Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  “Wat kan ek vir jou doen, Meneer?[5]” he asked.

  “Good afternoon. There’s something wrong with my car. It keeps misfiring and cutting out for no reason at all,” said Peace.

  For a few seconds, the man just stared at the car, his hands on his hips. In guttural broken English but with a hint of amusement, he then asked, “What the hell are you doing here in Copperton?” Again, he gave Cherry a quick glance.

  Peace just chuckled. “Doing here? Good God, man, I’d prefer not to be in this Godforsaken place. I’m on my way to the Richtersveld.”

  “Hey, you don’t need to blaspheme! You’re on the wrong road for the Richtersveld,” he said, a look of distaste now on his face.

  Peace remembered that Afrikaners were often extremely religious. “Sorry about that. I know this isn’t the right road. I turned onto it for help.”

  “Okay, I’ll look at it, but you’ll have to leave it here. There’s a hotel,” he pointed vaguely down the road that split the town, “and they’ll have a room for you if you need one. You won’t get the car back today.”

  He thanked the man who then walked back into his workshop. There was no chance that those working on the vehicle would find the satellite phone, it had been ingeniously hidden. Anyway, why would they look for something? The two of them were obviously tourists, and their reason for being in the town was harmless enough.

  “How on Earth does a dump like Copperton have a hotel?” Peace asked.

  She laughed. “This is South Africa. If you want a bottle store in a town, you’ve got to establish a hotel. That’s the only way you’ll get a liquor license. Good God, man, can you imagine this lot without a liquor store? It’s probably the best private business in town if it doesn’t belong to the mine — who knows, might even belong to Van Rhyn.”

  “Makes sense,” he replied and started removing their valises from the car. They trudged the short distance to the hotel where a large sign over the entrance read Copperton Hotel. They were relieved to find that the interior was air-conditioned. Whether they liked it or not, it would have to be a double room, as they had to go through the pretence of being a couple. He signed the register as Mr and Mrs Sedgewick but they were not asked to produce any form of identification. However, they were asked what had brought them to Copperton and Peace offered up the sad story of their vehicle.

  Their room was on the first floor.

  “God, I suppose I can’t have my own room?” Cherry hissed once they had closed the door behind them.

  He ignored her remark and strode to the window and stared out. The room being on a corner of the building gave him an excellent view of the town and mine. From the activity at the mine it was evident it was in full production, what with the trucks, smoke and dust. There were shallow mine dumps where waste ore was discarded, and vast sheds where the copper ore was partially processed. The mine property was an intricate collection of buildings and sheds between which moved the occasional large dumper truck or pickup.

  He wedged a chair in the darker shadows of a corner and sat down; no one from outside would be able to see him. He slowly swept the binoculars over the mine and the adjoining airfield. The airfield was situated within the double perimeter fence of the mine and was an integral part of the mine — it also clearly shared the same security. The outer fence was about nine feet high with masses of rolled razor wire at its base, and at the top were further rolls supported in a huge wire Y-troughs. Between that and the inner fence of steel mesh, was a cleared area about thirty feet wide.

  The long runway shimmered in the sun and Peace could see a South African Air Force Transall, a large French-built turbo-prop twin-engine cargo plane, parked on the apron. Its rear ramp was lowered and two forklifts were loading steel crates. He estimated their dimensions each to be about a foot by a foot-and-a-half. Whatever was being loaded was exceptionally heavy, for the rear wheels of the forklifts lifted slightly when burdened. It then struck Peace that they were similar in size to the bullion boxes in the photographs that Sir John had produced in London. The men who encircled the plane were clearly armed; there was no mistaking their automatic weapons. A fuel-truck was drawn up next to the aircraft, with thick hoses connecting it to the plane. The aircraft was obviously being refuelled and he wondered if it was about to depart on a long flight.

  Still staring through the glasses, he said, “I wonder what they’re loading? If I didn’t know better, I’d say those could be the bullion we’re also looking for. What’s an Air Force plane doing here anyway? This is mine property, or rather, private property.”

  Cherry seemed to have forgotten her resolve to ignore him. “Let me take a look,” she said.

  He handed her the binoculars. She peered through them for a few minutes.

  “I don’t know whether this is mere pure luck or coincidental, but I think you’re right — that’s the missing gold. However, you did say VA had said there was a remote possibility our friend Van Rhyn could be involved,” she said.

  “Christ… this is really astounding. I’d be willing to bet anything that’s the gold. Of course, now it all makes sense. Where better to hide it?” He breathed an expletive. “Well, if it is, then we’re too damn late,” he sighed.

  “I must say,” she said, “if I wanted to hide a shipment of gold and have the security to go with it, then this has to be as good a place as any. It’s got all the facilities to get it here and out again by air.”

  Hallelujah, he thought, she finally mellowed or certainly seems to have forgotten to be an antagonistic wretch. He smiled at her but she did not respond.

  Just then he saw a Land Rover, open to the elements, making its way along the outer fence, three armed men seated in it and with two dogs in the rear, their forelegs on the side sills, staring intently at the passing scenery. She swung the glasses round to look at it.

