This battle would be lost.
Though not the war.
Not the country.
The gold was safe, and when they were victorious, it would be returned to Pretoria.
Voorneveld gasped as he fired, sending the shot harmlessly into the ground yards ahead of its intended target, a sudden thought occurring to him.
If we all die here today, then only the farmer knows where the gold is.
He turned to the korporaal. “You need to get back to Pretoria, tell them where the gold is. We’ll cover you.”
“Ja, Veldkornet!” He jumped on the back of his horse, crouched as low as possible as he urged his steed forward. As it gained speed, a bullet tore into its hindquarters and it reared up, whinnying in agony before tumbling onto its side, crushing the young rider beneath him. Two of his men rushed to help, one cut down within a few steps, the other reaching the struggling rider, only to be shot in the shoulder.
Voorneveld looked about as his men died around him, realizing his folly, and why he should have obeyed his friend’s orders.
No one will know where the gold is!
A single shot from a Mauser C96 semi-automatic pistol, its sound distinct, rang out behind him. He glanced back and saw the weapon gripped in his friend’s hand lying next to his head, the ultimate sin committed, condemning himself to an eternity of damnation to save the future of the country he loved.
You can’t die here today!
15
Sabi Sabi Bush Lodge
Greater Kruger National Park, South Africa
Present Day
“I highly recommend you take one of our vehicles.”
Acton turned toward the conversation, the clear sound of desperate pleading piquing his interest. Four young tourists were standing near a Jag SUV, one of the hotel staff wagging his finger at a defiant young woman demanding to know why.
“To go in this on your own is too dangerous.”
She stared at the heap the guide pointed at. “You expect us to drive in that? Do you realize back home I drive a Bentley? Do you realize how hard it was to find this rental in Pretoria? Do you realize how much I’m paying to rent this damned thing?”
The staff member kept his composure despite the derision in the young woman’s voice. “I’m sure it is very expensive, miss, but it is not reliable. You cannot go out into the reserve in a vehicle that could break down.”
“What do you mean it’s not reliable? It’s a Jag!”
“Exactly!” The exasperation in the man’s voice was comical, as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t understand the reason for his concern.
Laura chuckled, exchanging a knowing smile with Acton. “I’d listen to him if I were her,” she muttered as they walked by.
One of the young men with the Jag lover spun toward them. “What did you say?”
Laura glanced at him. “I was speaking to my husband.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “Mind your own business, bitch!”
Acton stopped and turned toward the young man. “Now there’s no need for language like that.”
The kid stepped forward, the other young man in the group, it evidently two couples, stepping up behind him. “Oh, tough guy, huh? What are you going to do about it, old man?”
Acton smiled slightly. “Let you live to tell your friends what great advice I gave you.” He turned to continue with the others when the punk reached out and grabbed Acton by the shoulder, spinning him around. Acton looked at the hand, then the kid.
“Three seconds.”
“Three seconds then what?”
“Time’s up.” Acton grabbed the hand, lifting it high and bending the wrist under as he stepped forward. The mouth cried out as he dropped to his knees, grasping at the hyperflexed wrist in agony, his backup not sure what to do, taking hesitant steps forward to help, then back. Acton bent over and whispered in the young man’s ear. “Now, are we done here?”
“Y-yes.”
“Good.” Acton let go of the hand and the young man collapsed to the ground, cradling it in his other arm. Acton pointed at the Jag, looking at the girl. “Listen to your guide. He knows what he’s talking about.” Acton turned to leave, giving one last glance over his shoulder at the fuming girl, who left it to the other two to help the moron to his feet. “And if he’s your boyfriend, find a better one. His mouth could get you in trouble one day.”
Acton helped Laura into their expert approved safari vehicle, then climbed in after her, no one saying anything, though their guide, Sipho, had a huge grin as he put the vehicle in gear, pulling away. Laura broke the silence as soon as they were out of earshot.
“I can’t believe kids today. No respect for their elders!”
Acton gave her a look. “Who are you calling elder?”
“Well, I’m the young one in this relationship.”
“Yeah, but I’m the hero. Did you see what I did for you back there? I defended your honor!”
Laura took his chin in her hand, wiggling it back and forth like she would a baby’s. “Yes, you did do that. Thank you.” She gave him a peck on his squished lips then winked. “Old man.”
16
Colonel Clancy’s Office, The Unit
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Maggie groaned, her eyes fluttering open as her head throbbed. She looked about as she oriented herself, then gasped, everything flooding back.
I’m still in the office!
She pushed herself to her knees, resting her elbows on the desk, then with what shouldn’t have been a herculean effort, forced herself into her chair. She leaned back, catching her breath, before finally taking in her surroundings. The lights were out, which was odd. It meant someone had to have been in here.
Then why didn’t they help me?
She glanced at where she had been lying and realized no one would have seen her if they didn’t round the desk.
I need to get out of here.
She reached for her cellphone, it not there, the files on her desk moved.
What happened here?
She moved the out of place file and found her phone. She pushed the button, nothing happening. She pressed again, and again nothing.
The battery’s dead? How long was I out?
