sea but there was nothing to be seen. A pained expression shot across
Barry’s face when he realised that the container ship was speeding up
and steaming away from the harbour.
“Damn it,” Barry snarled. “Another ten minutes wouldn’t kill
them.”
“And then what Barry?” Jack asked. “Ten more minutes? Ten more
after that? If they haven’t made it by now then they aren’t going to
escape on this boat.”
Barry smirked mockingly at Jack.
“What is it mate?” Jack asked.
“I think I understand how you managed to escape,” Barry explained. “Coward.”
Jack hadn’t noticed the sailor approach them until he was standing beside him. The sailor heard what Barry said to Jack. The sailor grinned, sensing a fist fight was about to break out. It was clear to Jack that Barry was going to be a problem and so he used the opportunity
granted to him by the insult to do something about it. Jack rushed at Barry and he pushed him to the ground. Within seconds Jack was on top of Barry and planting a few heavy punches to his face. Barry groaned as he struggled against Jack’s weight and ferocious onslaught. Barry managed to strike back with a blow to Jack’s left temple, and it was enough to send Jack spilling backwards onto the deck of the ship. Barry regained his composure and he quickly got to his feet. He pulled out the pistol that he had tucked into the back of his jeans and he walked over to where Jack lay. He pointed the gun at Jack and as he did Jack kicked Barry hard on his left knee. As Barry responded to the kick Jack kicked him again, this time sending the gun spinning
across the deck.
In a life changing moment both men locked eyes briefly. They
knew that whoever made it to that gun first would live and the loser
would die. They scrambled to their feet and sprinted for the gun. Jack
slid the last few yards ahead of his rival and he scooped up the weapon.
Spinning from where he lay on the deck Jack fired the gun twice at
Barry, hitting him centre mass. Barry hit the deck hard and he fell
silent.
Jack turned when a strong hand grabbed at the weapon from behind him. It was the sailor. Jack knew that he couldn’t kill this man as
well so he released the gun. The sailor tucked the gun into the top of his
jeans, at the front, for easy access, should Jack change his mind about
being cooperative. The sailor then helped Jack to his feet.
“Remind me never to call you a coward,” said the sailor. Jack smiled.
The two men walked across the deck towards the bridge. Jack assumed that he was going to be brought before the Captain who would
decide on his fate.
“I told the Captain that you Irishwould betrouble,” said the sailor. “I’m a Scot,” said Jack.
“And your friend?”
“He’s Irish,” Jack said, as he turned towards Barry’s body. Jack and the sailor looked at one another with disbelief. Barry’s
body was nowhere to be seen. Jack and the sailor ran across the deck to
where they had left Barry. Jack followed a trail of blood to the side of
the ship. He looked across the sea behind the ship. There was nothing
to see except for the white froth that was being generated by the ship’s
mighty turbines. Barry was gone.
18
Cape Town, South Africa, 1994
The Conjunction Engineering building was one of the most modern buildings in the entire city. It was built with lightning speed and it was one of hundreds of new headquarters of foreign owned businesses that had set up in the city following the euphoria at the end of the apartheid era. The decades of international disapproval from the rest of the world had amounted to little more than financial finger wagging, but now that foreign powers had allowed South Africa to come back in from the cold and join the right thinking nations of the planet, the floodgates of inward investment had been blasted open. This was not some act of altruism; an approving nod to a new and more enlightened South Africa—it was all about taking a newly opened opportunity by both hands and making loads of easy money. It was a brave new world and for those companies willing to take the risk, it was a world filled with the potential of making a substantial profit, alongside shaping the new political system in the country.
South Africa’s own industry had been portrayed to the world as being strong and healthy during apartheid, but in reality it was sick, with many sectors in terminal decline after years of crippling sanctions. The new political reality was approved of enthusiastically all around the world and governments everywhere were keen to help with investment to show how the new South Africa was a better place to live
in than the old South Africa—at least that’s how those governments presented their change in policy towards South Africa to their people. The good intentions of the world’s most powerful nations would underline their long held beliefs that the people of South Africa all had an equal right to choose who leads them, and they all had the right to choose how they as individuals lived their lives.
As F.W. de Klerk and Nelson Mandela negotiatedand implemented a transfer of politics and power, most of South Africa celebrated. The mass elation willed a better future for everyone and completely missed what was fast shaping up to be the country’s long term destiny—the rich would get richer; the middle class would grow but it would be squeezed till breaking point; and the underclass would be buried even deeper than they had been under white rule as shanty towns expanded and slipped into a state of semi self-determination, with their own laws and system of justice. The faces may have changed but the corruption and exploitation remained firmly in place and there wasn’t a nation in the developed world who didn’t want a piece of that very lucrative pie, for all manner of reasons. For America the ultimate aim was a permanent air base in the country from where they could launch air strikes on various Islamic fundamentalist training camps that had sprung up like a virulent weed all over the continent. For Britain it was all about the money, with just a little of the impetus aimed towards curtailing China’s growing influence in Africa—some African countries had become little more than Chinese colonies—corrupt governments were handsomely rewarded for letting armies of Chinese into their countries to strip them of their natural resources.
