by J E Higgins
Sauwa stood up and slid her bergen over her shoulder, indicating to Banker it was time to leave. Throwing some money on the table, he rose to join her as they both made for the door. Outside, she cuddled up to her date ever aware of her surroundings. A slow and thorough glance around revealed nothing suspicious. No one she saw out on the street looked familiar ─ no one she had seen at the club or looking to be part of a surveillance unit.
Confident they were safe, she took Banker’s arm and motioned him to his waiting car. They drove most of the way in silence, interrupted only by an occasional question from Sauwa regarding geographical concerns about the city, and Banker’s quick reply.
The journey ended in a warehouse district just off of Dublin Port. Banker navigated through a maze of hauntingly decrepit, old buildings. Eventually, they came to one building set along the water with a parking that offered some concealment from random traffic. Banker halted the car, and the two exited. Even in the dark, she could see the structure had been around for a long time and showed signs of serious use. The neighborhood seemed like it had been entirely forgotten.
“I figured whatever you’re here for, if you’re to get out of the country right afterward, the best place to be would be somewhere close to the ports where you wouldn’t encounter a lot of people who could recognize or inform on you.”
Sauwa took it all in. “You figured right. Normally, I have to fight to get a place as secluded as this. Someone always thinks to put me in a cheap hotel assuming I can disappear into a sea of wino’s, drifters and other low-life’s. They forget that those places attract police and vice cops looking to make arrests and informants looking to make a pound by reporting suspicious people to their cop handlers.”
Banker led her toward the door of the facility. “My thinking exactly. That’s why I chose this location. The warehouse belongs to an associate of mine; all legit, of course. But, he isn’t going to be using it for the next few months. It seemed ideal for your needs.”
Inside was a massive open room. Every step echoed throughout the structure. At the far back, Banker led Sauwa through a doorway into a hall and finally into a room that faced out to the Irish Sea. Flipping on an overhead light, they stood in a makeshift apartment. Though sparsely furnished, the room offered a rolled-up mattress, a pile of old blankets, a desk, a table and chairs. A garage door opened to view an escape route, to the water.
Before saying a word, she performed a quick search of the room for bugs. Banker watched her, begrudgingly impressed by her proficiency.
“You’ll find a shower and bathroom area down the hall. Tomorrow, I’ll bring you some toiletries, so you can wash.”
“Thank you,” Sauwa replied. She finished her sweep and walked over to a window facing into the darkness. “You picked this place well.”
Banker let her look at her new quarters.
She turned to face him. “How will transportation work?”
“How would you prefer it?”
“I have a license under an assumed name. If I get pulled over, it should buy me some time. Something small and inconspicuous, so I can move about easily on all kinds of roadways, like a motorcycle of some sort.”
“I can manage that.”
“Equipment?” she asked. “What can you get me?”
The Irishman shrugged. “Anything really, within reason. I don’t do ballistic missiles or things of that sort.”
“But otherwise?”
“Otherwise, I have what you’ll need.”
Sauwa considered him. “Transportation first. No more chauffeuring me about.”
Banker nodded.
“I’ll let you know what I’ll need as my plan develops. However, I’ll need a stable means of contacting you.”
“Call me at the Rory. I get calls there all the time.”
“Too many people involved,” she said. “I don’t like having others serve as intermediaries taking messages, and I don’t like waiting around public phones for you to get around to calling me back. Besides, if you have detectives watching your place, I have to assume your phone could be monitored as well.”
“Well…” Banker attempted to defend himself sheepishly.
Sauwa cut him off. “I don’t care. I’m taking a lot of risks already. I don’t need to worry that I’m speaking into a tapped phone or having to leave messages with perfect strangers.” She starred at the Irishman coldly. “Find a pay phone, preferably at a call center, with an assortment of phones so it would be difficult for police to notice even if they did follow you. Give me that number. At an appointed time each night, I’ll call you. We’ll discuss issues then.”
Banker didn’t argue. The ice-cold stare from the mysterious figure sent chills down his spine. Despite her girlish appearance, his seasoned criminal instincts told him she would be lethal if crossed. In that minute, he decided he did not want to be seen as either incompetent or a liability by her. He nodded compliantly.
She relaxed, but only a little, pacing about her new quarters. “The final issue ─ my money.”
“I’ve got it.”
“How much?” Sauwa asked, testing him.
“A hundred thousand pounds,” he replied. He studied her facial expression. He knew he was being tested. This woman would know exactly what she was to be paid. But, in a world of treachery and no records, double crosses were all too common. If his number had been different, she would have known he intended to steal from her. “I have it locked in my safe at the club.”
“Move it somewhere else.”
“I don’t understand.”
Police surveillance aside, I’m not letting you keep my money in a highly conspicuous location, crawling with the types waiting to rip you off. When this job transpires, things will have to move quickly. You could be deterred at the club or seen carrying the money. A man in your profession has a multiple of offices to keep jobs compartmentalized. I’m sure you can find a private site where the money can be stored and transferred quickly.”
“I can find a place,” Banker replied, feeling even more nervous about the whole project. “It’s just…well, I have better protection at the club. If it’s in a secluded spot, it…it might be compromised.”
