The African Diamond Trilogy Box Set

by Christopher Lowery

  “Emma, pull yourself together and put those thoughts aside for now. We have to take immediate action and you have to listen to what I tell you. Are you alright?”

  “I’m sorry, Jenny. I’m just dazed by all this. I brought Leo to South Africa for the biggest trip of his life, it cost me a fortune and now it’s cost me my son. I just can’t bear it. This is all my fault, we should never have come here.”

  “Don’t be silly, Emma,” Jenny said. “You haven’t lost Leo. Look at the film. He’s only unconscious. If you look really carefully at him in the chair, you’ll see his eyes flicker. He’s drugged, but alive. And that’s the most vital thing. We’re not dealing with a murder here, we’re dealing with an abduction, just as you thought. That means when these people make their demands known, whatever they are, we can take action. We can get Leo back. But now we have to prepare ourselves for the next step and you can’t do it from there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’re in terrible danger and the more you find out about Leo’s abduction, the more danger you’ll be in. Sooner or later the kidnappers are going to catch on that you won’t tell them anything because you don’t trust them and then God knows what they might do. We have to get you out of there now. Today.”

  “But how can I leave without Leo? I can’t just abandon him here in Africa!”

  “Just think, Emma. What can you do there? Nothing! You don’t want to talk to the Embassy and you can’t trust anyone else because they all seem to be in this together. You’ll be much better able to do something in a safe environment where you can work in the open and not hide in your hotel bedroom. And I’ll help you. I have some contacts and I’ll help you to get Leo back and give these people the ransom they deserve – a lifetime behind bars. That’s what we have to achieve. We can do this, Emma. Have faith in me and together we’ll get Leo back.” Jenny’s voice had taken on a hard, calculating tone. She was reliving an episode from her past, an episode in which only her strength and determination had saved her and her family. She was convinced she could do this.

  “But I don’t even have a plane ticket and the flights are completely full.”

  “I’ve already arranged everything. Don’t worry about that. As long as you’ve got enough cash for a taxi ride, we’ll have you safely out of there today. Just listen carefully, take notes and trust me.

  “Now,” she continued, before her sister could raise more objections, “What time are you supposed to see Nwosu?”

  Jenny spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the arrangements she’d made on the telephone that afternoon, repeating every detail of her plan, patiently hushing her sister up every time she raised an objection, until she was certain Emma had understood everything.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Jenny.” Emma was weeping softly again. “I suppose you’re right, it’s the only way, but I just hate the idea of leaving Leo here in this bloody country.”

  “I’d be extremely surprised if Leo is still in South Africa, as a matter of fact.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been reading up on abductions. Apparently it’s most common to take hostages out of the country where they were kidnapped and hold them in a different place. Not only does it make it more difficult to find them, but the international laws between countries complicate prosecuting the offenders if they get caught. Sometimes they move across borders several times.”

  “But I’ve got his passport. How can they take him across a border without his passport?”

  “I don’t think borders are too much of a problem to people like this. If Nwosu is involved you can be sure it’s for good reasons and one of them would be just that, getting around bureaucracy and borders. So leaving South Africa doesn’t mean you’re abandoning Leo. You’re going somewhere where you have more chance of finding help to get him back again. Just get your things together and follow the plan and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She must have been a terrific school teacher, Emma thought to herself. She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, decided now. “All right. I’ll follow your instructions to the letter.”

  “There’s one more thing, Emma, and I’m sorry if it’s a very touchy subject, but we need to discuss it. From your conversation with Coetzee and Nwosu and what you told me about the British High Commission, there’s something about Leo’s birth, or his father, that you don’t want to disclose. I’m convinced that’s the reason for his abduction. I don’t know why or how, but there’s no other possible interpretation of their questions. They know something about Leo’s father and that’s what this is all about.

  “I don’t want to pry into your life any more than I want you to pry into mine, but I have to know what’s going on here, otherwise I can’t help. When we see each other you have to be completely open with me. It could make the difference between finding Leo or not. OK?”

  Emma sighed. “It’ll actually be a relief to tell you everything, Jenny. You’ll be the first and only person to know the truth. Not even Leo knows, and you’re right, it might possibly be of importance, I just don’t know.”

  On that note the two women said their goodbyes, Jenny to make some more calls, and Emma to set out on the most dangerous journey of her life.

  It was eighteen and a half hours since Leo had been taken.

  THIRTEEN

  Johannesburg, South Africa

  At five minutes past four, Emma got into the taxi that had brought her back to the hotel that morning. She chatted pleasantly with the driver, but inside she was shaking with fear. The manager, Barry Lambert, had accompanied her to the door, asking again about her son. She managed to refrain from smacking him across the face, just replied, “I’m going back to the station now. They say they’re following several leads, so I’m praying there’s some news. I’ll see you later, Mr Lambert.”

  Emma was wearing her safari jacket and carrying only her laptop bag with a change of underwear and a few cosmetic articles squeezed in beside her computer and Leo’s notebook. She was reluctant to leave everything in their rooms, but there was no other choice to avoid suspicion. As the driver pulled away from the hotel, she said, “Please take me first to the shopping centre around the corner. I need something from the chemist.”