She checked the clock on the wall and gasped.
Eight hours!
She reached for the desk phone to call for help when she felt another wave of pain sweep over her right side, her head hammering as she slid from the chair once again.
What’s happening to me?
17
Outside Belfast, South Africa
Laura frowned as the Jag blasted past them on the dirt road, a middle-finger salute waving out the passenger side window. She glanced at her husband. “I think you made a friend.”
He smiled. “His parents must be so proud.”
“Can you imagine doing something like that when you were his age?”
“Nope. My father would have kicked my ass if he heard I called a woman a bitch then tried to provoke a fight.”
Laura smiled. “Having met him, I believe he would have.”
Sipho glanced over his shoulder. “We’re here.”
He pulled in beside the Jag, Laura again frowning as she spotted the two girls at the souvenir stand, Little Miss Priss pushing around the merchandise as if it were worthless, the other girl, to her credit, appearing slightly embarrassed.
“This stuff is junk. You actually charge people money for this?”
The young South African woman said nothing, her eyes welling with tears, her lips trembling.
“I think she’s going to cry!” laughed the asshole whom apparently hadn’t learned his lesson.
“I’ve had enough of this,” muttered James, stepping toward the scene when Laura extended an arm, blocking him.
“Allow me.” She walked over to the table, inserting herself between the two girls. She smiled sweetly at the young South African. “Hi there, remember me?”
The young woman nodded, wiping
her eyes dry.
“I just had to come back and buy some more of your beautiful scarves. I’ve never seen anything like them back home.”
“Probably shops at Walmart,” tittered the spoiled brat.
Laura smiled at her. “Honey, money can buy a lot of things, but it clearly can’t buy class.” The girl’s jaw dropped. “Now, why don’t you and your friends move along while the grownups do business? I’m sure your daddy’s trust fund can be spent elsewhere.”
“Hey! You can’t talk to my girlfriend like that!”
Laura turned to the moron who still hadn’t figured out how to control the big hole in his face. “Oh, sweetie, you have no idea how close you are to having your ass kicked by a woman.” She flicked her wrist. “Now go, I’m done with you.” She turned her back on them, running her hand along the scarves. “I’ll take all of them.” She handed over several bills as the four brats milled about, unsure of what to do. The woman’s tear filled eyes beamed as she took the bills, Laura waving off any change.
She took the scarves and turned to hand them to James when the boyfriend jammed a finger in her face. Before he could say anything, she grabbed the finger, twisting hard, once again sending the young man to his knees. “That’s the second time you’ve been on your knees today.” She bent over and whispered in his ear, loud enough for his friends to hear, “You seem to like this position. Who’s the bitch now?” She pushed him away and handed the scarves to her husband, then turned back to the young vendor. “My husband and I would like to buy you lunch, and discuss this.” She tapped the medallion around her neck.
The young woman grinned now, her tears forgotten. “I-I would like that.”
The boyfriend climbed to his feet, stumbling away. “Come on, let’s go. That bitch is crazy!”
James walked quickly toward him. “Don’t be using that word around me!”
The mouth scurried away and four doors quickly slammed shut in the Jag, it peeling away in a cloud of dust. James walked over with the Ncubes. “That looked like fun.”
“It was!” Laura patted her chest, her heart racing. “Nothing like a confrontation with the upper crust of society to get the heart pumping.”
They led the young woman to a nearby picnic table, orders placed for a repeat of yesterday’s meal, introductions made, the young woman Florence Mokoena.
Laura removed the medallion, placing it on the table. “What can you tell me about this?” She flipped it over, showing the impression on the back.
Florence shrugged. “I don’t know. I—” Her head dropped, shame washing over her face as tears welled once again. “I-I can’t read.”
Laura reached out and took her hand, squeezing it. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not your fault.” She bent down further, peering up into the young woman’s eyes. “And believe me, there’s plenty of people back in America and Britain who can’t read either.”
Florence looked up slightly, her eyes wide. “Really?”
Laura nodded. “Absolutely.” She patted her hand. “Sweetie, never, ever, think you’re stupid just because you can’t read. You never had a chance to learn. I’m sure if you did, you’d be a wizard at it.”
Florence beamed. “Like Harry Potter?”
Laura laughed. “Exactly.” She cocked her head slightly to the side. “How do you know about Harry Potter?”
“I saw a movie with him.” She lowered her head. “I like Hermione.”
Laura lowered her voice, leaning in. “She’s my favorite too!”
Florence smiled at Laura, apparently pleased they had something in common. She pointed at the medallion. “What you like to know?”
“Just where you got it.”
“My father make.”
Laura felt goosebumps rush over her body. “How?”
Florence shrugged. “I don’t know. He make when he have time, if Mr. Erasmus lets him.”
“Who is Mr. Erasmus?”
“He own farm my father work at.”
“Can we meet your father?”
She nodded. “I, umm, I can take you to the farm. It not far.”
“Where is it?”
She pointed over Laura’s shoulder. “Two hours walk that way.”
