Dark Intent

by Brian Reeve

  Sophie smiled and started to lie down next to him. She was on her elbow, with her head held sideways, when she gasped and drew herself to him. He instantly knew Adams and his friends had caught up with them. He turned on the rock and pushed himself to his feet.

  The three men were only metres from them, confident, grinning. Adams took a step forward. ‘We got you at last. Did you think you could evade us?’

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Steiner, well aware that the men were slowly encircling them. ‘We are here on holiday.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I want,’ said Adams. ‘Three weeks ago you killed one of my best friends in this reserve. You also killed two acquaintances of mine in Takamiyama. They were brutal killings of innocent men and you are going to pay.’

  Sophie gasped, the raw accusations stinging her to the core. ‘I led him on in London and never admitted that to you,’ she said. ‘You chased him to Japan. He was only defending himself.’

  ‘You’re lying,’ said Adams. ‘I’ve never seen anyone as upset as you were then, after he had raped you. If you’re telling the truth it doesn’t change anything as far as I’m concerned. But my friends will find you satisfying after we have dealt with Steiner. They will find that only a whore can make love with unashamed desire.’

  Adams waved his hand forwards and moved for Steiner. Sophie cried out and ran at him, hitting his chest with her fists. Callously, he threw her aside and she fell onto her back, a spent force.

  Steiner was silent, showing no feeling and when Adams was just over an arm’s length from him he went in. The strike came from nowhere and Adams fell between two rocks, his arms and legs assuming the surreal. His movement fluid and continuous, Steiner closed swiftly on the others, taking the first down with a ruthless kick to the groin. As the second came in, he swept the man’s front foot away in a classical execution of ashi-barai, and took him heavily to the ground with the edge of his leading hand. The man collapsed, his control gone.

  The three men remained where they had fallen, each partially concussed by the vicious, clinical assault. Sophie, mesmerized by what had taken place in front of her, ran to Steiner and embraced him. She didn’t smile and again wondered what had happened to the three men who had gone for Steiner three weeks before.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I find it hard to believe how anyone can move as you do. You are quite something, tall, dark and so dangerous.’ She looked at Adams and his friends. ‘What happens to them?’

  ‘They’ll recover,’ said Steiner, his breathing as silent as the way he moved. ‘They might try again. How are you?’

  ‘I feel great now,’ she said. ‘But, I didn’t when I first saw them.’

  ‘The town is not far and we can make it in ten minutes by skirting the far side of Lake Chuzenji. Get your bag and let’s go.’

  A little later they reached Nikko Town. There were a number of hotels in the main street and down side roads. They chose one that was suitably discreet and got a room for the rest of the night.

  When Sophie woke the next morning, she found Steiner already up and seated near the shoji overlooking the street. She got up and walked over to him. ‘This is one morning I feared would never come,’ she said. ‘Did I tell you how scared I was last night when those brutes descended on us out of nowhere?’ She smiled and sat down next to him.

  ‘No,’ said Steiner, taking her hand. ‘But that is over and I think we have to change our plans. Who knows what those men will do next. I don’t relish the idea of spending the remainder of this visit looking over my shoulder.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ she asked.

  ‘I think we should go back to Tokyo on the next available train and when we get there find a room in one of those hotels in Shinjuku. We can use it as a base and visit areas like Mt Fuji, which is inspiring to say the least. There are also some very interesting places to see in Tokyo. One thing is for sure. I won’t go near the dojo again on this trip. It seems to bring bad luck’

  She laughed. ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘Let’s have breakfast and go.’

  Steiner and Sophie reached Tokyo three hours after leaving Nikko Town. They booked in at the Hilton Hotel in Shinjuku, which like the other sky-scraper hotels in the area offered everything that anyone could want. For three days they went to Mt Fuji where they spent the night in the Fuji Hotel and visited the temples, other ancient buildings and, later, the parks in Tokyo. On the Saturday they flew back to Durban and arrived early on the Sunday morning. They passed through immigration and went straight to the house where she was staying.

