by P. W. Child
They returned to Cheryl’s flat. They spent most of the day watching bad old VHS movies since she had no cable TV, waiting for the evening when she was to escort them inside for a so-called evening class under the esteemed lecturer she knew so well.
Sibu stuffed his mouth with any food he could find in Cheryl’s tiny fridge – some leftover KFC and a half empty Castle Lager that had gone flat. But he was not picky. Since he could not get his hands on Cheryl yet to exploit her in every evil way he could come up with, he would settle for raiding her limited food supply.
“Not long until sunset," Zain muttered, checking his watch. It was almost 7 pm. In a robotic fashion, focused on the task at hand, he stood up, collected Cheryl from the other seat and flung the frail girl around the place by her arm to rush her along.
“Listen, we will get caught if we go now!” she insisted. “Can’t we just go tonight just after the late classes?”
His massive hand pinched her face hard between his thumb and fingers as he slammed the back of her head against the wall. Zain’s breath filled her nostrils as he sneered, “We go now! And you will make sure security doesn’t stop us.”
Of course, his demand was not particularly fair, but she had to choose between cajoling her way through security or die a horrible death at the tail end of whatever torment the despicable Sibu would expose her to.
"Let me just get my old access card," she told them. "I doubt they would be fooled by it, but it is the only chance we have of getting in without ending up in jail." Cheryl attempted, using her tone, to convey to the two thugs how dangerous the plan was, but they paid no attention to her pleas.
“Go and get the card. I’ll come with you. Sibu, guard the exit,” Zain ordered. He grabbed Cheryl roughly and pushed her through the door.
It was already dark in her bedroom, but she knew her way around. Zain stood leaning against the wall with his gun in his hand, his arms folded in front of his chest as he watched her fumbling through her drawers. Her large double bed was unmade, and her hand-washed lingerie was draped over her lamp, her cupboard door knobs and her dresser. Zain’s dark eyes scrutinized the setting and imagined all the depravities that must have taken place under this lightless ceiling. He looked at the beautiful young woman frantically searching the cluttered contents of old chocolate boxes where she kept her trinkets of fake jewelry and loose buttons, pieces of ribbon and small change.
"Do you like doing this for a living?" he asked suddenly, scrutinizing a bottle of baby oil on her bedside table. After his frown had subsided, he picked up one of her perfume bottles and gave it a sniff.
“No, I hate it. But I had no choice if I wanted to survive,” she snapped at him, ceasing her search for the moment. “Put that down. Please.”
“There are other jobs you could have taken," he remarked, but soon he realized that the common hooker he perceived her as had more self-respect than he thought. She gave him a glare he had never seen in any woman other than his stern mother. Cheryl threw the clump of clothing she still held in her hand to the floor and confronted him fearlessly.
“Like what? Huh? Like what? There is no respectable employer on earth, perhaps except maybe yours, who would stoop to employ a depressed ex-academic who is addicted to drugs! Don’t talk about things you know nothing about, pal! Just stick to toting guns and beating up women!” she shouted.
Despite the fact that Zain was impressed by her retort and found her point remarkably valid, he could never allow her to know that. He briskly walked toward her, grabbed her by the hair and shoved her face into the drawer.
“Do not mouth off to me, bitch. Ever! Get the fucking card and stop stalling!” he sneered. “Or should I get my associate to come and test your professional abilities as a backstreet whore?”
"No," she muttered from the bundle of underwear and stockings in the drawer. He released her and returned to his spot at the door.
"Make it snappy," he said calmly. "If we are too late to make it to the university we will have to take you to our hideout instead. And sweetheart, you don't even want to know how many Sibus there are back at our pad." She gave him a quick glance in her mirror and saw that he was smiling at the thought. It made her sick with worry. If she could not find the card, she was as good as dead. There was no other option for her anymore.
In the drawer below the one she had rummaged through, she found the dark blue access card with her photo, name and staff number next to the emblem of the university. Cheryl took care not to let him know that she had found it before searching the drawer a bit more for something else she vividly recalled having hidden there.
