by Tom Cain
‘They got in through the lounge area here. Just shot a couple of holes in the glass and knocked the rest out with the butts of their guns.’
‘Must have made a helluva noise,’ observed Carver.
‘Damn right it must. But whoever they were, they didn’t care about that. I get the feeling they wanted Klerk to know they were there.’
‘Because they knew how he’d react?’
‘That’s what I think, ja.’
‘But how could they know that?’
Parkes shook his head ruefully. ‘I don’t know, man, not for sure. But anyone who knows Klerk knows he’s never, ever going to back down from a fight. They were probably trying to provoke him.’
‘And it worked.’
‘Oh ja, it worked all right. And now I’ll show you where he found them.’
78
The lounge led into a dining area. Sixteen chairs ringed a huge hardwood dining table. There were more David Shepherd water-colours and drawings of elephants on the wall – studies, perhaps, for the huge oil painting at Campden Hall – and another set of tusks on either side of a modern marble fireplace. The room looked completely untouched. Carver wondered when he’d get to the scene of the action.
Then they walked into the kitchen, and suddenly they were in a war-zone. The solid oak kitchen cabinets had been ripped apart like balsa wood. Huge holes had been gouged in the walls. And every surface – walls, floors, units, even the ceiling in some places – had been spattered with dark crimson blood.
‘Bloody hell,’ Carver gasped. ‘What happened here?’
‘Are you familiar with the AA-12 automatic shotgun?’
‘I’ve heard of it. Never used one.’
‘Well look around, because this is what happens when twenty-nine twelve-gauge rounds are fired in quick succession in a confined area, hitting four human bodies at point-blank range: three male, one female, each with multiple rounds.’
‘Klerk had an AA-12?’
‘That’s right: one in every house.’
‘So he found the intruders, opened up, took four of them out. And the fifth?’
‘Didn’t come into the kitchen with her buddies but sneaked round another way, went into the hall, followed Klerk into the kitchen and took him out just like the boys down at the guardhouse: two to the head from a Walther TPH.’
‘Same shooter?’
‘Can’t be certain yet. The cops won’t have the full ballistics report for two or three days. But I don’t think so. I reckon the first shooter stayed where she was. This was a different one. But just as homicidal.’
‘Ironic, isn’t it? There’s Klerk blasting away with an automated bazooka and he gets popped by a pea-shooter.’
Parkes looked at Carver coldly. ‘If you say so. But the way I see it, my employer died on my watch. Ironic’s not the word I’d use.’
‘No, I suppose not. What did the shooter do after she’d taken out Klerk? Did she go looking for Brianna Latrelle?’
‘Doesn’t look like it. We reckon she went back out of the property, met up with her girlfriend and they both left, leaving the gate closed behind them.’
‘How did they leave? You said the Hummer had gone.’
‘I reckon there was another vehicle involved. I’ve got a couple of my guys with the police at the moment, going over the footage from every camera between here and the Taboo nightclub, which is where we think they came from, trying to see if we can spot it.’
‘So they were gone by the time the first XPT cars arrived?’
‘Uh-huh. Response time was actually five minutes and nineteen seconds, which is within their six-minute guarantee. But all the bad guys had skedaddled.’
‘And Latrelle?’
‘She was safe and sound in a panic room. Most of the big houses round here have one. She was majorly upset, obviously, and suffering from shock. They took her to hospital, just to keep an eye on her. But basically she was fine. She’s upstairs now, if you want to speak to her.’
‘That would be good.’
They headed into the main hall of the building from which a glass and steel staircase rose up to the first floor.
‘So Klerk would have been fine if he’d just gone into the room with Latrelle, right?’ Carver asked.
‘Yep.’
‘But somehow they must have known that he wouldn’t do that because they didn’t care about making a noise and alerting him. Just like they knew about the security systems, and the layout of the house… Hold on a minute.’
Carver stopped by the foot of the stairs. When he spoke again his voice was barely a whisper.
