by Edna Dawes
‘Don’t worry.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I know the dangers of this sort of thing. These people will never stop paying.’
Half an hour later she was back on the road, hurrying to reach Alwynsrus before it grew dark. In her handbag was the gun in its webbing belt which she had pushed beneath Jan’s mattress that morning as she collected his papers together. She had done it impulsively with no more intention than shielding Jan from a further charge of carrying a weapon. Now, she was maliciously pleased at having put one over on Sergeant De Wet. The thought sustained her until she reached her room. After dinner she went to the police station, hoping to speak to Jan, but her request was again refused. The sergeant was nowhere to be seen and all she got from the black constable was very vigorous shaking of his head and rolling of his eyes.
‘When can I see him?’ she persisted.
The head shaking started all over again and she stormed back to her room. Resorting to tears was not in her nature, but the rich reek of cooking, the bare room, the foreignness of her surroundings, and her complete aloneness brought her very near them that night. What on earth was she to do? The situation was beyond her at the moment, and she sat on her bed, fully-clothed, while she tried to see through the fog of thoughts which clouded her normally sharp brain. In the end, she fell asleep, worn out with worrying, and the lights of the few buildings of Alwynsrus gradually petered out as the inhabitants were deep in slumber, too.
A persistent knocking brought Margaret awake, to find her light still on and the room distinctly chilly. It took her some time to collect her thoughts and recognize the knocking noise. It was coming from her window. Immediate fright made her reach for her bag where she knew the gun would be, but her hand stopped in mid-air when she heard a voice whisper, ‘Maggie!’
Her heart gave a great glad leap as she ran to open the window. There had been new evidence, and they had released Jan!
Chapter Four
It took two seconds, Jan’s hand across her mouth and his whispered demand for her to keep quiet to make her realize all was not well. He climbed in through the window and urged her to get her things together.
‘Where are we going and what are you doing here?’ she demanded in a fierce undertone.
‘I broke out of that cell. De Wet is as drunk as a ginned-up rhino and the other two were easy to handle. It was rough on them after bringing us from that aircraft, but I had no option. I’m not sure how long it’ll be before they come round. When they do I want to be well away from here.’
‘You are making things worse for yourself. Surely you are in enough trouble as it is without adding a jail-break to the list,’ she cried.
‘If you don’t want to risk your neck by coming, it’s all right by me. Stay here and entertain De Wet. From what I’ve seen and heard, he takes some amusing. Did they take my gun?’ He was plainly indifferent to her decision, and as he took the webbing belt from her and strapped it round his waist he said, ‘Before you tell me killing is a punishable offence I’ll explain that I don’t mean to shoot anyone. Get a move on, if you want to come.’
‘I’m ready,’ she said testily. ‘As you seem to be “El Supremo” of this operation, I’m waiting for further instructions.’
‘Give me two of those cases; you can bring the other one and that case of torture instruments. Now, for God’s sake don’t make a noise as we go out.’ He snapped off the light and bent to pick up the luggage. Margaret put out an urgent hand in the darkness to touch his arm.
‘Leave my things. You can’t possibly carry them in your weak condition. It will be out of the question for you to walk far, as it is.’
‘We’re not walking, sweetheart,’ he told her softly.
They climbed through the window rather clumsily due to the heavy suitcases, and he led her behind several buildings until they came upon a small canvas-covered truck. The luggage was thrown in the back and Margaret told to hop in the passenger seat. The engine started with a roar which should have awakened even a sleeping elephant, and Jan swung into the road so suddenly that Margaret was thrown against the door. Driving methods in a car which responded like a dream didn’t come off so well in a heavy utility vehicle, but the knowledge didn’t deter him in the slightest and they departed from the village like an electric hare at a dog-track. Once clear of habitation, Jan let the lights blaze out and pressed the accelerator. Nothing happened; they were going flat out already. He sighed.
‘What I’d give for my Lotus right now instead of this bucket.’
