‘I think we got one or two of them,’ Gray admitted.
‘I’ll bet. I’d love to sit in on the debrief.’
‘Not much to report,’ Gray said with a shrug. ‘They shot at us, we shot back. We just did it a lot better.’
Gray proceeded to doze while the bus ploughed its way to the Malundian border. He woke at the crossing, which was heavily armed, the stable door firmly bolted long after the horse had gone. And despite there being close to fifty of their Malundian soldiers on board, it was thirty minutes before the sentries allowed the bus through.
It was approaching four in the morning by the time they hit the outskirts of the capital. Smart and his team spent a few minutes saying their farewells to their charges. Johnny Okeke came in for particular praise. On the side, Smart told Gray that he hoped Okeke and his men didn’t get into too much trouble for disobeying orders. Gray promised to put in a good word for them with the defence minister, highlighting the role the local soldiers had played in the civilian rescue.
Heavily embellished, of course.
‘I’ve booked us into a hotel,’ Ackerman said once the men had climbed back on board. ‘It isn’t the Holiday Inn, but you’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep.’
‘Can’t we just head back?’ Gray asked, but Ackerman explained that he’d been driving for ten hours, and it was at least another ten back to Pretoria.
‘Best to get our heads down for a few hours and set off just before lunchtime.’
Gray yielded, though the thought of a comfortable bed didn’t quite match his desire to see Vick and Melissa again. He’d been gone nearly three days, not the longest he’d spent apart from them, but the first time they’d parted under such acrimonious circumstances. Vick had never complained about the time he spent abroad setting up a new contract or visiting existing clients, but her fury at his latest jaunt was understandable. What made it worse was that she would beat him about the head with a sackful of ‘I told you so.’
Gray was still thinking about his family when they pulled up at the two-storey building, a solitary sign hanging over the door proclaiming it to be the Majestic Hotel. Gray’s first thought was that the place should be sued for false advertising, but he let it go. A bored night porter dealt with their reservations and took the bundle of notes from Ackerman before handing over four room keys and returning his attention to the portable black-and-white television behind the counter. The fact that the majority of his new customers wore combat dress was clearly none of his concern.
When they got to their rooms they found that each had just two single beds, meaning they would have to sleep two to a bunk, but most were out cold before they could raise the energy to object. Gray went to the room next to his to check on John Sharp’s shoulder wound. The bullet had only grazed the skin, cutting a two-inch furrow through the flesh, and while it had bled like a bitch, there were no signs of lasting damage.
‘You’ll live,’ Gray said, ‘but you might want to visit a hospital before you fly home.’
Sharp agreed, and Gray returned to his own room to find Sonny fast asleep on the bed, doing his best impression of a starfish. Not having the heart to disturb him, Gray took a pillow and found a relatively clean spot on the floor.
Sleep came easily, his dream taking shape with the vision of Sonny sleeping morphing into his daughter reaching her starfish-shaped hand up to him . . . .
Chapter Twenty-Three
Friday 11 October 2013
Rob Harman parked his car three streets away from the target and walked the few hundred yards with one gloved hand in his pocket while the other held a plastic bag containing a sandwich box. The lunch container had been sterilised and all prints wiped clean before a few breadcrumbs were added. If he were stopped by the police, it would add to the illusion that he was just another night-shift worker heading home.
He slowed his pace as he neared the objective. The lights were out, which was what he expected given that it was two in the morning. After a final glance round, he eased through the gate and gently placed the bag behind a bin, ready to collect on his way out to continue the subterfuge while he made his way back to the car.
At the rear of the house, all was quiet, though a bitter breeze was picking up. He checked the upstairs windows, but all the curtains were drawn, the occupants hunkered down for the night. Having checked the fittings on his previous visit, he knew the tools for the job, and he pulled a flexible strip of metal from his sleeve. In seconds he had neutralised the sash lock; now he teased the bottom frame open, wary of making a sound. The window was decades old and it initially resisted his efforts, but eventually he had a gap wide enough to squeeze through. After moving some plants aside, he stole through the tiny entrance and onto the floor, his rubber-soled shoes landing silently on the tile-effect linoleum.
One of his main concerns was leaving any sign of entry, and the only way to avoid that was to exit via the front door, closing it behind him. He spent a minute closing and locking the window before rearranging the plants in their original place, all the time listening for signs of movement in the house.
Confident that he hadn’t woken anyone, he crept into the living room and waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He soon made out the outline of the furniture, and began looking for a packet of cigarettes. It was entirely possible that the occupants had taken them upstairs at bedtime. Because of this, he’d brought one along just in case. He much preferred to use the brand the householder smoked, just in case it survived the fire, but as he hadn’t been able to ascertain what they used, he’d brought along one of the more popular packs.
He didn’t find any cigarettes, but spotted a liquor cabinet, stocked with several spirits. The bottle of sambuca was half-empty, suggesting it was a popular tipple in this household. He crept over and poured a generous measure into a glass.
A sound caused him to stop in his tracks, and he strained to recognise it. All was quiet, and he could hear nothing but the sound of the wind tormenting the ill-fitting windows.
