Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  Peace knew he had to play the offended hotel guest to the hilt. He purposely made a show of looking at his watch. “At bloody seven in the morning? What the hell is going on? As you can see, we’re still in bed!”

  They mumbled an apology, their uncertainty still evident.

  “Where were you last night?” the Warrant Officer asked, doing his best to ignore Cherry on the bed.

  “I was here in the hotel, of course,” spat Peace. “Good God, man… You should know; there’s nowhere else to go!” He knew that they would have checked with the desk first. “Have you checked with the desk?”

  The officer ignored the question. “Sir, just a routine check. Sorry to have disturbed you,” he said, taking a step backwards.

  “Are we done?” he demanded and then not waiting for a reply muttered, “Bloody small-town morons,” and slammed the door.

  He waited, expecting another knock. But this did not happen.

  “I think they’re gone. That was a grand performance,” she whispered and then dropped the sheet.

  “You look absolutely ravishing,” he said, “but I think it would be best if we made a quiet but hasty departure. They’re bound to return soon and next time it will be more difficult. The car will be ready; the sooner we’re out of this town the better.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want to…” she asked, a wicked smile on her face.

  “Oh, I do, but to lose my life afterwards would be pointless. Let’s save it. Go and shower, and get dressed. Do it quickly.”

  She was in and out of the shower in minutes. He followed her. They were soon dressed and had their bags packed. After a hearty breakfast, they collected their bags from the foyer and walked over to the garage.

  The mining paraphernalia stolen from the prefabs the previous night was still in the holdall, and he made sure he also took this with him. He had checked the room carefully before leaving to make sure nothing incriminating was left behind.

  The car was ready. Peace paid for the repair and for petrol. He walked into the garage forecourt shop where a newspaper poster caught his eye, the huge headlines announcing a tragic collision between two aircraft just off the northern Namibian coast. He paid the garage bill and bought cool drinks, potato crisps and a newspaper. They packed their bags into the car and left, driving slowly out of the town. This time, Cherry was at the wheel. Once the buildings were behind them, Peace settled down to read the main story in the paper.

  The two aircraft that had collided were an SAAF Transall and a USAAF C141 cargo plane, which had been returning empty to the US after delivering humanitarian aid to Namibia. The details were vague and it was clear that the article included much conjecture. The report of the accident had only filtered through many hours after the collision. This was because the Transall’s flight details had not been disclosed. Being privy to certain information, Peace was aware that while South Africa was technically no longer at war with Angola, a fair number of South African businesses still illegally, and for a handsome profit, supplied the UNITA movement under Savimbi at Jamba and Huambo in Angola with medicines, clothing and food. This was with the tacit backing of the Bush administration in the US and the South African government, both of whom tended to look the other way. Clandestine flights regularly left South Africa from obscure airfields in previously retired aircraft bought on the world market. Very often commercial pilots would hear South African Air Force and other pilots refusing to disclose their destination to South African air traffic control — they would merely report on entering and departing an international radio control area. This was normal procedure for these aircraft. The report said it was thought to be a million-to-one freak accident. Once word got out about the disaster, search aircraft had been dispatched, and scattered debris was discovered just off the northern Namibian coast. Rescuers had seen no sign of any life rafts or survivors.

  Peace was amazed. Aircraft heights were strictly controlled. Those flying on eastern radii maintained different altitudes from those flying on western radii. The chances of a collision were near impossible. What had gone wrong? He knew it would take months before they discovered the real reasons and who was to blame.

  He told Cherry what had happened as she drove.

  “Somehow, I just know that the Transall that went down was the aircraft we saw leave Copperton. The bullion was on its way out of the country, hence the undisclosed destination. Bloody Van Rhyn’s hiding behind a damn façade again. Now the gold’s lying at the bottom of the ocean. What’s he going to do?” Peace said.