  The driver stopped on the corner by the entrance to the mall and she jumped out, carrying her bag. “I’ll just be two minutes,” she said, and ran into the building. It was bustling with shoppers, mostly Indian, who were the predominant residents of the area. She’d been there previously with Leo, stocking up on some filling snacks and drinks for a fast growing schoolboy. Walking quickly along the alleyway she turned the corner and went out the exit on the other side of the street. Continuing along the street she found the nearest taxi rank and climbed into an old blue Peugeot. The driver was a young Indian man with slicked down hair and a beaming smile.

  “Where can I take you, lady?” He asked, in a sing song lilt.

  “OR Tambo Airport, please.”

  Once they got out of the city centre, the traffic moved quickly and it took them only twenty minutes along Broadway Extension to get to the airport. Following Jenny’s instructions, they went to the arrivals level. The young driver didn’t stop talking from the moment they set off. He was interested in Emma; what she did, where she came from, was she married, did she have children, what was she doing in Joburg? He should be working for Nwosu, she reflected. He knows how to interrogate someone.

  She said as little as possible and paid him off with a small tip, not enough to make him suspicious. As soon as he’d driven off, again following her sister’s instructions, Emma went upstairs to the departures level and flagged down what looked like a vintage Mercedes with an older, sad looking black driver.

  He looked wearily at her and just nodded when she said, “Wonderboom Airport, please.”

  The driver took the R21 north for about forty kilometres then turned onto the N1 to skirt Pretoria. As they were driving past Queenswood to the east of the city, E
mma heard the sound of a siren coming up behind them. The driver looked in his rear view mirror and slowed down to the left side of the road. In the wing mirror she could see a police car approaching, siren blaring and lights flashing. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Nwosu’s found me. Somehow he’s followed my trail. Dear God, what’s going to happen to Leo and me now?

  The police car flashed past them and the driver pulled back onto the road and resumed his cruising speed. Emma’s eyes were closed as she tried to pull herself together. It’s not far now, I can make it, she said to herself, steeling her nerves.

  It was just after five thirty when they pulled up alongside the main terminal building at Wonderboom. A sign on the wall outside the door said, MyJet Aviation, First Floor. Emma paid the driver from her fast depleting bunch of rand notes and walked nervously up the stairs.

  “Good afternoon, I’m Mrs Stewart,” she announced to the young blonde woman behind the desk.

  “How do you do, Mrs Stewart. We’ve been expecting you. My name’s Alison. Please sit down and I’ll bring the forms over to you. Would you like a coffee?”

  Diepkloof, South Africa

  Coetzee was in Nwosu’s office. They were arguing about Jacob Masuku, when they got the call from the first taxi driver. Nwosu went berserk, screaming at the man until he switched off his phone. It wasn’t his fault if some woman decided she didn’t want to go to the police station. He went home to watch the TV.

  “That bitch, Stewart. She’s been playing us along. We’ve had her in here twice and she’s told us nothing and now she’s on the run.”

  “Well don’t stand there screaming and shouting. Get your bloody police force out looking for her.” Coetzee was becoming tired of Nwosu. He was the antithesis of the security chief. Taller, better looking, smartly turned out and a great charmer. But all he really knew how to do was clean up after he’d messed up. What they used to call a ‘wet work’ guy in the SA Special Forces, where Coetzee had spent almost fifteen years before going private. “Get them onto the airports, the bus and train stations, hotels, B&Bs, every place she could possibly have gone or be hiding in. She’s only had fifteen minutes and she doesn’t know anyone, so she can’t be far. Get the passport photo out there. Someone’s bound to see her.”

  “I don’t understand this,” said Nwosu as he prepared an email with Emma’s photo and a brief, fictitious account of Emma Stewart, drug dealer on the run, to be captured and brought to Diepkloof without harm. “Why would she run away when she doesn’t know where the kid is? She’s genuinely worried about him, but for some reason she decides to piss off without him. It doesn’t add up. Unless she’s on to us, but I don’t see how.”

  “Women do strange things.” Coetzee took a drag on his cheroot. “That’s why I don’t get involved any more. You look after them for years, take them on holidays, buy them a nice house, give them kids. Then they start acting strange, blaming you for everything, like you’ve stolen their lives. And then it’s over. You don’t know why, twenty years of your life and it’s over. They’ve gone, they’re not coming back and you’re screwed.”

  Nwosu looked up from his PC but said nothing. He stored this information in his memory, just like he stored everything he saw and heard. It might be worth something one day, to know what had happened to Coetzee, how his wife had apparently walked out on him. It might be valuable, provide leverage, who knows?

  “Right,” he said. “These messages will be out on the street in five minutes. Where do you think she’s gone, and why?”

  “My bet? She said her tickets are non-flexible and she’s got no money. I’d say she’s somewhere in hiding, waiting for her flight on Wednesday. She doesn’t know anyone, so she’ll be looking for a cheap hotel. So I’d put money on her being somewhere near the airport. She probably went through the mall to the north exit and found the nearest taxi rank. You should get somebody to check with the drivers there. Maybe someone took her to the airport. That’ll limit the search area.”

