Private: Gold

by James Patterson

  His nails dug into his palms as he imagined the woman—overpowered at last, perhaps injured, but not yet dead. She’d bested him, and that was unforgivable. It was seldom Steyn had the opportunity to exact a slow revenge. But now he promised her silently: When I find you—not if, when—I will not give you the mercy of a quick death.

  It had been a long time since he’d been able to have his own way with a victim. In jobs, the clients’ needs came first, and a faster killing was less risky. He’d had the opportunity last year, a happy accident of timing, and he could remember every moment. The victim had lasted for thirteen hours and eight minutes before he’d died. As Steyn had listened to his screams hoarsen and fade, and watched the man’s struggles slowly weaken under his ministrations, Steyn had felt something inside him slowly release, unfolding into warmth. He very seldom had feelings of joy. Anger, occasionally. Fear, never. His only fear was being confined. He wasn’t sure why, but suspected it was to do with his early childhood, of which he had only vague memories and occasional nightmares.

  Now, remembering that rare surge of pleasure, he managed to calm himself again. There would be time. Later, he promised himself, there would be time. If not for the woman, then for the man. He might not know now who Isobel’s rescuer was, but Steyn could easily find out. He had a wide network of connections in government departments. Information was a currency, one he traded in frequently. He occasionally paid bribes, but preferred to offer a monthly retainer to key people in exchange for their services.

  And for now, his thoughts were clear again, logic slicing cleanly through the emotion and allowing him to formulate a new plan. There could be only one place where his target, and her mysterious Good Samaritan, were headed. After all, it was where he expected her to go. They were taking the back route, a slow, tortuous journey through mired dirt roads. Steyn could take the highway; a longer drive, but so much faster. In fact, it would leave him time for an important detour along the way.

  “I’m coming for you,” he murmured.

  Then he climbed into the BMW and carefully backed it off the muddy verge. Speed was not his friend here…the tires needed time to bite and grip. A minute later, and he was safely back on the road.

  Soon afterward, he was back at Isobel’s rental house. His mouth twisted in amusement as he walked inside. What she must have thought, arriving here…a spoiled, wealthy housewife. He doubted she’d dreamed she would find herself in such a place. There was her luggage in the bedroom: a beautiful set of Louis Vuitton bags. It was ideal for his purposes. He would need it when he created the scenario surrounding her death.

  One of the bags was unzipped, and a small notebook filled with neat handwriting lay on top of the folded clothes. Steyn removed it before closing the bag, and slipped it into his jacket pocket, in case it contained anything useful.

  Picking up the bags, Steyn mused over the challenge of making the woman’s death slow, rather than swift. It might be best to plant the bags and the car somewhere and have her simply vanish. A missing person. Perhaps he could drop some clues surrounding her disappearance—a few key items removed from the suitcases, to hint at the fact that she might have purposely disappeared. The police wouldn’t look as hard if they suspected she was a runaway.

  Once he’d had his pleasure with her, he would dump her body. He had the ideal location in mind already: a large piece of open ground in Johannesburg’s sought-after northern suburbs. It had recently been bought for development but, as yet, the property was unsecured. A sewer line ran through it. Built in the early 1900s, it was still in use today. The brick-and-mortar tunnel was high and wide enough to easily accommodate a body, and Steyn had recently read an article stating that the manhole covers in that area were continually being stolen for their scrap-metal value.

  Johannesburg’s sewer system was under enormous pressure as a result of the city’s recent growth. Blockages—if they occurred—were often left unattended for weeks or months. If Isobel’s body was ever discovered, it would be thoroughly rotted and completely unrecognizable. Nothing would ever link those corrupted remains back to Steyn.

  Mulling over his plan, he walked back to the hallway, but when he reached the front door, it was snatched open from the outside before he could touch the handle.

  Steyn found himself staring at an overweight, angry-looking stranger. Shaven-headed, he wore a black vest that showed the tattoos on his neck and chest, and the bulky muscles of his arms and shoulders.

  “What’s going on?” the large man demanded. “I live down the road. I heard shooting and a woman’s screams coming from this house awhile ago. Where’s the lady? Were you fighting?”

  Looking at the stranger’s hands, Steyn saw he was carrying a Taser in his right hand and a large knife in his left.

  Chapter 15

  Isobel ran an impatient hand through her blond hair, slicking back the damp spikes. “There’s a saying about good intentions. How does it go?” she asked.

  “Supposedly, the road to hell is paved with them,” Joey said, a flicker of amusement easing the knots of stress in his belly as he reached the dirt track and joined it, heading east. The rain was easing up now, although drizzle still misted the windshield.

  “Yes, that sums it up, I guess. Pretty much feels like I’m on the road to hell, right here.” Isobel stared ahead at the muddy pathway, stretching to a gray and forbidding horizon. “In fact, I might even know the coordinates for hell itself. Twenty-six degrees south, twenty-eight degrees east. I’ve got the full details written down, and memorized. They’re where I need to be, at 6:00 p.m. But I think I’m going to be too late, and in any case, I don’t have any cell phone signal so I can’t use the GPS.”