“Your time is running out, Cheryl,” he said impatiently. His voice started her, but just then her index finger and thumb found the edges of the antique push dagger, ironically enough Dr. Malgas had given her for her birthday. Cheryl smiled. It was compact enough to hide in places most men were not accustomed to venture without permission, but she hid it in her cleavage, tucking its holster clip over the bottom of her bra where her breasts met. Zain did not notice that she swiftly placed it there. Her street training in sleight of hand, which she resorted to when she had to steal to eat, now profited her well.
“Let’s go,” she said, far more composed than before. “I have the access card. I just hope they’ll remember me at the gate.”
“Good! Get dressed,” Zain smiled disdainfully. “I’ll stand right here. You’re not shy, are you?”
“No,” she said despondently, getting dressed with her back turned toward him, not because she felt objectified, but because she needed to hide the blade. When she was done, her dark hair was back in a tight ponytail, her makeup impeccable, and her slender body adorned in professional attire. To round off the subterfuge, she placed a pair of fashionable spectacles on her eyes. Zain watched in fascination, as Cheryl slipped her feet into a pair of relatively new black shoes with medium heels. The heels lifted her feet just enough to highlight her well-formed calf muscles and made her look taller, enhancing her posture.
“I just want to put on the table that this is a very bad idea,” she mumbled as she fixed her thin black belt to hug her waist.
“You just have to make sure they let us in. What will you tell them?” Zain asked.
“Cheryl Tobias, Archeology Department assisting Dr. Billy Malgas,” she told the security guard when the three of them arrived at Gate B. “This is Dr. Benning and Dr. Thlabati from Ghana, coming to visit our humble halls," she introduced her captors cordially. They nodded to the other security guard who rounded the car to inspect. Gate B was not busy tonight, and they had the time to check thoroughly, much to Cheryl’s dismay.
The other entrances were locked for the night, and Gate B would serve as the main entrance, however unfortunate that was for Cheryl, who only knew the lads at Gate E, where she used to enter the grounds. The guard had a look at her card, but in the sharp light of the office, he was bound to discover the expiry of her faculty membership. In the rearview mirror, she saw Sibu staring at her with malice. His eyes were bloodshot from the joint he had smoked two hours before they left.
He reminded Cheryl of mercenaries from Uganda, Angola and the Congo, merciless animals who would stop at nothing to rape and slay villagers just to pass the time. She had to get them in, or she would become his chew toy.
"Hey! I was wondering if you gents could have a look at this for me," she suddenly said, quickly leaving the car. Immediately the guards were taken by her stunning form and seductive movements, as she led their eyes to the right front tire of Zain's car. She explained that she heard a flapping noise but could find no trace of a problem. Falling over each other to assist the gorgeous woman, the security guards checked the wheels for her. While they were bickering over what the problem could be, she finally gracefully claimed her access card from the guard with a charming smile, “Ugh! Don’t worry, gentlemen. We are going to be late for the meeting with Dr. Malgas. We’ll see if the problem persists when we are done.”
They smiled and agr
eed that she had better get a move on before they lifted the boom barrier for her.
“Thank you!” she smiled and winked. “We won’t be long.”
“Could you have taken any longer?” Zain complained from the passenger seat.
"I got us through, didn't I?" she replied seriously, clutching the steering wheel and looking straight ahead to find her way in the maze of narrow offshoots to the various department buildings. "And I hope you have a spare."
“Spare what?” Sibu asked.
“A spare tire,” she sighed laboriously. “If I slash one of your tires we will have a reason to stay here for longer without arousing suspicion. It will also make our presence here more credible.”
Zain shifted in his seat, looking impressed.
“Jesus! You are a sneaky little bitch, aren’t you?” he grinned. “I will have to keep my eye firmly on you!”
