The Rwandan Hostage

by Christopher Lowery

  Speaking on behalf of President Mandela, the Minister of Home Affairs, Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula, awarded Major Coetzee the Honoris Crux Decoration after paying tribute to his bravery and his notable contribution to the eradication of white extremist groups in our country. Full story on page 7.

  Karen went back to their apartment and checked her husband’s wardrobe. His dress uniform was missing. He had left early that morning without disturbing her and having said nothing about the ceremony or the award. She sat in their bedroom, asking herself what she really knew about the man she was married to. What reason could he have for not sharing this prestigious award with her? What kind of a man would overcome six terrorists, virtually unarmed, save seventeen lives without blinking an eye, refuse to talk about it afterwards then sneak off to Cape Town to receive a medal without letting her know. Marius was a hero, an extraordinary man, but he had no idea how to be a husband. She shook her head and went to shower and change for him coming home.

  Marius had taken an afternoon flight from Cape Town and was back early. Karen had chilled a bottle of Krone Borealis Cuvee Brut, a South African champagne. She poured two glasses and took them out to the terrace. “Cheers, Marius,” she said. “Did you have a busy day?”

  “Oh, you know, same old same old. Nothing special.”

  “Really? I thought you were down in Cape Town?”

  “Oh, that? Just some government business.”

  Karen tried to remain calm, but her emotions overcame her. “So you think that getting the Honoris Crux is just some government business. That’s why you didn’t even mention it to me. Just the ‘same old same old’. Didn’t it occur to you that I might have liked to be told about it before I read it in a newspaper column? Before my colleagues realised that you hadn’t even mentioned it to me? Or that I might have been thrilled to accompany you to the ceremony?

  “What’s wrong, Marius, are you ashamed of receiving a medal for saving my life and sixteen others? Or is it of so little consequence that you can’t even be bothered to speak to me about it? For your information, I’m immensely proud of what you did, but I just can’t work out what goes on inside that shell of yours. After twenty years of marriage, I feel I still don’t know you at all. And it’s starting to get to me.”

  Coetzee said nothing for a moment then he raised his glass. “Cheers, Karen. I’ve been thinking about our talk the other night and I agree it’s a great idea to adopt Abby. Let’s drink to that.”

  In November, Karen learned that she had been awarded the runner-up prize in the Taco Kuiper award for her investigative Sun articles on post-apartheid conditions. She attended the ceremony alone, without even informing Marius of her achievement. He was still away from home frequently on emergency calls and an ever increasing number of government missions which he couldn’t or wouldn’t share with her. Abby’s adoption came through in December and they all spent Christmas together in the old farmhouse in Delmas. She had never felt so happy and fulfilled in her entire life, but she knew that it had more to do with Abby than with Marius.

  Six months after the adoption, Karen and Abby went to live in Delmas and Coetzee rented a small apartment in Diepkloof. She filed for divorce the following week. She demanded no alimony, she had a small pension and some savings and had already found a job at the winery. She was with her daughter and that was enough for her. He was left with his army salary and a bitter taste in his mouth. A month later, he resigned from the force and started Coetzee Security Services.

  Every other weekend when he came to take Abby out for the afternoon, Karen was aware of something missing, something lost, an aching feeling of unfulfilled emotion, but she never said anything. He’d never understood what he’d done wrong.

  Frankfurt Airport, Germany

  Pedro Espinoza was in the Lufthansa lounge at Frankfurt airport waiting for his flight to Johannesburg. Jenny had booked him in business class for the eleven hour journey. He had received her text message as he got off the first flight but waited until he found a quiet corner to call her back.

  Jenny was alone in her room and she answered immediately. “Pedro, are you safely in Frankfurt?” Without waiting for his reply, she immediately told him about Coetzee’s message. “I haven’t forwarded it to you because it’s so sensitive. What do you want me to do?”

  “Just read it slowly to me.”

  Jenny did as he asked then re-read it a second time. “What do you make of it?”

  Espinoza asked, “Do you think it’s genuine?”

  “Emma and I have looked at it very carefully and we’re convinced it is.” She summarised the observations she’d made to her sister.

  “Very good points as usual and I agree with you. So, this changes everything. If Coetzee has Leo, it means there’s been a disagreement and the whole organisation may be in disarray. But we still don’t know who is telling the truth. We need to reply to both of them and ask for proof of life from the ARGS people. If they are unable to provide it, Coetzee’s message will be conclusive. Then we can decide exactly how to act.”

  “We’ll do them both this evening. A more specific reply to Coetzee’s demand?”

  Exactly. And can you stop Emma from doing anything until I get there? She’ll obviously want to transfer the money immediately and get Leo picked up by some trusted person, but it’s not as easy as that. Whichever option is the right one, it still all comes down to money. Most kidnappings go wrong just at that moment and it’s usually the hostage who pays the price. We can’t afford to take that risk. It has to be a carefully planned operation, with no room for error.”