  ‘You won’t forget a trip like that in a hurry,’ said Steiner, when he was leaving. ‘I don’t think you will hear of Adams again. You did incredibly well.’

  Sophie embraced him and kissed him full on the lips. ‘I can’t thank you enough for such a marvellous time. It helped me purge things from the past. I hope to see you in a day or so.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Steiner, turning to go to his car. ‘I also got rid of some things I wanted to forget.’

  Chapter 40

  Jan Krige’s farm, near the Kruger Reserve

  Four hours after leaving Malakazi township, Krige and Dalton reached Pretoria and took the road to White River. When Dalton dropped him off at his Land Rover, Krige said: ‘I will never do anything like that again. We were lucky to get out alive.’

  Dalton concurred. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was a close call as they say and the group will not get me to do their dirty work again.’ He then added, cryptically. ‘The only thing I want to remember is the two of us working together.’

  They parted and half-an-hour later Krige reached his farm. He hadn’t phoned Kirsty while he was away and he expected a deluge of questions, something he could do without after what he had been through.

  Kirsty was drinking coffee on the verandah when he pulled up in the yard. She watched him leave the Land Rover and did not leave her seat to greet him.

  ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. ‘It’s not difficult for someone of your intelligence to find a phone box in Pretoria. Were you really there, or were you somewhere else.’

  Her words cut through him like a scythe in full swing and the saying the truth hurts passed through his mind. ‘I was there,’ he lied. ‘It was extremely hectic, but my thoughts were often of you. I’ll tell you what it was all about.’

  ‘Surely you must have known the gist of it before you went,’ she said, without emotion.

  ‘I did,’ said Krige. ‘But it was not clear. That is why I didn’t tell you. I would have looked a fool.’ He poured some coffee and sat down in his beloved rocking chair. He could see she was not impressed and knew he had a real job if he was to convince her that it was a genuine business proposition.

  ‘Did you go in those clothes?’ she said, looking at his khaki shorts and shirt.

  ‘I took a change of clothing with me,’ he said. ‘It is in the back of the Land Rover. The spirit of the whole thing was informal.’

  She didn’t say anything and knew in her heart that he was spewing out lie after lie. All she could feel at the moment was that something was up, and she had to find out what it was for her own protection.

  Krige looked at her and gave his story. ‘They phoned me before I received the papers by courier. They are a group of wealthy business men who want to acquire some of the best land in this area and develop it. This farm is perfect for them and the meeting was to establish the framework for negotiations if we were prepared to sell a reasonable acreage. There offer at this stage is 750 000 rand for 1000 acres on the west range.’

  ‘That is an insult,’ she said. ‘It is worth double that. Did you know the price they were talking about before you went?’

  ‘I did, but I wanted to see how serious they were and how far they would go,’ said Krige. ‘I know it is very low but in all business deals you have to meet the players in person.’

  ‘What did you say?’ she asked, still not believing him
but preferring to listen to his lies, wondering what would come next.

  ‘I did not think they would go much higher,’ said Krige. ‘I rejected the offer.’

  ‘And it took you three days to say that,’ she said, finding the story so fictitious it nearly made her laugh. ‘Where are the papers? I would like to read them.’

  ‘I got rid of them,’ said Krige, a last effort to get his head off the block.

  She got up and put her cup on the table. ‘I bet you did,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I’m going to see Maria this morning and I might stay for lunch.’ Maria and her husband owned a neighbouring farm. ‘I’ll see you when I get back. I need time to think.’

  She left him with a lot on his mind. He sat on the verandah until he heard her car and then went inside. He phoned Teichmann.

  ‘You must have seen the news,’ said Krige.

  ‘Yes,’ said Teichmann. ‘We later contributed an article on the types of men they were and their crimes that have until now gone unpunished. You did a great job.’

