“So he’s like you then but only in dog form?”
Shaka looked at his sandwich and then at Wamba happily chewing on his bone while Night’s hand was only inches away from those massive jaws scratching at the dog’s ears and then smiled widely.
“Ja, exactly, I suppose. But that’s fokken strange hey, Mike, even for Wamba, most working dogs would have your hand off for touching them while they enjoy a piece of animal like that.”
“He’s my baby boy, Shaka. He knows I would never take from him. He’d even let you scratch him, you know, you’re his godfather.”
Night wouldn’t have thought it possible but the Sergeant’s smile grew even wider.
“Ja, he’s our baby boy all right. Yeah Mike, I was going to have to say something but it’s not in our culture to ask for things like that, far better to have it offered. Please do make a donation to our Inyanga, not ‘witchdoctor’, I’ll come with you later to his house and I’ll show you how to do it respectfully.”
“And William?”
“Ah, now, he’s going to be a lot more tricky as he doesn’t seem to like you very much…”
“Why? What have I ever done to gain his dislike?”
“Nothing, it’s just that, well… you’re white.”
“Oh, that old thing.”
“But truth be told he needs the money, Mike, the farm is struggling and there is a predator out there killing their livestock.”
“Maybe we can help with that?”
“What with the predator?”
“Ja, we’re armed, we’re cops, and we’re supposedly good at hunting thieves in the night, I could even organise Stani’s .308…”
“We don’t have time, they’re throwing a feast tonight in honour of you and Wamba and you’re still off to the General’s place tomorrow afternoon and then London on Monday?”
The thought of travelling now made Night feel uneasy and having to deal with this never ending thorn in his side, originating from the very place he was flying to.
“Ja, looks like I’ll have to do this thing. Whoever this bastard is he’s been making our lives hell, hasn’t he? I have to see if I can track him down, or rather if the General can get me close to him, which I’m sure he can.”
“And then what, Mike? You’re a police officer, a bodyguard, a contractor at times, but you’re no assassin.”
“I know that, but I also know that we have to deal with this thing, it’s gone on along enough. In fact I’m starting to wish we’d never taken on that bloody Gaddafi contract.”
“What about the money?”
“What about it, I haven’t even looked at it yet, let alone spent any of it.”
“I think you have, Mike, even if you haven’t thought about it. Like how would you ever have been able to make a R5000.00 donation to the Inyanga if you didn’t have that money?”
“R5000.00! Are you fucking mad? I was thinking more like R500.00! I can’t afford…”
“Ah, you see, you can now. And I was going to say that you should contribute at least the same amount again towards Wamba’s food while he stays here… and we’ll have to do it in a way that doesn’t upset William.”
“Ja well, Wamba will join me, and maybe even Lisa, in my own place once I get back, then I’ll happily pay for any food the little guy eats.”
“And how exactly are you going to pay for this new place?”
Night was going to answer and opened his mouth to do so but his friend put up a hand to stop him.
“See what I mean, Mike. I think you may want to think on this whole affair a little more than you have been and prepare yourself for what it is the General wants you to do when in London. This guy is after all now trying to mess with not only our lives but our future.”
Night had never been a jealous or vengeful person and had tried to never harbour feelings of hate or harm towards any other person or people but he suddenly felt an unusual sensation of anger boil up inside himself and a realisation that he would be willing to visit violence upon anyone who threatened the future that he had just so recently pictured for himself and the ones he loved, even if subconsciously. No matter what that meant for his ideals.
“Anyway, I heard you talking to the General when I came in to the kitchen, after you had finished all of the food, I might add, what did he say, how did the special go?”
Relieved that his friend had changed the subject and deciding to forget about London and his unknown enemies for the time being, Night proceeded to tell his friend about the outcome of the operation in Alexandra Township.
“A success from what the General says. 186 B-Cat arrests; illegal immigrants, loitering, drinking in public that sort of thing and 16 A-Cat arrests; including suspects wanted for murder, rape and robbery and a couple for possession of unlicensed firearms, including AKs, and hiring them out.”
“Any casualties?”
“Nothing major, the usual, black eyes, bruises, that sort of thing, except for one of our Alex boys...”
Night shook his head at the thought and clicked his tongue in irritation and sadness.
“He took a round to the back of the head. Dead, instantly, apparently.”
“Ah shit, that’s bad, how? Was he ambushed?”
“Worse, brother. It was blue on blue, an accidental discharge.”
It was Shaka’s turn to click his tongue and then whistle loudly.
“Sho! That’s the worst way to go, Mike! Poor bloody bastard.”
To die from friendly fire was one of a South African policeman’s worst fears.
Shaka took two more beers from the cooler bag and handed one to his friend.
“To our fallen brother!”
“To our brother!”
“And to an afternoon and evening in paradise before we face reality once more.”
“Amen to that, my brother.”
Nandi barked loudly as one of the fishing reels started to spin loudly as a fish took the bait, still attached to the line, for a ride.
Chapter Twenty Five
Houghton, Johannesburg.
