Night

by Casey Christie

CHAPTER TEN

  Bang on 2000hrs after grabbing a bite to eat at the local Italian restaurant in Norwood on Grant Avenue Night and Stanislov arrived at the Radium Beerhall in Orange Grove for the debrief. Stanislov brought along an extra liver for the meeting. His VW Golf was already parked outside – the General must have had one of the local officers collect it from the farm and drive it down for him, Stanislov remarked to Night.

  They entered the Beerhall to find the General and an unknown uniformed officer, a constable, sitting in their usual perch within the bar. Tony, the General’s driver and bodyguard, was in his customary position tactically situated just behind his principal.

  “General. Constable.” Night and Stanislov greeted the two police officers and acknowledged Tony with a slight nod in his direction.

  The General introduced the uniformed officer as Constable Molokomme who was stationed at the Bergman farm. He was the officer who had driven Stanislov’s vehicle into Joburg and to the Radium Beerhall for the General and had agreed to have a quick drink. Constable Molokomme explained that he couldn’t stick around any longer as he had to get back to his station and book off duty. The General asked Tony to drive him back to his posting and explained that he would ask Night for a lift home. Tony and Constable Molokomme left but not without protest from the General’s bodyguard. He didn’t want to leave the General alone.

  “I am fine Tony. Don’t worry, I am with the Sheriff of Norwood after all” said the General with a nod in the direction of a now seated Sergeant Night.

  “He seems concerned for your safety General. Is there something we should know?” asked Constable Stanislov, genuinely inquisitive.

  Night interjected: “There are plenty of things that we should all know about General Arosi, Stani. But I am sure he’s not in that much danger, are you General?”

  “No of course not gentlemen. Tony is just being cautious. He is a professional and takes what he does, protecting me, very seriously. I think he only feels that he has done his duty each day after he has dropped me off safely at home.”

  Fernando, the regular barman, had just arrived and after warm greetings all around he took their drinks order.

  The three men sat and discussed the day’s events over their usual drinks of choice; Captain Morgan and Coke for the General, Johnny Walker on ice for Night and Smirnoff Vodka straight for Stanislov. All agreed that Swarty was definitely involved in the attempt on their client’s life, probably on instruction from his boss Hendrik Van Tonder. He was the decoy and then back-up plan they surmised. The men calculated that Swarty’s primary role had been to distract Night, to create an unforeseen problem, a maverick threat. Then if the girl had failed in her attempt to carry out her role as primary assassin, which was always going to be highly likely, Swarty’s job would then be to eliminate the bodyguard, Night, and kill Annabel himself. This theory also fell in line with Swarty carrying a Colt 1911 semi auto .45 ACP.

  A.45 calibre firearm delivers a lethal round with plenty of slaying power but is not the ideal pistol to carry for the purpose of close protection; it is too big, too bulky and difficult to conceal and comfortably carry and perhaps most importantly in a high risk African CP detail the weapon’s magazine carries only seven rounds, at best that’s seven rounds plus one in the chamber, eight. This is opposed to the weapons Night and Stanislov both carried while on a CP task, a more conventional armament for the purposes of close protection work: H&K USP 9MM Compacts, almost double the capacity with thirteen rounds in the magazine and one chambered, fourteen chances to save your client’s life as opposed to just eight. The HK ammunition magazines are also smaller and lighter so more can be carried.

  The .45 ACP is more commonly carried by assassins, and cowboys. Only carried to and from the point of execution and two shots to the head or heart is all you need. Bang Bang, good night sweetheart.

  Now, though, Swarty had neither a .45 nor his right arm and if he didn’t receive medical treatment swiftly he was going to bleed out rapidly and expire.

  The question was raised about why Van Tonder would deliberately hype up his client about a potential threat on her life when it was in fact Van Tonder who wanted to carry out the assassination. The General identified that it was a common tactic of intelligence agencies around the world to create the very threat, and knowledge of the threat, before carrying out the threat themselves. That way a journal of warning and a diary of traceable paperwork and defensive evidence is created that “proves” the innocence of the very people who actually took part in the conspiracy. This “evidence” created and delivered by the perpetrators provides any investigating authority with suspects, motives and reason to rule out the actual killers from being suspects at all.

  “I agree, General. It is a relatively common and highly effective method of deception and collusion employed by spies the world over.” Said Stanislov.

