Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  It was just past nine-thirty when he heard a car engine being fired up. This came from behind the house. Three men dressed in identical khaki bush wear stormed out of the front door, all armed with automatic rifles.

  Although it was dark, it was apparent they were white men. One issued orders in Afrikaans in a loud voice. They spread themselves across the single-track road that led from behind the house, their automatic rifles at the ready. Seconds later, a Toyota Land Cruiser pickup sped round the corner, its headlights falling on the three men who immediately let off a fusillade of shots. None struck the vehicle, and it quite obvious the trio had purposely fired high above it. The vehicle skidded to a halt before them in a cloud of dust. One of the men, who appeared to be in charge, stepped forward, yanked the driver’s door open, and reached inside. Peace heard the shrill scream of a woman’s protests as she was dragged from the vehicle. He was shocked to see that it was Van Rhyn’s stepdaughter. She had changed, and was now dressed in slacks. Two of the men grasped her by the arms, but not roughly — it seemed they were taking care not to hurt her. Van Rhyn emerged from the front of the house.

  “God!” she screamed. “You let them fire at me! You’re an insane bastard!”

  Peace heard the loud reply. “It was harmless. They fired over your head.”

  Then Lady Jocelyn and Janet came running out of the house. Lady Jocelyn stood between her daughter and her husband. “What’s going on? What was all that shooting about?” she screamed.

  Peace thought that Lady Jocelyn seemed to have been drinking; she appeared slightly unsteady on her feet, tottering once, and her stepdaughter grabbing her to steady her.

  “Mother, this madman had his men shoot at me!”

  The elder woman swung round to face her husband. She said something that Peace couldn’t hear, but she was obviously angry as she jerked her arm away when Van Rhyn tried to take it.

  This evidently irritated him, for he raised his voice again. “Your daughter decided she was leaving us. At this critical stage, I cannot allow it.”

  Critical stage? Peace wondered what the man meant.

  “We leave tomorrow morning for Copperton. That’s final and I mean all of us!” Van Rhyn was still shouting. To the men he said, “Take her inside and keep an eye on her.”

  More heated exchanges followed, most of them inaudible to Peace, but eventually they all, except Van Rhyn, went back into the house. He remained, drew another cigar from the breast pocket of his shirt, and lit it. For a long while, he stood there smoking and staring into the night, the two hyenas at his side.

  Peace brought the sniper’s rifle slowly to his shoulder, peered through the telescopic sight, and drew a bead on the man’s head. It would be quite simple; he could kill the man right here and now. Then he realised that he’d have to get down the tree, which required precious time, making a quick escape difficult. Just bide your time, he thought, but already a new plan was beginning to form in his mind.

  Clearly, the young daughter was not the enemy; she was a victim and rather powerless, at that. What did they propose to do with her? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

  The young woman meant nothing to Peace, but he knew that Van Rhyn would only allow those whom he could trust to be close to him, and they would have to be committed to his cause. This clearly endangered her. He didn’t think the magnate would be overly concerned about his wife’s view on the matter. Peace realised that he’d have to get Van Rhyn’s stepdaughter out of there.

  Chapter Seventeen

  For the next hour, he watched the house carefully. He saw the young daughter pass a window and take a seat in front of a dressing table. When a man brought up a wicker chair and placed this near a window out on the porch, and then sat down, his assault rifle propped up against the wall, he realised that this had to be her room. He recalled Van Rhyn had ordered her to be guarded.

  An hour later, he slowly climbed down the baobab tree using the ladder. He would have to abandon one of his weapons; it had to be the sniper’s rifle. He hid it in some shrubbery in the garden, and then slowly circled the house, keeping a fair distance from it, and keeping a sharp lookout for guards. He was passing behind the house when his eye caught a brief reflection. He approached it stealthily and on closer examination, he realised this came from the polished fuselage of an aircraft. It was a small twin-engine executive jet, probably a Learjet, not able to seat more than eight. This must be how they get around the country. It was parked in front of a corrugated-iron hangar, the doors of which were closed. It was strange that the aircraft had not been parked inside for the night, then Peace remembered the helicopter. He thought it had to be in the hangar.

  Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a movement he saw out of the corner of his eye and immediately focused on the source. Soon he made out it was a guard seated with his back to the hangar doors and at his feet lay a large dog. No, wait — it’s another hyena. I wonder if it’ll pick up my scent if I move downwind?

  The hyena suddenly emitted a half bark, half whoop sound, and turned to face Peace’s direction. At first, the guard ignored the animal’s restlessness and tried to silence it, but when it continued pacing back and forth pulling on the leash, the guard stood and slowly approached, his weapon at the ready.

  Peace realised there’d be no surprising the man with the animal preceding him. Then another hyena appeared, already clearly alert to his presence. If he fired the MP5 machine pistol, would others hear it? It could be fitted with a silencer, but how effective would it be firing the 5.56mm NATO ammunition? What was he to do? The guard was getting nearer, making no effort to disguise his approach. The animal strained on its leash, while the other trotted by his side.

  There was a collection of various pieces of agricultural machinery in the yard behind the house. He hid behind some unrecognisable farming implement, which put him no further than a hundred yards from the hangar. Hastily, he affixed the silencer and selected single-shot fire on the firing selector. The dogs first, he thought. They posed the bigger danger.

  He peered through the night scope and put a bullet through the leading hyena’s head. It made no sound and immediately fell to the ground. For a second the guard was transfixed, but his rifle had come up to point in the general direction of Peace’s hiding place. The MP5’s report had been louder than he had anticipated. Fleetingly, he wondered whether anyone in the house had heard it, but he had no alternative — he had to shoot again. The shot hit the guard in the neck. The man clutched at his throat with both hands, gagging as he did so, and released his hold on the leash.

  Peace swung the machine pistol round to take the hyena out, but as he was about to squeeze the trigger, a furred shape careered into him, knocking him down, the MP5 still in his hand. He could smell the animal — it was the putrid odour of rotting flesh. It lunged at his face with its vicious jaws. He dropped the rifle and grabbed it by the throat — its vile breath overpowering as it snarled and twisted its head, its lips curled back to reveal massive teeth as it tried to close its jaws on his forearms. With one hand, he grasped the chain around the animal’s neck and twisted it, forcing it into a chokehold. With the other hand, he wrestled the Sig from the holster strapped to his right leg.

  Although the animal had bitten his forearm, it had not managed to get it between its jaws, only the flesh had been gnawed. He jammed the Heckler and Koch hard up against its side and pulled the trigger. With a muffled report, skin, blood, and bone exploded from the animal. It dropped to the ground, jerking its limbs in its final death throes. As the animal had fallen from his grasp, the chain had come away in his hand.

  For a brief moment, he just lay there trying to regain his breath.

  He brought the chain he’d removed from the animal’s neck closer to his face. As he examined it, he noticed it was fashioned to resemble a bicycle chain. It was made of gold! Its weight was sufficient to confirm that. He got to his feet and moved to where the other fallen hyena lay. It too had a chain round its neck, and it too was
gold. He realised that he had a good few thousand pounds Sterling wrapped around his hand.

  God, he thought, the man must really love these animals! He seemed to recall that they were not the first tame hyenas he had heard of. Why anybody would want to keep an animal that stank so abominably was beyond him.

  His forearm arm was bleeding, not profusely, but it needed attention. He ripped off part of the dead man’s cotton shirt and tore it into strips, which he tied round his arm to staunch the bleeding. The bastard was dead and wouldn’t miss his shirt. Grabbing the MP5 again, he approached the house, keeping a sharp lookout for other guards and hyenas. He slowly made his way around the house, keeping away from the porch. The lush lawn underfoot allowed him to move silently. The occupants seemed to have retired for the night even though a light was still on in one bedroom, which had two windows that overlooked the porch. It had to be the main bedroom used by Van Rhyn and his wife; the window where he had seen Margaret pass had been further along. While he thought the shots loud, it appeared no one had taken notice.

