Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  “Where are — ”

  That was as far as he got when he was struck a violent blow to the head, immediately losing consciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The cold woke him. He lay on a bare concrete floor. The chill had penetrated his bones and had sapped the warmth from him. His muscles ached and his mouth felt as if lined with cotton wool. He had no idea how long he had been out, but the splitting headache, the foul taste in his mouth and the degree of lethargy that enveloped him, told him that he had to have been drugged again. Probably the same concoction they had administered before. He was clad only in Jockey briefs and a sweatshirt. Even his boots had been removed.

  He had to warm up. With a groan, he rose gradually from the floor and stood while using a hand on the wall for support. He waited for his head to stop spinning. Slowly at first, then faster, he commenced a series of basic stretching exercises. After a few minutes, he began to feel better as his muscles loosened up and warmth returned to his body. He took stock of the room. It was small — no more than twenty by twenty feet square. It had only one small barred window, which was glazed with thick opaque glass, the vision through it so distorted that he could not make anything out. In a corner stood a bucket with a lid and a roll of toilet paper — it was functional but rudimentary. Why go to all this trouble if they wanted to kill him?

  Hours later, when it began to darken outside, there was the rattle of keys at the door. Having inspected it a while ago and finding it made from thick timbers, he knew he was not going to break his way out.

  Somebody shouted, “Stand back against the wall opposite the door.”

  Seconds later the door opened, just sufficient to allow a steel tray containing a tinplate with an ample helping of boiled potatoes with some meat stew and a stainless-steel mug of black coffee, to be slid across the threshold of the door. Two blankets were also thrown into the room. Immediately thereafter, the door was shut and locked again. The guard never entered and Peace thought that there was probably another guard covering the jailer.

  What was going on? Was Cherry here and was she receiving the same treatment?

  The blankets were a godsend. He immediately wrapped himself in one, using the other to create a thin mattress which enabled him to sit cross-legged with some degree of comfort. Soon he felt warmth return to his body. Using the white plastic spoon provided, he hungrily wolfed down the food on the plate and followed this with the bitter black coffee.

  He woke once during the night. He heard the wind howl beyond the walls and was certain he caught something rumbling in the distance and thought this had to be thunder; he was also sure he could see vague lightning flashes dancing off the thick opaque glass of the window.

  A small tracking device had been sewn into the lining of each of their jumpsuits — a precaution to enable them to be tracked. He wondered when and where his clothes had been removed. Of course, the question was whether the tracking devices had been discovered. He hoped his clothing had been removed here and would be returned to him. Without proper clothing he felt exposed, which, of course, was a way of making prisoners feel vulnerable. The whereabouts of his American colleagues also concerned him. Had they escaped?

  Other than for meals, the door was never opened. He spent the day lying on his makeshift mattress. Twice he forced himself to exercise.

  The day passed slowly and only the light trickling through the window revealed that night was near.

  Noises from outside the door warned him that he was about to get company. As the door swung open, Lieutenant Combrink and Major Rautenbach entered, still dressed in camouflage fatigues and combat jackets. A further guard was visible in the background. They were obviously not about to take any chances, as all were armed with carbines.

  “You’re probably wondering why you haven’t been shot. Well, you’re now a bargaining chip. We intend to use you for that purpose,” the major said, his tone and demeanour clearly expressing the hate he felt for his captive.

  “So, I’ve some value after all,” Peace replied. “How about giving me my clothes back?”

  “Later. Nobody knows where you are, so don’t think you can be rescued.”

  “You should never believe that, you being a soldier. Where’s Miss Boxx?”

  “She’s here. In fact, next door. We’ve attended to her burns. They are only superficial. She’ll soon heal without scars, but now, down to business. Hold out your hands.” The major produced a pair of handcuffs.

  Peace realised that it would be pointless to object and held out his hands while the lieutenant cuffed him.

  “You’re going to receive a visitor. We’ll be just outside the door, so please, behave yourself. I really don’t know what she sees in you,” the major said with a disdainful smirk.

  The two men retreated to the doorway and the major beckoned for someone to enter. Peace was astounded when Janet walked into the room. She was dressed in tight jeans with calf-high soft suede brown boots. She wore a padded anorak over a T-shirt, which told him that it was unusually cold outside. He racked his brains again trying to think where they might be. The dark hair that cascaded over her shoulder shone in the light from the passageway. Her face was a blank mask; he could not read it.

  “Outside,” she curtly ordered the two officers.

  “Miss Van Rhyn, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the major said rather meekly.

  Janet’s eyes flashed. “Damn it, outside! We agreed I’ve a personal matter I want to discuss with him!”

  “Okay, we’ll be just outside the door if you need us.” The major’s reluctance was apparent. She stood there looking at the officer, waiting for him to close the door. He only pulled it against the frame, not closing it entirely.

  She looked at Peace for a few seconds before she spoke. “God, Digby, or should I call you Geoffrey? For a while, I actually believed we could have had something going, then you suddenly set out to destroy my family and me. You and me… was that just a sham?”

