A Holiday to Die For

by Marion Leigh

  ‘This is not your job, Ali, but maybe you can get fresh from the restaurant.’

  ‘I think, Madam, there is something more urgent that demands your attention. Miss Vicky is in trouble. That is why I have come.’

  ‘Miss Vicky is indeed in trouble. To reject my offer of employment out of hand and out of sight is …’

  Ali coughed politely.

  ‘There is a message, Madam.’

  Mrs. Pinderally opened her eyes. ‘Goody! Is Miss Vicky coming back? Read me the news, Ali.’

  Ali inclined his head. ‘Sorry, not possible, Madam. No paper. But I have it in memory.’

  ‘Very well. Tell me when Miss Vicky wishes to return.’

  ‘Madam, it is not Miss Vicky but Miss Petra who sends the message, Miss Petra and Mr. Carlo. They are busy setting traps for diamond smugglers in Namibia, meanwhile Miss Vicky is in a perilous situation. Heroic measures are needed.’

  Mrs. Pinderally pulled herself up into a sitting position. ‘Recite, Ali, from the beginning to the end.’

  Ali stood up straight and puffed out his chest.

  “Dear Mrs. Pinderally,

  I have asked Ali to bring you this letter in the hope that you can lend a hand in a very pressing matter. But first, Carlo and I would like to thank you again for your magnificent hospitality and all your teachings …”

  ‘Hurry, Ali! The gritty nitty!’

  ‘Yes, Madam. It is coming.’ He rewound to “But first” then carried on until he got to “Time is of the essence. We are counting on your support”.

  Mrs. Pinderally clapped her hands. ‘Just so. The coordinates, Ali, recite the coordinates again.’

  ‘33.1772ºS, 18.2452ºE.’

  ‘Perfect. We must mobilize at once. Ali, help me up.’

  An hour later, dressed in a purple beaded trouser suit with a mandarin collar, Mrs. Pinderally convened a planning meeting in Scheherazade’s main salon. The captain, his two deckhands, Ali, his two lackeys, and the chauffeur sat around the dining table on which three plates of biscuits shared the space with a large map.

  ‘We will rescue Miss Vicky from the clutches of that sleazy ball, Father John, who hides many girls on a farm near Langebaan,’ Mrs. Pinderally announced. ‘If we had known this before returning to Cape Town, it would be easy. Now we must go back quickly.’

  The captain pinpointed the coordinates on the map and the chauffeur scrutinized it carefully.

  ‘In one hour and a half we are at the crossroads, here,’ he said. ‘Then we must locate the farm. If it is off the beaten track, as I fear, the limousine will not be happy. A 4 x 4 would be preferable.’

  Mrs. Pinderally helped herself to a fig roll while she thought. ‘Ali, call Mr. Pinderally Junior.’

  ‘Madam, he is in Mumbai. It is sleeping time.’

  ‘No matter. Ask him to borrow his Hummer and his helicopter.’

  ‘No need, Madam. He left keys and all necessary information with me. In case.’

  ‘In case what?’

  ‘In case you have need of a magic carpet.’

  Mrs. Pinderally nodded with a cheerful smile on her face. ‘Just like his father, God rest his soul. Call the necessary people, Ali. We need magic carpets now.’

  The driver of the Tabernacle Youth Collective van rumbled over the cattle grid and closed the electric gate behind him. He drove as fast as he could down the rutted track, throwing up dust as he went. A mile farther on, he slowed to assess a vehicle that was coming towards him at a ferocious pace, creating a veritable sandstorm. He honked his horn. There was no room for two on the track.

  The oncoming vehicle took no notice. He leaned on the horn and at the last moment veered to the left. But not far enough. It was a bloody armour-plated Hummer with wicked wheels that were going to clip the side of his van and run him off the road.

  Which was exactly what Mr. Pinderally Junior’s bodyguard-cum-driver did. The van careened down a slope and rolled over.

  A few minutes later, a pink and very dusty limousine hove into view. Mrs. Pinderally leaned out of the window when she came alongside the scene of the accident. Ali was standing over the form of a young man clad in a black T-shirt and jeans, holding a heavy pistol.

