Chapter 28
Belinda and McBride were back on the N4, aiming for the property in the documents he had marked down as a possibility. It was a few miles to the east of the Kruger Park Malelane Gate.
“I think I’ll phone the police, see where they are at with the case. This Inspector Mazombe, I’ve got his card.” He pulled out his wallet, found the business card, pressed buttons on his cell phone. It took him only three minutes to get hold of the inspector.
“Hello, it’s John McBride here. In connection with the kidnap of Brigadier Miller. Thought I would ask if there are any developments?”
“I can tell you that there was a news item in the Daily Sun this morning, and I didn’t leak the story, so presumably it really did come from the kidnappers. Anyway The Sun contacted us to confirm. I told them that in return, they could print the car registration plates. They did that, and we’ve had a scattering of reports. All except one report was in one area.”
“Except one?”
“Yeah. That would be some nutter. It happens, always. But the other grouping is interesting. It’s along the N4, not far from the first service area west of the Malelane Gate. We sent a van out to the service area. At the back of the car park we found a police motorcyclist, dead and dumped, and his motorbike with the radio smashed up. Shot, the man was.”
McBride did not get anything further, but the inspector promised he would let McBride know if there were further developments.
Next, McBride tried to contact the king. He got hold of a secretary who promised that they would phone back when he was located. Big palace, and a king who never sat still.
It was getting on for four o’clock when Belinda’s satnav announced your destination is three hundred yards ahead on the right hand side of the road. Belinda slowed the car to a crawl, and there on the right was a large three storey building, up a small side road.
“Turn in to the road and stop,” said McBride.
From the roadside, he saw that the building was surrounded by a high mesh fence, and apparently deserted.
“Do you have a torch in the car?”
Belinda said: “You’re lucky. I once broke down on a dark night. The next day, I bought a large torch. I even carry spare batteries.”
“Stay in the car, and lend me the torch. If I’m not back in half an hour, phone the police as an emergency.”
He dropped his cell phone in her lap, reached over for the torch, and got out of the car. As he approached the wire fence he saw that one of the gates was ajar. Could be squatters, or it could be Markham. Both could be dangerous. As he slipped through the gate, he had his pistol tucked in his waistband, easy to reach in an emergency.
The building was without glazing, and as he looked up he saw roosting pigeons flying in and out of the window apertures. He approached the building wall, a vast area with no windows, and then walked along beside it, until he came to a ground floor opening. Cautiously he peered in. Bare concrete floor, spattered with bird droppings, stretching back into darkness where no daylight reached. All quiet at first, then McBride heard voices in the distance. Talking, occasional laughter. It was coming from the building, maybe from an upper floor, maybe from the other side of the ground floor.
He could climb in here, or he could first patrol all round the outside. The latter seemed the safest option, so he chose it. He ducked down and crossed the opening, another long stretch of wall, and then a succession of window openings, some shuttered with ply board, some with ply board torn down and lying on the ground. A doorway, better secured with heavier timber. At each opening McBride ducked down and listened. He could hear voices, but whether they sounded closer he couldn’t decide. He came to a corner, went round it incautiously, and there with his head poking out of a window was an old black man with a mop of grey hair and a wrinkled face. Watching McBride.
“I heard you comin’. You’d never be no good at trackin’ animals, I can tell you that.” McBride walked up until he was level with him.
“I’m looking for a big man with his left arm in a plaster cast. I think he’s kidnapped my friend.”
The old man scratched his hair, which was probably insect infested. “Don’t know about anyone like that. Ain’t had no visitors in a long time. This happen in the last year?”
“In the last day or so.”
“Then he ain’t here. But you’re welcome to come in through the window here, and meet my pals.”
McBride peered past the man and saw a group of five or six old men sitting on the floor. There were old mattresses along one wall. Cans of beer stood on the floor.
“No, I don’t have time I must get back to the car. If I’m gone too long, my partner will phone the police.”