  “They’re not taking any chances, are they?” she said. “My God! Those aren’t dogs, they’re hyenas.”

  “You can’t tame hyenas, well, not the South African ones,” he replied, thinking she didn’t know the difference between a large dog and a hyena.

  “I know it’s unbelievable, but they definitely are. Here…” she said and returned the binoculars.

  The open rear-deck Land Rover could not have been more than three hundred yards away. He peered through the glasses again — they were hyenas! There was no mistaking the colouring — a mottled brown that appeared mangy with faint large spots visible on the coat. Their heads were large with massive snouts, and the strange unmistakable slope of their backs towards their hind legs was obvious even at this distance.

  “Getting in and out of there isn’t going to be easy,” he said.

  “I know, but they told me I’d be working with the best,” she muttered.

  Was that a hint of warmth? After some deliberation, they reluctantly agreed that the only way was to go through the fence in the dark. Not that night, since their arrival might be too much of a coincidence, but the night after. Tonight, they would keep the area under observation. If they intended to avoid the guards and hyenas, they would need to devise a plan to divert their attention while they made their entry.

  “For a mine, the security here is intense. This has to be a sort of hideaway,” she said. “It’s too remote for intruders; something sinister has to be going on here. This will be dangerous.”

  Peace took a closer look at the town and carefully studied the few houses he could see from the window. He would have preferred to see more but the small window restricted his vision. He soon noticed not all the houses were occupied — some were clearly empty and neglected, the gardens overgrown with long dry grass. He assumed that most of the inhabitants that lived in the town had connections with the mine. The town was so small that it probably only provided work for the members of the families not directly involved in the mine itself. Peace thought back to the dossier on the town and recalled how it was stated that the occupants were carefully vetted. Van Rhyn was obviously vigilant of who was em
ployed and it was evident that the workers shared in his separatist policies. He could just imagine how the right-wing Afrikaners in the town maintained their verkrampte and isolated lifestyles. He would place a bet that the Whites in this town even did the menial jobs themselves, which was unheard of elsewhere in the country, so that they didn’t have to interact with others.

  He hoped that even though they would immediately be recognised as outsiders, that it didn’t place too much of a burden on the mission.

  *

  That evening they maintained their charade and after a very short stroll round the hotel to get the lie of the land, they decided it was time for dinner. Although they appeared to be the only guests at the hotel, a fair number of tables were occupied, the hotel obviously serving as the town’s eating-house. Those they encountered in passing or in the dining room initially gave them enquiring looks, be it that they spoke English or appeared different, obviously recognising them as strangers, but this soon passed.

  They projected the image of a typical, young holiday couple — comfortable with each other, given to small-talk interspersed with the occasional smile and him touching her hand on occasion while in conversation. Every now and then she would gaze at him for a short while; a look of contentment crossing her face.

  Of course, they had chosen to sit where they could not be overheard, which made it easier for Peace to bring up his misgivings about her impression of him.

  Cherry’s occasional ambiguous but baseless remarks implying her low opinion of him had irritated him for a while now.

  “Cherry, I’d like us to discuss something I find deeply disturbing,” he said, aware that she could not react in a manner that would draw attention.

  “Really? Now what could that be?” she said in reply, her tone laced with a trace of sarcasm completely opposite to the adoring look she was currently lavishing on him.

  “See — that’s what I mean. Your demeaning attitude towards me. I don’t deserve it or those comments you made when we initially met in Pretoria. I have never in my life used any woman for personal gratification. Christ, I know that must sound corny. Certainly, there have been a few women in my life, but my God, these were relationships of the heart and always with the degree of respect a woman deserves.”

  She stared at him from across the table with her eyebrows slightly raised. No doubt this sudden personal disclosure had come as surprise.

  “Geoffrey, what can I say? I didn’t expect this. Not from you. I was led to believe you’ve no heart.” For the first time the detest was missing from her tone.

  He raised his hands off the table as if he wished to ward off something. “Enough. Sorry, I did not want to open up like this. I just thought it would make working with me under these circumstances easier for you. It’s important that we communicate openly — no holds barred, if you know what I mean.” He was clearly embarrassed at having opened up like that.

  Her features softened and she slid a hand forward to touch his. “I’m glad you opened up to me and I believe you. Corridor gossip is always exaggerated. However, you should not worry about me — being a female undercover agent has its truly bad moments.” She winced for a moment and closed her eyes. “I didn’t mean it that way. Don’t take offence. Believe me, of all the people I could have been partnered with on this assignment, I’d have chosen you. Truthfully, I actually feel safe with you.”

  Peace gauged her reaction. She sounds sincere. “Thank you for being open and honest too. Before it gets too far, let’s just leave it there. I take it we now have a new working relationship?”

  “We do.”

  The atmosphere during the rest of the dinner was now more amicable. They enjoyed the meal with a bottle of wine and while the conversation stayed light, it touched on more personal topics, giving some insight as to who they really were.