‘Was Latrelle their contact on the inside? She may play-act the pretty arm-candy, but she’s not stupid.’
Parkes nodded. ‘I agree. You underestimate her at your peril.’
‘She could have got hold of the plans,’ Carver continued. ‘She’d have known how Klerk would react to an attack. She knew she couldn’t be touched in the panic room. Why not her?’
‘She’s a suspect, for sure. But I tell you, I got here yesterday morning a few minutes after the boys from XPT and I saw Miss Latrelle as they were getting her out of the panic room. I also saw her go to pieces when she caught sight of Klerk’s body, just a glimpse of it as they were carrying her past the kitchen on a gurney. I tell you, that woman was falling apart. She’d have to be a bloody Oscar-winning actress to fake that. The other thing is, everyone knows she wanted Klerk to marry her. As his wife, she’d have first call on all his cash if he died. If she wanted him dead, why not wait till after the wedding?’
‘Yeah, OK… I don’t think Latrelle wanted Klerk dead either,’ Carver agreed. ‘She loved the old bastard, though she had no illusions about him at all. And I’ll tell you something else. She was certain something bad was going to happen. She told me so, but I didn’t take her seriously. Wish I had. But even so, I don’t think she expected Klerk to be on the receiving end.’
Carver sighed as he weighed it all up. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s go and talk to the grieving girlfriend.’
79
Brianna Latrelle looked wrecked. She was clearly exhausted, physically and emotionally shattered. Her face was bare of makeup, her hair scraped back in a carelessly tied ponytail, and her usually immaculate designer clothes had been replaced by a battered old pair of Levis and a plain silk blouse. The effect, however, was to make her seem more human, more vulnerable and to Carver’s eyes infinitely more attractive than the painted doll who’d been on display throughout that weekend in Suffolk.
He was about to offer his condolences, one of those standard ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ platitudes, but she beat him to it.
‘I told you,’ she said. ‘I told you there was something wrong.’
‘I know… So who do you think it was?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe it was you. I get the feeling you could do a thing like this.’
‘I was on the other side of the world. I didn’t get into Jo’burg till seven-fifteen this morning. But if you’re talking about the other people who met at Campden Hall, Zalika was with me and Patrick Tshonga was busy running for his life.’
Parkes butted in: ‘Patrick Tshonga – what the hell are you talking about, Carver? And Moses Mabeki, the first person you mentioned when you got here. Why was that?’
‘Because he has to be the person behind this attack,’ said Carver. ‘See, Klerk and Tshonga met in England earlier this month to finalize plans for a bloodless coup in Malemba – the same coup that went so spectacularly wrong yesterday. The deal was that Klerk would help Tshonga gain power and in return he’d get a big mining concession. Klerk admitted he was just in it for the money. He reckoned he was going to make billions.’
‘And your role in all this?’ asked Parkes.
‘No comment. But I’ll tell you this much. I knew yesterday morning that Mabeki had found out about Klerk and Tshonga’s plan. He knew exactly what was going to happen. He was one step ahead of me all the way in Hong Kong and his people we
re ahead of Tshonga and Klerk here, too. The only thing I haven’t worked out is whether he did a deal with one of those two guys and then double-crossed them, or the plan was leaked by someone else. I’d thought it might be you, Parkes. That’s why I dropped Mabeki’s name earlier. I wanted to see how you’d react. It could have been you, too, Brianna.’
‘But it wasn’t.’
‘So let’s concentrate on Mabeki. He’s always going to stick to the shadows. He’s not exactly got a face for presidential politics. But if you want to grab and keep power in Malemba, he’s a good man to have on your side. So Patrick Tshonga, for example, might decide that this was a perfect time to keep his friends close and his enemies closer. That would also remove the embarrassing possibility of people finding out that he owed his power to a deal with a white man. That wouldn’t play too well on the African street.’
‘But none of this could happen without killing Gushungo,’ said Parkes. ‘I suppose that was your department?’