  ‘Goody, goody. One man down. Is he dead, Ali?’

  ‘No Madam. Battered only.’

  ‘Tie his hands and put him in the Hummer. He can lead us to Miss Vicky.’

  The bodyguard pulled a set of handcuffs from the pocket of his camouflage jacket. He cuffed the youth, who was spitting and snarling, patted him down and extracted the key to the gate.

  ‘Onward, Ali! I hear the helicopter. All must arrive at once. It is the element of surprise. But first ask that silly young man who is at the farm. Be sure to get details.’

  Ali asked the question and waved the pistol menacingly. When the youth refused to answer, he let off a shot that glanced off a rock near the youth’s feet.

  ‘Thirty girls, some pregnant, some with new babies, some with small children.’

  ‘What about men? Guards?’

  The youth remained silent until Ali let off another shot that echoed around the countryside.

  ‘Six men counting me to cater to the women. No guards.’

  ‘Goody, goody. And the masseuse, Ali? Miss Vicky?’

  Another shot from the pistol elicited the information, accompanied by a lot of spitting and snarling, that there was another young woman, a recent recruit, who was caring for the girls.

  ‘And who is the big boss man of this, how do you say, stud farm? Ask him, Ali!’

  This time the youth answered quickly. ‘Our pastor, Father Joe. You can talk to him.’

  ‘Father Joe-John has no respect for womankind. We must make haste!’

  At the electric gate, the convoy stopped and waited until the pink helicopter was overhead. Ali dumped the youth onto the cattle grid then opened the gate and left it open behind them. ‘To make the getaway,’ he said.

  ‘Good thinking, Ali. Now give me the walkie-talkie.’ Mrs. Pinderally fiddled with the knobs on the radio. ‘Come in, Magic Carpet 2, Magic Carpet 2, come in. Can you hear me? Over.’

  ‘Magic Carpet 2. Go ahead.’

  ‘You go ahead and tell me what you see.’

  The helicopter flew across fields of crops towards clusters of white buildings inside a high wall.

  ‘Magic Carpet 1, come in.’

  ‘Magic Carpet 1 coming in. What see you?’

  ‘Ladies, Madam, lots of ladies in blue dresses. Children too. They are waving.’

  ‘Roger waving. Wave back and land. Defend your airship but do nothing until we are here. Repeat, do nothing until we are here. Over and out.’

  By the time the limousine reached the courtyard, the helicopter was surrounded by young women and children who were fascinated by the visitors. Mrs. Pinderally’s captain and the helicopter pilot were defending their doors from a posse of youngsters who were trying to board.

  ‘Throw the sweets, Ali!’

  Ali opened the door of the limousine and carpeted the ground between the car and the helicopter in sweets and chocolates. ‘Candy time!’ he yelled as the children rushed to pick them up. He clicked his fingers and his two lackeys got out and began to throw more candies to distract the children.

  One of the blue-robed women walked over to the limousine. Mrs. Pinderally leaned out of her window. ‘Fetch me your Father Joe. I have to pick a bone with him.’

  ‘To pick a bone?’

  ‘Indeed. Fetch him now.’

  ‘Father Joe is not here.’

  The wind went out of Mrs. Pinderally’s sails. ‘How so not here?’

  ‘He’s gone away for a few days.’

  ‘Goody, goody. Then fetch me Miss Vicky. I am taking her home.’

  Chapter

  65

 
Carlo took another few swigs from his can of beer and called the manor house in Stellenbosch. After what seemed like an inordinately long time, the phone was answered by Wellington.

  ‘Miz’ Broselli and Mr. Tony are not at home, Sir.’

  ‘It’s Carlo, Wellington. Will they be back tonight?’

  ‘Not until very late, Mr. Carlo. How is your trip? How is Miss Petra? I understand you will be here for the wedding this weekend. When will you be arriving?’

  Carlo swallowed. ‘We have a small problem … I need my uncle’s help.’

  ‘If there is anything I can do …’

  ‘Wellington, after Julia’s wedding, Florian took a group to Namibia. Do you know where he is now? Do you know how I can get in touch with him?’