  The food was typical rural hotel fare with soup, grilled Cape salmon, which was excellent, and roast Karoo lamb with rice and potatoes. Finally, they had a local pudding with custard as dessert.

  After dinner they decided to explore further and found a short passage that led off to a bar which was also directly accessible from the street through a separate entrance. This now did a brisk trade, and in typical South African style, the drinks on offer were predominantly bottled beer, brandy and rum. Most of the clientele were rugged and burly, and clearly miners. Although loud, the atmosphere was cheerful and similar to that after-work vibe with the odd bar game of darts and snooker being played — much the same as would be seen in any establishment around the country. A private lounge with vinyl-covered easy chairs and low coffee tables adjoined the bar, where those with wives and even the occasional child could sit, away from the more raucous crowd in the bar.

  They decided not to stop for a drink, but instead, retired to the private lounge in the hotel, which boasted the only TV set in the building. The atmosphere here was more formal than in the bar and most of the channels available were politically charged. They settled down to watch the news where it was evident that de Klerk was trying to persuade his fellow citizens that change was long overdue and it was time to accept majority rule. However, the banners at the bottom of the screen also indicated that this scenario was by no means accepted by many Whites; there were rumours of civil war and some families were already hoarding foodstuffs and other essential items.

  A little later Peace and Cherry decided to investigate the town further in the guise of a nightly stroll. Out on the streets, several people were enjoying the cool breeze that blew in from the east. The two wandered along the main road and as it left the town, it led to the main gate of the mine, which was bathed in harsh light from a battery of lamps attached to an overhead gantry that spanned the road. Steel booms, from which chains hung, barred the access for people and vehicles. Pedestrians made their entrance or exit through a turnstile system, and it looked as though security personnel checked everyone going through for identification. The security guards all openly wore side arms and a few were even accompanied by Alsatian dogs on leashes. He realised that there was no way they were going to bluff their way into the mine.

  When they couldn’t look around anymore and not draw attention to themselves, they went back to the hotel and spent the best part of the night in the darkened room using the binoculars to observe any activity that might occur. After ten, the town was dead — not even patrolled. Only once did they see the blue lights of a police van somewhere near the main road. However, the airport and mine were another matter — the airfield perimeter was patrolled by Land Rovers continuously on the move. Dark shapes, probably dogs, moved in the area among the fences, the area between floodlit by powerful lights atop high standards.

  Initially, he sat there alone studying the town and mine from the darkness of the open window. After a while she brought a chair, placed it next to his, and would from time to time ask for the binoculars.

  “Well, maestro,” she asked, “what do you think? Is it impenetrable?”

  She again slowly traversed the night before them with the binoculars and he became aware of her shoulder touching his and the hint of her perfume in the air. For a brief second, he was reminded that she was a woman, the reminder bringing with it a strong sexual connotation.

  She had definitely mellowed! Gone was the irritation and sarcasm. “With the right preparation, planning and tools, nothing is impenetrable. We go through the fence where it is darkest. There’s a considerable gap in the security patrols — enough time to get through and camouflage where we’ve made the cut,” he said.

  As they watched they timed the patrols, and carefully observed those areas where the lights appeared less effective, as some areas were left in near shadow. It would be there that they would attempt to breach the fence.

  *

  Midnight had passed before they finally decided to call it a night. Fortunately, the room contained separate beds, although these were pushed together. They parted them, leaving a chaste gap in between. Peace had no qualms about his skants being
on display before he jumped into the bed. Her reaction was a mixture of surprise and slight annoyance, and he noticed that she was about to comment but then chose not to, abruptly gathered her things and utilised the bathroom to change.

  At one point in the early hours, Peace was woken by the sound of loud aircraft engines; he recognised them to be multiple turbo-props. He stumbled out of bed, followed by Cherry who had also been woken, and looked out of the window through his binoculars. The Air Force Transall was slowly trundling towards the main runway which was now lit. The engines’ roar rose to a crescendo and slowly the aircraft gained speed, having to cover a long portion of the runway before it slowly rose into the air.

  “I’m pretty sure there goes our gold,” Cherry said wryly.

  She was probably right, Peace thought. He was sure Van Rhyn was getting rid of it. He wondered what he’d be getting in exchange — arms, bombs, and favours from other despotic regimes? Whatever it was, wouldn’t be good.

  *

  The next day Peace called at the garage. The owner told him that whoever had refuelled the vehicle had put diesel in the tank by mistake. He held up a small bottle, which contained a small quantity of liquid. It was supposed to indicate a mixture of diesel and petrol but didn’t look any different to Peace. He made a comment anyway.

  “I believe you,” he said with an expression of surprise and disappointment. “Damn idiots!” He hoped the anger looked legitimate.

  “I’ll have to remove the tank to drain all the fuel,” the owner said. “To just siphon it off would leave a residue of contaminated petrol.”

  “Will it be ready today?”

  “No, but by tomorrow morning. The workshop opens at seven o’clock.”

  Peace accepted this with pretended reluctance when, in fact, it suited him down to the ground.