Bad Seeds

by Jassy Mackenzie

  Gillespie’s shout of “What?” crackled through her headset. “Are you serious? Jade, this is . . . I don’t know what to say.” Shock and concern reverberated through his words.

  “Somebody called the hotel and asked if we were checked in. It must’ve been a lucky guess.”

  “But you escaped?”

  “Yes. We got away just in time, and we’ve found another place to stay. A private residence.” A thought flashed through her mind. “You didn’t tell anyone we were in Sandton, did you?”

  “No. Did you say you were staying there? I don’t recall you mentioning it. But it’s been a catastrophic few hours.”

  “What do you mean?” Jade asked, bracing herself for yet more bad news.

  “I was at work until four a.m., and when I finally left to go find some food, I was mugged.”

  “Mugged?” Jade repeated. She could hear the shock in her own voice now. This explained why he sounded so unlike himself. “Are you all right? What happened?”

  “I’m okay, I think. I was in the parking lot of the Grand West Casino. Just about the only place that’s open for food at that hour. I remember thinking that it might not be the wisest choice, and hoping no one would assume I had any cash on me. Which I did, as it happens.” He snuffed out a laugh. “Your cash, unfortunately. Two thugs jumped me as I climbed out of the Merc. They hit me a few times, grabbed my wallet and my phone and pushed me to the ground. By the time I’d stopped my nose from bleeding and was coherent enough to call security, they were gone.”

  “Did you see their car?”

  “They were on foot when they attacked me. I presume they had a car somewhere, but I never saw it. The parking lot was pretty full. People going in and out.”

  Jade paused, then said, “Are you sure it was random?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  Eventually, Gillespie said, “Now that you ask, I’m not sure. I assumed it was, but now I don’t know. Do you want to meet up? I’m worried the same people might be coming after both of us—if so, the more information we share, the safer we’ll be.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’m at the Grand West Mall, next door to the casino complex where we first met. Apparently my credit cards will take a couple of days to replace, but at least I have a phone, even if it’s a cheap spare I was going to give to one of the guards.”

  “I’m not far away. I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “There’s a diner just inside entrance three. You need to drive into the basement parking to access it. Do you want to join me there?”

  Jade suddenly realized she was starving. “I’ll see you soon,” she said.

  On her way, she fueled up at the same gas station she’d used before. One of the large Inkomfe vans was pulling out of the station as she arrived, heading in the direction of the research center. It looked dusty, as if it were returning from a long trip.

  Jade took a shortcut through the industrial complex. This time, no delivery trucks were blocking her way, but when she drove past the big warehouse, she was disappointed to see that all its gates were shut tight.

  Winding down her car window, she found herself smiling as she heard hammering coming from inside. Hopefully the shady slot machine technologists were hard at work reducing the odds, or increasing them. If she ever saw those machines being taken out of the warehouse, she’d simply have to follow the truck and see where they were installed. Maybe she could put some money in and see what came out.

  A minute later, she drove into the basement lot Gillespie had described, noticing a sleek gold Mercedes near the entrance that she guessed was his.

  Gillespie was slouched at a table in the half-empty diner, cradling a teacup. His left eye was swollen, a deep bruise already starting to form under it. The left side of his mouth was split, and he had a graze on his cheek. His sandy hair was tousled, and he was wearing a different shirt—long-sleeved and navy blue with creases that signaled it had just been taken out of its packaging.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jade said.

  Gillespie tried to smile, winced and gave a small nod. “Hurts to do anything. I’ve even been battling to drink this tea.”

  “You need a straw,” Jade said. “I’ll get you one and order us some food.”

  She fetched him a drinking straw from the counter and ordered plain scrambled eggs for him and an egg-and-cheese croissant for herself, plus a large coffee. The only cash she had on her was from Botha, and it struck her as strange to pay for Gillespie’s breakfast with it, so she used her credit card.

  “Did you tell the police?” she asked Gillespie when she sat down again.

  “No. Casino security called management. There was nothing to tell the police. I didn’t see the men well enough—it was still dark, and as I said, they ambushed me. They were dark-skinned and wearing black, I think. Average height. Strong.” He raised a hand to his bruised cheekbone. “I’m willing to bet they’ve done this before, but I didn’t get a proper look at their faces, didn’t see a vehicle . . . I don’t want to waste police time, Jade.”

  Jade looked at him with concern. The note of resignation in his voice worried her.

  Gillespie sipped at his tea, angling the straw into the undamaged side of his mouth. “This is better. Thank you. You’re a lifesaver,” he said.

  Their food arrived. Jade poured chili sauce liberally over her croissant. “Did they say anything?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The men who attacked you. Do you remember them speaking or shouting at you at all?”

  “Oh, my God,” Gillespie said. He paused for a few seconds. “This feels so surreal. Now that you mention it, I vaguely recall them yelling. I didn’t even tell the security guards that. It was like it hadn’t happened until now. I don’t understand this at all.”

  “It happens. The brain sometimes gets overwhelmed in those situations and omits certain memories until you’re reminded of them, or are ready to deal with them.”