  He moved away from the master bedroom towards a corner of the house. He pushed his way through the tall foliage of plants in a flowerbed bordering the veranda until he was standing next to the house’s foundations, and the locked screen that enclosed the porch in front of him. From the sheath looped to his belt, he removed a hunting knife and cut first a horizontal then a vertical slit into the mesh. He folded the flap back and studied the length of the porch through the hole. There was nobody about. The guard who had previously been there had gone.

  He started to worm his way through the hole, cursing silently as his weapons knocked against objects, aware that any unusual sound would immediately alert a trained ear, and Van Rhyn’s men were undoubtedly well trained!

  Eventually he stood upright, clutching his MP5, and gazed at the expanse of the large veranda. This was scattered with an assortment of cane furniture and glass-topped coffee tables strewn with magazines and newspapers, clearly a place where the family relaxed. The windows were the old-fashioned sash variety with wooden frames. Most of these were open, a faint breeze nudging at the drawn curtains. He approached the wall of the house and flattened himself against it, then shuffled along it towards the window that he thought belonged to Margaret’s room.

  Peace was one of those men who believed God only helped those who helped themselves, but on this occasion, it appeared that he was lucky; the window’s sash was raised. The curtains were partially open, revealing a large gap. Another godsend.

  He crouched down below the sill and listened for any sounds from within. There were none. He rose and peered through a gap in the curtains. He could just make out a large bed on which a figure lay, partially covered by a sheet. The blonde hair was a giveaway; this was indeed Margaret Langton-Van Rhyn’s room. Margaret was now important to him; she had to be a source of valuable information and with her evident hostility towards Van Rhyn and his goons, she might just be the right person with whom to speak.

  He placed the MP5 on the veranda’s floor below the windowsill; this would be the only way he’d be leaving the room. Leaving through the bedroom’s door wasn’t an option. He crept over the sill, the soft rubber soles of his boots making no sound. He knew he was silhouetted against the light of the window, but she seemed fast asleep, lying partially on her side, turned slightly away from him. He moved to the bed and with one swift movement, he clamped his hand over her mouth, and pulled her against his body, ready to restrain her if she tried to struggle free. That was exactly what she did. He was surprised at her strength. She tried to force a scream through his fingers but only managed a slightly muffled squeak.

  “Shut up and be quiet!” he hissed. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She continued to squirm.

  “I’m here to help! Shut up and stop struggling, otherwise I’ll have to clip you,” he snarled with tightly controlled emotion.

  She stopped. With an arm around her neck and his hand clamped over her mouth, he reached over and switched on the dressing table light. “It’s me, Lord Digby. Listen, I’m here to help you. If you understand, just nod your head. If you scream, I’ll have to knock you unconscious.”

  He felt her trying to nod her head. Slowly he released his hand but left it an inch from her mouth. There was outrage and some bewilderment in her eyes.

  “How dare you break into my room like this?” she spluttered indignantly.

  He noticed that she kept her voice down.

  He let her go. She remained on the bed and turned to face him, propped up on one elbow, staring at him. Her white silk nightdress gaped open, partially revealing her breasts. Involuntarily he glanced at them. She did not miss this and hastily closed the plunging neckline. “Don’t be a pig!” she hissed.

  He was ready with a retort but decided that this was not the moment.

  “I don’t need your help. What on earth are you doing here, anyway?” she asked and then hastily added, “You’d better switch off the light.”

  “You’re in danger here,” he said.

  “Not as much danger as you are in now. What on earth are you doing here, sneaking around, and breaking into our house?”

  “Don’t give me that. I know the score. I know your stepfather has too much at stake to allow you to shoot your mouth off. I saw what happened when you tried to leave. He can’t have you free to move around as you wish while you threaten to reveal his best-kept secrets.”