Night sat across from Amos Arosi in the General’s large living room. Jazz was playing lightly in the background as both men reclined with a glass of whisky in their hands after enjoying a large meal expertly prepared by the General’s housekeeper.
“Sounds as though you had a good time in Ermelo, Mike?”
“It was superb, Amos. Perhaps the most relaxing time I’ve had in months, if not years. We even managed to catch a fish, can you believe it!”
The General laughed good naturedly at the news that the Captain and his Sergeant had actually managed to snare a fish. He had accompanied Michael and Daniel on ‘fishing’ trips a number of times previously and had yet to see the men actually catch a fish.
“I’ll take your word for it, although I do find it hard to believe, particularly without having Lisa with you. As I remember she’s the only fisherman among you lot?”
“Indeed, but this time it was another female that led us to our catch.” Night smiled as he raised his glass to a confused looking General.
An uneasy silence filled the room as the two men sipped at their drinks until Night finally spoke.
“What’s the plan General, why am I going to London? And I mean the real reason, I know for all intents and purposes I am going to train and get my Close Protection license but why am I actually going there?”
“Mike, please don’t underestimate the importance of this training, the men I am sending you to train with are former members of the British SAS, ex 14 Intelligence, in fact. Best in Europe in Surveillance and Counter Espionage. It will set you up for the rest of your life and add nicely to your already not so inconsiderable, particular, set of skills.”
“And I appreciate that, General Arosi, that is something I am quite looking forward to but it’s not what’s causing me to lose sleep. What about this Englishman that sent men to your property to rape and kill your ex-wife and children and then you, and the same man I learned from Black
ie Swart that contracted him and his men first to transport the gold to the place we recovered it from and then to kill me and Shaka while on duty. Do you know who he is, do you know where he is and what would you have me do when I find him?”
The General drained the contents of his glass before standing and refilling his glass, gesturing to Night to finish his glass and take some more, which Night happily did.
“His name is Steven Mann. He’s a former Major in the British Army and he’s now the head of a large private military company working out of Hereford with his main residence in London. His company, Titans, is involved in Hostile Environment security contracts in Africa, Asia and the Middle East. He is a powerful and careful man that surrounds himself with bodyguards, at least two highly trained killers are with him, at all times – he used to use only South Africans, but now for obvious reasons, he no longer hires anyone from the African continent to look after his personal security. Now he only uses Russian and French operatives, former SF, KGB or Foreign Legion. I know where he lives, in an area known as the Square Mile in London, Canary Wharf, to be exact. He travels in an armoured car and his flat is incredibly secure.”
The General paused for a moment letting Night digest all of this new information and perhaps to predict what was coming next.
“And I want you to kill him, Captain Night.”
Night woke with a start and he looked around him in the dark. It took a moment for him to realise where he was. On an airplane. On his way to England. Not a direct flight though, his first destination was Dubai in the United Arab Emirates after a seven and a half hour flight followed by a two hour stop-over and then another eight hour flight to London from Dubai.
“The direct flights are quicker, Mike. But this way is better for us, for passport control, logistics and that sort of thing” Arosi had told Night.
Night gripped the side of his chair as another wave of turbulence struck and caused the plane to tremble and bump. An old lady sitting on Night’s left put a hand on his and told him not to worry. Night smiled at the kind lady and nodded his thanks before closing his eyes and drifting off once more, hoping he wouldn’t be subjected to any more dreams of burning bodies and gunshot wounds.
Some hours later and Night sat in a waiting hall at Dubai Airport with his third coffee in hand.
“Your flight will leave on time, Michael. In about one hour from now.”
Night looked up into the face of the Asian man who had just spoken to him as though the two were friends or colleagues.
“Do I know you?”
The man smiled broadly at Night and bobbled his head in a way that was neither a yes or a no.
“You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But Arosi knows us both and he wanted me to give you this newspaper.”
The man, who Night noticed via an identification lanyard hanging around his neck worked at the airport in the ‘Visa and Immigration Department,’ extended a copy of a local newspaper. At the mention of Arosi’s name Night accepted the item without saying a word.
“Use what’s inside here, to get onto your next flight, and then again at Heathrow to get into London and then back on your return journey to get to this very chair, I’ll then take it back from you. But only through passport control, they don’t check your ticket there. It has the relevant stamps from Johannesburg. So you will basically have proof of travel outside of Johannesburg via your SA passport and if anyone ever looks into it you simply used your British Passport to enter the UK and that’s why you have no stamps in your SA one. Got it?”
“No, not really.”
Infuriatingly the man bobbed his head once more.
“No worries, but rest assured it just means that Michael Night will never have been in the UK, not yet anyway. Enjoy the rest of your journey, sir.”
The man turned to walk away but Night caught his arm, pulled him back and stood to put his face inches away from the immigration officer’s.
“But doesn’t that leave a bloody great big hole in my travel footprint and then what’s the bloody use of having a British Passport myself! I thought that was important!?”