  ‘I’m afraid we only got one of the guerillas,’ said Krige. ‘The others escaped and they could be anywhere now.’

  ‘We will find them,’ said Teichmann, emphatically. ‘They will then get the same treatment.’

  ‘As long as it’s not me who has to do the job,’ said Krige.

  ‘You’re out of it, as I promised,’ said Teichmann. ‘We will get someone else.’ He terminated the call.

  Krige knew that any dealings with the group had to be taken as it came, despite Teichmann’s assurances to the contrary. He knew in his heart that they had him in chains.

  Chapter 41

  Pretoria

  After catching the last night train in Pietermaritzburg, the two guerillas, Nofomela and Ngwenya, reached Pretoria the next day at noon. They had something to eat in a station cafeteria and then found the nearest phone box. Nofomela pulled his dog-eared diary from his pocket and after finding Rupert Bosch’s number made the call.

  When Bosch answered, Nofomela said: ‘Rupert, it’s a voice from the past. Do you want to know who it is?’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Bosch. ‘The suspense is killing me.’

  ‘It’s John Nofomela. Paul Ngwenys’s also here. Does that ring any bells?’

  ‘It certainly does,’ said Bosch. ‘I still remember the great times we had together. Where are you now?’

  ‘We’re at the station,’ said Nofomela. ‘We’ve just arrived from Pietermaritzburg.’

  ‘I normally break for lunch about now,’ said Bosch. ‘How about meeting me?’

  ‘Where do you suggest?’ said Nofomela.

  ‘When you come out of the station you will see the main street,’ said Bosch. ‘Walk down it on the right side and you will soon come across a restaurant named Strada. It’s Italian and very good. I can meet you there in a few minutes. We are just around the corner.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Nofomela. ‘We’ll see you then.’

  Rupert Bosch was born in Cape Town of Afrikaans parents. He went to the prestigious private school Bishops and excelled academically. He was an outstanding athlete at school and in his last three years was awarded the most coveted honour for athletic prowess. After school he went to Stellenbosch University, regarded by many as one of the finest in the country and read political science. Military service followed university and again he excelled, particularly in the use of weapons. He was very interested in joining one of South Africa’s elite special forces regiments, but he was becoming inexorably drawn to politics. The party to which he gave his support and allegiance was the governing Nationalist Party of the apartheid era, now a shell of its former self. With no real opposition he joined the African National Congress in 1988, which later in 1994 formed a black government under Nelson Mandela. To Bosch, the ANC had the diversity and potential to be one of the strongest political forces in Africa. It was during the late apartheid period that Bosch got to know some of the activists who were fighting for black rule and it was then that he met John Nofomela and Paul Ngwenya. After two years, he became an operative in the security wing of the ANC. Unlike some of his colleagues he avoided any alliance with the developing factions and for that reason and his intelligence, was favoured by the head of security. In the early 1990s, Bosch was asked to infiltrate the higher echelons of the group of no name because the party was suspected of being a seditious power that craved the previous Afrikaner state with whites in control.

  The three men met at the Strada as planned and took a table at the rear. It was obviously not a cheap restaurant.

  ‘Well, tell me what you two guys are doing in Pretoria,’ said Bosch. ‘I thought you were forever captivated by life in KwaZulu-Natal.’

  ‘This might sound strange, but two whites came to kill us,’ said Ngwenya, speaking for the first time. ‘We were lucky to escape. Earlier they had killed Moses Shozi, a leading member of Inkatha and the provincial government.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who they were and who they are working for?’ said Bosch. ‘It sounds as if these men had you two earmarked for extermination. To me, that means they were working for someone or, alternatively, an organization.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Nofomela. ‘We all know there are mavericks running around with a grudge killing at random, but these guys were highly trained professionals.’

  ‘That means there is an organization of some sort behind them,’ said Bosch. ‘Leave this with me and I’ll see what I can find out. This organization, if there is one, might be on my doorstep.’ He glanced knowingly at the two guerillas. ‘Where are you guys staying?’