  Peace smiled ruefully. “Actually, it was with regret that I upset your father’s plans. Oh, of course, it had to be done — no question about that. Even you must realise that he and his mob are lunatics. Just imagine wanting to nuke the Cubans and who knows how many others. You and I are only a subsidiary part of it. No matter what you may think, I don’t bed women for whom I’ve no feelings. So, it was no sham.”

  This was not a lie. He hoped that Cherry next door had not overheard this. Actually, he was feeling slightly confused — he was locked up here, wherever here was and they were talking about relationships. Cherry was next door and his concerns for her more definitely more than just professional and here was this woman insisting on knowing whether he genuinely desired her. Who wouldn’t be confused? Even though he was trained to kill, this certainly made life interesting!

  For a few seconds, she just stared intently at him as if trying to penetrate some mental shield he had around him.

  “Do you think this is the time to be discussing this?” he asked, while looking around the room as if to emphasise his point.

  She ignored him.

  “Usually, I’m immune to it, but somehow you’re the first man in a long time to have wormed his way into my heart.” She dropped her voice to little more than a whisper, clearly not wanting any others to hear. “I never believed my father would go this far. My stepmother has left him and returned to England. Sure, she still despises the blacks or any majority black government, but when we discovered what he and Booyens intended, we agreed it was unacceptable.”

  “Bit late, isn’t it? It was the Cubans they wanted to bomb, wasn’t it? Or maybe, those on the border of Angola with Namibia. What other plan could they’ve had? Even worse, drop a bomb on a black township. My God! That would kill hundreds of thousands. They’re insane, the whole bloody lot of them!”

  An involuntary shiver swept over him. He felt helpless, partly because of his lack of clothes but also because he was handcuffed.

  “I can’t tell you who.
That would be crossing the line, wouldn’t it? Anyway, whatever, I couldn’t live with that on my conscience. If they can’t use you as a negotiating tool, they’re going to kill you and that woman next door. It’s easy enough to dump the bodies in these mountains — you’ll never be found and no one can pin a thing on them.”

  Peace felt a sudden stab of fear, not for himself but for Cherry. “They said they’ll exchange us for something.”

  Janet shook her head. “They might, but in the end, I think they’ll kill you,” she whispered.

  There was a good few feet’s distance between them. She stood next to the folded blanket on the floor that served as his bed, which was against the wall just behind the door. He was near the opposite wall where he had been told to stand and not move.

  “Miss Van Rhyn! Please, we must go!” the major shouted with obvious impatience from beyond the door, simultaneously pushing it slowly open.

  To Peace’s surprise, she quickly stepped forward to where he stood and slapped him sharply across the face, her expression now reflecting disdain and hatred. As Peace was processing the action, he realised she had dropped something to the floor at the same time. It twinkled in the light as it fell and tinkled as it struck the floor. The officers seemed not to hear. Whatever it was, he quickly moved his foot and stood on it.

  She was about to exit when she stopped and turned around. “You actually deserve to die,” she said. He wasn’t sure whether or not she meant it, but the threat certainly seemed real. It was a convincing performance and would hopefully deceive the officers. Just before the door closed and locked behind her, he heard her say that they should give him his clothes. He was still handcuffed.

  Quickly he recovered the item that she had dropped and slid it under the blanket. Minutes later, when he was sure they all had gone, he retrieved the key ring. It contained two keys held together on a wire ring. He shoved them swiftly back under the mattress while he recovered from his racing emotions of elation. Obviously, one of these had to be for the door to his room. But the other? The one was larger than the other was, but both looked clearly intended for rather complex locks. One had to be for the room next door. He realised that she’d not thought of the handcuffs. He’d have to get those off first! The officers had forgotten to, or intentionally not removed them.

  A glimmer of hope passed through him. Why had she done this? However, without clothes, any attempt to escape would be foolhardy, and he realised that outside the building, it had to be close to freezing. Where on Earth had they taken him? The problem was that it was freezing in a lot of areas of South Africa at that time of the year.

  Wrapped in his blanket, he dozed off. The rattle of the keys in the door woke him. The door was partially opened, letting a shaft of light stab into the room again; this was followed by a bundle of rolled-up clothing being tossed onto the floor. The door immediately closed once more.

  “Compliments of Miss Van Rhyn — she didn’t want you to freeze your arse off. Hot or cold, you’ll still die here anyway,” an unsympathetic voice said from behind the door.

  He did not recognise it. Probably one of Van Rhyn’s security men, he thought. This meant there were others. As on the previous night, the far distant throb of some engine suddenly died, the lights simultaneously dimming then going out. Clearly, the outside electrical power source had been shut down for the night and the room was plunged into deep darkness. Once his eyes adjusted, he could just make out the rectangle of the small glazed window through which starlight feebly penetrated. Five minutes later, his eyes had further adjusted and he was able to make out the room.