  “Surely he’ll try to recover his gold?” surmised Cherry. “He’s bound to mount such an operation immediately, certainly before the Yanks decide to send out a recovery ship. You know what they’re like; they’ll want to know what the cause of the accident was. They’ll be after the black boxes.”

  Cherry had turned south at an intersection to give the impression that they were continuing their journey to the Richtersveld, but once they got to another arterial intersection, they headed back to Johannesburg.

  *

  Around midday, they stopped in Britstown, which was no more than a small settlement in the semi-desert.

  “This is where I was born,” Cherry said.

  Carefully, not wanting to be offensive, he replied, “It’s quaint — a village really, isn’t it?”

  “Be careful how you refer to my birthplace,” she replied sternly but then burst out in giggles. “Actually, my father was in the South African Police and served as station-commander here. It’s a dump really.”

  He laughed; the matter now no longer sensitive. He swivelled his head around in mock surveillance. “A dump… I agree.”

  They found a café with a fast-food to go section and drove a few miles out of the town to eat and let Peace contact the UK.

  He activated the satellite phone and soon connected with VA. The greeting from Sir John was abrupt. “What the hell’s been going on? I should’ve heard from you earlier than this.”

  “We found the bombs, Sir John. Five of them — one Russian, which we must assume is the missing neutron bomb.” He then reported on the two bombers housed in Van Rhyn’s hangar. The last bit of news really upset his boss.

  “Jesus, the SA Army’s high command, and certainly a few in the Air Force, must be cooperating with him and his band. God man, those people could start a nuclear war! That’s not a private collection, it’s a bloody air force!”

  “Sir, if I may venture an opinion?”

  “Your opinions and mine mean naught, but go ahead, it can’t do any harm,” Sir John replied irritably. Peace could hear VA’s sigh of frustration that followed through the instrument.

  Nevertheless, he doggedly proceeded.

  “Except for a very few, I don’t think any Afrikaner diehards, or rather those in high places, wish to use the bomb. They’re too aware of the consequences. I reckon that if we can eliminate Van Rhyn, General Booyens, and a few others, this will fizzle out. From my interaction with Van Rhyn, it was clear that he considered this a last-ditch stand by the right-wing — it is only a small portion of the population that supports a White backlash. However, if his faction were to win, many would change sides, as it were. Therefore, the sooner the mine and the bombs are destroyed, the better.”

  There was a slight pause.

  “Well, Peace, I suppose you’re right. I’ll be discussing this with the Prime Minister. I’ll get back to you via the Embassy.”

  “Just before we ring off, something else,” Peace cut in, and told the Vice Admiral about the gold he’d seen being loaded, and his belief that the Transall that had collided with the American C141 was the one containing the bullion. “Sir, I believe the gold is lying at the bottom of the sea off the Namibian coast. Damn if it doesn’t get any worse than off that particular shoreline. If I’m correct, that’s the notorious Skeleton Coast.”

  “Are you sure about this? A mid-air collision such as this is a chance in a million, especially over such a remote place.”

&nb
sp; “Miss Boxx and I are virtually certain that our assumption is correct. After all, we saw the gold being loaded onto a Transall at Copperton, and we found the discarded containers after we’d entered the complex. These certainly looked like containers which would be used for the transport of bullion — I couldn’t think of anything else they may have contained. That surely says it all?”

  “I have to admit, it seems to make sense. But they used the original containers to load the lead bars into, so where did these come from?”

  Peace grunted. “I don’t know, but be assured, the ones I saw could not have been used for little else.”

  “Well, maybe they had access to other containers. They would’ve had to in order to transport the gold.” Peace heard VA sigh on the other end. He then asked, “Incidentally, how are the two of you getting on?”

  Peace wondered whether he had heard a chuckle. “Surprisingly well,” he replied.

  The VA harrumphed. “I can imagine.” Then he summarily broke the connection.

  “Impolite bastard,” Peace murmured to himself.

  “What did he say?” Cherry queried.

  He laughed. “He said I shouldn’t screw you.”

