The television blared from the living room on the right. He listened for voices—there were none to be heard. Brogan lived alone, but occasionally brought women home for the night. Steyn guessed this was not one of those nights. He hadn’t thought it would be. Even though he had every reason to want to relieve his stress, Brogan must have been too preoccupied to visit the trendy nightclub a few blocks away, which was his normal hunting ground.
That meant he’d chosen another way of relieving his inner tensions.
Brogan was a heavy drinker. If he hadn’t had time to go down to the club, then without a doubt, he would have opened a bottle from the stash of single malt whiskey in the cellar.
A snore coming from the living room told Steyn he was correct.
The living room was spacious and sumptuous, with white tiling, dark leather furniture, and tasteful modern art on the walls that Steyn was sure Brogan did not appreciate. The man himself was slumped on his back on the couch. A whiskey glass lay on its side nearby, and the room stank like a distillery.
From the television, an episode of The Jerry Springer Show blared.
“Brogan?” Steyn asked softly, holding the gun at the ready.
The African network manager didn’t respond, but let out a loud, reverberating snore.
Time to do what needed to be done. Having the man unconscious would make it easier. The layout of the house was perfect for Steyn’s needs, with those long, exposed rafters running across the length of the living room’s ceiling.
He flung a long rope over the closest one, and quickly knotted it into a crude hangman’s noose, which he eased over Brogan’s thick neck. A man about to commit suicide wouldn’t bother with a neat knot, or so Steyn decided.
He fetched a high-backed wooden chair from the dining-room area nearby and placed it under the noose. Another snore came from behind him, but it was cut off halfway through.
Steyn spun round.
Brogan’s eyes were open and he was staring blearily at the gunman.
“You!” he shouted in a thick voice, legs flailing as he attempted to rise. “What are you doing in my…”
“Cutting off loose ends, I’m afraid,” Steyn replied calmly.
Then he yanked on the rope.
The noose tightened around Brogan’s neck, lifting him to his feet. His shouts were abruptly cut off as he struggled and choked, eyes bulging.
Thickset and overweight, Brogan was heavier than Steyn, so Steyn looped the rope around the steel banister of the nearby stairway in order to anchor it. Then it was only necessary for him to pull with all his strength. Slowly but surely, the African manager’s body was drawn into the air.
After knotting the rope around the banister and pushing over the dining-room chair, Steyn watched dispassionately as Brogan’s kicks weakened. He was deciding what to write in the suicide note. Of course, the man was very drunk, as subsequent blood tests would eventually prove. That would certainly affect his coordination. A few words in a sprawling hand would be best: a rambling diatribe of how Brogan regretted what he had done, and couldn’t live with the guilt of deceiving his boss, Dave, any longer.
Moving through the now-silent house, Steyn performed a quick search of Brogan’s study, which yielded some company letterhead and a pen.
Sitting on the couch that Brogan had vacated just a few minutes earlier, Steyn bent to his task. He needed to hurry, because there was still one target to dispose of tonight…and he was going to take a deeply personal satisfaction in completing the final phase of his job.
Chapter 30
Joey unlocked his front door and walked tiredly inside. It was just after nine p.m., but now that his adrenaline had ebbed he felt as exhausted as if he’d pulled an all-nighter. But there was still an important job to do. He needed to look at Khosi’s USB device and see what was stored on it. He thought he had a much better picture now of what it might, in fact, contain. Joey felt dread curl in his stomach as he plugged in his laptop and waited for it to power up.
He got a Coke from the fridge and took a gulp, feeling the sugar hit his bloodstream, providing a much-needed boost of energy. Sugar was a quick fix, even though you paid the price for it later, as Khosi had always joked.
Was that a noise coming from downstairs?
Joey put down the Coke can and listened, but the weird scraping sound he thought he’d heard was gone. All he could pick up was the soft humming of the laptop’s fan.
Probably nothing. Even so, he should set the house alarm.
But when Joey tried to activate it, he found that the system was offline, the red buttons flashing randomly and the screen display blank.
That was strange. It had never happened before. Still, the storm had been violent, and a power surge might have damaged the control panel. He would have to sort it out in the morning.
Joey plugged Khosi’s USB into the laptop, and felt the knots in his stomach tighten as he read the file headings.
“Initial Offer of Bribery to Stop Investigating Egoli East.”
“My Investigation into Bribery—Who’s Behind It?”
“Threats Against My Life.”
“Information for Joey if Anything Happens.”
Joey tensed as he heard another strange sound from below.
What was it?
Tree branches, heavy with rain, scraping over the garage roof, perhaps?
Trying his best to ignore this distraction, Joey focused on his computer screen again.
Chapter 31
“What do you think of this hotel, baby girl? Quite something, isn’t it?”
Isobel nodded in response to Dave’s words, although she found she was too distracted, too shaken by everything she’d been through, to take in the sumptuous luxury of the Michelangelo Hotel in Sandton, where they had just arrived.
“I planned to bring you here later this year as a surprise. Thought we could have a second honeymoon. I wanted to book the presidential suite for us, but it wasn’t available this time at such short notice, so we’re in one of the premier king suites.”