From the outside, through the media, it looked as if the future looked good for Africa. The continent was in revolution—starting in South Africa and spreading across the entire continent like the warm rays of an early sunrise. Mankind had learned one thing down through history as far as revolutions were concerned—no matter how noble the aspirations of the revolutionaries, the aftermath was never quite as idyllic as anyone had hoped. South Africa would be no different. There was not the mass lynching of whites that some had feared, nor were there land or property grabs by the long oppressed black majority. That didn’t mean that retribution would be completely absent, only that when it came it would be subtle and carefully directed. Theworld had held its breath and the magnanimity of their new President, and father of the nation, Nelson Mandela, kept a lid on the worst of the hatred—for the most part.
The men and women who were now intent on subjugating the people of South Africa were black and white, and every other shade in between, and the vast majority of them were from other countries. They had the money and power to step in and fill the empty gaps left in South Africa’s beleaguered economy, but it would come at a price that would enslave generations of South Africa’s children.
Conjunction Engineering was one of those new companies from the outside world, but it was slightly different to most of the others. It was not so much funded and assisted by the British government as it was owned and controlled outright by it. That was never overtly admitted but certainly the Russians, Americans and Chinese were all aware of the truth behind the company, not least because they all had their own
versions of Conjunction based in Cape Town. The espionage business had not been so productive since the height of the Cold War and every week more and more new spies arrived in the country from all over the world. South Africa was viewed as the centre of a new Africa and the nation that could control South Africa could also control the rest of the continent. There was a rush by the most powerful nations to exert their influence on the new political elite and Conjunction was Britain’s flagship in her effort to win that race.
The man at the helm of Conjunction carried a lot of responsibility on his shoulders—not only did he have to ensure that the company ran smoothly and turned a healthy profit, to avoid any unwelcome suspicion, but he also had to do his bit for Queen and country, regardless of which down road that led him. He could pretend to himself that what was about to happen to the African Continent was every bit as reprehensible as anything that had gone before, and that the British were the best hope for Africa, but he was too clever to believe that. The best that he could ever hope for was to protect the people of South Africa as best he could in the hope that one day someone in the UK would take power who was not afraid to talk openly about what the continent really needed to survive and prosper.
Jack sat behind the large, hardwood desk in his office. The view from the twentieth floor was among the best in the entire city, but as he waited in the chair, Jack’s eyes were firmly fixed on the door in front of him, rather than out of the window behind him. Every day he looked out of that window and he marvelled at just how quickly the city was changing. On the one side the new wealth was leading to areas of high-end housing and state-of the-art office buildings, and on the other side there were the sprawling shantytowns. The fastest growing city in the world outside of China and India was also one of the most dangerous cities in the world. Residents played down the background soundtrack of gunfire and sirens, but there were only so many times that someone could dismiss the crack from a weapon discharging as a car backfiring.
Jack drummed impatiently on the desk as he waited. The highly polished wood that the desk was made from was the subject of much debate to visitors to Jack’s office. The original shipping order was lost
and no one knew exactly who ordered it. It wasn’t oak, or cherry or mahogany, but knowing what it wasn’t only served to deepen the mystery as to what it was made from. The small, brass Made in South Africa plate at the bottom of one of the table’s legs suggested that the wood was some local variety, but the dark stain that had been applied to the surfaces of the table masked the identity of that wood from even the most expert of local woodcrafters. The thought had crossed Jack’s mind at one point that the desk may have been sent to his office by the South African secret service. He had the desk meticulously scanned for listening devices. Nothing was uncovered, but Jack held on to a small doubt in the back of his mind, and he resolved never to discuss anything toosensitive or important in the office. The everyday corruption that was par for the course in business in that part of the world was fine, but anything pointing directly to Britain’s involvement in the company was never talked about within listening distance of the desk. The solid double doors that Jack was staring at from behind his desk were large but plain. The unattractive light grey veneer with twofoot long vertical handles was too 80s for Jack. A traditional pitched pine or solid oak set of doors would have sent out a much more optimistic signal to his visitors, in his opinion—old, solid and reliable, even if the company was built on foundations that were anything but
those virtues. The grey doors reminded Jack of terrible recklessness of the 80s back in London and he did not much care for the link to that
greedy time. Jack tilted his head as he sat in the chair and thoughts of taking a screwdriver to the hinges and throwing the doors out of the windows onto the street below provided him with a humorous distraction for a few moments. That joyous moment was shattered when Jack’s PA dramatically opened both doors into the office. She was followed by several men. The small group paced quickly and for a moment it seemed as if they were not going to stop. This was the power walk of the authoritative and Jack found it entirely ridiculous—the more important a person was the faster they seemed to walk, as if they and their time were so important that they didn’t have a moment to waste.
