“Shaka! Sheila!” Margaret shouted. The hyenas immediately recognised her and stopped in front of them. The female dropped to its haunches and whimpered, then rose and rubbed its body against her leg.
“My God, we’re lucky. The damn thing likes you,” said Peace.
The next instant the surrounds of the house were bathed in bright light as all corner security lights were switched on. The trees, bushes, and shrubs in the garden cast long black shadows. Although Peace and Margaret had moved far enough away as to be out of range of the direct beams of light, they were still sufficiently close for any movement to be detected should they step out of the shadows. He heard the fly-screen door bang shut and noticed two men emerge, both cradling military carbines, the long magazines that protruded from the rifles easily recognisable.
From inside the house, something was shouted in Afrikaans.
“They’ve discovered I’m missing,” she said.
“Come on, it’s time to run.”
He pulled her in the direction of where he’d hidden the quad. The hyenas seemed confused, turning and loping towards the house, then hesitating and turning back to Margaret.
“They’re calling them,” she said.
The animals, alerted by the call, appeared to make a decision and with a few departing whoops bounded off towards the house. Just then, Van Rhyn stepped into the light. There was no mistaking the size of the man. He was buckling his belt. Peace grabbed the sniper’s rifle from her, flicked off the safety catch, and brought it to his shoulder, swinging the crosshairs of the scope towards the Afrikaner.
Suddenly, he was struck by a blow from the side. Margaret had thrown herself at him. “No!” she hissed. “He’s my mother’s husband. You can’t do this!”
Peace was angry. He shoved her away roughly and brought the rifle to his shoulder again. She lay sprawled on the ground, her fall raising a small cloud of dust.
“Don’t be stupid!” he spat through clenched teeth. “If he knew I was out here with you, he’d be out to kill us. You still don’t see it, do you? We don’t count for anything around here anymore and that certainly includes you. You’re a danger now!” He peered through the telescopic sight but Van Rhyn had disappeared. The opportunity was gone.
Peace swore viciously under his breath and strode off towards the cattle grid-gate. She stood and dusted herself down, then followed him. When she caught up, he turned and thrust the sniper rifle into her hands. “Take it. Now it’s time to shut up and follow. Do you think you can do that?” he demanded.
His sudden show of temper subdued her. She did as he’d asked, following in his footsteps just a few feet behind. They stayed in the shadow thrown by the baobab tree, and then flitted into the shadows of other smaller trees as they moved further from the house. They were still near enough to hear engines being started and the yowl of a high-performance engine being revved. Peace realised that he was not the only one with a motorcycle or a quad. The sound gave him hope; the crackle of the cycle’s two-stroke engine would drown out that made by his own machine.
Eventually, they were far enough away for him to abandon the slight detour he was making and head straight to where the quad was parked. He soon realised that she was no newcomer to the bush; she kept pace with him with practised ease. They moved nearer to the road that led from the farm, but kept a good distance from the bungalows where there was now some activity. A pickup had drawn up, and there were loud voices. They eventually made it to the fence. This was not designed to deter human intruders and after finding a strong anchor-post able to take their weight, they were able to scale it nimbly.
They were still yards from the quad when they heard the staccato bark of quads, and the rumble as these crossed the cattle-grid.
“Down!” Peace snarled, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her down next to him, both ignoring the duwweltjies, those small balls of thorns the size of a marble, which painfully pierced their skin and clothing.
They heard the vehicles come to a stop a few hundred yards further along the road, their pursuers obviously having understood that they could not have gotten much further on foot. The engines were switched off. From their prone positions, they were able to see beneath the bush and trees, so they watched as some of their pursuers jumped from the rear of the pickups and spread out into the bush. The quads also entered the bush, their powerful headlamps piercing the darkness. Peace realised they would be discovered. He rose to his feet and ran towards his own quad with Margaret close behind him.
As they got to the four-wheeler, he hoped to God it would start — if it didn’t, he held little hope of them escaping and they only had limited ammunition.
