Chapter 14
John McBride sat in the shade at an outdoor café table. It was in the square directly opposite the palace. Noisy, but extremely good coffee. Sometimes, Dusty walked across and joined him, but not yet today. He flicked through the pages of the Masawate Observer, published every morning. At the bottom of the front page was a report of an off-road car crash, a BMW that had crashed in a creek only last night. Two people had been in the car and were taken to hospital, but released later.
McBride looked idly round the square, searching for Markham with a gun in his hand. The man wouldn’t rest until McBride was dead, of that he was sure. And McBride was the only man that Markham knew was involved in the scam.
But once he was back in England, he would be safer. Safer because he knew Markham daren’t set foot in his own country again. Only relatively safer, because Markham could pay for an assassin. The problem wouldn’t go away as long as Markham lived.
He looked down again at the newspaper, when he heard somebody sit down next to him. He reached out to grab his arm, his gun arm if he was right-handed.
“Steady on John, you’re twitchy this morning.” It was Dusty Miller, dressed in civvies.
“Dead right. Look at this paper. Markham taken to hospital last night. That would be in Mawabane, and he’s been released. I thought it was him for a moment. I’m his only suspect.”
“He wouldn’t try anything in the square, thousands of witnesses, broad daylight.”
“You don’t know how furious he was last night. The man’s crazy at the best of times. He would kill first, think second.”
A waiter was standing by Dusty, pad in hand. Dusty looked up at him.
“Double espresso, please.” He raised his eyebrows at McBride.
“No thanks, I only just got one.” McBride flicked through the pages of the newspaper, then folded it and laid it on the table.
Dusty said “Are you going to kill him?”
“Who?”
“Robert Markham, of course.”
“I can’t see any alternative” said McBride. “If I want to live without looking over my shoulder forever.”
“You told me that you couldn’t be judge and jury. You’ve soon changed your mind.”
McBride sighed. “I haven’t changed my mind. Markham will kill me, unless I get him first. That’s the bottom line.” He heard his phone ring, pulled it out of his pocket, frowned at the screen. “International. What bets it’s my agent?” He pressed the button. “McBride. Oh, hello Ian. I thought it might be you. You saw the painting images I sent? Together with the list of people interested in buying?”
He listened for a long time, Ian being garrulous. “Yes, what do you want me to do, bring the paintings back to England, or I could leave them with the framer. Probably he could handle the sales and everything.”
McBride pulled his wallet out, put it on the table, flicked it open with one hand, pulled out a business card. “Yes the guy’s name is Kwami. That’s his first name. You’d never get your tongue round his last name, I can’t.” He read out the telephone number. He listened again.
“Yes, the two frames were top quality. And reasonably priced. Yes, okay, I’ll drop them off at his shop, tell him you will phone. That’s great. Coming home? I might stay for another week or so, do a few more animal paintings. And I’ve got something I have to resolve.”
Whilst he had been talking, he was watching the pedestrians. Lots of civil servants in smart suits, holding brief cases. Women shoppers in brightly coloured dresses, some of them carrying their packages on their heads. And tourists with cameras, pouring off a tour bus parked further along the kerb.
McBride said: “Can I ask you a favour, Dusty?”
“Sure. Ask away.”
“I thought of spending a week painting in the Kruger National Park. Would you fancy coming along to act as bodyguard? In view of the circumstances. Markham has never met you. That’s if you can get a week’s leave.”
“The king will agree. Ever since you promised him a painting you are his favourite guy. You think Markham won’t find you in the Kruger? Mind, you could be right. Anything active won’t float his boat.”
“I do want him to know. Flush him out, so that we can dispose of him. Let me carry on living my life. If you book in my name, and tip off the Observer here,” he pointed at the newspaper on the table, it should get picked up by the South African press. I know they like to publicize wellknown people visiting the park.”
“So, what sort of accommodation? You’ve got a choice of hotels, chalets, tents, caravans, even.”
“Cross out the last two. Either of the first two. No, make it a chalet. That will make us seem vulnerable, I guess.”
“Which campsite? You’ve got a choice of about twenty, at least. It’s coming on to winter here, so I would say that knocks out the sites in the north. That’s Highveld, so it gets pretty nippy after the holiday season. And that’s what it is, end of season. It’s good in a way, because there won’t be a lot of people about.”
“Is there a lot of security?” asked McBride.
“The Kruger have their own security force. But mostly they are looking for poachers. And, of course, they vet staff for honesty, especially the ones handling money.”
“Could you get guns through the entrances?”
“Certainly hand guns. Elephant guns might be a bit dodgy, they would ask questions. I don’t think they search vehicles.”
“I was thinking we might hire a car, maybe a four by four.”
Miller pointed across the square, to the left of the palace. “There’s a big travel agent shop there. We could pick up some literature, even book there if we find anything suitable.”
“Sounds good to me. Let’s go.” McBride put his hand in the air to call the waiter.
Ten minutes later the two men were sitting on comfy chairs in front of a large desk. A smartly dressed young man sat with his hands steepled in front of him, listening intently as McBride laid out their plans to visit the Kruger National Park. Adding that he was planning to do a lot of photography and painting of big game.
The young man sprang into action, went across the office, and returned with a pile of literature. He unfolded a large map of the park, and turned it so that the two men could read it. He pointed at the map whilst he was talking.
“You’re quite right to discount the north, it’s Highveld mostly, and getting chilly this time of year. They can even get snow on the ground in winter. The park is two hundred miles north to south, but only about forty miles wide. In the southern tip here,” he pointed, with his finger touching the map, “the best camp is Berg-en-Dal, here in hilly country. It’s in the area where you can spot the big five as they call the lions, tigers, elephants, rhinos and buffalo. I think I got that right. Anyway the most popular animals.”
McBride said: “We really want a cottage, bungalow, or whatever. Self-catering, but in case we didn’t feel like slumming it, are there restaurants and such on site?”
The young man brought out a booklet from the pile on his desk.
“Here you are. A booklet on Berg-en-Dal. There are restaurants and shops, swimming pools, even, on the campsite. There are bungalows and some of them are right on the perimeter fence. You can watch the animals and birds from your bungalow. They mostly have three single beds, showers but no bath, kitchen of course. Price about five hundred pounds sterling for the week. You are expected to bring a vehicle with you, so there’s parking for your vehicle at the bungalow. You aren’t allowed out of the camp at night, because they close the gates. The times cover the hours of darkness. Closing the gates is to stop animals straying into the camp without being spotted by the armed guard. When do you want to book for?” A man trained in sales techniques, thought McBride, spotting the sales closure.
“A couple of days’ time, if that’s possible. We’ll hire a car and drive down. How long would that take?”
“It’s about two hundred and fifty miles, give or take. If you started
at say seven in the morning, you would be there midday or just after. You have to check in at the park gate, and its about eight miles in the park to the campsite. Don’t dawdle. You have to get there before the camp closes.”
“Okay,” said McBride, and pulled out his wallet. “Get cracking and book us in. You can do the car hire if possible. We need a Range Rover, ideally. We’d start out from here, andMr Miller here can drop me off at Jo’berg on the way back, then drive back here, where he lives.”
The travel agent spent some time on the phone, while the two men read up on the Kruger Park, from the pile of literature.
The Ponzi Men Page 14