  “The good news is that you’ll be there by midday tomorrow and you are that trusted person. But I don’t have a bank account there so I don’t know how I can get the funds to you. And cash, which is probably what he wants, is impossible. We need a friendly banker to help us. I’ll make a few phone calls tomorrow morning.”

  “We also need to negotiate the amount. A million dollars is still a lot of money and I’m sure that Coetzee hopes to get only a half of that.”

  “Right. I can start that negotiation this evening by email. But there’s another thing that’s even more important, Pedro. There is some person, or perhaps more than one, who has organised this whole business to harm my family just to steal my money and two people have been murdered in the process. I don’t believe it was Coetzee and Nwosu alone. We must catch all of those persons and make them pay for their crimes so they can never harm us or anyone else again.

  “If we can get Leo back through Coetzee, that’s a wonderful result, even if we have to pay him first then trap him later. But we have two objectives; first to get Leo safely back and then to bring the culprits to justice. Do you agree and can you do it?”

  “That’s why I’m going to South Africa, Jenny. I’ll do my very best, trust me.”

  Marbella, Spain

  After Leticia had taken Emilio to bed the sisters sat together on the terrace. There was no breeze and the slender croissant of a new moon floated over their heads.

  “It really is paradise here,” Emma sighed. “I just wish Leo could share it. The pool, the lakes, everything. I could have taken him to Tarifa to try paragliding. He’s always wanted to do it but the Scottish climate isn’t exactly ideal. Although we do get plenty of wind.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be with us very soon and he’s welcome to do anything he wants. After what he’s been through he deserves no less.”

  “What are we going to do about Coetzee’s message? Why would there be two groups trying to blackmail me and which one really has Leo? And then there’s the money, it’s such a fortune. Can you really afford to lend me so much?”

  Jenny thought for a moment before replying. She could afford the money, but that was almost a secondary issue. She reflected on her conversation with Espinoza. Someone was responsible for this abduction plan and its dreadful consequences, but they were still no nearer to finding out who it was. She had to explain to Emma that the punishment of the kidnappers was
just as important as the return of her son.

  “First,” she said, “I’m now convinced that Coetzee has taken Leo away from whatever group it was and is trying to help us, but for a price. As far as that demand goes, the answer is, yes I can afford to lend you the money, but I won’t. I won’t lend it to you because you’ll spend your whole life working to pay me back and I would never impose such a burden on you. It will be a gift to you and Leo and I’ll be delighted to give it, at the right moment.

  “But secondly, we must find these people and bring them to justice. They’ve committed terrible crimes and we have to make sure they pay the price of their actions.”

  “Oh, Jenny, I’ve been having nightmares about finding the money and I don’t know how I could ever pay it back. But I’ll try to find a way. I have to. Leo’s my son and I’ll sacrifice everything I have for him. And you’re right, we have to find these people and stop them from ever harming us again.”

  She paused for a moment. “It’s going to be very complicated to arrange this with Coetzee. Tell me how you think we should proceed.”

  “That’s the most delicate part of this whole sordid story. We have to set it up with the utmost attention to detail so that nothing can possibly go wrong. I’ll speak to my bankers tomorrow morning. Pedro will be there by midday and we can work out the procedure with him. He’s clever and resourceful; we couldn’t have a better partner.

  “But it will still take some time. We have to be absolutely certain of Leo’s whereabouts and who he is with, so we need to maintain contact with both sources without raising their suspicions. I have to arrange for the cash to be available in Polokwane and Pedro has to set up the meeting and ensure that Leo is in a safe place where he can be picked up and flown home. I’ve told him I’ll pay for a private jet to Mauritius, as I did for you. That way we don’t have to worry about the immigration police.” She said nothing about her other objective. One thing at a time, she told herself.

  “Now come and help me write these emails. In Coetzee’s case we need to haggle. If we don’t negotiate he won’t think we’re serious.” They took Emma’s laptop up to the office and opened up his email.

  FIFTY-ONE

  Phalaborwa, Limpopo, South Africa

  Coetzee had paid the hotel bill with cash, so no one could track his credit card payments. He knew he was becoming even more paranoid, but since Nwosu had somehow managed to find Karen in the middle of nowhere, he couldn’t risk leaving a trail of any kind. He changed into a long sleeved shirt and cotton trousers and threw his remaining clothes into the travel bag. Leo helped him repack the Land Cruiser and put his own suitcase in, he was still biding his time hoping to get a chance to escape somewhere nearer to civilisation, where he could find help, or at least make contact with his mother.

  The South African checked the bedroom once more and went to get his laptop from the desk. Out of habit, he looked for messages. There was an email and it was from Emma Stewart.

  Mr Coetzee. Your message was such a relief to me. I have been incredibly worried about Leo and now I can see from the photo that you have been able to rescue him from his abductors and he is in good health. Thank you, I will never forget your help and I agree that you should be rewarded generously. The problem is the amount you are asking. I have very little money of my own and I cannot lay my hands on such a large sum, it is quite impossible, especially in a short space of time. I have a friend who is able to lend me $300,000- and that is all I can raise at the moment. It seems heartless to be bargaining over the value of my son’s life, but I have no choice. You say you like him and that you want us to be reunited. I promise that I or my friend can fly down immediately to pay you $300,000- if you can find it in your heart to return Leo to me and end this dreadful episode.