Feeling like a character in an animated cartoon, Margaret used his airy unconcern when she asked, ‘How did you get hold of it?’
‘It was there.’
She turned to gaze at him. ‘But that’s . . .’
‘. . . stealing. I know. They really asked for it leaving all the keys in an unlocked box inside the compound.’
‘You mean . . . oh Jan, you haven’t stolen a police truck!’
‘Borrowed it.’
‘They’ll catch us before we get any distance.’
‘What in? I put the other vehicle out of action before I left.’
It took her several minutes to recover from that bombshell. The feeling of being part of a cartoon increased. At any moment Jan would start driving up completely vertical mountains and down the other side while the sergeant, in the guise of a fox, would hop about in rage on the opposite side of a ravine. This tall, red-haired man who had seemed merely irresponsible now revealed himself as a calculating opportunist. The suggestion that he was simply putting one over on Chris by flying the Dakota to Myala had been a blind to cover the need to get his cargo of illegal arms to the Game Reserve. He carried a gun and was skilled at breaking free from prison cells – long practice, no doubt! The theft of this truck was commonplace to a man such as he.
‘Where are we heading?’ she asked faintly, already suspecting the answer.
‘Myala.’
‘To deliver your consignment of arms. I suppose the crates are in the back of this truck?’
There was a short silence, then he said, ‘That was a joke, wasn’t it?’
Something about his tone and the way he had suddenly tensed beside her set her heart thumping painfully. ‘You told me Van Heerdon is a crook, and Helen said you weren’t averse to taking doubtful cargoes because he paid you well. Wasn’t . . . didn’t you really know about the guns?’
He didn’t answer and the silence stretched from then until eternity. The truck rushed over the sand road while the two people inside suffered their own anguish of mind. If Jan had played no part in the shipment of guns Margaret had done the unforgivable; hit a man when he was down. Surely, after the ordeal they had been through together she should have been past making comments like that! Her first unfounded accusation could be excused on the grounds that she had had no way of knowing that lightning had forced the Dakota down when everything she had heard had pointed to the likelihood of a fault in the machine. This present false conclusion was unpardonable.
Sergeant De Wet’s disclosure had hit Jan between the eyes; she could still visualize the way he had looked. No man could fake such a reaction! So, with a new deep conviction that he was innocent, she tried to fathom why Jan was strengthening the case against him by this impolitic action. With only the slimmest chance of proving he knew nothing of what was in the base of those crates, breaking out from a prison cell and stealing a police truck for his get-away was the very worst thing he could do. There was something in his nature which urged him to paint himself even blacker than he knew people would think him; a sort of defiant ‘sheep for a lamb’ attitude. It was still not clear to her why he was scorching along the road to Myala if all the crates were still in the compound at Alwynsrus. It could not simply be to deliver her safe and sound. There must be some other reason burning inside him.
During their short acquaintance she had realized this man was not given to quixotic impulses. There her thoughts pulled up sharply. That was about all she did know about Jan Schroeder. Suddenly she
was back at Sea Point that afternoon saying to Helen, ‘Isn’t it time someone tried to understand him!’ This was the second time she had had cause to remember her words. She hadn’t been working very hard at it. A quick glance showed her Jan was another world away, so she turned her coat collar up against the chill and laid her head on the metal side of the cab where the continual bumping served as a scourge.
Jan had forgotten the girl. The fire inside him had reached white heat and stayed that way, eating into his vitals and making the pain from his leg seem insignificant. This morning, his life, which had been heading steadily downward, accelerated to absolute rock-bottom. The scales had always been weighted against him, the truth had been on the cards plain enough for even a dimwit to see, but he was a fighter by nature and had chosen to struggle against the odds.