“We’re friendly with the police. Help to guard this place, so they leave us alone. Course, before you go a donation to the beer fund wouldn’t come amiss.”
The old man winked. McBride pulled out a twenty rand note, gave it to him.
“Have a drink on me.” He turned and walked back round the building towards the car and Belinda.
He jumped over the car door, and sat in the passenger seat.
“You’ve been quick. Surely you didn’t have time to search the building?”
“No need, there’s a crowd of self-appointed watchmen, and nobody’s been in there for a year. Apart from them. We picked the wrong building. We need to go back down the N4 and look at choice number two.”
“What, tonight? In the dark?” Belinda looked concerned.
“You could go back to the Kruger Park camp, and if you will lend me your car, I’ll go alone.”
“I can’t let you go alone.”
“It will be dangerous, whether you come with me or whether you stay in the car. I’ll get a cab, if you won’t lend me the car. But I’ve got to find Dusty.”
“Why do men always win the argument? In my case that happens. I think I’m just not compatible with men.” She pouted.
McBride got out of the car, went round the back to get into the driver’s seat. Belinda moved across to the passenger seat, adroitly negotiating the gear shift. When McBride had got back into the car, she put both arms round him, cuddled him to her.
“My word, you get your own way all the time. But I still love you.”
McBride drove fast but safely back to the Kruger Park camp, arriving half an hour before the park closed. He saw Belinda to her bungalow, gave her a kiss, and promised to see her the following day.
He then had to drive fast to get out of the park before the gates closed. And he did, just.
McBride had got Belinda back to safety, and now he was too early he reckoned, to snoop round the next option. Markham and his chauffeur would be alert this early in the evening. The best time to arrive would be gone midnight, McBride reckoned.
He remembered the policeman speak of the service area to the west of the park and on the N4. The one where the dead motorcyclist had been found. Maybe he could have dinner there, and then drive to the derelict estate, as it was described in the documents he had collected from the solicitor.
He kept his foot down, but obeyed the speed limits. He didn’t want pulling in for speeding. The car was a delight to drive. No wonder Mazda had produced it for so many years with few changes. It seemed no time at all before he saw the lights of the service area on the horizon.
When McBride had dined, he went back to the car. Over dinner he had looked carefully at the map.;found the turn off from the N4 which was only a dotted line on the map, ending with a blob indicating a hamlet. From the contour lines, it was some 750 feet higher than the N4 at that point. He switched on the satnav and programmed it with the new zip code. He drove out of the car park and on to the dark road.
The satnav spoke after only a few miles back in the direction McBride had come two hours earlier. Prepare to turn right in half a mile.
The road, when he came to it, was difficult to spot in the dark. There was no signpost. McBride was helped by a huge artic coming from the opposite direc
tion. In the light from the trucks headlights, he was able to spot the narrow tarmac lane. He turned and in a few hundred yards, the tarmac finished, and hardcore track went on into the distance of his headlamps. There was a flat verge, and he pulled the car off the road. The satnav showed the winning flag on the screen, and distance to go said 2.5 miles. He could walk that in an hour, even uphill. He’d done a lot better than that in the army.
As he turned away from the car to commence his climb up the track, he felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it from his shirt pocket.
“I have the King of Maswatiland on the phone for you,” announced a suave male voice. McBride waited. There was a clicking noise.:
“Mr McBride, I’ve just had this guy Markham on the phone again. He says that he needs the ransom tomorrow morning. What shall I do?”
“Do you have the money transferred, as we agreed, Sir?”
“Yes, it is in my account.”
“Then don’t do anything until tomorrow morning. He will phone you again then, he needs the money. By tomorrow the game may be over. I’m hoping to find out where he’s keeping Dusty Miller tonight. I have to go now, there’s no time to be lost.”
“Thank you, and good luck. Don’t do anything stupid.” The phone clicked, and he was gone.
Don’t do anything stupid. That was a matter of opinion. Attacking single handed. Yes, you could call that stupid. McBride finally set out to climb the track.
The Ponzi Men Page 28