  “How bizarre. Well, I can attest to the truth in that.”

  “What were they yelling?”

  “It was . . . it might have been . . . ‘Get away’? ‘Keep away’? I think that’s right, because I thought, How crazy. I’m trying my best to get away from them, so why are they telling me to?”

  “That does sound like a targeted message. I wonder what they were warning you away from.”

  Gillespie tried a small forkful of eggs, chewing slowly before washing them down with another sip of tea. His hands were shaking. “I have no idea. What’s the point of a threat if the person doesn’t know what the hell it’s for?”

  He gave a small, humorless laugh, then patted his pockets, and his good eye widened. “Oh, for God’s sake. I’ve just remembered I left the card in the clothing shop.”

  “Card?”

  “A woman in Markham very kindly paid for this new shirt, because the one I was wearing was covered in blood. I wrote her bank details down on a business card so I could reimburse her. And I left it in the store. I can see it now—I put it on a shelf in the changing room and forgot to pick it up. Hell, Jade, all of this has seriously rattled me. Can you please excuse me for five minutes? I need to get that card.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, no. Please eat your breakfast.” With a frustrated sigh, Gillespie clambered to his feet and limped out of the restaurant, turning left before heading purposefully along the walkway.

  He was back ten minutes later, by which time Jade had cleaned her plate after making serious inroads into the bottle of hot sauce and was working on her second coffee.

  His hands were trembling even worse than before. “I thought it was gone. They’d cleaned the change rooms and thrown it away. You should have seen me and two sales assistants on our knees, scrambling through the trash cans until we found
it.”

  “Mr. Gillespie, I think you need to go home,” Jade said, watching him carefully. “You’re in shock. After a traumatic experience like the one you’ve had, you need to take some time off, or it could affect your decision making.”

  But Gillespie jutted his chin forward, an act of stubbornness she hadn’t expected. “I can’t leave now,” he argued. “This attack has made me more determined to protect Inkomfe, not less. I know I’m being threatened, and that this was an attempt at intimidation. But I won’t let them win or allow the lives of innocent people to be endangered. All I need is an hour to pull myself together.”

  “Then you’re back to work?”

  “I have to run a few errands. Then I’m back at headquarters for the day.”

  His phone started ringing, and he glanced down at the incoming number before rejecting the call and telling her, “I’m going to add so many new layers of security that no one without authorization will ever make it into the plant again, much less the reactor room.”

  Jade nodded.

  “After that, I’ll be taking a holiday, spending a week somewhere on the beach,” he said with a half-smile. “Maybe even a month.” Even with a face half-covered in bruises, he exuded charm.

  “All right. Good.”

  “Personally I’d like for you to drive back to wherever you’re staying, pack your things, tell Botha he’s on his own and leave. Pardon the card game analogy, but I have an instinct for when to fold, and I believe you’ve overplayed your hand.” Gillespie rested his chin on his hand, perhaps from fatigue. “But at the same time, I can see that you’re very good at your job. Perhaps you’ll discover something important about Botha, or even prevent a bigger catastrophe.”

  “Not if I stay here,” Jade said, unhooking her bag’s strap from its position over her knee and standing up. “I have to get going. I’ll keep in touch.”

  Gillespie’s phone began to ring again as she left. She paused at the café door and looked back. This time, he took the call, and as she left, she heard him shouting.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Before heading back to the townhouse, Jade wanted to speak to Lisa Marais, the former Inkomfe security director. She wondered why Gillespie had been so focused on Botha, when it seemed Lisa would have a far bigger motive for the sabotage. Wouldn’t it be easier to trace Lisa, who was now an activist at Earthforce, and find out who she’d been speaking to since her departure, and where she’d been on the night of the break-in?

  Well, perhaps she could glean some information now. Earthforce had its headquarters in nearby Roodepoort. She pulled up the company website, the first result of her search.

  The front page was up-to-date and filled with news. The latest article was on a visit from Russian environmental activist Dmitri Petrov, who was currently hosting talks around South Africa about the risks associated with nuclear power. “With his military and investigative background, Petrov has succeeded in exposing corruption and incompetency at the highest level,” the caption explained. Petrov’s photo showed him staring, unsmiling, at the camera; he was a tough-looking man with a solid jaw and short, dark hair. She could imagine him rappelling onto rooftops and breaking down doors to uncover evidence; he looked the type.

  She bookmarked the page for when she had more time to read, then called to make an appointment with Lisa Marais.

  Earthforce’s headquarters weren’t nearly as impressive as its website. Its offices were above a strip mall in a dilapidated part of the city. One of the ground-level shops was a fish and chips kiosk, which Jade glanced into on the way to the stairs. The aroma of frying fish and vinegary potatoes filled the air, but she had a feeling the food might smell better than it tasted.

  The offices themselves were small, shabby, crowded and busy. Reams of paperwork covered every surface. The walls of the tiny waiting room were filled with posters, some advertising the perils of nuclear power and the threat of global warming, others featuring beautiful, unspoiled landscapes and seascapes. Appropriate for a company whose main objective was to mobilize society around environmental issues.