However, even the toughest combatant knew when he was beaten. Some time in the future he would pick up the pieces and start again – on his own. Never again would he strive to prove he was capable of impossible qualities, that he could match anything anybody could do, and never would he imagine himself able to use a man like Van Heerdon to his own advantage. Sure, he had turned a blind eye to several loads which had exceeded the permitted weight, some others which were not packed in accordance with freight regulations, had twice flown into the bush to pick up a ‘friend’ of Van Heerdon’s and asked no questions about his identity or why he couldn’t use a normal airline, but none of it was deeply unlawful. Van Heerdon paid double prices for these journeys and he had also put him in touch with several business men who didn’t regularly need the services of air freight and were glad to deal with the pilot direct.
All this while Jan had thought he was being smart. He would take a risk or two until he had doubled the profits of Schroeder Freight Limited, then he would drop Van Heerdon like a puff-adder. But he had been caught in his own slipstream. Fury bit into him anew at the recollection of the guns and ammunition which had been hidden beneath the supplies for Russell Martin at the Game Reserve.
Some months ago, Van Heerdon had arranged for Jan to meet a man who could supply packing and crating services considerably cheaper than the firm already used by Schroeder Freight, but Chris had only agreed if he inspected the goods once they were packed. All had seemed square and aboveboard, so, after four or five months, Chris dropped his scrutiny and even seemed pleased at the cut in costs. Was that when the guns first started being slipped in beneath the legitimate goods?
The Schroeder brothers had been operating from Cape Town for some nine years and were known and trusted by the staff at the airport. On most of their trips it had only been necessary to show the Customs authorities the freight manifest and they had been cleared. Occasionally, one of the men would prise open a crate or two, peer inside, then fasten it down again. It was all done on a friendly basis with plenty of wise-cracking on both sides, especially when the cargo turned out to be a collection of snakes bound for a zoo.
How many times had those laughing men let a consignment of arms pass beneath their noses? How often had he flown to Myala quite unaware of what was in the freight hold? He had walked right into this situation and deserved the outcome. Whatever else he was, he had always accepted judgement for his actions and cried on no one’s shoulder. What he would not accept, and what was grinding into him like a dentist’s drill was the knowledge that Chris would be automatically drawn into this. Nobody would believe the senior partner of the firm had no idea what was going on. He had taken stuff to Myala himself; he could be implicated right up to his ears!
Jan’s relations with his brother had deteriorated very gradually and the more he tried to breach the gap the more intolerant Chris became. The family always backed Chris, of course, so Jan had started finalizing deals before telling his brother. They always had a row over it, but Chris usually came round once he got used to the idea. Because of a wife and twins to consider, Chris was inclined to caution, but Jan was not averse to taking a risk here and there if it meant the advancement of the company. Now, he had taken one risk too many and Schroeder Freight would pay the price. Even if their brother George, who was a barrister, could manage to prove Chris was an innocent victim, the good name of the company would be lost. The customers who were already on their books would never trust them again and new customers would steer clear of dealings which involved them.
Chris had lost all he possessed once before, but that had been under almost heroic circumstances. Now, he stood to lose it all again. The downward spiral had started with the purchase of that Dakota. Chris wouldn’t listen to his assurances that it was completely airworthy, and when he went behind his back to try to cancel a deal he had given his word on, Jan saw red. Beating him to the post by taking off in the Dakota just as Chris arrived at the airport had been born of his anger, but then Fate had decided to step in with a flash of lightning.
From then on, events had hurtled to the staggering realization that the biggest blow ever to befall the family had been brought about by one of their own number – something none of them would ever forgive. This broken-down truck was not travelling fast enough for his racing pulses. At Myala there was a man who had been waiting to receive those guns, and Jan wanted him! He wouldn’t rest until he had sorted out the whole organization, but the man he most wanted to meet again was Elliot van Heerdon!
Thirty miles from Myala the truck ran out of petrol. It was a blessing in disguise because Jan was exhausted, but he cursed and swore at having to abandon it. Margaret jerked awake, and by asking what had happened, broke the awkwardness she had felt without realizing it.
‘We’ll have to cover the rest on foot,’ he growled. ‘Come on, start walking.’