There it was again!
Above the faint and irregular rattling, a baby’s cries reached him from the upper floor, followed soon after by adult footsteps.
Vick woke up as soon as she heard Melissa cry for her feed, her ears attuned to the sound after four months of motherhood. She prayed that her daughter would go back to sleep, and for a while it seemed her wish had come true, but then the tiny voice once more demanded milk.
She sat up and rubbed her face, trying to energise herself for the chore ahead, knowing that if she didn’t make a move, her daughter would soon wake her aunt and uncle as well.
The last evening had gone much the way of the previous three, with Vick crying and her aunt doing the comforting. The worst part was that she hadn’t heard anything from Tom since he’d left. His phone went instantly to voicemail and she had no other way of contacting him, so all she could do was sit and wait for him to get in touch.
Vick turned on the bedside lamp, padded over to the travel crib and gently lifted Melissa out, the unpleasant aroma indicating that there was more than feeding to be done before either of them would get back to sleep. As she rocked her child, cooing, she decided that the nappy had to be the priority, for both their sakes. She placed the changing mat on the floor and laid Melissa down, all the time making comforting noises in a vain attempt to silence the cries. The nappy came off and Vick searched around for the changing bag, then realised that she’d left it downstairs.
‘Shhh, darling. I won’t be long.’
She left Melissa on the mat. The little girl wouldn’t be going anywhere as she hadn’t quite reached the crawling stage. Vick put her robe on and walked out onto the landing, closing the door behind her so that Melissa’s screams didn’t carry. She carefully walked down the stairs, and at the bottom she turned and entered the living room, flicking the light switch as she did so.
Straight ahead of her she caught her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, and a look of hor
ror spread over her face as she glimpsed a man dressed in black hiding on the other side of the door.
She tried to run, but the door slammed into her, throwing her sideways into a cabinet. Vick fell to the floor, winded, and the man ran at her. Instinctively, she lashed out with her foot and caught him in the chest, forcing him backwards into the doorway. Vick struggled to her feet and ran around the front of the sofa, searching for a weapon. She hadn’t even had time to consider screaming, her natural survival skills kicking in and forcing her to flee. She reached the fireplace and grabbed a thick vase, but by the time she turned around, the stranger was on her.
She tried to swing the vase but a strong hand gripped her arm and pulled her into the middle of the room before pushing her backwards. Vick tried to maintain her balance, but gravity won the battle. As she fell to the floor, she twisted, throwing her hands out to protect her face. The corner of the coffee table met her head before she could bring her arms around far enough, and Vick was out cold before she could even register the pain.
Harman knew he had very little time. The impromptu violence was sure to have woken someone. If it hadn’t, the crying child soon would, and he needed to get a decent flame going before anyone had a chance to extinguish the fire. If the householders managed to put it out, any pretence of it being an accident were over.
He quickly lit the cigarette and picked up the glass of sambuca, which he carried over to the prostrate woman, splashing it around her head and placed the vessel in her hand. He thought about how little time he had, and picked up the bottle, pouring the contents over her clothes and the nearby furniture, then put the bottle in her other hand before lighting the Zippo and holding its flame to the strong alcohol’s vapour.
As the flames caught, he threw the cigarette next to the woman’s head and moved into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He could hear footsteps on the floor above, and he quickly opened the front door before sneaking out, closing it with a snick behind him. He picked up his bag on the way out and strode purposefully in the direction of his car, only slowing his pace once he reached the end of the street.
He caught his breath, knowing how close he’d come to being caught. Adrenaline surged through his body as he tried to focus on normalising his breathing and maintaining a casual posture as he walked. He didn’t look back, but his ears strained as he listened for cries for help.
When Harman reached his car, the night was still quiet, only the wind snapping at the trees and a couple of fighting cats disturbing the silence. He quickly started the BMW and pulled out into the road, his job done. He’d been paid to start a fire, and he’d done that. The unspoken intention had obviously been to roast everyone inside, though that was beyond his control now. At least the woman was dead, of that he was sure.
It would have to do.
Mina Hatcher once again woke to the sound of little Melissa screaming. She eased herself out of bed and went to empty her bladder, passing the spare bedroom on her way to the toilet. The cries intensified, but she guessed Vick was doing all she could to pacify the girl.
Mina had dreamt of a child all her life, but her best efforts had proven fruitless. She and Ken had tried many times and had several courses of IVF years earlier, but it wasn’t to be. Her sterility meant a life without being able to cuddle their own young, and adoption didn’t hold any appeal to them; they just didn’t feel they could offer the same love to a child who wasn’t a product of their union. Having Melissa around was the next best thing, but she hoped her father returned soon so that she could get a peaceful night’s sleep.
Once she’d finished her ablutions, Mina walked back to her bedroom, stopping outside the door to the spare room. She put her hand up to open it, but suddenly thought better of it. Vick was a good mother, and would be able to get her daughter settled without an old busybody interfering. Besides, she had to go to work at the supermarket in a few hours, and she needed all the sleep she could get.
