mines. This is bound to convince the authorities that is was the work of terrorists, and a random killing’