  In pride of place was a poster advertising Petrov’s talks. Looking more closely at the dates, Jade saw that she’d missed all three. The last one had been on Thursday evening in Bloemfontein.

  When she’d called earlier, Jade had spoken with a consultant named Bongani. His voice had been smooth, deep and lightly laced with an African accent whose specifics she couldn’t identify. It reminded her of rich espresso with a side of brandy. When he hurried into the waiting room five minutes after she’d arrived, she saw he was a serious-looking young man wearing gold-framed spectacles.

  “How can I help you?” he asked, walking with her through reception and into his office, where he removed a pile of documents from the second chair. The smell of fish and chips was stronger here, thanks to the room’s only window being directly above the shop.

  Jade decided honesty might get her better results. “I’m a private investigator, obtaining background information for an assignment. I need to get in touch with Lisa Marais. She works here, if my information is correct?”

  Bongani nodded, but his initial warmth was swiftly replaced by cautious reserve. “I assumed you were a journalist,” he said.

  “No. I’m not a journalist.” She hoped her words would reassure Bongani, but instead he looked more troubled.

  “Lisa does work for our organization, but she’s not based here,” he told her. “She’s—er—currently on leave.”

  “Is there any way I can reach her? Perhaps you could give me her phone number?”

  Bongani’s eyes, guarded by his gold-rimmed glasses, wouldn’t meet her stare. His gaze rested on the papers covering his desk, which were being disturbed by a draft. He glanced toward the open window, then at the framed certificates on his wall, and finally, hopefully, in the direction of the half-open door.

  “What I can do,” he eventually said in his measured baritone, “is take your number and ask her to call you when I’m in touch with her again.” He shuffled the biggest stack of papers into a tidier pile and placed a polished stone paperweight on top of them.

  Jade had to stifle a sigh of annoyance. Unhelpful as he was being, Bongani would completely stonewall her if she tried to pressure him. She had no idea why he was so reluctant to assist. Was he protecting Lisa? Could he know, or suspect, that she might be involved in the sabotage?

  She smiled as if having Bongani ask Lisa to call her at some nebulous and unspecified future date was the greatest news she’d had all day. “Thank you,” she said. “I’d really appreciate that. And while I’m here, I’d also like to know more about Earthforce and the issues that you tackle here.”

  Listening to that honey-rich voice for another few minutes wouldn’t be a hardship, either.

  Bongani leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Earthforce has been running for fifteen years, focusing on just about everything relating to the environment. I’ve been here for five of those, and during that time we’ve tackled important issues and exposed quite a few destructive practices. We’re funded by private individuals, some government funding—although never enough—as well as the occasional corporate sponsorship or donation. But there’s often a conflict of interest with the corporations.” He made a wry face.

  “I can imagine there would be,” Jade agreed. “Your organization must have a big problem with the proposed nuclear power plants.”

  “They’re a potential disaster in so many ways,” Bongani said.

  “Why is that?”

  He smiled again. “How much time do you have?”

  Jade laughed. “I’m sure you have a pile of work, and I don’t want to impose for too long. How about a detailed overview?”

  “Okay,” Bongani said thoughtfully. He made the word sound like an introduction to a vintage merlot tasting. “Let’s start with the actual construction of
the plants. The ‘strategic nuclear partnership,’ as they’re calling it. I’m calling it an expensive disaster. It will cost forty to fifty billion dollars to build eight nuclear reactors here in South Africa.”

  “But isn’t that worthwhile if they’re built safely?” Jade asked. She remembered David the last time she’d seen him, throwing his hands up in frustration over the repeated power cuts delaying his work. He’d sworn repeatedly in that conversation. She didn’t want to know what his language had been like in the past few months, with rolling blackouts having all but crippled the country. She guessed his words could have turned the air blue.

  “Nuclear technology is risky, even when it’s properly implemented,” Bongani said. “And I doubt it will be done correctly here. You have only to look at Russia’s track record. They can’t even keep their own house in order.”

  “Chernobyl?”

  He nodded. “Do you know that all the damage caused by the Chernobyl reactor explosion in 1986 was the result of just a couple of kilograms of radioactive materials entering the environment? That’s how little it took. Exposure to radioactive substances can be compared to a cellular explosion that happens inside you and keeps on happening, bombarding all your body cells with its shrapnel. The cells that die aren’t the problem, as long as there aren’t too many of them. It’s the cells that survive that become the problem, causing cancers and birth defects down the line.”

  “That’s frightening.”

  “The effects of Chernobyl were extremely widespread. Even as far as North Wales, mandatory radiation checks on sheep farms were only lifted in 2012. From the disaster until then, all sheep had to be tested, and many of them were banned from sale or slaughter due to dangerously high levels. It took twenty-six years for the levels to drop enough for restrictions to be removed.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Jade said.

  “We think we can control the technology, but we’re like children playing with fire,” Bongani said sadly. “Last year there were thirty-nine separate incidents at Russia’s nuclear power stations.”