“It’s lovely,” Isobel tried bravely, even though she was trembling with exhaustion. “As long as it’s safe, and there’s a bed to sleep in.”
Dave looked at her oddly. “Safe? Of course it’s safe. Security here is top-notch, baby girl. Absolutely top.”
Isobel couldn’t help remembering the moment she had gazed into the gunman’s cold, pale eyes. He was out there, somewhere in this vast city.
Did he know where she was?
Isobel had done her best to keep a lookout for headlights behind them on the drive to Sandton. The journey had taken nearly an hour, and she was pretty sure that nobody had followed them all the way.
So, she might be safe enough in this hotel, and certainly security had seemed excellent, but what about Joey? She found her thoughts returning to him, and in a way that certainly wasn’t appropriate right now. She remembered how the defined muscles in his forearms had tautened as he pulled the knotted rope tight, and how the crow’s feet at the corners of his hazel eyes had crinkled up as he grinned at her.
She let out a frustrated sigh. Her recent encounter with Joey was blowing apart her resolution to be a better wife. She needed to have a serious talk with herself. It was time now to stop working at being an amateur sleuth and start working on her marriage.
“I organized for the boutique downstairs to send up a couple of garments,” Dave said, and Isobel’s eyes widened as she saw the selection of cocktail dresses hanging in the cupboard. “They’re all your size. Wear the one you like the best and I’ll buy it for you. If you want to take the others as well, no problem. There’s a pair of shoes that should fit, too.”
These were the dresses Dave liked her to wear—one silver, one turquoise, one black. Sleeveless, low-cut, body-hugging. She had scratches on her shoulders that she’d acquired at some stage—probably while she was scrambling over the wall. She didn’t really want to wear any of these gowns, and would have been happier going out in the jeans
and long-sleeved top she’d bought from the chain store where they’d stopped to pick up cosmetics and underwear. But it wasn’t her choice—not unless she wanted to risk the potential unpleasantness of an argument. She’d wear the jeans on the plane tomorrow. At least she’d be comfortable then.
She spent half an hour in the shower, washing away the dirt and grime and nervous sweat of the day. She made herself up, and put on the silver gown, because she thought Dave would probably like it the best.
She was putting on the high-heeled shoes when dread hit her like a fist in the stomach.
She had a gut feeling that Joey was in danger. She needed to call him, just to make sure that he was okay. Hearing his voice would set her mind at rest. She could reassure herself he was home safely, that his house alarm was turned on. She could thank him for saving her life…she just needed to find an excuse to have a moment alone with her phone.
She walked out of the bathroom, expecting Dave to compliment her on her appearance, but he was busy reading something on his computer and didn’t even look up.
“I’m just going to…” she began, heading over to the table where her own phone lay, but at that moment the doorbell rang.
“Room service. I ordered us champagne,” Dave said. “You want to get it, baby girl? I’m just finishing this report.”
Well, perhaps Dave wouldn’t notice if she headed outside for a minute. Grabbing her phone, she headed for the door.
But there was no champagne trolley waiting outside. Only a tall man, wearing black. His mouth quirked up in a weird, lopsided smile as he met her gaze. To her horror, Isobel recognized the cold, implacable eyes she was staring into.
Chapter 32
Isobel was too shocked to scream as she saw the dark barrel of the suppressor swing to aim at her. Her cell phone thudded down onto the carpet, dropping from fingers that were suddenly cold and nerveless.
There was a large laundry basket behind the tall man and she saw it was lined with thick, heavy-duty black plastic. He meant for her to go in there. That was how she was going to leave this place—bundled up in a tarp.
She felt as though she was moving in slow motion as she began to turn away, to run into the suite, to flee from him, even though she knew her efforts would be useless because his weapon was aimed at point-blank range.
And then she saw Dave, running to the door.
“Dave! Help!”
His hands were outstretched. He was going to fight Steyn off. Everything would be all right.
But Dave’s left hand clapped hard over her mouth, cutting off her scream.
“Hold still,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Grab her, Steyn.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Dave’s right hand was holding a syringe filled with clear liquid.
Only then did Isobel realize the full extent of her betrayal.
Her husband was involved in this. Of course he was…how could he not have been? She only wished she’d realized this earlier. She had been too innocent, too trusting.
Now, there were two of them against her alone, but they meant to tranquilize her first, not shoot her. Perhaps that gave her a chance. She fought as wildly as she could, sinking her teeth into Dave’s fingers so that he snatched his hand away with an angry shout. Before she could scream, Steyn’s wiry hand clapped over her mouth in its place, crushing her lips. She tried to kick out at him but her ankle twisted in the ridiculous high heels and she stumbled back into her husband’s grasp. Steyn’s fingers moved to her throat, probing and pressing as his joker’s smile widened. Black lights flashed in front of her eyes and she heard a weird, choking noise that she soon realized she was making.
Behind her, Dave was spluttering out words that made little sense to her, telling her that she was an interfering idiot woman, that they’d had everything sewn up so nicely until she’d come along and ripped it all apart, that this was her fault, she’d destroyed it all and she had only herself to blame for what happened next.