Once in her room, Mina slipped into bed next to her husband, who was still snoring like a diesel engine. She pulled the heavy duvet over her head, sleep already returning.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Saturday 12 October 2013
Tom Gray sat in the hotel room looking out over Pretoria. The view was a lot better than he’d seen from the bedroom of the Majestic twenty-four hours earlier, but having a double bed to himself had been the biggest bonus.
As promised, temporary travel documents had been waiting when they arrived at the offices of the Trade & Investment department the previous evening. Flights to Heathrow had also been booked, though the earliest they could get was late morning due to the short notice and an international conference disgorging its customers and vendors the day before.
Gray had spent Friday evening staring at the hotel phone, wondering if he should call Vick. There was a chance that she could still be angry, and trying to make peace over the phone wasn’t the most intimate way of reconciling their differences. After long deliberation, he’d decided to leave it until he got home, but with the new morning came the longing to hear her voice.
He dialled the number for her mobile but it went straight to voicemail, and when he tried the landline it rang for several minutes. Frustrated, he tried the landline for Vick’s aunt and uncle, but got no response. As with most people he knew, he hadn’t memorised their mobile numbers. Instead, he’d just entered them into the contacts library on his mobile phone, which was probably sitting in an African pawn shop by now.
All sorts of thoughts began clambering for centre stage in his mind, not least of which was that there had been some kind of accident, but he preferred to think of the positive. Perhaps Vick had taken Melissa out for the day in the countryside, something his daughter loved. That would explain why she couldn’t get a signal. Or maybe they were at the shops, where the reception was terrible, or the battery had simply run down on her phone.
Despite his best intentions, the negative feelings kept creeping into his head. In an effort to banish them, he left his room and went down the corridor to see Rickard.
‘Morning, Freddie,’ Gray said, as the door was opened by a bronzed figure wrapped in a towel. ‘I just thought we could get a few things sorted out before we head home.’
Rickard bid him enter, and Gray took a seat at the foot of the bed.
‘I need you to put a figure to what you’ve lost over the last few days.’
Rickard rubbed his chin, deep in thought. ‘Well, there’s five thousand dollars for the rifles, ammo, parachutes and clothes,’ he said. ‘But the big one is the bird. She might have been old, but she had a few more years in her and will cost close to four hundred grand to replace.’
Gray felt like he’d been hit by a train. He would have to downsize the house to bankroll a new plane, and Vick was certainly going to have an opinion to share. He could imagine the scene, and it involved objects flying at high speed towards his head.
‘Jeez, Tom, the look on your face!’ Rickard burst into laughter and slapped Gray on the back. ‘The plane was insured, matey. I’ll get back enough to buy another with plenty to spare.’
‘You miserable bastard!’ Gray said. ‘I almost shit my pants!’
‘Serves you right, Mr “Can-we-do-a-quick-fly-by?” ’
‘Are you sure they’ll pay out?’ Gray asked. ‘We weren’t exactly on a sight-seeing mission.’
‘No doubt about it. The flight plan I filed took us over Malundi, and as we had no warning to deviate from a war zone, there was no reason to expect anyone to open up on us.’
Gray breathed a sigh, glad that his friend hadn’t lost his livelihood, though he wasn’t crazy about Freddie’s sense of humour. He rose from the bed and offered Rickard his hand.
‘Thanks again. We couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘My pleasure. And don’t you be a stranger. Bring the family over, they’ll love it.’
Gray promised to get in touch and plan the get-together, then said his goodbyes and headed down to th
e lobby to check out. The rest of the team were gathered, kitted out in the jeans and T-shirts Ackerman had purchased for them earlier that morning. Not all were perfect fits, but they would attract less attention than if they were still dressed in their combat gear.
Ackerman approached Gray and told him the transport to the airport would be arriving in the next few minutes. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to bill you for the hotels, clothes and flights. We can’t ask the taxpayer to pick up the tab.’
Gray had no issues with the arrangement. He would be out of pocket by about thirty-five thousand overall, but that was a small price to pay to get his friends home in one piece.
‘If it’s any consolation, Andrew Harvey contacted me this morning,’ Ackerman said. ‘It seems the colonel who was holding you was picked up on the president’s orders late last night. Looks like someone tipped the big man off about a large amount of cash.’
‘No less than he deserves,’ Gray shrugged. ‘Did Andrew mention what’s being done with the civilians we rescued?’
‘They’re being looked after. The president is looking to strengthen military ties with Malundi in an effort to stave off another coup attempt, so he promised to make sure they were well looked after.’
‘Thanks, Kyle. Sorry we had to meet again under these circumstances. Hopefully, the next time we meet, our biggest problem will be a grumpy barmaid.’
They shook hands as the bus arrived outside the main entrance, and Gray followed the team on board. During the ride to the airport, Gray reflected on the last few days, and apart from sorting out the issue with Vick, he reckoned things had turned out well.
When they arrived at O.R. Tambo International an hour later, they had a brief delay while their papers were verified, then made their way to the departure lounge. The plane took off just before midday, with an expected ETA at Heathrow just before ten in the evening.
4. Gray Retribution Page 15