Laura felt her chest tighten slightly at the realization they were in the middle of nowhere, this location clearly chosen for the fact it was a crossroads that led to the resort. She glanced around, no vehicles in sight beyond their own. “You walk here?”
“Every day.” Florence shrugged. “It okay. It let me think.”
Laura glanced at James, and she could see in his eyes how affected he was by their few minutes with this young woman. She smiled at Florence, patting her hand again. “Aren’t you simply wonderful. Can you take us there?”
Florence nodded as the food arrived, the aroma intoxicating. They were all eager to pursue the mystery they had discovered last night, though the wide eyes on Florence’s face made the young woman’s priorities clear.
“Umm, can we go after we eat?” She seemed ashamed to ask the question, the woman clearly starving.
Laura smiled. “Hungry?”
Florence shrugged, turning away slightly.
Laura patted her stomach. “Well, I am. Let’s eat!”
18
Erasmus Farm
Outside Belfast, South Africa
“Welcome, welcome!” The old farmer, his hair a bright silver, his skin a dark leathery tan, exchanged handshakes with his new arrivals. “So many professors, I feel like I’m back at school!”
Acton smiled, the man extremely pleasant and so far accommodating despite their unannounced arrival. “Don’t worry, there’s no test, Mr. Erasmus.”
The farmer tossed his head back, laughing. “Please, call me Marius. Now, what can I do for such distinguished guests?”
“Oddly enough, we’re here to see Miss Mokoena’s father, if it’s possible. It shouldn’t take long.”
“Ahh, Bongani. One of my best workers, though he’s getting up in age like I am!” He roared with laughter again. “He’s a hard worker and a good father, hey Florence?”
“Yes, Mr. Erasmus,” she murmured.
“What’s your business with him?”
Laura held up the medallion, careful to show the side with the lioness. “I understand he makes these. I wanted to see if he could make me some more.”
“Ahh, yes, he’s quite the craftsman.” He pointed to a nearby barn. “He should be in there, working on the tractor. She’s acting up again, and only he seems to be able to fix it. Go ahead, and when you’re done, come join the wife and I for some lemonade, we don’t get many visitors around here and some good conversation would brighten an otherwise mundane day.”
Acton’s mouth watered at the prospect. “Thank you, we shouldn’t be long.” Florence led the way to the barn, apparently eager to see her father, though he had the slight sense she was nervous around the farmer. Though apartheid had been over for probably her entire lifetime, there seemed to be either distrust or fear in her demeanor, perhaps from knowing this man had complete control over her family as the employer of her father.
“Tata?”
The sounds of work inside the barn stopped. “Nunu?” They stepped inside, Acton’s eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dramatically darker interior. A shirtless man in remarkable shape for being probably in his late fifties, pulled out from under a tractor equally as old. “What brings you here?” His eyes narrowed as he noticed she wasn’t alone, quickly trying to make himself more presentable, his head bowing slightly. “Who are these people?”
“They are tourists from the lodge, Tata. I sold them the medallion you made me”—Laura held it out—“and they wanted to meet you.”
His eyes narrowed further. “Why? Did she not charge you a fair price?”
Laura smiled, stepping forward and putting a hand on Florence’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s not it at all. Your daughter has been an absolute delight. She’s a fine young woman, a testament to you.”
/> He relaxed slightly, batting the compliment away. “She takes after her mother, a far finer person than me.” He looked about, grabbing his shirt off a nearby bench, shrugging it on. “Now what is it you want? I’m quite busy.”
Laura held out the medallion again. “You made this?”
A quick nod.
“Can you tell us how?”
Again, the eyes narrowed. “Why? If you want more, I’ll make them for you. I’m not going to let you copy them and cheat me out of money. I need that to feed my family.”
Laura shook her head, holding out her hands. “Oh no, we have no intention of doing that. We’ll happily pay you for showing us how you make them.”
“Money first.”
“Tata!”
He held out a finger, cutting her off. “Stay out of this, little one, this is business.”
Florence crossed her arms, a pout expressing her displeasure as Acton pulled out a money clip, peeling off several bills. He handed them over. “Is that enough?”
Bongani quickly took the bills, fingering through them then giving them a sniff, as if he wasn’t sure whether they were real. He counted them again, his eyes returning to Acton’s hands, still holding the clip.
Acton smiled, thumbing over a few more. “Now I think you’re taking advantage of us.”
“Tata!”
Bongani grunted, shoving the bills in his pocket before spinning on his heel and walking deeper into the barn. He pointed at an old anvil and a large hammer. “I use this.” He pointed at a pile of scrap metal. “I use the old metal, hammer out the shape, trim it, file it, punch a hole, put a string.”
Florence raised her hand, eager to share. “I make the string.”
Laura beamed a smile at her, stepping closer to the small workshop. “But how do you make the engravings?”
Bongani pointed at an old, ornate piece of metal, something that might have once occupied a prominent place in a home, there half a dozen intricate, thumb-sized carvings in the strip of what might be iron. “I use that. It’s harder than the tin I use, so I just hammer on it and it takes the shape.”
Wages of Sin (A James Acton Thriller, #17) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 4