Sauwa stepped toward him. “You’re really telling me you’re worried I might steal that money and leave you holding the bag.”
He said nothing, frozen by her barbed scrutiny. She moved away. The tension dissolved, like she had removed a blade from against his throat.
“I will tell you why that can’t happen,” she said, her voice smooth. I need you to get me out of the country after the job is done. For both our sakes, stealing a mere hundred grand isn’t going to get me very far when those who I work for come seeking retribution, and I’m stuck in a country with no way out and nowhere to hide. We have to rely on each other.”
Banker’s muscles had tensed. He forced them to relax. “I’ll move the money. When I have a new location, I’ll let you see it, so you know it exists, and I’m not lying about it.”
“Thank you.”
Banker left the room with the promise he’d be back tomorrow morning to resume business.
Left alone, Sauwa took a half hour to do a full search of her quarters. In that time, she found several additional rooms and offices, all completely bare, and three exits leading to the street. Luckily for her, the doors opened only from the inside, leaving her fewer entry points to worry about.
Grabbing a towel from a neatly folded pile, she set off to the newly discovered toilet to enjoy a shower. Her mind awash with the uncertainties ahead.
8
The blast tore through the mud wall of the hut exploding debris and fire in every direction. David O’knomo felt nothing under his feet. He was flying through the air. His journey ended with a hard, painful crash into the mud wall on the other side of the structure that served as headquarters. His daysack on his tactical web belt back jarred his back. He lifted his eyes to see into a thick, black cloud of smoke and dust.
Voices echoed all
around him. He heard screaming in a strangely mixed chorus of English and Swahili.
He managed to get to his feet just in time to feel a powerful set of hands grab him on his forearms and lift him off the ground. The hands thrust him through a side door, which he barely registered before he was falling to the ground outside. The clouds of smoke were all around, forming a dense haze. Throngs of fatigue-clad men raced about, weapons in hand, in a wild disordered stampede.
No sooner had O’knomo made it onto his hands and knees, the powerful hands grabbed his arms again and lifted him to a full standing position.
He stared into a massive chest covered by a tight-fitting fatigue shirt, then looked up at the large, round head of Oma Muniggi, his childhood friend and now comrade in arms.
Muniggi was yelling, trying to say something. Between the litany of shouts and the hail of gunfire permeating the atmosphere, O’knomo could only make out a few words. The larger man was trying to explain something about attack helicopters. He was pointing wildly toward a collection of hills overlooking the camp from the south, mouthing unintelligible words. But O’knomo understood only one thing clearly: recce units.
O’knomo could deduce the rest. Three or four SADF attack helicopters hovered overhead. In perfect coordination, the massive steel beasts took turns swooping down closely over the camp. They spit fire from heavy .50 caliber machine guns from inside the craft’s side doors and blasted small rockets into the larger camp structures.
The attack had come at dawn, following a barrage of mortar fire directed with precision at the defense points manned by high-caliber machine guns, the machine guns that would have been effective against the helicopters raining down on them. A South African recce team had taken position and guided the whole attack. Muniggi pointed in the direction he assumed the recce team was most likely to be. Of course, Muniggi’s deductions were all pointless. They did nothing to deter the armored helicopters from tearing up the ground with machine gun fire.
The two men bolted across the camp, dodging corpses of fallen comrades and debris that littered the ground everywhere. O’knomo choked on the thick dust and smoke in the air. Still, he kept running. The command post was demolished and the camp leaderless. The soldiers darted about in chaos, trying to find a way to effect some change.
O’knomo’s mind centered on one thing: the machine gun at the east entrance. If it remained operational, he might be able to knock out a few of the helicopters. He took off in the direction of the entrance.
Muniggi stayed close behind him.
They neared two grass huts used for the communications that were now engulfed in flames. From their new position, they sighted the guard post. The smoke grew thicker with the added flames from the burning structures, but they kept eyes on their target, sprinting fast.
As the aerial gunships began a descent on the camp, O’knomo and Muniggi reached the guard post, a gunship moving directly toward them. O’knomo could hear the thunderous sound of gunfire. The dirt before him ripped apart violently. In that moment, paralyzing fear ran down his spine.
“Shit!” David O’knomo leapt from his bed and pressed himself against the wall of his room, breathing hard.
It took him a minute to realize it had all vanished. The camp in Zambia was gone leaving him alone in a barren room with tan walls and a spartan collection of old furniture. He remained fixed against the wall. His eyes and rational mind told him he was safe; it had just been a dream. Yet, his instincts, honed after so many years in combat remained alert, as if expecting the enemy to come bursting through the door any minute.
Eventually, he was able to work his way from the wall and calm his nerves enough to take a seat on the bed. His breathing slowed to a normal pace. He regained his faculties, felt a cold, dampening sensation all over his body and put a hand on his chest. His shirt was drenched with sweat.
Unable to sleep, O’knomo decided to get an early start at work. The sun had barely risen when he reached the doorway of his office.