“Jump behind me and hang on for your life,” he ordered.
She swung onto the pillion and clasped her arms around his waist. He sat with the MP5 resting across the cycle’s tank and watched the approaching quads’ headlights. He waited until the first was nearly upon them, and when he was able to make out the seated figure on the quad he aimed and drew a bead on the rider’s chest. The sharp crack of the MP5 pierced the air. The rider arched back and tumbled backwards off the quad, the cycle rearing up on its rear wheels. The engine screamed briefly and then abruptly died, the quad dropping forward once more on its wheels, and its headlamp still on, boring a white tunnel of light through the bush ahead of it.
Peace pushed the starter button. The engine whirred and chugged twice, and then with a howl sprang to life. He opened the throttle and released the clutch, and the quad’s rear tyres clawed the ground, throwing a rooster tail of sand and dust into the air. They shot off into the bush. His eyes had adjusted well to the dark and he was able to navigate with the lights off, but branches still clawed at them, scratching their faces and arms. He hoped she was better protected behind him.
He knew they had to get past the pickups blocking the road and the only way to do this was to keep to the bush. He gritted his teeth; this was going to be a wild ride. With all the swerving to avoid trees and large bushes, the quad slid from side to side. The MP5 hanging round his neck swung back and forth across the tank, banging loudly against its sides.
Suddenly the sound of rapid rifle fire split the air, clearly audible above the quad’s engine. He knew they had to be those shooting blindly from the pickups. Another quad was still about a hundred yards away in full pursuit. The greater danger came from the quad chasing them as it was faster — probably only having one occupant. He realised what he had to do and veered towards the road.
“Listen up!” he screamed at her. “Just keep your nerve! I’m going to have to let that quad come at us.” He felt her arms tighten around his waist.
He switched the light on for a second to allow the quad driver to get a bearing on them. He then swung his vehicle around to face the oncoming quad and stopped. He flicked the MP5 to full automatic and brought it to his shoulder, and as the quad burst from the bush, he pulled the trigger. The automatic pistol chattered, spewing deadly fire He couldn’t see the quad’s driver, but the quad keeled over and he had a brief glimpse of the rider being flung from his saddle. He knew that his short burst of fire had been accurate.
“Another one down,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
He then dropped the quad into gear, drove it over the ridge of heaped sand that separated the side of the road from the bush and shot off towards Gagarus with the headlight on, the long shaft of light boring through the dark, brightly illuminating the road ahead. He knew the pickups would be in pursuit, and on the road, they’d be a damn sight faster than the quad. If he didn’t devise a plan soon, their capture, or demise, would be inevitable.
“They’re after us and gaining,” Margaret shouted in his ear over the roar of the wind. As if to confirm what she’d said, he heard the chatter of an automatic weapon, too distant yet to do any harm, but the knowledge that they were out to kill them gave him a hollow feeling. He would be damned though, if he’d let Van Rhyn and his horde of misfits frighten him.
“Don’t wo
rry, we’ll get out of this, somehow,” he replied.
Ahead of them, he saw the ground dip into an omaramba — a wide dry riverbed, which only receives water during the rainy season. He braked, switched off the light, and steered towards the edge of the road, where it was overhung by a large camel-thorn tree. He dismounted and led Margaret behind the tree. He had only one and a half clips of ammunition left for the MP5, but enough to do Van Rhyn’s men serious harm. He wondered whether the mining magnate was with them.
As the pickups approached, he fired, knowing that the bullets would shatter the windscreen and kill anyone sitting in the cab.
The vehicle swerved, then broadsided, throwing up a massive cloud of dust and then without warning, flipped over. Two bodies were flung from the rear — they cartwheeled through the air and fell to the ground with a sickening thump. Even if they’d survived this, they would be in no condition to fight. The pickup came down on its roof, flattened the cab and rolled again, finally coming to rest on its side just off the road.