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t. Miz’ Broselli would be the only one who might have that information.’

  ‘What about Julia? She’s on her honeymoon in Europe. Have my aunt and uncle heard from her? Do they know her itinerary?’ Carlo pulled himself up short. ‘Of course they know her itinerary. Sandrine arranged it all. What time did you say they’ll be back?’

  Wellington coughed. ‘Mr. Carlo, Miss Julia’s not in Europe.’

  ‘Not in Europe? What do you mean?’

  ‘She changed the arrangements.’

  ‘How do you know, Wellington?’

  Wellington coughed again. ‘I lent my assistance, Sir.’

  ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘Miss Julia and Mr. Max were going to Victoria Falls and Botswana. You could try the Chobe Game Lodge where Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton remarried.’

  ‘Thank you, Wellington. You are a tower of strength. I won’t need to speak to my aunt and uncle. With luck, Miss Petra and I will see you this weekend.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir. I hope so, Sir. Good night, Sir.’

  Carlo sat for a few minutes while he digested the unexpected information. Then he drained his beer and went to the business centre to find the phone number he needed. It took a few attempts before the call went through.

  ‘Max, it’s Carlo. Can I speak to Julia?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Max, I know it’s you. This is an emergency. Please let me speak to her.’

  Julia came to the phone.

  ‘Has something happened to my father?’

  ‘No, he’s fine. It’s Petra. I think Florian’s got her.’

  Carlo related the events of the day.

  Julia sighed. ‘That sounds like Florian. He never gives up. It doesn’t matter how many women he has, if someone takes his fancy or he wants revenge … Where are you?’

  ‘At a hotel outside Namutoni. Where would Florian have taken her?’

  ‘To one of his communes, his African villages as he calls them.’

  ‘There’s more than one?’

  ‘He has two in Damaraland, but the main one is in the Zambezi Region, between Rundu and Katima Mulilo.’

  ‘How long will it take me to get there?’

  ‘You won’t be able to find it on your own. You’ll need our help. Wait a minute.’

  Carlo sat chewing his fingernail until Julia came back on the line.

  ‘Max and I will charter a plane in Kasane and meet you in Rundu. If you leave at dawn, you’ll be there in four hours. Say we meet at nine? Do you have a 4 x 4?’

  Carlo groaned. ‘Not exactly.’ He described Lucy then said: ‘I can leave now. I don’t mind driving at night. We need to get Petra out of there.’

  ‘Carlo, Florian isn’t going to hurt her.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because that isn’t his style. He has supreme confidence in his ability to seduce, to conquer. He’s a narcissist not a rapist. He’ll play with Petra for however long it takes, until she capitulates. Then he’ll enjoy her and discard her.’

  ‘You sound so sure.’

  ‘I am. He did it with me. Which is why I’m carrying his child.’

  Carlo couldn’t prevent a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Relax, Max knows. I told him on our wedding night. I won’t go to Europe until we’ve avenged ourselves on Florian. This will be the beginning of the process. By the way, how did you find us?’

  Carlo explained.

  ‘Don’t worry, Carlo. Get some rest. We’ll see you in the morning.’

  Chapter

  66

  Petra sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the blue bundle Florian had thrown to her. Despite all her years in law enforcement, many of them working undercover with a host of unsavoury characters, she was scared. Scared of being forced into something that was so far from what she wanted to do that it didn’t bear thinking about. She had never before met anyone quite like Florian. He was so cocksure, so confident of his ability to get whatever and whomever he wanted and so bloody attractive with those eyes that pierced your soul. And the way he could kiss …

  Forget that, she told herself firmly. She should never be even remotely attracted to a man like that, and she wasn’t. Florian was a dangerous predator who had to be stopped. To foil his plans for the morning, she would have to think outside the box.

  She didn’t have much in the way of weapons, except for the one her Italian priest ancestors had concealed in the cross. But the five centimetre stiletto wouldn’t help her unless she could find a way to ambush Florian and disable him quickly. Even if she could, was violence the right solution? So far, he had not used force against her, nor to her knowledge against any of the women. If he decided to, she might find herself in a much worse position.