‘You are in no condition to tramp along these rough roads,’ she protested. ‘Have a rest before going on.’
‘You stay there and wait to be picked up, if you like. Flash your legs at the first driver who comes along and he won’t be able to resist you – but don’t be surprised if you never reach Myala.’
He limped away into the darkness and Margaret sat tight in her seat secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t get very far. Ten minutes later she went in search of him and found him sitting by the side of the road with his head in his hands. Without a word she helped him to his feet and led him, leaning heavily, back to the truck. It didn’t take her long to make a bed of sorts with towels and other articles from her suitcases, and as she arranged them on the filthy floor, she reflected that one of her first tasks on arriving at the Game Reserve would be a laundry session.
‘Can you swallow aspirin without water?’ she asked.
‘Yes, if I open this bottle of grog.’ He indicated a dark bottle just inside the tail-board. ‘While I was relieving De Wet of the keys, I thought we might get thirsty on the journey. There wasn’t time to select the finest vintage from his collection.’ He pulled the cork and tipped back his head to drink long and thirstily.
‘From the smell of that stuff, I’d say the aspirin are unnecessary,’ she commented dryly, taking the bottle from him. ‘Lie back before you fall back!’ She covered him with several cardigans and settled against the canvas cover. ‘Before you drift off, what do you want me to do if the police appear?’
‘Run like hell,’ he grunted.
Now they were back in a nurse-patient relationship, Margaret found it easier to say what was weighting her down. Once they arrived at Myala, the chance would be lost and, for some reason, the idea of his flying off to face the outcome of all this with her accusation unrevoked filled her with dismay. Unsure whether he was still awake, she apologized, nevertheless.
‘Put my remarks down to hysteria,’ she began. ‘You may be used to forced landings, rooms in out-of-the-way Greek hostels, and drunken police sergeants, but my sheltered upbringing in deepest Norfolk didn’t prepare me for the harsher side of life. I told you once that fortune had always smiled on me. Perhaps it’s time I suffered a little – it might make me more tolerant.’
For a while she thought he hadn’t he
ard, then he murmured, ‘I wish you hadn’t said that, Maggie. I now feel honour bound to apologize for not leaving you behind at Cape Town – and who knows where it will end! Before long we will both be in tears. Have a swig from that bottle, then you’ll really have something to bash your teetotal conscience with.’
She smiled into the darkness. It was all right. He had accepted her words of contrition without feeling she was sorry for him. It was a first faltering step towards understanding this fiery man.
Dawn jumped up like a theatrical backcloth being rigged. One minute it was night, the next, a panorama of staggering beauty leapt before her weary eyes. To the west, standing sentinel against the lavender sky, was a range of serrated mountains, and before it a great spread of forest looking deceptively green and fertile in the intensity of light slanting from the east. An apricot flush stained the cirrus formations which hung high above, anticipating the arrival of the sun which assaulted this land so fiercely at times.
The stillness, the superlative air of nature uninhibited, filled Margaret with an ache of longing. What for, she couldn’t tell, but knew this particular dawn would live for ever in her memory. While Jan slept, free from his torment for a while, she sat as still as a statue, hugging her knees while she acknowledged a strange metamorphosis within herself. She likened the twenty-six years of her life to a cabouchon gem, shining with the peace and serenity of a loving family, a very good education, and a single-minded ambition easily achieved. Now, rather tardily perhaps, Destiny had decided to start adding the facets, cutting ruthlessly into the heart of it and discarding some of the pretty dross so that a jewel of infinitely more value could be produced. There was only one danger. If the cutting edge should make an infinitesimal error when it sliced into the stone, the whole would be ruined and counted worthless.
By eight o’clock the sun was hot enough to make Margaret throw off her coat and look longingly at the bottle at her feet. The need for a drink was too strong, and she picked it up, removed the cork and sniffed. It smelt fairly obnoxious, but she tipped some of the raw brown fluid down her throat experimentally.