  “This is a dead zone for signal. It might come back after we’ve passed that mine dump up ahead. But we’re heading in the right direction, I think.”

  “You really do know this area well.”

  “My firm had contracts all over the East Rand, which is where we are now.”

  Isobel paused for a beat. When she spoke again, she sounded confused.

  “You said ‘had contracts.’ Are they over?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. They were canceled due to circumstances beyond our control.”

  “That must have been a blow,” Isobel sympathized.

  “It was,” Joey said. Briefly, he told Isobel about the hard work it had taken to start up Private Johannesburg; the many nights when he’d arrived home close to midnight, leaving again before the sun was up. That was the problem with investigation work—the hours were punishingly long. His frequent absences had recently cost him his marriage. Although, to be brutally honest, he and his wife, Anneke, had been drifting apart for years.

  “I proposed marriage after Anneke got pregnant when we were dating,” he told Isobel, knowing it was probably way too much information, but the way she was listening was encouraging him to talk. “It seemed like the biggest catastrophe of my life at the time, but it turned into the most incredible miracle when my daughter, Hayley, was born.”

  “How old is she now?”

  “Fifteen. She’s just moved to Cape Town. I’m missing her terribly,” he confessed. “But anyway, back to the business. Private Johannesburg’s first major assignment was with the gold mines in this area, offering a full-service investigation and security solution.”

  “Oh, really? What did that involve?”

  “We worked with various mining sites both operational and closed. They needed help because there’s a huge problem with illegal mining in Johannesburg, particularly on the East Rand. We were hired to investigate and to protect. To identify areas at risk, place guards at vulnerable entrances, track down the kingpins, get them arrested, and prevent it from happening again.”

  “Illegal mining?”

  “It’s a crime that’s rife here at the moment, especially on Johannesburg’s East Rand, where we are now. People see gold as a promise of wealth. And knowing that ore-rich rock is available can prove a huge temptation if you’re poor,
or desperate, or happen to be a criminal. It’s not difficult to do, because mines often cover huge tracts of land and existing entrances can be closed for many reasons. Perhaps the ore is no longer commercially viable, or the seam has become too dangerous to mine. That’s when the zama zamas—the illegal miners—move in.”

  “Then what happens?” Isobel’s eyes were wide. Joey noticed they were a clear, light blue in color.

  “Only bad things. For a start, the operations are usually run by gangs, headed up by anonymous criminal kingpins. The workers go underground for days at a time, and because there are no regulations in place, they risk injury or death from rock collapses and suffocation. There’s also the constant threat of violence from other illegal miners working for opposing gangs.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “They’re a huge threat to the legitimate mining industry, and in areas where zama zamas operate, the levels of serious crime always shoot through the roof.”

  “So what forced you to stop your investigation?” Isobel asked. Joey saw that her stressed expression had eased and her features looked lively and animated. Painful as the story was, he was glad that it was providing her, and him, with a distraction from the terror they’d just endured.

  “Government policy killed us,” he said, and felt sadness weighing him down.

  “How?”

  “Mr. Mashabela, the minister of mineral and energy affairs, made a law banning mines from hiring private investigators and security.”

  “But that’s crazy! Why did he do that?”

  “He said he intended to deploy the Hawks to investigate the problem—they’re a special branch of the police service that deals with organized crime. He believed hiring private security would be too risky for the mines and that, instead, he would allocate police to guard the necessary entrances.”

  “And did he?”

  Joey sighed. “Months have gone by since his decision. The Hawks are still not on the case, and no police have been deployed. Crime is escalating, and a number of zama zama gangs are already back in operation.”

  “That must have been a huge blow to you.”

  “It was. We’d invested everything into these contracts, and believed they were watertight. The change in government policy blindsided us all—the mines, and Private Johannesburg. We all suffered as a result. Some of the mines have had to close up or scale down as well.”

  “Joey, that’s awful.”

  “It’s life.” He gave her a forced smile. “There will be other opportunities, once I’ve gotten through this.” He found he couldn’t tell her about Khosi’s death. Right then, it was too painful to say the words. He needed to read whatever might be on the USB device, which felt as if it was burning a hole in his pocket.

  Quickly, he changed the subject.

  “See that reddish strip of ground up ahead? That’s the dirt road. We’re nearly there. So enough of my story, now. I want to hear yours. Where are we going, and why? What sort of hell are your good intentions leading us to?”

  “I have absolutely no idea,” Isobel admitted.

  “No idea at all?” Eyebrows raised, Joey turned to stare at her. He hoped she was joking, but as soon as he saw her face, he realized she was deadly serious.

  “I googled the coordinates, and all they show is a couple of narrow tracks crisscrossing empty land. I don’t know if there’s something on site which isn’t visible, or whether it’s used as a meeting point.”

  Forging ahead into unknown peril. They were in bigger trouble than Joey thought.

  Chapter 16

  Joey drove in silence for a while as he absorbed Isobel’s latest bombshell. They were heading into an unknown situation, armed with only one pistol and a set of coordinates.

  “That’s why I came to South Africa,” she added, sounding apologetic. “Because I’m hoping to find out.”