Behind him, he heard her sharp intake of breath. “My God!” she said hoarsely. “They all must be dead.”
He ignored her. The MP5’s magazine was empty. He took another full clip and rammed it home.
A second pickup was approaching. It slewed, and then skidded to a stop alongside the carnage. A very slight breeze had sprung up, which cleared the dust and presented Peace with an excellent target. The MP5 bucked in his hands as he sent a stream of bullets at the pickup’s windscreen. He heard a shout of panic, immediately followed by a scream.
Suddenly, a man rolled out from behind the vehicle and stopped, sprawled on his stomach and propped up on his elbows, he held an automatic rifle in a classic firing position. Peace heard its loud chatter; the bullets thudded into the thorn tree, causing bark and shredded wood to fly from it. He dropped to the ground, pulling Margaret down with him. Shots whistled over their heads, and then suddenly, all was silent. Magazine change! Peace rose on one knee and fired a fusillade until the firing pin fell on an empty chamber. In the semi-darkness, he saw the prone figure jerk as the bullets impacted.
The MP5 was now useless as he was out of ammunition, so he dropped it. He swung a leg onto the quad and dragged Margaret behind him. As they sped down the track, Peace hoped there were none left to follow. He felt Margaret’s arms wrap around him, her body hard up against his back. He realised that the last encounters had probably left her terrified.
While trying to concentrate on the road, Peace recalled the meeting in VA’s office in London with the banker and the man from the Exchequer. He clearly remembered VA’s words, ‘We don’t want you to get involved.’ It was now a joke. He was already involved up to his bloody eyeballs! This mob was out to kill him and if they ever learned who he really was, it would make them only more determined.
Van Rhyn was unaware that Lord Digby was in any way involved, or so Peace hoped. However, with what had transpired, Van Rhyn was sure to accelerate any plans.
With time running out for both Peace and Van Rhyn, Peace needed to make contact with VA as soon as possible.
They made it safely back on the quad to where he had left the Land Cruiser and Peace was soon able to call London.
Sir John’s instructions were explicit. He was to drive to Eros Airport in Windhoek where a private aircraft awaited them. He was given an address in Windhoek where he was to meet with MI6’s people who would get them unobserved to the aircraft that would be waiting for them. They were to fly to Johannesburg’s Jan Smuts Airport and would leave on the next available British Airways flight to London, where Sir John’s people were to expect them. On arriving in Johannesburg, the embassy would provide passports and a holdall containing toiletries and clothing. A change of passport was necessary as Margaret could not depart the country on her original passport. It was thought that with the connections Van Rhyn had, he could well have people on the lookout. Sir John assured Peace that he would arrange for temporary but secure accommodation for Margaret in London.
Peace relayed to her only what was pertinent, that is, where they were going and where she would eventually be taken to.
“Who are you? You’re certainly not the man you pretended to be!” She asked this after they had been driving for a few minutes.
“Listen, the less I say the better, but what I can divulge is that I’m a British government employee and my duties include looking after British overseas interests and British citizens, amongst a few other things,” he replied.
“That, I gathered. I see you don’t want to get into it any further.”
“No… not now. Someone better qualified will eventually fill you in. Now try to get some sleep,” he replied tersely.
“You’re badly scratched and torn,” she said.
He merely grunted in reply.
*
Their departure from South Africa had gone without a hitch.
Peace arrived in London just before dawn and was immediately whisked off to his mews flat and only given sufficient time to bath, change clothes, and have a quick breakfast, while his chauffeur and assistant waited patiently for him and then drove him to MI6 headquarters.
During the hours that he and Margaret had spent together, they had discussed Van Rhyn and his plans and she had come to realise precisely how horrific their plans were. She also understood the dire consequences that would have happened, had Peace not rescued her. Yes, she was concerned for her mother, but Peace assured her that it would not be long before she would see her mother again. She believed him.
