Chapter 19
Markham was just finishing a hearty breakfast, promising himself he would start on a diet the next day, when he heard the BMW pull up outside. Rather he heard Bo’s enthusiastic use of the horn. As if Markham might have become deaf during the night, a loud knocking on the door followed the musical horn recital.
“For God’s sake, I heard you already. Come in for a moment, and you can carry my luggage out while I finish dressing. I hope you’ve got that gun with you.”
“Of course. I bought some more ammunition for it. You just blew the last lot away.”
“Yes. Well McBride got me very angry. Pity I didn’t kill him.”
“You never even got close.”
Markham went off to get his clothes. Bo pissed him off. If they were at the safari park long, he might end up shooting him, as well as McBride.
They drove for about two hours, and Markham got hungry. Bo drove on for a couple of miles and a service area appeared on the roadside.
“This will do,” said Markham.
Bo parked as close to the restaurant as he could. Markham pulled himself out of the car, and was waddling towards the eatery before Bo could even get out of the car himself. When Bo caught up with him, Markham had a tray in his hand and was queuing at the counter.
“Get what you want,” said Markham over his shoulder. “We won’t eat again until we get to the camp.” Bo shrugged in apparent disbelief.
As they sat opposite each other at a small table, Markham stuffing food into his mouth, he said, “We’ll just make a little detour, when we get close to the park. I want to show you a place we might hold McBride while we wait for the ransom.”
“Your plans are fairly advanced then.”
“You have to think ahead, Bo. That’s the secret of my success.”
Markham looked at Bo, whose face was going very red. He looked as though he might be sick. Spoil everything if he had a heart attack.
“It’s about two miles, on the right. A narrow road. It’s tarred at first, but very lumpy, cheap job, then it’s just hardcore. Going uphill, so when the rains come it’s like a waterfall. You can see why it wasn’t a success. The estate, not the road.” Markham fell silent, remembering, the fund, looking to loan out all that money that had poured in from England. Greedy people, looking for returns that should have warned them it was a scam. But Wilson had done a good job. Unfortunately, lending money in South Africa, in current times, the ANC full of corruption, the changeover from apartheid done too quickly, made it impossible for the borrowers to earn a return to repay the loans. Still, not his fault. He’d got solid security, in most cases. Like this one. He held the deeds for the ground.
The car was now bumping over the tarmac, and shortly hit the hardcore, with its channels made by the torrential water flow. The BMW slewed violently, its back wheels failing to make proper purchase.
“Steady on!” said Markham.
“Should have hired a four wheel drive for this off-road stuff. Or at least a front wheel drive,” grumbled Bo, wrestling with the steering wheel. The track was winding up the hillside, a steep drop on the left, and the sheer hill going up on the right. Markham shuddered, the accident the other night in the dark still giving him nightmares.
“Go slowly, there’s a gate just round the corner.”
Markham spoke just in time, and Bo managed to come to a halt before the car ran into the framework gate, covered in galvanized steel mesh. In front of it the track widened into a turning circle. To the right of the gate, the fence was buckled, but not broken. Someone had attacked it with a heavy vehicle. Fortunately the fence was well-built, over twelve feet high, and topped with razor wire, laid in long lazy coils.
Markham got out of the car, stretching. His left arm was still in the plaster cast. Bo got out of the car, too. It didn’t look as though he was driving anywhere soon. But Markham put his hand into his jacket pocket, pulled out a big set of keys, bounced them in his right hand.
“There you are Bo. One of these keys fits the padlocks on the gate. The others fit the houses that are finished.”
Bo strolled up to the gate, and looked through the mesh. Markham joined him. The fence stretched as far as the eye could see. Construction of houses had begun at this side of the site. Three show houses, looking out over the valley. Fantastic view, thought Markham. Beyond the finished houses, earth had been scraped to build foundations. The footings were dug, wooden pegs marked the limits. After three or more rows, the construction stopped, and the fence marched on into the bush.
Bo started going through the keys on the bunch. He selected padlock type keys, and tried them. Eventually, one fitted. He pulled the padlock open, tried the next padlock lower down with the same key. It opened, too.
“Bo, drive the car through, and lock the gates after us. Could be people in the bush waiting to gain entrance. Squatters, you know.”
Bo appeared to doubt this. Everything was quiet, no movements, and the hillside was steep. The site had been excavated in a huge gouge, and the spoil could be seen spilled over the drop below. Nevertheless he obeyed Markham’s instructions, parking the BMW in the first driveway, and then returning to lock the gates.
When Markham had the keys back, he sorted through the Yale keys, and managed to open the front door of the first house. All the first and second fixings had been done. The dry plaster boarding had not been decorated, but internal doors were in. The houses were weatherproofed. Markham thought this would be ideal to hide away McBride while he negotiated the ransom.
“Okay Bo. Now you know the way to this place, you will be able to transport McBride here. You can hide him in the boot, just in case the police should stop you. A very remote chance, of course. You’ll be here well before the alarm is raised.” Markham saw that Bo was going to raise objections. “Bo, just think of the money. You’ll be able to retire.”
Bo walked outside and went to the gates, unlocked them. He drove the car out through the gates, parked it on the turning circle, relocked the gates. He climbed into the car, tried to give the keys to Markham.
“No Bo, you keep them for the time being.”
“I’m having second thoughts.” He started the engine, put the car into gear and moved slowly down the hill. “I’ve a feeling things could go wrong, badly wrong.”
“How could they? You can’t back out at this stage.”
“I can if I want to.”
“And miss out on nearly a million and a half British pounds?”
“There is that,” agreed Bo. “But fancy hiding the hostage so near to where he is going to be kidnapped. The police don’t like kidnap cases. They put a lot of energy into solving them, especially in the first few hours. They’ll have loads of police in vehicles, and air cover, too.”
“Bo, we are twenty-five miles away from the campsite. Do you know how many square miles they would need to search? Hang on, I’m working it out. That’s nearly two thousand square miles, covering every direction. The campsite being the centre of a circle.”
“I agree that’s a lot of land, but there won’t be that many buildings, we’re not near any big towns.”
They were still arguing back and forth when the BMW turned into the Malelane Gate. It took them a further hour to get to the camp. At the reception, they both got out of the car and entered the building.
Markham said to the guy who greeted them: “My name’s Markham, we’ve got reservations at the lodge.” He pulled paperwork out of his pocket.
“Yes, Sir. Perhaps your man could book in with my girl here.” He turned and beckoned a clerk at a desk at the back of the room. “I just wanted to sort out something with you here.” He moved down the counter to the end wall. “We talked on the phone about some information,” he said and he passed a folded sheet under his hand across the counter. His big hand completely hid the sheet, and Markham slipped it straight into his jacket pocket. Markham’s hand came out with two hundred rand notes palmed, and shook the other man’s hand.
�
�Thank you,” said Markham, “you have been very helpful.”
The receptionist leaned forward, and said in a whisper, “If you need keys, just say. They would be four hundred for a duplicate.”
“I am saying. Most useful.”
The receptionist went away for a minute or two, and came back with a small brown envelope. “There you are, Sir.” And Markham gave him another four notes.
Markham turned round and saw that Bo had completed the registration and was waiting for him. They both strode out of the reception office.
“We take the car and park it at the lodge,” explained Bo. Markham climbed into the car. He opened the sheet of paper he had been given.
The note was typed. Only a short message:
McBride is booked into Bungalow 7.
He pulled out the brown envelope, and felt the indentations of a key inside. He slipped it back into his pocket without opening it.
The Ponzi Men Page 19