  By feel, he removed both keys from the steel ring and with some difficulty, straightened the steel wire as best he could. He now needed to bend a ninety-degree hook into the wire. He shoved a quarter inch of the wire into the gap between the door and its frame and finally had the bend in the wire he needed. Inserting this into the cuff’s lock, he picked at the innards and soon the cuffs sprang open with a click.

  He then undid the bundle of clothing. These were the clothes and canvas combat boots he had been wearing when captured. He dressed and lay down on his makeshift mattress, pulling the single blanket over him. He cleared his mind of all thoughts and soon dozed off.

  He suddenly woke, sure he’d heard an unusual sound. He realised that this was probably what had woken him. Crack! There it was again. It was the sound of some object hitting the thick glass of the window; somebody was throwing stones at the glass. He couldn’t imagine who this could be, but hoped it was to be Janet. This continued for a while — maybe some sort of signal? Frightened the sound could draw a guard’s attention, he rapped hard on the glass twice. It had to be heard by anyone just outside the window. No more stones struck the glass.

  It took him a few minutes to grasp that it was highly probable that this was the right time to make his move. He could think of no other reason why Janet would stand outside in the freezing cold and throws stones at the window. What about the guards stationed outside the room?

  He slowly inserted the largest of the keys into the lock. It fitted. Slowly he turned it, hearing the distinct click as the tumblers in the lock fell into place, the lock then opening with what he thought was an overly loud rasp. He opened the door to be greeted by a faint light that emanated from a lantern on a table in a passageway. A guard was slumped over a folding camp table, his arms and head resting on an open Playboy magazine. A military carbine lay on the table. Spittle drooled from the man’s open mouth.

  Peace realised the man was drugged. This too had to be Janet’s work. Who else had she drugged?

  He carefully picked up the guard’s carbine, holding it ready to bring it down on the man’s head. He shook the guard. There was no response.

  Five doors led from the passageway, and two were open. Slowly, moving on rubber-soled boots, he made his way to the nearest door that was open, which was on the opposite side of the passage. This was a bathroom. He remembered hearing sounds from close by just after they shoved his meal through the doorway. This confirmed that Cherry was no further than one or two adjoining rooms from where he was kept. Were there others, he wondered? He approached the first, slowly opened the lock, and pushed the door open, but ready to slam it shut, if necessary. When just a crack was revealed, he stopped and waited. There was no sound from within. He pushed the door open to step through. As he did so, a dark shadow rushed him. He let go of the door and stepped forward right up against his attacker, thus preventing him from assailing him as his movements were restricted by the closeness. Peace immediately smelt the faintest trace of some female fragrance, which jarred his memory.

  “It’s me!” he hissed, groping with his hands to find her wrists, which he then grabbed in a vice-like grip.

  He felt her collapse in his grasp, followed by a slight shudder as her body sagged against his. He saw that she was properly dressed; they’d also returned her clothes.

  “My God,” she whispered. “I’ve been so worried.”

  “Let’s talk about that later. We have to get out of here. I’ve no idea where we are, but having travelled in a helicopter, this has to be somewhere in South Africa. Helicopters have a restricted range. But it’s so damn cold here, it must be in the mountains somewhere.”

  The one end of the passageway ended in a wall which contained another bulletproof glass window similar to that in his cell. This meant that the only way out had to be through the door at the other end of the passageway. He removed the automatic from the drugged guard’s holster and gave it to her. He knew that one shot was enough to alert the whole building, something he had to avoid at all costs. Using the dim light from the lantern, he slowly approached the other end, which was blocked by a closed door. The door responded to his touch, swinging open slowly. This revealed a combined dining room and adjoining lounge, the latter with a near burnt-out fire glowing in the hearth on the opposite wall. Two large windows were on opposite sides of the room, the heavy drapes half closed. Another man, with a carbine on t
he floor next to him, lay sprawled on the sofa, snoring softly. It appeared he also had been drugged. On a tray on the coffee table were the remains of his dinner.

  They saw that another passageway led off the rooms, probably leading to sleeping quarters. An alcove led off to a front entrance room, and a front door was visible through the glazed doors of the walk-in room. The rooms were empty.

  “Come on,” he whispered with a touch of impatience and took her hand to lead her to the walk-in room. They passed through the doors without hindrance. At the front door, he checked whether it was wired to a burglar alarm but found nothing. He opened the door, to be met by a frigid blast of cold air. He could see patches of white on the ground where it was coated by a thin layer of snow. In the pale light of a half-moon that shone through a broken cloud, he could make out distant mountain peaks, which seemed to surround them. They seemed to be perched on the highest one. A short distance away stood the helicopter in which they had left Overberg, tethered by multiple cables to the ground, and the cockpit covered by a canvas. He’d probably be shot or captured before he could get it started.

  Just then, he saw a movement at the corner of the house as someone stepped out of the shadows. It was a moment before recognition dawned. It was a woman, and he knew it could only be Janet Van Rhyn. She was still dressed in the parka, the hood pulled over her head casting her face in deep shadow. She approached them and her features became clear.

  “The guards, were they a problem?” she asked, her eyes lingering on Cherry for a second or two before looking at him. Her face showed no emotion.