‘As I said, no comment.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ snapped Parkes. ‘I can’t believe I’m wasting my time talking to you. I’m calling the authorities. They can sort it out.’
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ said Carver matter-of-factly.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, in the first place, if I had killed anyone – hypothetically – I couldn’t let you call the cops, could I?’
‘I’d like to see you stop me.’
‘And in the second,’ said Carver, ignoring him, ‘if you have any regard at all for the memory of Wendell Klerk and his family, then you won’t go public with this. The scandal would destroy his reputation and wreck everything he ever worked for. But most importantly, you don’t want to do it because any delay is going to make it more likely that Mabeki harms or even kills Zalika Stratten, if he hasn’t done so already.’
Parkes frowned. ‘Miss Stratten? What’s she got to do with it?’
‘Mabeki abducted her yesterday morning, while we were in Hong Kong. I tried to stop him, but he’d obviously got the whole thing planned while I was still blundering around like the proverbial one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest. I’m counting on the fact that he’s brought her back to Malemba, and I’m hoping you’re both going to help me get her back. Look, I know you and Zalika weren’t exactly best friends for ever, Brianna…’
‘You don’t know anything about…’ She seemed to run out of energy halfway through the sentence.
‘About what?’ Carver asked.
‘Oh, forget it. I guess I’m just sick of all this. Why was Wendell trying to bring down governments just for some stupid mine, when he already had enough money to last him a hundred lifetimes? That’s what he could never understand about me. I didn’t love him for the money. I loved him despite the money. But look what the money’s done to him… and to Zalika.’
‘None of this is her fault.’
‘You don’t think so? Well, she was there at all your meetings, as I recall, looking down her nose at me while Wendell told me to go fix the chef’s souffles. She was right up to her pretty neck in it, so it’s hard for me to feel too sorry for her now.’ Brianna grimaced. ‘Listen to me, I sound like a total bitch. Just let me pack and I’ll get out of here.’
Parkes put a consoling hand on her shoulder. ‘We’ll leave you to it, Miss Latrelle. Come on, Carver, let’s give the lady some peace.’
They went back outside, and Parkes sat down on the end of one of the upholstered sun loungers arrayed beside the pool.
‘Pull up a seat,’ he said, pointing at the other loungers. He took a packet of cigarettes from the chest pocket of his shirt. ‘Smoke?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Suit yourself. So, tell me what you want to do.’
‘Let’s start with Mabeki. I don’t think he’s going to kill Zalika Stratten. Not yet. But she might wish she were dead, the things he’s going to do to her.’
‘I’ve worked with Zalika Stratten. It’s not a nice thought, a girl like her with a sick bastard like Mabeki.’
‘No, it’s not. And I feel about it the same way you do about Klerk. She was taken on my watch. It’s down to me to get her back.’
Parkes blew a long stream of smoke into the clear morning air. ‘Ja, that I understand.’
‘So then the question is: where’s he keeping her? I can’t believe he’d have her in Sindele. It’s too risky. He doesn’t want the outside world knowing he’s got a kidnapped woman. But there is somewhere that makes perfect sense: the place where they both grew up, where Mabeki nursed his hatred and which he believes should belong to him by rights anyway – the Stratten Reserve.’
Parkes took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘It’s a helluva long shot, Carver. Malemba’s a bloody big country. She could be anywhere.’
‘She could, yes. But I’m certain it’s the reserve. Hell, it’s not just the Strattens that kept Mabeki from owning the land, Gushungo did, too. Mabeki killed the Strattens, then just when he was ready to claim his kingdom, his boss took it away from him. I know this bastard, the way he nurses his grudges. He wants that land. And if he can imprison Zalika Stratten, of all people, there, that’ll just make taking it, and her, all the sweeter.’
‘Let’s suppose you’re right. What do you plan to do about it?’
‘Go there, free her, get her across the border. Then I’m going back for Mabeki.’
Parkes laughed. ‘Sounds like you’re planning a busy day. What are you going to do tomorrow, cure cancer? Bring peace to the Middle East?’
