Dead of Night

by Michael Stanley

  ‘I have to wait for the GPS to pick up the satellites…’ she said, hoping he believed her. It was unnecessary for the information she needed – but it gave her a little extra time to think.

  If she gave him the correct position, he’d end up with the money, then come back and kill them. If she gave him the wrong position, he’d come back, and who knew what he’d do before he killed them?

  She shuddered.

  Think, Crys, think!

  She could give him the wrong location. That would buy them time. She’d already said the coordinates were a rough location and he’d need them to show the exact spot. Maybe when he came back, they could persuade him to let them show him where the money was. That would be a couple of extra hours.

  When the GPS locked onto her position, Crys flipped to the main menu and selected Waypoints. There were eight showing. She selected the last one and deleted it, hoping against hope that Pockface didn’t understand what she was doing. He didn’t react. Crys breathed steadily, trying not to show her relief. Then she highlighted the last one, which she thought was the location of the camp, and handed the GPS to Pockface.

  ‘We buried the money on the track from the plane to the camp,’ she said weakly. ‘On the left side, about ten paces in. You’ll need something to dig with. It’s not deep. It’s in a silver briefcase.’

  Pockface took the GPS and said something to the accomplice, then they left and Crys heard the door lock.

  A few minutes later she heard a vehicle start and drive away. Then silence.

  She looked up and saw Bongani staring at her.

  They had four or five hours before they found out what their fate was going to be.

  Chapter 21

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here, Bongani. I sent them to the wrong place. I deleted the co-ords of the briefcase and showed them the coords of the camp.’

  ‘That was clever.’ Bongani sounded in as much pain as Crys.

  ‘Pockface will be furious when he can’t find the money.’ She allowed herself a grim laugh. ‘We only have a few hours … then he’ll be back.’

  They both fell silent for a moment. Crys was straining her mind to work out her next step, and was sure Bongani was doing the same.

  ‘I’m going to try to work my chair up to yours,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe I can untie your hands.’

  He rocked his chair from side to side and slowly made progress towards her. He groaned with the effort, and once he nearly tipped over. Crys gasped. He’d never get the chair up again.

  After what seemed like forever, he got his chair back to back with Crys’s and reached for her wrists. But he couldn’t see what he was doing, and twice he grabbed at her broken finger. She screamed the first time. The second she bit her lip. When he did find the knot, he fiddled with it for at least ten minutes, but it was very tight, and he couldn’t apply much force with his hands tied together.

  Eventually, he stopped. ‘I’ll try again in a few minutes. My fingers hurt too much right now, but I will get it loose.’

  Crys didn’t think so. She could feel that the knot was just as tight as before.

  ‘We need a plan for when they come back,’ she said.

  ‘Hard to plan without knowing what they’re going to do. Maybe I can say that I can find the place without the GPS. Then they’ll take us both.’

  Crys wondered what would happen then. Probably a bullet to the head. And she’d deleted the waypoint. If Bongani couldn’t find the right spot, they’d be grateful for a bullet each by the time the thugs had finished with them.

  ‘I can’t think of a better idea. Maybe we’ll get a chance … somehow.’

  Crys felt him start on the knot again, but he made no progress.

  ‘It won’t come loose,’ he said at last. She could hear his desperation. ‘My family … what will they do without me?’ The last word caught in his throat.

  ‘The Malans will look after them. I’m sure they will.’ Crys tried to keep her voice calm, reassuring.

  He was quiet for a few minutes. Then he said, ‘The whole village helped to get me to bush school so that I could become a game guide, get a real job. There aren’t many jobs out here, but I worked hard, and learned English well. I wanted to help the village as they helped me. But the money doesn’t go far.’

  Crys realised he was talking about why he’d become involved with the rhino poachers – about how he’d got into this position.

  ‘I understand…’ She hesitated. ‘You said I come from America and don’t know what it’s like to be poor, but my father and mother came there as refugees. We didn’t have much – nothing, actually. But we had the Vietnamese community, and they helped us. People do that. They help. They don’t expect a reward.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He paused again. ‘How did your father escape from Vietnam?’

  ‘They put my father in prison for thirteen years after the war. After about five or six years, my mother and my brother and me, we took advantage of the refugee programme and went to America. My father followed when he was released because he would never have been allowed to get a job in Vietnam. They got rid of the people they didn’t like that way. And my father wasn’t anyone important – just a soldier who fought in the war.’

  ‘My father was a miner. He died in a gold-mine accident when I was young. You were lucky to have a good father.’

  She shook her head, forgetting he couldn’t see her. ‘He’s bitter, Bongani. He likes nothing about America. My mother and I had to do everything exactly the way it would be done in Vietnam. And he beats my mother…’ She felt her throat tightening around her words. ‘I had to get away from them in the end. I used to go to the woods to be with the wild animals. They were my real friends. Not humans. I suppose my trust in human beings was damaged…’

  ‘What happened in the end?’

  ‘My father threw me out of the house for disobeying him. He told my mother he’d kill her if she met with me. And I believe that he would. So, I’ve made sure I’ve stayed away. To protect her.’

  ‘Why did he throw you out?’