The debriefing at MI6 headquarters was long and tedious. However, the good news was that, although still aboard the submarine, Cherry was making a rapid recovery and that on her arrival in Scotland would receive further treatment.
Sir John said that they had good reason to believe Peace’s cover was not blown and that Van Rhyn still believed him to be Lord Digby Brentwood. It was decided that Peace would return to South Africa and continue his masquerade.
Chapter Eighteen
Peace woke. He had slept for most of the flight from London to Cape Town seated in the Business Class section, which afforded him sufficient legroom to stretch out. He realised that the aircraft had commenced its descent. The first wisps of cloud flashed over the Boeing 747’s wings as it gradually lost altitude. Peace stared out of the window waiting for a break in the cloud. Suddenly, he caught his first glimpse of the sea. He knew the aircraft had to be swinging over False Bay as the pilot brought it round to line up with the runway.
He turned to look at the woman in the seat next to him.
“Not the sunny South Africa you were expecting,” he said, smiling.
“Don’t worry. I know it’ll clear soon enough,” Cherry replied.
Over a month had passed since her near-death event in the cold waters of the Atlantic off the coast of South West Africa. She had remained aboard the submarine until it had docked at Faslane in Scotland. From there she had been whisked by helicopter to the naval hospital in Glasgow, where the surgeons pronounced their satisfaction with the medical procedures carried out by the surgeon on board the submarine. She had swiftly recovered and had spent the last month getting her strength back, subjecting herself for the last ten days to a rigorous fitness regime.
For nearly a week, he and Margaret had separately undergone debriefings in VA’s London headquarters where, since their arrival, he had only fleetingly seen her in passing. It was more an interrogation than a debriefing, but the analysts soon learned that Margaret had little to add to what was already known. She knew that her stepfather was strongly opposed to the release of Nelson Mandela and the recognition of the African National Congress, the party with which the Nationalist government was negotiating in an attempt to establish an acceptable transitional process to fair elections and eventual majority rule.
Only when at the Vrede farm had she learned that Van Rhyn proposed to lead an insurrection of right-wing whites if de Klerk went ahead with his plans to unban the forbidden ANC politi
cal movement. She, like most of the world, didn’t know that America and Britain knew of the nuclear arsenal Van Rhyn had hidden at Copperton, and that he possessed the means to deliver it.
MI6 had assisted in finding secure accommodation for Margaret Langton-Van Rhyn and had enabled her to return to her studies at university under an assumed name. They were confident she could return to everyday life in London without Van Rhyn being able to trace her whereabouts. She was careful to avoid former friends and sought solace in her studies. Her accommodation arrangement was only temporary. She possessed a small fortune of her own but for security reasons could not draw from it. VA saw to it that she had adequate funds in the interim. The British government kept an eye on her, checking daily that all was well. In South Africa, the Van Rhyns had not reported their daughter missing. Before leaving South Africa, Margaret had left a message with a friend for her mother, telling her not to concern herself and that all was well. She had refused to disclose any information regarding her whereabouts.
VA had told Peace to sit tight in London. He also mentioned the government was working on a game plan in conjunction with the Americans to deal with Van Rhyn and the bombs. The South African diplomatic corps had no idea that others had misappropriated the bombs; all believed the South African nuclear arsenal had been decommissioned, but knowing otherwise, the Americans had positioned spy satellites to fly over South Africa. This had been done immediately after learning where the bombs were stored.
Peace and Cherry had resumed their intimate relationship, but not before Peace convinced Cherry that he had made no overtures to either Janet, Margaret or anyone else for that matter since the submarine incident. Nonetheless, she warned him that she, like most women, would never trust him. This pleased him, for he detected a hint of jealousy in her questioning. He had asked her about this and she had responded with a look of annoyance flashing across her face. “No, I’m not jealous,” she’d replied, “but knowing you, you wouldn’t have resisted a roll in the hay with her had she shown the inclination. Janet is an exceptionally beautiful woman.”
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