The syringe’s silvery needle filled her vision. She felt the prick as it pierced her muscle. This was it…the end…the desperate violence of her struggles had not been enough. Two against one, it was never going to be.
Then, suddenly, it wasn’t two against one anymore, because someone else had arrived.
Steyn was knocked off balance from behind, shoving Dave so that the needle ripped a bloody gouge on its way out of her skin. A shot rang out. Even with the suppressor it was surprisingly loud, and plaster rained from the ceiling. Dave let go of her arm and stumbled to his knees, and Isobel fell, sprawling onto the floor.
She looked up to see Joey, engaged in a silent, vicious fight with Steyn for ownership of his weapon.
Dave was up now, joining the melee so that it was two against one again. Well, there was something she could do about that. The syringe was still almost full, and it was lying within easy reach of her outstretched hand.
Isobel picked it up and stabbed it into her husband’s right buttock before depressing the plunger as hard and fast as she could.
Dave turned, bellowing rage, and Isobel found herself fending off a windmill attack of blows that swiftly became weaker and less coordinated. She felt a surge of triumph…this was what he’d intended for her, and now he was suffering the effects. He slumped to the ground and she grabbed his hair and bashed his head down, grinding his face on the carpet, jamming a knee in his back as her silver skirt ripped to the thigh.
“It’s okay,” a voice panted from above her. “It’s okay, Isobel. He’s out for the count. Are you all right?”
Breathing hard, she stared up at Joey’s concerned face. Was she all right? She hadn’t been shot. Her throat was sore, her lips were tender, but she was still alive. Steyn lay unconscious on the ground, and Joey had fastened his hands tightly behind his back with a cable tie.
“How did you know?” Her head was whirling as Joey knelt down beside her. “How did you know about Dave?”
“My partner Khosi was investigating him before he died. Or before he was murdered, I should say. I spoke to the pathologist, who told me he was injected with a powerful tranquilizer normally used to sedate horses. I guess it was the same one they would have used on you. Then he was shot, to make it look like a suicide.”
Isobel shivered as Joey continued.
“Before he died, Khosi saved everything on a USB device. They initially offered him a bribe to stop the investigation into Egoli East gold mine, and remove the security Private had placed there. He turned it down, and then decided to find out who was behind it. It was corruption at the highest level, Isobel. It went all the way to the government minister, Mr. Mashabela.”
“How?” she asked, aware that her mouth was hanging open. Hastily, she closed it.
“Mr. Mashabela changed the laws to allow the illegal mining to operate and was getting kickbacks from Dave and Brogan. You thought Dave was losing money…in fact, he was making twenty times what he did with the transport business, and all tax free. They used the trucks to transport the illegal workers down from Zambia, and once those men were underground, they were basically prisoners, working until they were too weak to be productive. Then they’d be shuttled back and another team would be sourced from another village.”
“Human trafficking. My husband is a human trafficker.” Isobel’s voice shook. His involvement in illegal gold mining had been shocking enough, but this crime was more horrific than anything she could have imagined.
“Not anymore,” Joey told her in a firm voice, but she had no idea whether he meant Dave wouldn’t be trafficking anymore, or would no longer be her husband. Both appealed. Joey stood up and held out a hand.
Isobel kicked off her ridiculous shoes before taking his hand. She still felt dizzy, and she didn’t know if she should start laughing, or throw up, or kiss him. Probably only one of the three was advisable, and as he helped her to her feet and she wrapped her arms around him, Isobel started to get a pretty good idea which one it was going to be.
Epilogue
Six months later
Isobel was feeling surprisingly nervous. It was the official opening of the new headquarters of Private Johannesburg, in a penthouse office suite in the Sandton CBD. She and Joey had gone into partnership together after the arrest of the illegal mining kingpins, including her ex-husband Dave and the government minister Mr. Mashabela.
Steyn was arrested, but committed suicide in prison soon afterward. One of the warders told her that he’d written GET ME OUT OF THIS TRAP in his own blood on the wall before he had died.
Somehow, she thought that was poetic justice.
Isobel wasn’t nervous about the firm, although she’d initially had misgivings about venturing into a partnership with her new boyfriend, who’d since become her fiancé. But as it turned out, they were as happy together during working hours as they were outside of them, and in fact, they made a damned good team. The business had taken off and they were now extremely busy.
So Isobel wasn’t worried about that.
But she was very nervous about meeting the new intern, just turned sixteen years old, who had volunteered to help out during her school holidays.
Isobel glanced in the mirror as she passed the reception desk. Her blond hair was in place, her white top and blue jeans neat, no embarrassing coffee stains or lipstick smudges or anything a teenager would pick up on. Well, then. No reason to delay this moment any longer.
“Hi, Hayley,” she said, approaching the cubicle where the young woman was already hard at work. Isobel saw that her desk was spotless, and a poster of Metallica had already been put up on the wall.
The teenager turned. She was an attractive girl and Isobel could instantly see the resemblance to her father. But when she stood up, grinning from ear to ear, and gave Isobel a big, warm hug—only then did Isobel really believe that everything would be okay.
About the Authors
James Patterson has written more bestsellers and created more enduring fictional characters than any other novelist writing today. He lives in Florida with his family.
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