  “So how” asked the General, “did you manage to take Swarty’s arm off, Nickolai? Mike has told me he has seen no one better with a pistol or rifle but hell man why blow the guy’s entire arm off?”

  “My intention was not to blow his arm off. I was simply following my orders from Mike, not to kill, only to disarm. I hit the firearm, the .45, bang on, I nailed it, I saw a spark as my round impacted on the .45! But the round must have ricocheted off the weapon and up Koevoet’s arm taking it clear off at the shoulder. Bad luck for him.”

  “And disarm him you did! We found it on the floor at the farm with the Colt in hand, get it? In hand, his finger, well his old finger that used to belong to him and now belongs to his arm only, was on the trigger. A trigger finger meant to be pulled on you I believe Mike, good job you had this sharpshooter over here neutralise the fucker!”

  “Hell yeah General. Having a defensive sniper on the roof is golden but having a clandestine defensive sniper on the roof is priceless!”

  “So Annabel didn’t know that Nickolai was there?”

  “No. Not initially but she figured it out after I started communicating with him on the comms. More importantly though, neither did our friend Van Tonder. I told him that Stani’s role was only going to be one of an SAP (Security Advance Party) and that he wouldn’t be on the farm after the initial handover.”

  “Which meant that Swarty didn’t know either.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That also means that seconds before Swarty had his arm blown off by a hidden former Russian Special Forces sniper he must have been thinking this was going to be an easy gig for him; He must have thought that he would walk into the pay office, with his weapon drawn, as it had been all day, raise it and blow your head off, Mike. Annabel next.”

  The men continued to discuss the day’s events while draining their glasses, each with their own hypothesis about the conspiracy and how events were planned to have gone down. Another round arrived accompanied by Tequilas, lemon and salt and quickly taken care of. As the topic of conversation was coming to its natural conclusion and the men were looking for another round of drinks Fernando approached the General, Night and Stanislov but not to take their drinks order, not yet. Fernando looked serious and official. The men fell silent and looked at the barman.

  “Excuse me Officers, I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation but I need to ask you something, I am not totally sure about the etiquette in these matters but I feel I have no other choice than to approach the subject in a direct manner.”

  A little surprised by this, the General and Stanislov looked almost annoyed and picked up their glasses to drain the remainder of the contents - Civilians are not to know this but asking off duty police officers and security contractors formal questions in a formal tone usually leads to no good. The only people who do this usually want something they shouldn’t want or want to know something they shouldn’t know. Admittedly perhaps a little over sensitive but it’s the nature of the game. Sergeant Night, though, always trying to be amicable and also now interested in the barman’s out of character behaviour, responded politely to his enqu
iry.

  “What’s up Fernando? How can we help?”

  “Well Sarge. There is a man in the bar at the moment and he has been hanging around here for the last couple of days asking all types of questions. Questions cops usually ask. And he’s not a cop, he’s not from around here either. He has also been throwing names around from the….um… security world. And I well wanted to ask you about him and what we should do. The boss wants me to throw him out but I thought I should ask you first Sarge, General, you know, I mean I wouldn’t want to piss you guys off or anything.”

  “First off tell us his name.”

  “Well they just call him ‘The Man.’”

  “What does he call himself?”

  “He introduced himself to me as John but I don’t believe that’s his name.”

  “John Smith right?”

  “Yeah, how did you know.”

  The police officers laughed. Fernando’s story was promising to be quite humorous.

  “So what’s ‘The Man’ been asking you?”

  “Well not just asking me, he has been asking anyone who would listen and specially the junior constables that come into the bar in uniform. Questions about last week’s bank robbery, about who the suspects might be, about the devil guy, you know uSathane, and about you Sarge, you and your men, the Black Bastards.”

  “Could he be NIA, General?” Sergeant Night asked.

  The NIA is the South African Government’s National Intelligence Agency.

  “No, they already know all they need to know about that. And I, we, work with them. It’s not NIA. What else Fernando?”

  “Um, also about gold, he’s asking about gold, questions about any news on the gold.”

  “You say he is in the bar right now. Describe him for us Fernando, describe him and what he is wearing right now” instructed Night.