  For a second, she appeared shocked and then realised it was a joke and playfully slapped his hand.

  “Don’t you dare stop doing that. I’d have to tell him.”

  *

  They decided to spend the night in Kimberley seeing as their arrival in Johannesburg the following day was not based on time — morning versus night would make little difference. The next day, once in the city, Peace dropped Cherry off at the same casino and hotel complex where they had previously stayed. He left the car at the embassy with instructions it be returned, and then called Martin, his chauffeur, to pick him up in the Mercedes, reverting again to his cover as Lord Digby Brentwood.

  Once back at the estate, he soon phoned Janet Van Rhyn and told her that he’d just returned from London where he’d been visiting friends. His cover was well thought out and prepared and had any queried him, he would have readily been able to supply an alibi — the British consul who was an acquaintance of Sir John’s and had been suitably briefed.

  “Digby, sweetheart, I’d love to come over but Father’s had a spot of bother and he is really upset. I’d rather not leave him. However, I might possibly be able to get away later tonight, that is, of course, if you’ll be home.”

  He smiled, not missing the sense of expectancy in her voice. Of course, he’d be home, he’d replied.

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do. I do miss you.”

  She rang off.

  He was relieved. If Van Rhyn were suspicious, his daughter would not be so forthcoming.

  *

  Around ten in the evening, he recognised the sound of her sports car’s exhaust as she stopped in front of the house. He opened the front door and stepped out on to the landing to welcome her. She was dressed in jeans with low shoes and a cotton top over which she wore a red leather jacket. She walked straight into his arms and they kissed passionately. Then, taking her by the hand as if this was the most natural thing to do, he led her into the house. He helped her out of her jacket and thereafter prepared her usual vodka and orange juice while choosing for himself a glass of Glenfiddich on the rocks.

  She took a generous swallow of her drink.

  “God, do I need this! My father is in a dreadful mood. Something important went awry and it’ll be difficult to fix. You certainly won’t be seeing him for a while.”

  Subtle — no mention of what’s actually wrong.

  “This could also tie me up for a while,” she added.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  She shook her head. “Unfortunately, you can’t, but thanks.”

  She moved towards him, removed the whisky tumbler from his hand, and placed her hands flat on his chest.

  “Let’s not dwell on that which is unpleasant,” she said and raised her head, looking up at him. She put her arms around his neck and drew his head down until her mouth met his, her tongue against his teeth.

  His lust for her was compelling, and if he had initial misgivings, he soon forgot those in his desire for her. She was an exceptionally beautiful woman. In addition, she was highly intelligent, and clearly knew what she wanted. He also knew what he wanted — he wanted to make love to her. Minutes later, they were in his bedroom shedding their clothes.

  They had hardly fallen entwined onto the bed when they were interrupted by the phone ringing. He rolled to the side and picked up the receiver.

  “Brentwood.”

  “Hi.”

  He recognised Cherry’s voice. “What are you doing? Are you thinking of me?” she asked teasingly.

  “In fact, I was,” he lied. His face remained neutral, as did his voice, but he realised he was not about to bluff his way out of this.

  “Who’s that?” Janet asked.

  “Business,” he murmured with a sinking feeling. It was the first thing that came to mind.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone line. Cherry must have heard the female voice in the background.

  “I heard that,” Cherry hissed. “You’ve got a woman with you!” This was followed by a dial tone as the phone was smashed down.

  “What was that about?” Janet raised her eyebrows enquiringly and appeared unperturbed.

  “A business acquaintance asked whether I was already in bed. I said I was. He said he’d phone back tomorrow.”

  “Clever thing to do, considering the moment.”

  He somehow knew that he was being subtly manipulated. I need to be careful with this one — she misses nothing. I’d be wise not to cross her seeing as she goes after exactly what she wants.

  He rolled towards her and took her in his arms. They made passionate love, as though both were trying to satisfy some urgent unspoken need.