“It is important, sir. Without it we could never safely do it this way as you’d never be able to produce the correct documentation if you need to, and only if you need to. Please let go of my arm, sir. I need to get back to work.”
“But what if the people who are asking questions see that my passport wasn’t ever pinged in London?”
“Computers fail all the time, records are lost or scanners don’t scan or officials simply forget to scan the document into the system. It doesn’t really matter as you have the correct passport anyway, so why wouldn’t you use it? Basically if it ever gets that far they’ll already have definitive proof or they’ll have nothing, this way your name never gets picked up at all in London during your visit for whatever business it is that you’re there to do, you’ll never be pinged, understand… good. Now I have to go.”
Night released the man and finally understood the arrangement.
Night took his seat and opened the newspaper to find a British Passport inside it. Its condition was good but it had the appropriate wear and tear for its age. Night opened it and found the page where his picture was staring back at him with the name Nelson Terry Connelly next to it.
“Fucking Nelson!”
Chapter Twenty Six
Heathrow, London, England.
Night stepped out of the airport automatic doors into a miserable and cloudy, rain-threatened day. He pulled his jacket collar up around his neck and noted the cloud of mist as he breathed out. He noticed that everyone around him was sour faced and seemingly in a hurry.
“Cheerful place” Night said to no one in particular.
“Welcome to London, china!”
Night turned to his right to see a short rotund man whose face looked vaguely familiar. Night studied the newcomer for a moment and had to mentally draw in a beard and moustache to recognise his former Norwood Police colleague.
“Freddie?”
“Ja, boet! I didn’t think you’d recognise me after all these years, my old friend.”
Freddie le Roux, briefly a police constable stationed at Norwood SAPS, embraced Night warmly then held the Captain at arm’s length while scrutinising him.
“You look good, Mike. Older, wiser, stronger and now even a Captain, or so I hear hey?”
“Yes, can you believe it? And all that time ago we were both constables at Norwood. You look…”
Freddie raised a hand “No need to gild the lily, Mikey. I’m fat, shorter if that’s even possible but most definitely fatter! And I know it. Us, Saffas as they like to call us, all get fat living here, sooner or later. It’s the shitty weather and the food. We Saffa fatties call it the Heathrow injection! No one is immune so watch yourself, my boy. Now, come along, we’ve got a long way to go on the good old underground before we get your feet up and some drinks down your throat.”
Night raised an eyebrow “I thought you’d be in a car?”
“Yes, usually I am, part of the reason I’ve let the pounds gain on me. Though I thought this would be a good opportunity to get some exercise and I suggested to the General that your education of the city would be greatly enhanced were you to take the underground, he agreed. Although now I’ve done the first leg of the journey I think I may regret the decision…”
Freddie reached out and handed Night a pre-loaded Oyster card. “Here, use this to touch in and out at the stations, it’s not registered to anyone and I’ve pre-loaded ten quid on there for you to use.” Freddie then held out his other hand waiting for payment. It took a while for Night to work out what his former colleague was after. Night fished in his inner jacket pocket and produced a not insubstantial wad of pound notes, given to Night by General Arosi. “There’s three grand there, should tide you over for the month you’ll be in Europe” Arosi told him.
“Jeezus, boet! Don’t fucking go waving that kind of cash about! Not where we’re going anyway!” said Fre
ddie before taking a fifty pound note from the stack and placing it in his pocket. “I’ll take that for now and just deduct from it as we go along.”
Freddie le Roux turned to walk away expecting Night to follow but instead Night stood fixed to the spot while carefully putting his money away.
“You’ve changed, Freddie.”
Le Roux turned to look at Night, his face turning slightly pink.
“Things are different here, Michael. I’m sorry but every penny counts and I don’t really do that well when the General isn’t visiting. You’ll see what I mean, life can be tough for people like me.”
The smell of alcohol crept into Night’s nostrils as Le Roux leaned in closer to whisper. “People like us, you know, operators… anyway, we better get a move on, we’ve got at least an hour and a half Underground before we get to my… bolt… shit-hole.”
“Where are we going, Freddie? I was under the impression that I had a hotel room in a place called…” Night took out a hand written note from his jeans pocket, given to him before his flight and read the words out loud. “Crowne Plaza, Royal Docks, E16.”
“Ja, from tomorrow. The General thought it would be a good idea for you to see another part of London before going straight to a lovely little hotel in a plush area.”
“Where are we going Freddie?”
“Upper Clapton, Hackney, Mike, a lovely place, you’ll see. It’s where I live, so how bad can it be!”
Night picked up his large bag and put it firmly around his shoulders and walked on after his guide. As they made their way to the entrance to the Underground Freddie leaned in once more to speak into Night’s ear. This time the smell of stale booze almost caused Night to be sick.
“One more thing, Mike, I forgot – are you racist?”
“Racist, what do you mean?”
“You know against blacks, my memory is not what it used to be, must be the weather, so you know I forgot, are you racist against black people?”
Night In London (Night Series Book 2) Page 27