  The Radium Beerhall was jam packed as it usually was at this time on a Friday night. And it was truly multicultural. Men and women of all races and religion frequented the bar. And unlike many of the socialite clubs and saloons in Johannesburg or Sandton there was nothing false or forced about the cosmopolitan nature of the guests crammed into the Beerhall. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that it was recognised as an official police bar and people felt comfortable being surrounded by off duty cops who were leading by example and “mixing the races” as the South African Police Force has always done, always light years ahead of the general population in looking beyond skin colour and pathetic politics. Fernando was about to point out “The Man”.

  “Don’t point Fernando. Describe.”

  “Ah sorry. He’s the skinny white guy in the expensive white shirt and trousers sitting at the table next to the entrance. He has a beard and is wearing spectacles. In his late forties, early fifties I think. And he has a thick posh English accent, like the queen.”

  Night used the mirror facing him to get eyes on “The Man” sitting at the table next to the door.

  “I see him.”

  The General and Stanislov had done the same.

  “I don’t know who he is” said Night.

  “I know him” said the General and Stanislov simultaneously.

  “Really Nickolai, interesting.”

  “I read, I watch the news, there’s nothing interesting about it General.”

  The General grinned.

  “Okay, thanks Fernando, thanks for telling us. Please another round of drinks” said Night.

  “All right Sarge, should I throw him out though, my boss wants to know?”

  “Not yet, come back with the drinks and we’ll tell you what to do.” Night turned and looked at General Arosi “So who is he General?”

  “He’s a wannabe.”

  “A wannabe what, General?”

  “A wannabe Mercenary Mike” said Stanislov.

  “In England I believe they call men like him ‘Walt’, isn’t that right Nickolai?”

  “Yes they do. In reference to Walter Mitty from the book that was then made into a movie about a man who lived an imaginary life of fantasy. In Russia we simply call them idiots!”

  “So what is this ‘Walter’ doing in our bar asking these questions?” asked Night.

  “It’s all connected to uSathane and the reason for him breaking into the bank, the GPS Cords (coordinates) and the men who originally went to where the Cords lead to, if you know what I mean Mike.”

  Although the bar was regularly checked for bugs and the General put in place Technical Counter Surveillance Measures the Radium was too full and there were too many listening ears to speak freely about uSathane and the Libyan gold.

  “I do.”

  “Have you filled Nickolai in?”

  “I have.”

  “Well I suspect our bespectacled friend over there is somehow connected to the original movers of the ‘quarry’. Do you remember that I said the original outfit that did the relocating was probably London based? Well that would fit in with that ‘Man’ being here.”

  “I thought you said they had all been eliminated, taken care of, by Uncle Bob’s people.”

  “They were. All of the hands and actual operators of the assignment. But not the intermediary it seems.”

  Fernando arrived with the drinks, placed them in front of their respective owners and waited for his instructions.

  “Leave him for the time being Fernando. I will take care of it” said the General. “Don’t throw him out. And tell, ask, your boss to be patient, the unwanted man will be out of here soon enough. Also tell him that I now understand why his establishment has done so well over the years, he has a keen eye for troublemakers and men of poor quality. I will take care of it. And in a way that will bring greater finality to the matter than by simply throwing him out.”

  “Thank you General.”

  “Gentlemen please excuse me for a couple of minutes while I make a phone call.” The General left them at the bar to find somewhere quiet with a bit of privacy.

  “Na Zdorovie Mike” toasted Nickolai Stanislov

  “Cheers my brother.”

  The men downed their tequilas.

  “You know your good friend the General is very well connected. He is very high up here in South Africa, and in Africa Mike. Did you know that?”

  “He is a General so I would imagine so.”

  “Not just like that. I mean the man is a heavyweight with the politicians as well, and the army. You have a very powerful friend Mike.”

  “That does not interest me Stani, you know that. He is a good man and I enjoy his company.”

  “You surely cannot truly be friends unless you know who he really is?”

  “What the fuck is this Stani, what are you trying to say? You sound like a marriage counsellor or that you are trying to stoke the fires? Seriously back off brother.”

  “I know, I’m sorry it’s just that, well I am sure you know what I mean.”

  “I do. I do know what you mean. And you are probably right. It’s probably overdue that I really got to know the General but all in good time I am sure. And for the right reasons. You know Stani you may think that I am naïve, as you may know things that I do not know about the General but I do know not to push certain subjects. Even with you, the things I don’t know about you, Stani, and your mysterious family matters that seem to occur so often. All in good time though hey Nickolai? I am sure we all have our own reasons.”