  “Good thinking,” Nwosu begrudgingly complimented the other man. “I’ll circulate the dispatchers and get the Mayfair cops to check the taxi ranks around the shopping centre.” He made a couple of phone calls, then turned back to Coetzee. “What are we going to tell the Voice?”

  “Nothing, for now. It’s late in the afternoon and he’s not going to call again today. If we find her by the morning, there won’t be anything to tell him anyway.” He stood up. “I’m going, there’s nothing I can do here. Don’t kill anyone while I’m gone.”

  Nwosu watched him walk along the corridor. Arrogant swine, he thought. Masuku won’t be the only casualty in this business. All in good time.

  FOURTEEN

  Diepkloof, Gauteng, South Africa

  The young Indian taxi driver called as soon as he returned to the rank and saw the notice posted by the phone booth. After he’d convinced the operator that he had important information concerning Mrs Stewart, he was put through to Sergeant Nwosu.

  “How can you be sure it was her?” The policeman didn’t want another embarrassing fiasco. There had been too many of them already.

  “It was an English lady, about forty, right? She had a kind of accent, but definitely UK. Dark hair, pretty, in a safari jacket. First visit to Joburg. She didn’t say much but I recognised the photo immediately. I picked her up from my rank beside the city library.”

  I should hire him for the force, Nwosu mused, echoing Emma’s thought. “That’s her. Where did you drop her off?

  “OR Tambo Airport. Arrivals level.”

  “Arrivals? Are you sure?” The policeman was put off balance. Why would she go to the arrivals when she was trying to escape? “Did she have a bag?”

  “I dropped her at the arrivals and she just had one of those shoulder bags. Looked like a computer bag.”

  “What time?”

  “Four thirty.”

  Nwosu rang off and called the police station at the airport. We’ll get her, he smiled to himself. He didn’t call Coetzee. He’d been right and Nwosu didn’t like it.

  The security chief was sitting smoking in his office at the stadium. He was reflecting on the mess he’d gotten himself into. He’d gone along with the kidnapping only for the money. The divorce had been an expensive business and he still had his daughter’s education to pay for. And the security business wasn’t as lucrative as he’d anticipated. Mainly because he was a lousy business man. He wasn’t tough enough in negotiations. He didn’t like to nickel and dime or hire a lawyer to write his contracts. This World Cup deal was actually going to cost him money. He’d completely screwed up on the cost calculations, so his pension savings were going to take another hit.

  The whole business with Leo and Emma was starting to weigh on his mind. Nwosu was obviously a villain through and through and the kid was just a pawn in a scheme orchestrated by people they didn’t even know, using them to make money, a lot of money, he imagined. He knew Emma must be going through Hell and he could almost feel her pain. But he also knew that professional kidnappers didn’t usually kill their victims. They delivered them against cash, or whatever else they were doing it for. If I’m going through with this, he decided, I want more than the measly amount they’ve offered so far. This deal has to make a difference in my life, a big difference. I’ll protect the asset and I’ll deliver him safe and sound but I’ll make sure I get properly paid for it. The kid was young and healthy and he would make sure he survived the incident with nothing worse than bad memories, whatever happened to anyone else.

  Even during his time with the Special Forces, Coetzee had never been keen on killing. He’d always tried to make sure someone else was doing the wet work. On the few occasions he’d been obliged to take a life, he’d hated it. Hadn’t felt a thrill or a sense of satisfaction like many of his mates. He didn’t like it and when he’d left the forces to set up his security consulting firm, he’d vowed never to be involved in it again.

  But now he was back in the killing fields. The Voice had ma
de it clear that anyone who got in the way of his plan would become ‘unavailable’. That pathological maniac Nwosu had already done away with Masuku and bragged about it to him that afternoon. He’d been graphic in his description of the murder, right down to the poor guy pissing in his pants. Then he’d boasted about Masuku’s widow’s premature departure from this life caused by an accident with scalding water in her shack. “Dangerous places, these shanty dwellings,” he’d laughed. “And if anyone does suspect foul play, they’ll assume Jacob killed her then went into hiding. What I would describe as the perfect murders.”

  Jesus Christ, Coetzee thought to himself, what a fucking sadist! And I’m stuck with him.

  Nwosu got the call from the airport police at six twenty. Emma Stewart had taken a taxi from the departures level at about four forty-five. The driver didn’t get the message until he was back because the police had only checked the arrivals rank and he’d switched his radio off since it was his last drive for the day. Nwosu hadn’t imagined that she might hail a taxi at departures. Coetzee would probably have worked that out, he thought, envying the man his thinking ability, but he said nothing. He was feeling foolish enough as it was.

  The driver said he’d driven her to the Pretoria airport at Wonderboom. He’d left her at the main terminal building and she’d gone inside to the MyJet Aviation office. Nwosu thought for a moment. If he called them, she might get wind of it and flee. Better to get the police in right away. He picked up the phone and called his opposite number in Wonderboom Poort station, using the drug dealer description. They could have a car there in ten minutes, the sergeant responded. Nwosu sat back, praying he wouldn’t have to tell the Voice they’d lost her.