  Later, they lay quietly together, she cradled in his arm and with her arm over his chest.

  “Darling, I’m sorry but I have to go away for a while. I have to be with my father. He needs to deal with a problem and insists I accompany him. I don’t know how long I’ll be away. We’re leaving tomorrow morning so I have to go soon.” Her tone was poignant.

  “Don’t worry yourself, I understand. Besides, I’ll also be away. I’ve a few things I need to see to in Cape Town. Maybe we’ll meet there.”

  “Not likely, I’m off to Namibia.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  The only reason Van Rhyn could be going to Namibia was to salvage the gold. Suddenly she added, “The family has a farm in the north of the country bordering the Etosha Pan. There is business we need to attend to.”

  Now, that was a surprise, he thought. He doubted whether it involved farming at all.

  *

  Peace woke up a few hours later as she quietly slipped out of the bed, unaware that she had woken him. He pretended to be asleep and left her to find her own way out.

  Chapter Eleven

  After three days of planning, he eventually arrived at the Skeleton Coast at the approximate position where the two aircraft had collided over the sea, thought to be roughly a mile or so off the coast of Namibia. The wind buffeted him as he stood on top of the rock terrace, which stretched north and south along the coast. He looked out to sea where the Atlantic rollers gathered as they prepared to launch themselves against the hostile face of Terrace Bay. The sun had passed its zenith and already the fog banks, the result of the cold Benguela Current, gathered on the western horizon over the sea. This was a near daily phenomenon, with the curtain of mist usually crossing the coastline in the hours after midnight.

  Out there somewhere, no more than a mile or so from the shore, lay the wrecks of the two aircraft that had collided. No survivors had been found. He was certain that beneath the waves lay the gold.

  Behind him was the desert — one of the driest in the world, windswept and bare. Access to this area was possible only by air or by four-wheel-driv
e vehicle. Some adventurous nature-lovers had erected three bungalows on the bluff, but these were only used by their owners in midsummer, usually during the Christmas holidays. Peace had managed to rent one through a Namibian tourist agency while the remaining two were unoccupied.

  He had flown in on a chartered aircraft from Namibia’s capital, Windhoek. The aircraft had deposited him and a 400cc quad-cycle on a makeshift small dirt landing strip marked out on the sand by small-whitewashed stones. He had also brought a few basic provisions to keep him for a day or so. They’d even flown in his drinking water.

  They would obviously also require a decent four-wheel-drive vehicle and it was decided that Cherry would motor up the coast from Swakopmund in a Land Cruiser loaded with every piece of camping equipment and foodstuff they’d need for an extended stay. She’d be bringing a trailer behind the vehicle, complete with rubber Zodiac raft and outboard engine, air compressor and other diving paraphernalia. The first hundred miles or so of her journey would be easy, even though the roads were mere graded gravel strips. Thereafter, for 200 miles, she would be forced to follow, for a good while, well-worn vehicle tracks through the desert sand and rock. Although a coincidence, she was followed by a Namibian Wildlife Ranger in his own vehicle on his way to Terrace Bay, a very basic campsite on the coast. He would be able to assist her should she run into trouble. In the desert, two vehicles were always better than one. From Terrace Bay she would have to continue on the last leg on her own.

  Peace smiled when he thought of her. To start with, after she’d discovered his dalliance with Janet Van Rhyn, she had been unapproachable — distraught that he should have slept with someone else so soon after he had been intimate with her. She lambasted him, accusing him of screwing anything that moved, as she had so eloquently put it. He felt offended, or so he claimed, and offered the explanation that his involvement with Janet had been unavoidable because of what had previously occurred, and had he not kept up the pretence it would have endangered their mission. She had scoffed at this excuse but he knew she was aware that were he confronted by a similar situation again, he’d have to play the game no matter what that may entail. Eventually she’d relented and welcomed him to her bed again, but only after she’d extracted a promise that he would not consort with that woman again, for whatever reason.