  After a few silent moments the General returned.

  “What have you gentlemen been talking about in my absence?”

  “Well General, it seems Mike over here knows my secret. He knows who I really am.”

  “Aha, I knew you were hiding something. A double agent perhaps, a criminal mastermind. Who are you then if not Nickolai Stanislov?”

  “I am, it’s time I told you, I am, I cannot keep the secret any longer, I am, gentlemen, I am Spiderman!”

  “I fucking knew it!” said Sergeant Night.

  The General laughed out loud, knowing there was a hell o
f a lot more to Nickolai Stanislov than just being Spiderman. The three men chuckled together for a while. The break in their conversation was just long enough to open the doors to the men packed into the Radium to begin their usual ritual of paying their respects to General Amos Arosi and Sergeant Michael Night. One by one the men made their way over and made their greetings. All of the men saluted the General and some of the men saluted Sergeant Night but all of the men had great respect for both the General and the Sergeant. Constable Stanislov though was treated with a different kind of reverence. A cautious admiration of a deadly warrior: Stanislov’s reputation as a skilled sniper and unequalled combat shooter and Ex Russian Spetsnaz operative preceded him wherever he went but what confused the African men, the South African police officers, both black and white, who now greeted Nickolai Stanislov was his absolute letter of the law approach to policing in Africa, very unusual on the Dark Continent, and his no bullshit approach to tackling police corruption. He was well known for arresting crooked police officers, in uniform while on duty. He was almost viewed as a traitor to the brotherhood though none of the police officers could do anything about it. He was too damn dangerous to take on and he had powerful friends. It was better to behave while in the presence of the Incorruptible Russian One, as they called him.

  About forty five minutes later when the routine of paying respects and the greeting of old friends was done and most of the men had returned to their original places in the Beerhall, Night noticed two short and slender, suited, men walk into the venue. One of the males was a Coloured, mixed race, man and the other was quite clearly an Afrikaner. Both had moustaches and were balding, both looked sinister and paranoid.

  “Spies” Night said, looking at the mirror reflecting the two men who had just entered the Beerhall and who stood there seemingly searching for something or someone.

  General Arosi and Constable Stanislov had already pinged (identified) the newcomers and had eyes on.

  General Arosi turned and looked directly at the men who returned the look and nodded almost imperceptibly. They then headed to the table next to the entrance and approached the man sitting there. After a few words “The Man” stood up and walked out of the Radium Beerhall flanked by the two suited men.

  “Your men General, your phone call?” asked Stanislov.

  “My call but not my men. They are Military Intelligence.”

  Military Intelligence is the more commonly used name of the South African National Defence Force Intelligence Division or SANDF-ID.

  “Strange thing that, a Police General summoning Military Intelligence.”

  “Perhaps Stanislov but that’s the way it is now. Multiple agencies are involved with the investigation stemming from last Friday’s events. Though my CID guys are still in the loop they are not at the cutting edge anymore.”

  CID refers to Crime Intelligence Division of the South African Police Force.

  “Sounds like a cluster-fuck to me!”

  “You have a way of putting things so eloquently don’t you Nickolai. Though you would be right if I didn’t have a way of taking charge of the situation, which I do. Which brings me to the next subject of discussion, which I will get to but let me wrap up today’s business. First let me say congratulations to both of you for a job well done and a life saved. Fifteen Thousand Rand will be in each of your accounts by this time tomorrow. For now though forget about the contract and Annabel. Yossi Shishler, her former bodyguard will be back in the country next week and will resume his duties with Annabel. I will stay on as a consultant and will keep you gentlemen up to date with what is happening with regards to the contract which we all know is dodgy. I know the BOSS spy is a problem and I will deal with it, that I assure you. Now let’s have a drink before my mouth goes dry and I pass out from dehydration and lack of oxygen. Then we will get to the next order of business.”

  Fernando brought over the usual round of drinks and explained that all alcoholic beverages for the rest of the night would be on the house as a thank you from the bar proprietor for getting rid of the “international vermin” who meddled in African business.

  The men thanked Fernando and told him to arrange the use of the small room at the back of the bar where they would conclude their business.