Cheryl just shrugged with a smile, playing along as not to alert him to her racing mind that was desperately formulating an escape plan. After they had parked the car in front of the building where she used to work, they entered the corridors feigning familiarity until they reached the lecture hall where Billy Malgas was packing up his material after another dreary class. They snuck into the auditorium, stealing low along the back rows where Cheryl’s blonde replacement had just brought two paper cups of coffee.
Cheryl overheard their conversation, with Zain and Sibu crawling by her side. She hushed them when her ear caught the words of the new assistant, confirming what Cheryl knew Billy had been hunting for throughout his career.
‘And once they hear of the secrets you have uncovered in your study of Nazi artifacts of post-World War II, they will be flocking to your lecture hall to hang on every word, every fact, every morsel of information they can.
“Oh my God!” she whispered. “They found it!”
“What?” Zain asked almost inaudibly.
Having no idea that the discussion concerned a mere hoax, Cheryl gasped, “Malgas found the Admiral Graf Spee!”
Chapter 6 – On Malgas’ Heel s
After overhearing that Malgas had discovered the Nazi ship he had always chased since he caught wind of the possibility, the myth, Cheryl came up with a new plan. Not only would it free her of Zain and Sibu, but it had the prospect of making her rich. With the magnitude of wealth she would acquire assisting in such a find, she could leave her dirty, miserable life behind and get off the heroin and the cocaine once and for all. She could have her life back.
“What is that all about?” Zain asked her while they were crouched behind the rows of seats in the lecture hall.
"Sshh," she frowned. "They must not know we are here. Just wait. I'll tell you everything shortly." For once she received no reprimand or threat from them. Suddenly the lights went on. Sibu, Cheryl, and Zain froze in their spots, hardly breathing behind the wall of chairs, listening. They could feel the apprehension of the lecturer’s scrutiny across the auditorium. He thought he had seen something, but his assistant had picked up the rest of the materials and waited by the door until he was satisfied that nobody was there. Reluctantly, Dr. Malgas switched off the lights before closing the doors.
As the place darkened, Cheryl started at the cold grasp of Zain's hand around her wrist. It reminded her of the fear he imposed on her and she remembered that she was still a captive, regardless of the plans she had hatched. “Don’t think you’re going to get away while it’s dark, sweetie pie,” she heard his sinister voice right in her ear. “Where are they going? To the store room?”
“Listen,” she said. “Did you not hear what he said down there?”
“Yes, but what does it mean?” Sibu asked. “If it doesn’t have anything to do with the money you owe us, we don’t give a shit what he said.” He flashed his eyes in the glare of his cell phone light, meeting eyes with his associate. “Come on, Zain. Let’s just get the money or kill the bitch. She is just stalling for time, playing us for fools, man!”
Cheryl's body went cold at his proposal. She knew they were in cahoots above and beyond everything, and that Zain could easily follow to Sibu’s irrational suggestions.
“I have to agree, Cheryl. You are just leading us along in hopes of getting a chance to flee. But I swear to God, we will gun you down like a rabid dog,” Zain spoke against her face. Her stomach churned at the sensation.
"Listen to me!" she said, her voice a bit louder now. "We have to follow Dr. Malgas. Forget the store room. He just admitted that he discovered a shipwreck from World War II. Don't you get it? If they pull that wreck out of the ocean, the relics and Nazi gold, artworks, whatever the cargo was, would be worth billions!”
Zain and Sibu grew serious, their glances darting in silent debate in the timid illumination of a cell phone screen. They sat up.
“Cheryl, if you are playing with us…” Zain warned.
"I'm not playing with you! You heard it for yourself! If we can convince Malgas that we are useful to him in this recovery, we can all get a cut of the salvage. You can go your own way after I pay you what I owe and stacks more," she implored, trying to keep her words and scheme simple to satisfy their meager thuggish aims.
“It just sounds too good to be true,” Zain admitted.
“But we would never have known about it if you guys did not bring me here. None of us would have known!” she insisted. The three of them sat in the lights of their cell phones. They dared not make their presence known yet, especially at this time of the night.