  “I didn’t do that! In any case, he wouldn’t dare hurt me. My mother will see to that.”

  Perhaps what he’d said disturbed her, for she drew the sheet around her body as if it might afford her some protection. Her blonde hair was in disarray and she’d removed her makeup, but was clearly still a very beautiful woman. She seemed older than one would expect for one still studying at university.

  He heard the sound of approaching footsteps outside the room. Peace quickly switched off the light and ducked down behind the bed, away from the bedroom door. There was a timid knock on the door.

  “Are you all right, Miss?” a male voice asked in a harsh Afrikaans accent.

  “I’m fine. Just go away!”

  There followed what seemed a hesitant silence, and then the sound of receding footsteps.

  “That was a guard!” she whispered in his ear, so close he felt her breath.

  “So I imagine,” he replied with a hint of sarcasm. “Listen, you’ve got to come away with me. Van Rhyn will kill you. He doesn’t have a choice. You obviously know too much, and from I witnessed this evening, it seems you are against whatever he’s planning. I don’t think he’s the type who’d be unduly concerned at your mother’s reaction. He’s going to fly you, by force if necessary, to Copperton tomorrow morning. The place is like a fortress, you’ll never get out.”

  “You saw what happened this evening?”

  “I did.”

  “Copperton. I know the place. I’ve been there, quite often, in fact. It seems to hold an attraction for my stepfather. Lord knows why. It’s an awful place in the middle of nowhere.”

  It was evident she knew very little about the place. She probably believed it was no more than a mine and a haven for right-wingers.

  “How many guards are there here?” he asked.

  “Three. One inside and two outside. One of them also keeps an eye on the aircraft and helicopter. Watch out for the hyenas.”

  “Rest assured, that guard is no longer a problem, neither are his hyenas.”

  She said nothing in response to this remark. However, he did notice her eyes widen. She was staring at the MP5 dangling from the strap around his neck and the automatic strapped to his thigh. Did she realise the man was dead, he wondered.

  “You’re here to kill him, aren’t you?” she said. “Who are you? I don’t think you’re Lord Digby; you have my stepfather fooled. He spoke quite highly of you. He might believe you’re Lord Digby, but I don’t. In fact, I’ve always found you quite strange, especially after our discussion at my stepfather�
��s house after you rudely shooed-off General Booyens’ aide-de-camp.”

  She is smart, he thought, remembering the incident and in particular, how glad she was he’d got the man to leave them.

  “Come on, we need to get out of here,” he said brusquely.

  “What about the guards?”

  “Don’t worry; we’re going out of the window, the same way I came in. Get dressed, but for God’s sake, be quiet! If they realise you’ve escaped, they’ll be seriously pissed off.”

  She swung her legs off the bed and switched on a night-lamp.

  “Don’t look,” she warned. He turned from her and then heard her rummaging in a chest of drawers, followed by the sound of her dressing.

  “It’s okay now,” she said.

  He turned and looked. She was wearing jeans and a dark blue knitted cotton top. She had a bag over her shoulder with a short bush jacket draped over the bag.

  “Forget the bag,” he said.

  “No, I’m a woman. There are things I need.”

  “Okay,” he hissed in exasperation. He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards the open window.

  Quietly, they clambered through the window onto the porch. She pointed to the end of the veranda, indicating that it was the safest route to follow. He let her lead, but still clutched her hand. She led him around an end-corner of the veranda, and they crept along the side of the house, heading towards the back. Her soft-soled, slip-on sandals made no sound. Slowly and with great caution, she pushed open the fly-screen door. Fortunately, it opened without a sound and they passed through.

  He pointed to the baobab tree. She nodded and led the way. When they reached its base, he retrieved the sniper’s rifle from the nearby brush and handed it to her. “You’d better hold this. I know it’s heavy, but I might just need it.”

  She took it from him without a word.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement. He swung round. Two hyenas were loping towards them, their intentions clear as they emitted their eerie half bark, half yowls.