‘No, that’s not my job. Getting Zalika is. Sorting Mabeki is. So, you going to help me or not?’
Parkes stubbed out his cigarette on the paving, threw it into the nearest shrubbery, and immediately pulled another cigarette from the box. He took his time lighting it, then took another long drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before blowing it out equally slowly. At last he glanced across at Carver and said, ‘Ja, I’m in. My men, too.’
‘How well do you know the Stratten Reserve?’
‘Can’t help you there, brother. Never been there in my life.’
‘Well that’s a problem, then, because I haven’t either,’ Carver admitted. ‘But I know a man who has. You happen to know what Justus Iluko is doing today?’
‘Ja, I do, as it happens. He’s got a court date this afternoon, his kids too. The lawyer’s managed to combine all their cases into one. She wants to establish them all as victims of the same conspiracy. So now they’ve got a bail hearing. Not that they’ll be offered any, of course.’
‘How far is the court from the jail?’
‘Dunno, man. But we can easily get a streetmap of Buweku and find out.’
‘And they’ll be taken there by car or truck?’
‘I guess.’
‘Then that’s when we’ll grab them. How soon can you get us to Buweku?’
Parkes almost gagged on the smoke as he burst out laughing. ‘I’ll say one thing for you, Carver,’ he gasped. ‘You don’t fucking hang about, do you?’
80
‘Hello, Mary, how have you been?’
Zalika Stratten smiled wearily as she greeted the woman she had last seen a decade ago. That day, the day her old world was destroyed, she had been a plain, gawky girl of seventeen and Mary Ncube a junior housemaid. Now Mary was the housekeeper, a plump, imperious woman who ruled her domestic kingdom with a warm heart for those who stuck to her rules and a tongue like a rhino-hide whip for those who did not. She had spent her whole working life catering first to her country’s richest family and then to its president, his family and his guests. Over the years, she had developed an air of haughty self-assurance that made her seem almost grander than the people she served. But when she caught sight of Zalika Stratten, all that was overwhelmed by a wave of emotion.
‘Miss Zalika!’ Mary cried, frantically trying to wipe away the tears that were flooding down her round cheeks. ‘It is so wonderful to see you again. Let me look at you.’ She stepped ba
ck and examined Zalika through watery eyes. ‘Oh, you are so pretty now. But so thin, and with such dark circles under your eyes. And what is this?’ Mary pointed at the scratches and bruises on Zalika’s upper arm, left by the nylon straps that had bound her tight to the stretcher on which she’d been carried on to the plane in Macau. ‘Have these jackals been mistreating you?’
Zalika looked wearily at the armed men, cradling their AK-47s, who were arrayed in a semi-circle behind her in the hall of the old Stratten house. ‘I’m sorry about my new boyfriends,’ she said. ‘I can’t seem to get rid of them.’
She tried to smile. It was supposed to be a joke. But her brain was numbed by exhaustion, stress and the after-effects of the drugs still working their way through her system.
‘Pah!’ Mary jeered, dismissing the men with a single, withering sweep of her eyes. ‘Forget them. You come with me. I have made a bed for you in your old room. I am afraid it does not look the same any more. Our First Lady, Mrs Gushungo, insisted that she had to redecorate. But if you close your eyes, you can imagine that it is just the same, with all your tennis prizes and riding rosettes on the wall, and your pictures of pop stars who look like little white girls, even though-’
‘That’s enough!’
The slurring hiss of Moses Mabeki’s voice did not so much cut across Mary Ncube’s words as slide through them. But the effect was the same. Mary fell silent and the air in the room seemed to chill as Mabeki walked past his men and up to Zalika.
‘I must go back to Sindele,’ he told her. ‘I have a government to appoint. A series of incompetent, gutless buffoons will beg me for the chance to become President. They will all be wasting their time. I have made my choice, and once he has been announced, I will tell him what to say at his first press conference tomorrow. As for you, my dear, I have my best men guarding you. They are all armed and will use their weapons without hesitation.’