  And what about Father John, whom Florian had threatened to send to claim his due? He was a big man, strong, and driven by the same philosophy as Florian, a philosophy she was beginning to comprehend even if she didn’t yet fully understand it. She would have to stay alert. If they returned to the hut together, she would have little chance of preventing them from doing whatever they wanted with her.

  In a difficult situation, focus on the positives. Her RCMP instructor had half-jokingly carried on to say: There’s always something you can do until you’re dead.

  ‘Well I’m not dead and not planning on it,’ Petra said, loudly enough for anyone who might be hanging around outside the hut to hear. Florian was ruining her holiday. It was a holiday of a lifetime, but not one to die for! She would make a plan and be ready for one or both of them if they came for her. Florian might consider himself omnipotent, yet she had succeeded in hanging onto her cross and rattling his cage. He had also brought her a bundle of something and left her with the contents of her shoulder bag, which she had been careful to keep out of sight.

  The bundle was tied with a belt made of the same blue material and contained something heavy. She opened it up. It was a blue robe like the one the girls at the “farm” near Langebaan had been wearing. Wrapped up inside were two small bottles of water, some slices of bread and dry sausage. So Florian didn’t want her to die of dehydration or starvation and he didn’t want her to stay naked. Progress of a sort. She put on the blue robe, ate a small amount and washed it down with water.

  Then she turned her attention to her necklace. There was an ingenious way of detaching the stiletto from inside the cross. She pressed the top two stones to open the cross, carefully extracted the stiletto and put the cross back together. If Father John took it from her and suspected that it was more than just a crucifix, he would find nothing inside. She hid the stiletto in the pocket in the base of her shoulder bag. Now she was dressed and armed and ready for the next phase. The lack of footwear didn’t bother her – bare feet made no noise.

  Petra realized that the light outside had faded. She could scarcely see to light the oil lamp. It must have been close to twilight when Florian came to see her. He had talked about having plenty of girls to cater to his needs while he waited for her. Hopefully they would keep him well occupied during the coming night. He
had also mentioned Gina. If she was here, there was a good chance that she would keep Father John busy. And Florian had taken Ana, Raquel, Pam and Joanna as well as Diego with him on his guided tour of Namibia. Were they here too? There was only one way to find out.

  Petra climbed onto the wooden cot that served as a bed and peered through the vent at the top of the back wall of the hut. It was too narrow and too high up for her to see anything. The table, though, was taller than the cot and quite sturdy. She used the lidded bucket to climb onto it. Still she could see nothing but a strip of darkness.

  Taking care not to make a noise, she moved the table to another wall. Again, no joy. It was essential that she get an idea of where the hut was in relation to the rest of the camp, otherwise she might force the door open and find herself right in the middle of things. Through the vent on the third wall she detected a glimmer of light in the sky. That must be the west. And there seemed to be noise – voices perhaps – coming from the same direction, some distance away.

  Petra moved the bucket and table again and climbed up to look through one of the vents next to the door. This time she was sure she could see flickering lights and the dark shapes of other buildings … and movement. It was the same when she looked through the vent on the other side of the door. People seemed to be moving towards the west. Was that where Florian planned to spend the evening, staging a somewhat unorthodox stag party?

  Leaving the table where it was, Petra decided to wait for the festivities to get underway. Then she would use the stiletto or a card out of her wallet to slip the door catch. She had heard Florian come into the hut and listened as he went out. The door did not sound as if it had a strong latch. In fact, why would it? Florian was used to young women doing his bidding, not trying to avoid him or escape.

  Petra lay back on the cot, thinking and planning. She had an innate sense of time and over years of stake-outs had developed the ability to catnap while her partner kept watch and wake up the instant she was needed, or to stay wide awake when most people would be sleeping. She ought to wait a couple of hours before venturing out. A nap would refresh her for the task ahead. First, though, she placed the table in front of the door. If anyone tried to come in, it should slow them down a bit. She set her mental timer and settled down.