Chapter 27
McBride and Belinda sat down for breakfast in the Hilton Hotel. McBride had picked up a newspaper, The Daily Sun, on the way from the lobby. He turned the front of the newspaper to face Belinda.
“My old friend Dusty,” he said. He turned the newspaper back and started to scan the article. The headline in sans serif bold type stretched the full width of the paper. BRIGADIER KIDNAPPED and under the strapline MAY CAUSE DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT. There was a photograph of Dusty in his brigadier uniform, looking suitably solemn. The story reported that the soldier had been kidnapped whilst he was spending his leave at the Kruger Park. He had been taken prisoner overnight, and police assumed he was taken in his hire car, which was also missing. Two other guests from the same campsite had disappeared, a financier and his chauffeur. Police thought they were suspects and were searching for them. The newspapers gave two car registration numbers and hoped that readers would look out for the cars, and report sightings to the police. The Maswatiland Army were currently leaving the matter in the hands of the South African Police, who they had every confidence in.
When McBride put down the paper and ate his breakfast, Belinda read the report for herself.
Belinda dropped McBride off at the office of Smitt and Company, and aimed to circle the area until McBride phoned to tell her he needed picking up.
McBride went through to the reception area, and felt at once that this was a substantial and up-market lawyer practice. Trust Markham to protect his dodgy business with the best. Behind the reception desk was a white woman in her forties dressed in a smart black dress. She wore black framed spectacles which gave her a sober appearance. When he asked for Mr Kadakia, she smiled up at him, and told him to take a seat. After five minutes, another woman in a black dress came through to the lobby and escorted him along a corridor, tapped on a door, and opened it. She ushered McBride through the door and closed the door behind him. Across a large expanse of thick carpet, was a huge desk in front of a large window. Behind the desk sat a small man, with a smile that showed white teeth.
“Good morning Mr McBride. A very warm welcome to my office, Sir.”
He stood up and stretched his hand out. McBride shook it, and took the chair on the client side of the desk.
“So you are a limited partner of South African Property Trust. If you let me have your passport, kind Sir, I will be able to verify your credentials, not that I am in any doubt, but as a lawyer I have to tread very carefully.” His Indian face creased into more smiles, and he performed a small bow.
McBride handed over his passport, and Kadakia expertly flicked the pages to the photograph and details of the holder. He glanced at the photograph, and then to McBride.
“You don’t mind if I make a scan on my computer? Good, it won’t take a moment.” He placed the passport on a machine, pressed a button, and the machine whirred for a moment. He handed back the document across the desk, and sat back and beamed at McBride.
“That is all very satisfactory.” He picked three sheets of paper from a file laying open in front of him, passed them over the desk. McBride looked at them.
“Those are the properties on which loans are outstanding. In most cases the Trust holds the deeds as security. I very much regret that they are not producing revenue. The worldwide recession is to blame, of course.”
McBride thought and the incompetence and greed of Markham, who has siphoned millions into his own pocket. But he didn’t voice his thoughts. Instead he stood up.
“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.” He made his own way back to the lobby, where he used his cell phone to call Belinda. She told him that she would be at the office within five minutes, so McBride went outside in the sun, and stood on the street watching the people and the traffic.
Belinda pulled into the drop-off sooner then McBride was expecting. He ran to the car and climbed into the Mazda without opening the door.
“What an athlete,” she said, and he smiled at her.
“I think we should make for the road we came in on yesterday. That’s the N4. When we reach a service area, we’ll stop for coffee, and I want to buy a map, and there’s a map of zip codes, that’s a big ask. If it’s a big service area with a decent bookshop, we should be okay. Then, while we’re dining, we look at the documents and maps.”
“ Mr McBride, you have everything under control.”
“I wish,” said McBride, thinking of Miller.
The first services on the N4 leaving Jo’burg is the biggest on the whole road network. It has a huge bookstore and newsagent. Many other shops, too. You could live for the rest of your life there, eating drinking, sleeping, buying clothes. But you wouldn’t be very happy.
They were looking at the maps. There were hundreds of them, and they had to get the services of a member of staff. With his help they soon had a map at about four miles to the inch, showing all roads including minor ones. The assistant had to consult records kept behind the counter, but was able to locate the zip code map. It cost a small fortune, but they really needed it.
They retired to a nearby coffee house, and sat at an outside table drinking coffees and eating pastries, very bad for their figures, as Belinda pointed out, but good for their happiness. McBride scribbled all locations from the deeds on the back of a sheet. By examining the zip code map, they could quickly work out the nearest properties to the Kruger campsite. Two were actually off the N4, one to the west of the Malelane Gate to the Kruger Park and one to the east. The eastern one was nearest, and McBride favoured that one, if only because it was on a road that became less crowded as it went eastward. The one McBride liked was an hotel that had never been completed. He could see the sense in building an hotel fairly near to the Kruger Park. He asked Belinda if she would drive him there. He expected they would be there before nightfall. Belinda readily agreed, caught up in the adventure.
McBride wondered how he would keep her out of danger.
The Ponzi Men Page 27