He had read the personnel file on Sauwa Catcher numerous times. He felt he could recite most of it from memory. Now, he moved to her unit’s activities as a whole: how they operated, who worked with them, and who gave them support. His file on the Black Chamber read like a rough draft for an intriguing spy novel. Each page presented a new scope of fascination as he read through the planning and execution of so many missions.
He had finished half of the thick file, when Jamie Nawati stepped in. The young Mk soldier was still waking up. He drifted about the room like he was trying to remember if he had ever been there before. Deciding not to rush him, O’knomo went on reading the file.
It was 0830hrs when Dr. Eugene Walderhyn marched into the office. He was the stoic, conservative image of the professional academic. Twenty minutes later Coors Ravenhoof strutted in armed with a large, steel coffee thermos, which he carried like a weapon he intended to use for violence
The team assembled in a semi-circle around their leader, who stood at the board displaying a picture of their quarry. It was the first day of their mission.
O’knomo gathered himself. “You’ve all had the last few days to pour over the files, study our target and get a feel for what we’re up against. I think the best thing to do is to build a strategy. How do we intend to begin this pursuit?”
“Dark Chamber,” Walderhyn opened, “worked outside the general support network of South African intelligence. They did this, as near as I can tell, to protect the government from any connection to their terrorist activities. Based on that, we have to assume they worked through a careful association with both the local criminal network and rightist groups. We should start there.”
O’knomo nodded. “You’re right, we should look for alternative networks, predominantly criminal.”
“I agree,” Ravenhoof said, “we should tap the Scotland Yard boys.”
“No,” Nawati broke in. He eyed the group. “Not criminal. We need to look at political associations.” The room remained quiet, the other men waiting for a further explanation. Nawati cleared his throat. “We have to think about this from Dark Chamber’s perspective. They weren’t just a highly covert organization, they operated on the fringe ─ a lone wolf unit created to be easily discarded. These people knew this day could come. This sets them apart from other organizations or groups in the Apartheid security forces. We have to assume they thought this out. By now they’ll have broken up and gone their separate ways. We’re looking for Sauwa to be working alone at this point.”
“Why would you believe that?” Ravenhoof snorted, “I would think they would stay together as long as possible. You know, safety in numbers and all that.”
“No,” Nawati disagreed. “A group of wanted fugitives is harder to hide. With limited resources, it would be harder to remain mobile, if you have more people to worry about. I’m telling you, they’re traveling alone at this point.”
“Then surely she’s hiding out in the underworld,” Walderhyn interjected. “We should be looking for gangsters.”
Nawati shook his head. “Sauwa Catcher is a highly sought after international fugitive and a skilled covert operative. She’s not going to trust her fate to profit-driven gangsters, who could turn her over to anyone offering a price. No, she’ll go to someone who’s an ally, someone who would be sympathetic. She wouldn’t just go to anyone either. Sauwa would reach out to a group that had an extensive network, one sophisticated and connected enough to get her out of Britain undetected and possibly have connections to keep her apprised of any police progress.”
Another pause. All eyes were focused on Nawati. The young MK soldier continued, “I doubt she’s still in Britain. She’s wanted by their police as well. With more information about to come out, she’ll be a high priority. We have to focus on groups fitting this description that worked closely with Dark Chamber fitting this description.”
“You’re sure of this?” O’knomo asked.
“It’s what I would do,” Nawati said.
&nbs
p; O’knomo looked at the other two men in the room.
“It’s a good idea.” Ravenhoof shrugged. Walderhyn quietly nodded.
“Very good,” O’knomo said. “Ravenhoof, do we know what groups in the United Kingdom fit this image?”
The Afrikaner grumbled. “I can find out. I’ll talk up some of my friends in the SAP and see what they know in their country. Then, with your permission, I’ll start reaching out to the Scotland Yard boys and see what they might know and if we can put them onto the scent.”
O’knomo furled his brow. “Good. Do that and get back to me. In the meantime, Walderhyn is going off this theory. We need to assume that she’s out of England by now. As hot as she is, she won’t stay in the United Kingdom. Review the intelligence we have and form an idea of how she’ll attempt to get out of the UK.”
“I can do that,” the academic replied quietly. “Are we sure she’s even still in that little cluster of islands?”
O’knomo glanced at Nawati, then back to the academic. “Until we see information to the contrary, let’s assume she is. She has limited resources, so she can’t just move about freely. And moving from England to Wales is one thing. It gets harder when she has to try to cross into a different country without land routes.”
The meeting concluded with everyone understanding their task and promising to meet up the next day at the same time for progress updates.
Nawati was the last to reach the door. The young man looked distraught, and O’knomo guessed Nawati had not come to terms with working in the intelligence headquarters of his former enemies.
“Jamie, can we speak.”
Nawati didn’t wait for O’knomo to open the conversation. “You spoke to the two white guys after I left the other day. Something I should know?”
O’knomo motioned Nawati back in the room and closed the door for privacy. “Forgive me, I was concerned about their feelings chasing down one of their own, and wanted to see where they were emotionally. I felt it was better speaking to them in private first, but wanted to take this moment to speak with you. This is not an easy assignment. We are going after someone our people have feared for a long time. This can’t be about retribution. We are here to bring her to justice, not the morgue.”