  ‘We were hoping you might be able to suggest something,’ said Ngwenya.

  ‘I will see what I can do,’ said Bosch. ‘It will have to be a hotel for a couple of nights. There are plenty of reasonably priced ones in this area. See what you find this afternoon and give me a ring at the office. This is my home number in case you need it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Nofomela. ‘I knew we could rely on an old comrade.’

  Bosch left, followed shortly afterwards by the two blacks. ‘Let’s work our way down some of these side roads and get a hotel,’ said Nofomela. ‘We’ll also have to buy some clothes.’

  Chapter 42

  Pretoria

  Nofomela and Ngwenya soon found a small hotel down a side street and then went and bought casual clothes, denim jeans, cotton shirts and soft shoes at a department store. They were both tall, handsome, powerful men and the clothes were ideal for showing off their physiques. When they got back to their room in the hotel, Nofomela phoned Bosch.

  ‘We’ve got a place,’ said Nofomela. ‘It’s near the restaurant.’

  ‘Great,’ said Bosch. ‘I have been thinking about what you told me at lunch and I might have something that sheds a lot of light on this business in Natal.’

  ‘When can we meet?’ said Nofomela, ice in his voice. He wanted nothing except to find the men who tried to kill them in Malakazi township. ‘We’re available.’

  ‘I can meet you tomorrow night,’ said Bosch. ‘It gives me time to find out as much as I can. There is a bar, the Voortrekker, on the other side of the station and down the second road on the left. It is quiet. How about meeting me there at eight?’

  ‘We’ll see you then,’ said Nofomela. He replaced the receiver.

  The next evening after a meal in the hotel, the two blacks went to the bar suggested by Bosch. He was already there, a pint of lager in a long glass on the table. Nofomela and Ngwenya joined him and he ordered two beers for them. Once seated, Bosch went to the point.

  ‘I’ll describe a sequence of events that I am sure are connected in some way with the attempt to kill you. About three weeks ago a file, File A, was removed from a safe in the offices of the group of no name where I work. It was sent to an eminent trial lawyer in Durban, Andrew Cartwright. I am sure you have heard of him. He has always been an ardent supporter of the ANC and funded them heavily in their fight against white rule. He has continued to pour money
into their coffers.’ Bosch swallowed the last of his beer, relishing the bitter taste, and ordered three more from a passing waiter.

  ‘The group found the man who took the file. He was one of those who had played a central part in compiling it. He then vanished.’

  ‘Where’s the file now and what’s in it?’ said Nofomela, already transfixed by the little they had been told so far.

  ‘This is where the fun starts,’ said Bosch, delighting in the attention he was getting. ‘I’ll answer the second question first. The file is a compilation of those whites who were in positions of power and influence during the apartheid period. This covers government leaders, members of the state security council, the senior commanders in the security forces and police and other prominent organizations. The file contains minute details of the private and public lives of these men including documents of significance that were authorized and signed by them and orders they gave in writing, all of which could result in their prosecution if found. A by-product of the information compiled was a complete set of false identities and contacts, here and overseas, which they might need for protection against intense scrutiny of past actions. For your interest the white file, as it is sometimes called, is entitled State Security 1960 to Present, File A. I add that a similar file, File B, containing the names and details of prominent blacks has also been created, but it is still secure in its safe. The difference between this black file and the white file is not only that one is for blacks and the other for whites, but that the former is for persecution and execution and the latter for protection. Now, I will answer your other question.’ He paused and Nofomela immediately interrupted.

  ‘Are our names in the black file?’ he asked.

  ‘I knew that was coming,’ said Bosch. ‘Yes, they are and with high priority.’

  ‘That explains the other night,’ said Ngwenya.

  Bosch continued. ‘The group sent three men to Cartwright’s home to retrieve the file, which they were guessing was there. Two of the men fled and the leader of the operation in the field, Jan Krige, killed Cartwright.’