“So now what? Do we take them hostage to find out…?” Sibu ranted, but Cheryl stopped him abruptly.
“Don’t be fucking stupid!” she scowled.
“What did you say?” he retorted, his vicious soldier’s face turning to stone again. But Zain lifted his hand, making sure they both saw his gun. “Shut it.”
"We have to follow them. I don't know where Dr. Malgas lives now, so we have to follow them. At least that way we will know where to find him," Cheryl told Zain as if asking his permission. Unnoticed she had shifted closer to him, when Sibu locked horns with her. “Once we know the details – where the wreck is and when they are going to salvage it – we can decide how to get on board the project. He trusts me,” she smiled in reminiscence, but her face soon turned cold, “so he will never see it coming when we take them all out.”
Chapter 7 – Reunion of Liars
It was time for Sam to make his way to Wrichtishousis, but he was still waiting for Billy Malgas to confirm his flight. He was horribly impatient, and rightly so since he had not heard from the lecturer for almost a week, yet he was the reason Sam had set up the meeting with Purdue. Not only did Sam elicit the help of Purdue as a silent partner of sorts, but apparently the wealthy, suave inventor had taken it upon himself to prepare a group of freelance professionals to assist him in this venture Sam had pointed him toward.
Billy Malgas was indeed a trustworthy man. Sam had no reason to fear that he would not show, or not keep to the arrangements, but it worried him that it took Malgas this long to confirm. Eventually, he called the lecturer to make sure Purdue and whomever he decided to include in what would be a costly project were not being held up unnecessarily.
“Billy. It’s Sam. I’m sorry for calling so late, but I have to be in Edinburgh by morning, and I just got your e-mail that you have been delayed," he told the sleepy man on the other side of the line.
"I am so sorry, Sam. I have been having trouble…this is deeply embarrassing… to obtain enough funds to get my visas and plane ticket in order on time," Billy admitted. It was true. He had suffered dwindling class attendance, and his salary was just not enough anymore to sustain the lifestyle of an active academic and historical explorer. He thought he would have the means to make it to Scotland to meet with Sam and his contacts for funding to discuss a contract for the salvage, but he found that he was running short on cash.
“Listen, we cannot discuss this via e-mail or over the phone. You have to meet with us in person,” Sam told Billy. “But I u
nderstand your predicament. How certain are you that this project is viable?”
“I am one hundred percent certain, Sam. I have seen the wreck, but for now, it is a very tight secret. I have identified it. It is lying undetected on the ocean floor just off the coast of Bluewater Bay, but I am afraid it lies within the 12 nautical miles of the territorial waters of South Africa. They might not allow us to claim it,” Malgas told Sam from the comfort of his bed. Mieke had gone home for the night, but she had vowed to meet up with him in two days to fill him in on all the details of the so-called discovery.
In fact, Billy Malgas was having serious second thoughts about the whole hoax idea. He hated leading Sam Cleave on like this, let alone the people the journalist had already gotten involved. But the very fact that he had had to admit that he lacked the money to even make it to their meeting said it all.
He had to. He had to pull through, no matter the consequences. If all else failed, he could only claim that he was mistaken. It was not a matter of life and death for him to prove that it was indeed the enigma of the Second World War maritime history scholars in his country had been discussing for decades including the very professors who educated him; his own mentors who were now dead and gone.
“I tell you what, Sam. If you can secure a contract with your people, I would be happy to sign an agreement for the salvage if it is within reason, you know?” Malgas said, chugging back copious amounts of rum to still his concerns about the whole ruse. “That way you will know that my intentions are valid, no matter how it turns out.”
“Okay, Billy. I’ll go to Edinburgh without you then, and I will see how far we can take this project before confirming with you. If my associate agrees and decides to fund your operation, I’ll let you know,” Sam assured him.
“Thank you, Sam,” Billy Malgas sighed, lifting the glass with the dark liquid to his mouth. “I really appreciate your help, and thank you for understanding my predicament.”