Jack’s PA busied herself setting chairs around the desk as Jack got to his feet with a smile and extended his right hand for the man closest to him to shake. Everything about that moment was a pathetic bit of theatre and Jack hated every moment of it. The chairs could have been in place before the men arrived—Jack knew exactly how many people were coming to the meeting, but making a fuss over them made the men feel that little bit more important. It was a kind of deference that went down particularly well within South African business circles— someone showing respect was more likely to be trustworthy—in the UK, someone being too respectful was often viewed with suspicion.
“Robert, my old friend, it is so good of you to come,” Jack said, as he shook the man’s hand. “Michael, Christopher, Aaron, Peter,” he continued, as he shook the hands of the others in turn.
The men sat down. The man who Jack greeted first, Robert Theiler, sat next to Jack. He acted as the main spokesman for the group and he was definitely under the impression that he was in charge—everyone else, including Jack, knew that nothing could be further from the truth.
“You spoke on the phone about a small problem?” Jack quizzed. “Yes,” Robert said, and then he sighed. It was the sigh of the falsely despondent car mechanic preparing to pass on bad, yet highly profitable news to an unsuspecting customer. That summed Theiler up nicely—a bit of a chancer.
Robert Theiler was mid-level mover and shaker within the African National Congress (ANC). He never rose beyond mid-level through choice. The men at the top were constantly under the scrutiny of the world’s media, as well as members of the old regime, who still held power and influence, and who were waiting patiently for the glorious day when this ludicrous exercise in democracy collapsed. Theiler knew that real power and influence came in the middle ground as he positioned himself as the go to guy both for the leadership and the ground troops. As Robert brought the messages from the men on the street to the men at the top he would often put his own spin on that message to suit his own business interests. When the leadership needed something done that wasn’t exactly in keeping with the new worldwide image of peacemakers that they had carved out for the organisation, then Robert would act as a buffer of deniability. With the keys to so many dark deeds locked up inside his brain he was one of the most powerful men in the new South Africa, and by extension, he was one of the most powerful men on the entire continent. That was the very reason why Jack had been instructed to forge a relationship with him and it is also why every spy in the city was also trying to get close to him—being close to Robert Theiler meant that Jack was under constant surveillance and at permanent risk from the spooks. The only reason why Jack had not already been killed was that none of the other spies knew exactly what it was that Jack did for Robert and if it was ever discovered that a foreign nation was behind the assassination of someone of value to Robert then that nation would be excluded pretty effectively from further expansion in South Africa.
Jack did not much care for Theiler. He was full of his own importance and completely convinced that he was an intellectual. As far as Robert was concerned, drinking imported Champagne and smoking a fine cigar was all that was needed to project intellect. He was a child of the slums who made a name for himself in the organisation through violence. He was directly responsible for over a dozen deaths as well as acts of torture against those who he labelled collaborators, which verged on the sadistic. He also viewed himself as a real ladies’ man; the horrific truth was that the woman never said no to him as no was not an option open to them. Robert barely took his eyes off Jack’s PA the entire time that he had been in the office, and that in itself was enough
24
to make Jack simmer with anger. The man was loathsome and
if the opportunity to end his reign of terror ever presented itself, Jack would take it without hesitation, no matter how upsetting that was to the folks back in London.
Robert presented himself as a seasoned powerbroker. His mastery of the language of business was textbook, and every movement that he made was designed to nail down the deal. At times though, when the negotiations were not quite going his way, the thug from the slums would make a reappearance—the tone of his voice would change ever so slightly and the phraseologies that he used would be derived from the part of town that was not quite so civilised—never forget who it is that you are dealing with.
“So Robert, what is this little problem?” Jack asked. There was another dramatic pause.
“The bid that your company put in to build and run the two new
power stations...” Robert began. Jack cut across him as he sensed some backtracking was about to occur.
“Yes Robert. The bids that you assured me had been accepted,” Jack said, firmly.
“Yes Jack, that I assured you had been accepted in principle. I said at the time that it needed the final approval of the government and Eskom,” Robert continued, sheepishly.
“Again Robert, you had assured me that approval was in the bag. You said that it was only a formality,” Jack continued, with mild anger in his voice. It was an act, but it was expected of him. “This company has raised billions to finance these projects and that capital has been secured on the guarantees that you gave to me six months ago.”
Robert shuffled uncomfortably in his chair.
“Yes, well, those were only verbal agreements Jack, and the legal reality of the situation is that for you to have a case you would need to produce something in writing,” said Robert.
“I cannot believe what I am hearing Robert,” Jack said. “I have been working closely with you for years. My god, I consider you to be one of my best friends. This little problem did not just spring up overnight. Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong at an earlier
Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) Page 3