  She didn’t answer for a while.

  ‘Sorry, Crys, you don’t have to tell me.’

  ‘No, it’s okay: he saw me holding hands with a boy from high school. A white boy. In his world, it was up to him to tell me who I could see and who I couldn’t, and then only if he and my mother were present. No physical contact until after marriage … marriage to the person of his choice.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I had disobeyed him. Committed the cardinal sin.’

  Neither of them spoke for a while.

  ‘I don’t miss him, you know,’ she said at last. ‘But I miss my mother so much. I thought I would get used to the pain in my heart, but I feel it as much now as I did then.’

  After a while, he said, ‘You’re right. You were also poor. And you had no family, so maybe you were poorer than me.’

  Crys felt tears running down her face. She had no hands to sweep them away, so she had no choice but to let them flow as she realised she probably wouldn’t see her mother again, and that things would never be right with her father.

  As she tried to pull herself out of her sadness, she heard the sound of a vehicle outside.

  She sat up straighter.

  She hadn’t expected them back so soon. Her stomach twisted and she felt nauseous.

  Bongani was desperately working on the knot again, scratching and tugging, but Crys knew it was hopeless.

  Then she heard another vehicle. And another. Doors slammed and voices shouted. This was more than just Pockface and his accomplice. What was going on?

  There was a long, drawn-out silence. Crys held her breath.

  Then a banging. ‘Police. Open up.’

  ‘We’re in here!’ Crys tried to shout, but it was more like a croak, her throat was so dry. Bongani yelled in his own language.

  ‘Police,’ came the order again. ‘Open up.’

  Silence.

  Then a loud bang, followed by shouts and heavy foots
teps – big boots. A few moments later there was a loud thud – the door shuddered, and Crys could feel the floor vibrating. Then another thump, and it flew open. Two men in helmets and bullet-proof vests burst in and scanned the room for opposition, guns at the ready. Both Bongani and Crys froze, not saying a word.

  ‘Clear,’ one shouted and ran over to them. ‘You okay?’

  Crys nodded.

  He untied her arms. She screamed when he caught her finger with the rope. Then he untied her legs. She tried to stand, but collapsed back on the chair. She leaned forwards, breathing heavily, as he untied Bongani.

  When she looked up again, she saw Colonel Mabula walking in, also wearing helmet and vest.

  He stopped in front of her. ‘Who did this?’ His tone was hard, his face set.

  ‘The Portuguese man I told you about…’ She could barely talk. ‘The one at the police station…’

  He turned to one of the men. ‘Get some water for them.’ He looked back at her. ‘How did he get you?’

  It was payback time for Petrus’s double-cross.

  ‘Your guard, Petrus, let me out, and they were waiting,’ she rasped. ‘They must have paid him to do it.’

  ‘Where are they? And how many?’

  ‘We gave them my GPS. They went to get the money.’ She saw his eyes widen. ‘There were only two that we saw. In a white pickup truck. I think they’ll be back soon.’

  He put his hands on his hips. ‘So, you did have the money after all.’

  She shook her head, thinking quickly. ‘I gave him my GPS and showed him some coordinates – for the camp. There is no money. I did it to buy us some time. You’ve saved us, Colonel. Thank you … Thank you … God knows what they would have done to us when they couldn’t find the money. They’ve already broken my finger…’ With an effort she held it up; it was crooked and swollen.

  One of the men walked in and handed them each a glass of water. Crys took a mouthful and swirled it slowly around her mouth, trying to moisten every dry nook and cranny. The best wine in the world couldn’t have tasted better. She downed the whole thing. Slowly, her mouth returned to normal. She held her glass out for more.

  ‘You come with me,’ Mabula said. ‘Meanwhile we’ll set up a little surprise for your friends.’

  He helped her stand. Bongani managed on his own.

  ‘What did they do to you?’ Mabula asked him.

  ‘Just hit me a few times.’

  ‘You’ll both need to see a doctor, then we’ll decide what to do with you. Everywhere you go, there’s trouble, Ms Nguyen.’

  The man returned with more water. She thankfully drained it again.

  They walked slowly outside to a police cruiser, each step jarring her body.

  ‘How did you find us?’ Crys asked, shading her eyes from the strong sunlight.

  ‘You took Petrus’s cell phone, right?’

  She nodded.

  ‘We put an urgent request to Telkom to trace it. They told us that whoever had it, stopped here.’

  ‘But they destroyed the phone when we got here. Pockface smashed it.’

  ‘Not a problem. It was working when you arrived. That’s all they needed.’

  Mabula opened the back door of his vehicle for her, and she climbed in – gingerly holding her damaged hand with the other. Bongani followed.

  ‘It’s a good thing you left his side-arm at the station,’ Mabula said through the open door. ‘We could have shot you when we found you … then asked questions later.’ He glared at both of them. Then he turned to one of his men. ‘Okay, sergeant. Hide all the vehicles and yourselves, and leave two men inside. I want those bastards alive.’

  Crys frowned. Had they got Mabula wrong? Was he on their side? She couldn’t afford to take the chance.

  The man nodded. ‘You heard the colonel,’ he shouted. ‘Get going.’