  Please confirm that you can do this for me.

  Sincerely, Emma Stewart

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit over the top?” Emma had asked, before they sent the message.

  “We have laid it on a bit thick,” answered Jenny, “but since he knows you’re an author, he probably thinks you write like that all the time. In any event we should get his attention, three hundred thousand is a lot of dollars. Let’s see what he says.”

  Coetzee closed the laptop and went out to the car. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

  Leo looked at him and said nothing. He continued, “The bad news is that we’ve got a hell of a long drive ahead of us. The good news is I just got a message from your mum. We’re on the right track to getting you home.”

  London, England

  “There’s an email.” The Voice’s companion went over to Dudley’s laptop when she heard the ‘ping’. “It’s from Emma Stewart.”

  “Aha! And what does Ms Stewart have to say?”

  “I’ll read it to you. It’s quite short. I have received your messages concerning my son. I won’t try to tell you how despicable your actions are, since you are obviously bereft of any human emotions or compassion. Your demands are quite beyond my financial capabilities, but I will make every effort to raise whatever funds I can. However, before I enter into any negotiations to get Leo back I need to see a photo of him showing today’s date. I will then contact you again. If Leo is harmed in any way I promise that you will never escape justice.

  Emma Stewart.

  “She appears to be suitably upset.”

  “And well informed of the normal procedure. She wants an up to date photograph.”

  “Naturally. The one we sent had no date on it, but fortunately we have the one we just received from Coetzee with today’s local press headline. Are you able to remove the handwritten address on the top of the page?”

  “Of course. But I’ll need to take over your laptop for a few minutes.”

  “Very well. Please do so, but we won’t send it yet. Let’s wait until we have confirmation from the Zimbabweans before we do anything.” The Voice tried to sound confident but he was beginning to worry. He prayed that the situation could be brought back under control. If not, he hated to consider the alternative.

  Phalaborwa, Limpopo, South Africa

  The Mercedes S600 pulled into the courtyard of the Olifantsrivier Lodge at eight fifty pm.

  “Stay here and don’t get noticed.” Plato climbed out of the car, stretched his back then went through the reception door.

  Greg watched him disappear into the building. Fucking supercilious old shit. He took the chewing gum from his mouth and wrapped it into a ball in a Kleenex tissue. Threw it out of the car then replaced it with a fresh piece and started chewing again. He was becoming increasingly irritated with the driver’s behaviour. He either said nothing at all or made a sarcastic or patronising comment. Who the hell does he think he is?

  He knew Plato was the oldest and most experienced man in the company, with a fearsome reputation. The story was that he’d been part of ZANU during the Rhodesian Bush War and when Mugabe was appointed prime minister after independence, like many of his close supporters, he became a part of the inner circle. The lessons he’d learned during the fifteen year civil war became even more useful in clearing the path for Mugabe to become president. Greg had been with them for only two years and this was his fifth job, all totally successful, but it was the first time he’d been paired with Plato and he wasn’t enjoying it at all.

  There was only one employee at the counter, a pretty young black girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She smiled at the Zimbabwean. “Good evening. Are you checking in?” Opening up what was presumably the guest list for the day.

  He didn’t smile in return. “I’m looking for a friend, name of Marius Coetzee. He’s here with his nephew.”

  “You mean Mr Marius Ridgeway I think?”

  “Right, he has a double barrelled name, I forgot.”

  The girl looked crestfallen. “I’m sorry. You’ve missed them by about ten minutes. They checked out and drove off just after eight.”

  “Did you see which way they went?”

  “N
o. When you leave the drive you can turn east, west or south and they didn’t say where they were headed, so I have no idea.

  “He told me they were staying here tonight.”

  “They were booked for the night, but he said they’d changed their plans. They’ve been gone for literally ten minutes, if you know their mobile number you should be able to meet up. ”

  “Thanks.” Plato turned and walked away.

  “You’re welcome.” He heard as he went out the door.

  He took off his jacket, carefully placed it on the back seat and climbed back into the car. “They’re gone and I don’t know where. Somebody’s fucked up big time. I’ll have to call the office.”

  Greg said nothing as they drove out of the driveway and parked on the side of the road. As the girl had told him, there were three possible choices; east, into the Kruger, south towards Joburg and west, the road they had come on from Polokwane, but they had no idea which to choose.

  “Get them on the phone.” Plato said.

  Greg pulled out his mobile and called the number. He passed the phone to the driver without a word. He was becoming really sick and tired of this old man.

  Cambridge, England

  “Good evening, EzeTracker.” Simon Pickford answered the phone himself. It was after eight o’clock in the UK and most of the staff had already left. “Oh hello, Master,” he continued, cursing his luck that he was still in the office. He was tired and wanted to get home for a glass of wine and dinner.

  “I’m sorry to bother you again, Simon, but I’m pleased you’re still there.”

  “What’s the problem this time?”