Chapter 13
The front door slammed behind Markham and he was gone. Sophie dried her eyes on her handkerchief, and laughed.
“End of the show,” she said. “I must get changed into my normal clothes. It will only take me five minutes.”
McBride said to Mapoza: “Give me a hand to clear down the table. We need to get out of here. I’m sure Markham will be back before long. This was a lousy scam, thinking it over.”
“In what way?” Mapoza was working on the table, stacking crockery on a large tray.
“Think about it when we are on the road. I’ll just tell Paul to hurry up and clear the kitchen.” He went through to the back of the house.
“We’re out of here in five minutes, Paul,” he shouted, “gather your gear ready to leave.” And McBride decided there wasn’t time to pack all the sound equipment. They could send someone back the next day.
They were loading the Range Rover, all of them in the kitchen and yard when the gunshots were fired. Obviously gunshots, but fired from a small pistol. Markham’s voice boomed at them from somewhere inside the house. They all piled out of the kitchen door. Sounds of cannon fire followed them. Markham had switched on the sound effects. McBride and the rest of them started to load the equipment piled round the car. There was a sound of a car revving furiously, and the crashing of branches, and Markham’s BMW emerged from the side of the house.
A bullet pinged off the side of the Range Rover, and they dived through its doors. Mapoza had the car moving before the doors were slammed.
McBride was in the front passenger seat. He looked round to make sure Sophie and Paul were safely in the rear seats. As Mapoza raced down the drive closely followed by the BMW, McBride said: “Now you know why it was a lousy scam.”
“Don’t worry Mr. McBride, we’ll soon shake the BMW. When we go off-road. Trust me.”
The Range Rover slewed onto the main road, Mapoza relying on darkness to mean there were no vehicles approaching. McBride held his breath. Mapoza accelerated, but so did the BMW. There was no doubt in McBride’s mind that the performance of the BMW would keep up with and even pass the Range Rover. It could run them off the road. And that was where Mapoza had said they were going without any help.
The bonnet of the BMW was close to the Range Rover, bullets bouncing off the bodywork. Mapoza touched the brakes and was rewarded by a crunch from behind as the BMW driver was too close to react. The car fell back, and McBride tried to see what damage had been caused. Not the headlights. They still dazzled him on full beam, making it impossible to see the car’s bodywork.
Mapoza was slowing now, looking for the left turn, the farm track he had talked about. Unexpectedly, he was heaving the wheel left, and the Range Rover was lurching on the unmade track. McBride looked back again. The BMW had been slow to react, it was reversing up the road. Mapoza had probably gained a lead of two minutes. But they could probably do even better, now the Range Rover was veering off the unmade track and on to grassland, Mapoza putting the shift into four wheel drive. McBride looked back again, and saw the BMW racing up the track, skidding and bouncing along.
Mapoza seemed confident in driving in open country, away to their right was an area of fairly dense bush, but he was keeping maybe quarter of a mile to the left of it. The BMW was leaving the track now to follow them, but making heavy weather of the terrain.
Mapoza suddenly put the headlamps on full beam, and switched the fog lamps on, too. He cut the speed back slightly, and the car lurched down a slope, and through a ford, water spraying out on both sides. The auto wipers started up, Then they were driving up a slight incline, and Mapoza hit the throttle down to the floor. The car accelerated fast, and turned hard right to go down behind the trees on the right.
The BMW turned right, too, realizing they could cut off the Range Rover , reducing the distance they had to travel to intersect the Range Rover’s path.
“Got him,” said Mapoza. “He’s fallen for it. That stream we crossed has two metre high banks downstream. Watch him crash.”
The BMW was moving at speed now, lurching and bucking through the undulating surface. Although its headlamps were on full beam, the stream wasn’t visible as both banks were of equal height. It just appeared as uninterrupted grass land.
Bo spotted the stream when he was about seven or eight metres away. Even then he wasn’t sure what was in front of him. He jammed on the brakes, and turned at ninety degrees to avoid the dark ribbon ahead. His front wheel hit the edge of the bank, and there was no way of stopping the large BMW majestically falling through the air, landing on the driver’s side, and then continually rolling until it was standing on its roof.
Bo was still conscious, surrounded by exploded airbags, the cabin reeking of explosive charge and dust. He hit the power off, aware of possible fire. He heard Markham swear.
“Fuck. My arm’s broken. I can’t move it. Jesus!”
“Apart from that, no pain? Can you get out of the door?”
“I don’t know, can you?”
Mapoza brought the Range Rover to a stop, got out. He saw the headlight shining into the sky. And then they went off. Nothing but darkness. No sound, and he could see nothing moving. Mapoza was suddenly aware that McBride was standing next to him.
“You don’t think they’re dead?”
“Unlikely. Cars today are built to avoid killing the occupants. The airbags should have saved them. But they won’t be driving anywhere.”
Whilst they watched the dark landscape, the trees off to their left now, and the sky paler with the luminescence of the moon’s light, first one figure, and shortly afterwards, another stood against the sky.
“Well, they’re out of danger in case the car catches fire. Should we phone the police do you think?”
Mapoza said: “Your decision, Mr McBride. Although I don’t think they would do that if it was you.”
“We will. Can you explain where they crashed exactly?”
“Yes, I’ll make the call, Mr McBride.”
The Ponzi Men Page 13