  Finally, Mabula slipped into the driver’s seat of the cruiser. He turned and stared at Crys. ‘What are we going to do with you?’ he said, then turned with an exaggerated shake of the head and started the engine.

  Chapter 22

  Bongani and Crys were taken to the hospital under guard. Bongani had only suffered bruises, so he returned to the police station before her. But Crys was there a while.

  The doctor gave her a local anaesthetic, put her dislocated finger back into place, and strapped it up. At last there was some relief from the pain. She felt her body relax, exhausted from the tension. He checked her shoulder and pronounced that it would heal in due course. After that a constable escorted her back to the police station.

  She had a sinking feeling at the thought of returning to her cell.

  She was pretty sure now that Mabula wasn’t working with Pockface, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t after the money for himself. She needed to tread very carefully.

  But they didn’t take her to a cell; she was taken straight to Mabula’s office.

  ‘Sit!’ He pointed to a chair without looking at her, focusing on something he was writing.

  He made her wait then finally looked up. ‘You’re lucky to be here – a fortunate mix of technology and stupidity. You’re lucky our technical people in Pretoria were able to trace you so quickly.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Now tell me what happened.’

  For the next half hour, she related the exact sequence of events, from the time Pockface had grabbed her to when Mabula’s men had burst into the room where they were being held. At the end of it, he checked his notes.

  ‘You say they were speaking Portuguese?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘But one of them spoke English on the phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Could you hear what the person he was talking to was saying?’

  ‘I tried to hear, but no.’

  ‘Tell me again what the man said on the phone in English.’

  She repeated what she remembered.

  ‘What do you think it means?’

  She shook her head. ‘I would guess they’re planning something in two weeks. It sounds as though there may be ten of them.’

  ‘Did they say anything else to suggest what it could be about?’

  ‘No, but Ho was Vietnamese. From my research, I know that Vietnam illegally imports a lot of elephant ivory and rhino horns. So, it could be one of those they were discussing.’

  ‘With ten men?’

  ‘Maybe to shoot a herd of elephants,’ she suggested. ‘That would take a few men, I’d think.’

  ‘Or a lot of rhinos?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Rhinos don’t usually move about in herds and they’re much harder to find than elephants. I think they’re planning something that will happen all at once.’

  ‘But all this is just you speculating, Ms Nguyen. No one actually mentioned rhinos or elephants or anything else? Please think about it carefully.’

  She took a few moments to think through everything again. Eventually, she shook her head.

  Mabula stared at her for a few moments. ‘I don’t know what you are up to, but everywhere you go, something bad happens.’

  Crys started to respond, but he held up his hand. ‘And then there’s the situation with Constable Ngane. You assaulted a policeman and broke out of jail.’

  Her heart sank. This was what she’d been dreading. She could almost hear the cell door slamming behind her. ‘But—’

  ‘Do you deny it?’

  ‘No. But I was scared for my life. I’d seen Pockface in the building, and I knew he was after me. And you didn’t believe me. I had to get out of here. And I was proved right, because your Constable Ngane had set me up. Pockface had bribed him to let me out right into his arms. It’s Ngane you should be arresting, not me.’

  ‘I’ll certainly be dealing with him. And when I get to the bottom of what happened, you may find yourself back in your cell.’

  She felt a ray of hope. That sounded like she wasn’t going back to the cell – at least not right away.

  And then
he asked her the last thing she had expected.

  ‘Do you know a man called Michael Davidson?’ he said.

  ‘The reporter from the New York Times?’ Crys replied, unable to conceal the surprise in her voice.

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes … yes. I know him very well. He also came out here for National Geographic to write about the rhino poaching and horn smuggling, and then…’

  Crys’s voice tapered off as her brain kicked in. Why was he asking her this? Could he be behind Michael’s disappearance? Did he want to find out if she’d discovered anything?

  She had to be so careful now.

  ‘…Then he went missing. No one’s heard from him for more than a month.’

  Mabula nodded. ‘When was the last time you had contact with him?’

  ‘I had an email from him about a month or so ago – he said he was at Tshukudu Game Reserve.’

  ‘Well, he left there and after a couple of days went into Mozambique for just over a week. The police there think he was talking to rhinohorn smugglers in Maputo – he was seen with a group of Vietnamese men at a local restaurant they use. Our guess is that he was getting information for his story. Then he came back to South Africa, and after that he disappeared. No trace of him.’

  At first Crys felt it was safest not to show too much interest, but now, faced with an opportunity to find out more – perhaps finally to discover something important – she simply couldn’t resist.

  ‘I thought the Phalaborwa police were looking into it? They told National Geographic that they hadn’t found out anything. So how come you’re asking me?’

  Mabula held her gaze for a while; she wondered what he was thinking. Then he opened a file on his desk and passed her what looked like the top of a cereal box.

  A shock went through Crys’s whole body. She couldn’t stop herself gasping.

  There was a message written on the cardboard, and she immediately recognised Michael’s distinctive handwriting. It said: ‘Been held prisoner here for weeks. Help me! This boy will show you where I am. Michael Davidson. National Geographic.’