  With so few facts available, Joey thought Isobel might have been wiser to hire a small army when she arrived at O.R. Tambo International, instead of putting her trust in just one bodyguard.

  “Well, what do you know so far?” Joey asked. “Start from the beginning, and let’s see how much we can piece together.”

  “My husband, Dave, runs a road-freight company. I’m here because of him,” Isobel said.

  Joey was surprised by the stab of disappointment he felt when he heard her mention a husband. It wasn’t until that moment he noticed the large, marquise-cut diamond on her wedding finger. Usually, his first advice to tourists traveling in dangerous areas was to remove visible jewelry and hide it away. But perhaps now wasn’t the right time to suggest this, he thought.

  “Why didn’t he come with you?” Joey asked, wondering if Dave had any idea of the danger she was facing, and if so, why he’d let her travel alone.

  “Let me give you some background,” Isobel said. “Dave expanded his business into Africa two and a half years ago. Since then, he’s been making out as if everything’s fine, and that business has never been better. We’ve been taking luxury vacations, and he bought us each a new Porsche Cayenne last Christmas. He’s building a vacation home in the Hamptons and my birthday present this year was a stunning pink diamond eternity necklace, set in platinum.”

  “Wow,” Joey said, and Isobel nodded before continuing.

  “I didn’t know there was a problem at all. Dave doesn’t discuss business with me. But one of my good friends, Samantha, works for his company, managing the accounts. When I showed her my necklace, she looked worried, instead of pleased, and sort of blurted out that she wondered how much it had cost. Anyway, we ended up going for coffee on the weekend and she confessed to me that she was really worried, because it looked like the company was in big trouble financially. She assumed Dave had told me, but he hadn’t said a word. I mean, he was acting completely normal.” Isobel rolled her eyes. “If you define ‘normal’ as hosting business lunches at Masa twice a week and flying his helicopter to the Hamptons every weekend for site meetings with his architect,” she added.

  Joey noted that Isobel hadn’t included herself in either of the activities. Briefly, he wondered how happy their marriage was.

  “What do you mean by financial trouble?” he asked. “Did Samantha explain?”

  Isobel nodded. “Turnover has halved in the past year. Dave has been focusing on the African network and neglecting the US side of the business. The US business has shrunk substantially, and the African network, which started out profitable, is now in the red and hemorrhaging costs.”

  “Did you discuss it with Dave?”

  “Yes. I tried to talk to him about it many times. But every time he became angry and just shut down, refusing to listen.”

  Joey glanced at Isobel again, but she was looking down at her hands, twisting the ring back and forth.

  “He’s like that,” she added, as if trying to apologize for him. “He’s a proud man. I don’t think he would ever admit to needing help. So I decided I was going to try to help him anyway. Samantha and I started an in-depth investigation.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The African network manager was replaced thirteen months ago, and very soon after that, profits started to fall. The new manager, Brogan, is an old friend of Dave’s, and to be honest, I’ve never liked him. Or trusted him.”

  Joey could feel his skin prickling, sensing trouble.

  “And then we discovered something else. The new information turned out to be a game-changer. It was the reason I decided to travel out here and see what I could find at these coordinates.” Isobel checked her phone again. “Oh, look, I’ve got a signal back again. And we’re heading in the right direction. We should arrive there in ten minutes—wherever ‘there’ is—so we’ll be in time.”

  “Don’t speak too soon,” Joey warned, easing the car down a steep slope and tightening his lips as he saw the road disappear into a churned sea of mud. Even in dry weather, this part of the drive was treacherous. In wet weather, it was occasionally impassable, but backtracking w
ould take too long, and it was already starting to get dark. He could only hope that they’d be lucky this time.

  They weren’t.

  The wheels slipped and spun as the SUV failed to gain traction to climb out of the ravine. The big car wallowed in the deep mud, its forward momentum bleeding away. They were stuck, unable to go forward or back, the tires spinning helplessly in the mire.

  Chapter 17

  “Where’s the lady?” the angry man repeated, blocking Steyn’s way out of the front door and fixing him with a glare.

  Steyn took a cool, unemotional look at his adversary. He noted the tightness of his grip on the Taser and the aggressive set of his jaw. Undoubtedly, this man was wired for action, and wouldn’t hesitate to use one of his two weapons.

  Steyn’s gun was holstered out of sight, under his rain jacket.

  Even without his firearm, Steyn knew he was more than capable of disarming and killing this amateur. Given time, Steyn would have enjoyed using both the man’s weapons against him. But right now, he didn’t have the luxury of time. Killing could be done quickly, but disposing of the body would take longer.

  He decided that, in this case, talking his way out of the situation would work best. Of course, there was a chance that Mr. Taser wouldn’t believe him, and in that case he’d go ahead with Plan B.

  Depending on his reaction to Steyn, the angry man would be choosing to live or die, without even knowing it.

  There was a poetic justice to this that Steyn found pleasing.

  “The lady is in the bathroom. She needs a few minutes alone to stop crying and pull herself together before we leave,” he said, injecting a strong London accent into his voice and making sure it quivered with emotion. Raising his voice, he called out, “It’s okay, darling. It’s just a neighbor who heard the shots. Take your time. I’ll be there in a minute.”