by Tony Park
Jane slipped out of her jeans, but didn’t attract too much attention from shoppers moving to and from their cars, as she was wearing a pair of shorts underneath. Alex changed into a sun shirt and produced wide-brimmed floppy hats for both of them. He lifted out the heavy bag, then closed the boot and locked the car.
Alex led Jane away from the shopping complex to a small beach near the start of the main breakwater. ‘This is Granger Bay,’ he said. A man stood on the beach next to two sea kayaks. Alex waved to him.
‘You need to be back before nightfall,’ the man said.
Alex nodded as he loaded the dive bag into the front of the larger of the two craft. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said to the Afrikaner, ‘with what I’m paying you I can’t afford a late fee.’
The man laughed.
‘Do you need help?’ Alex asked Jane.
‘I’m fine.’ She pushed her kayak out a little way, jumped in, and started paddling.
Alex sat in his boat as Jane shot away from the beach, her arms pumping like pistons. Alex dug into the water and was sweating hard before he even got within shouting distance of Jane as she knifed her way across the calm waters of Granger Bay.
‘Where did you learn to paddle?’ he called.
‘Just a natural, I guess.’ She surged ahead of him and Alex worked his muscled arms hard to keep up. When at last she slowed, near the end of the breakwater, she confessed to Alex, ‘Actually, I row when I’m back home in England, but I’m a little out of practice. If I was on form you wouldn’t have been able to catch me.’
When they rounded the main breakwater they turned south and on their right they could see into the Victoria Basin, which was in front of the shopping centre where they had parked. They didn’t look out of place as Alex had already spotted two other kayaks and a man on a wave ski making the most of the calm conditions and warm weather.
They crossed the mouth of the Ben Schoeman Dock and Alex led the way towards the Duncan Dock, where the Penfold Son was moored on the Eastern Mole. They could clearly see the massive container ship now. The bright lights of a welder flashed on and off and Alex noticed a truck with a butcher’s logo drive along the long quay to the ship’s gangway.
Instead of paddling into the dock Alex turned left and made for the south spur, another breakwater which jutted out from the end of the quay.
There was a port control building about two hundred metres to their north west, but Alex was sure the staff inside would be looking out to sea, not in at the docks.
‘We’ll stop here,’ he said to Jane, nosing into the breakwater. ‘Have you ever dived?’
‘Once, on holiday in Teneriffe,’ she said. ‘I learnt the basics in a cruise ship swimming pool.’
Alex pulled out two military scuba kits with rebreathers, and two black wetsuits.
‘This works the same way, but uses oxygen instead of air. It’s a sealed system so it doesn’t produce any bubbles when you breathe, and the tank was small enough for me to hide in the kayak.’
Jane was already slipping out of her rash shirt and pulling on her wetsuit. Alex knew that lithe body now and he hated to think of anything happening to her. ‘I’ll ask you again nicely. Please tell me where you hid the package and let me go and get it myself.’
‘Fuck off.’
‘So much for the nice approach.’
‘Where did you get all this gear?’
‘I looked up an old friend of mine this morning. He used to be a navy diver and he’s more crooked than I am.’
Alex showed Jane how to fit and operate the rebreather, then he tied both kayaks securely to the breakwater. ‘Stay close to me. Hold on to my weight belt.’ He had his Glock wrapped in a plastic bag secured with rubber bands and he slipped it into the front of his wetsuit and zipped it up. Alex slid into the cold water and together they sank beneath the surface.
The sun had set, but arc lights still illuminated the Penfold Son as Jane and Alex surfaced beneath the gangway. The metal above them clanged to the sound of booted feet as workmen came and went. ‘It’s still busy,’ Jane whispered.
Alex nodded and put his fingers to his lips. He swam on the surface but out of sight in the shadow of the dock to the far end, where a van was parked.
‘Wait here,’ Alex whispered. He reached up and climbed a set of steel rungs set into concrete. Once on the dock he made sure to keep the grocery delivery van between himself and the security guard posted on the gangway. He unzipped his wetsuit and pulled out the Glock. He unwrapped it, opened the rear door of the van and climbed in.
The coloured delivery man opened the door and stared straight into the barrel of Alex’s pistol. Alex let the man know, without words, that if he spoke he would die. He beckoned him into the back of the refrigerated van. Once inside he ordered his captive to strip.
‘I’ll freeze!’ he hissed.
Alex shrugged. ‘Freeze slowly or die quickly. The choice is yours.’ The man started undressing.
Inside were aprons and capes to be worn when carrying sides of beef and pork. Alex took the drawstring from an apron and tied the delivery man’s hands securely behind his back. He then took out his diving knife and cut the remainder of the apron into long strips. He balled one and stuffed it in the man’s mouth and tied the gag with another.
Alex had seen two workers so he waited inside the chill of the van until the other arrived.
‘Hey, man, where are you? What have you been up –’ Alex’s Glock and the sight of his colleague bound and gagged silenced the man soon enough. When the second man was also dressed only in his underpants Alex trussed him and moved back to the edge of the wharf. He leaned over the edge and waved to Jane.
Alex and Jane pulled the delivery men’s uniforms over their wetsuits. When he was dressed, Alex took the rebreathers and stuffed them under a nearby garbage skip.
‘Is this going to work? They know it’s two men doing the deliveries,’ Jane said.
‘Put this on.’ He handed Jane the meat carrier’s hooded cape and lifted a side of pork and balanced it on her right shoulder. ‘Can you carry this much weight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Just keep the meat between you and the security guard on the gangway and follow me in.’
Alex hefted the beef and set off, with Jane close behind him.
‘Hurry it up,’ the guard said in a thick northern Irish accent as Alex walked past.
Alex said nothing, but flipped the man the finger with his spare hand. The Irishman swore, but didn’t move from his post. He said nothing as Jane walked past.
‘Which way?’ Alex whispered once they were inside.
‘Galley. Follow me.’
It was clear to Alex that she knew the ship’s layout off by heart, which was not surprising given the time she had spent on board. They made it to the galley coldroom without seeing another person. Jane led him through the intricate maze of alleyways towards the stern of the ship.
Cleanliness was next to godliness for Billy Tidmarsh and while he had killed four men in his home county of Ulster it had all been in the name of his religion. The two things he couldn’t stomach in life were Catholics and dirt.
And that went for blood, as well. He’d always scrubbed himself thoroughly after a job – not only to get rid of the incriminating gunpowder residue, but also to make sure he hadn’t been infected with any filthy Papist blood.
The sight of the drops on the deck irked him. He presumed they’d dripped from the pig or the beef the deliverymen had just brought on board. He picked up a rag lying in a bucket near the gangway and dropped to one knee. On closer inspection, however, he saw the droplets were clear. Looking up he now saw they were spattered all the way down the gangway and, on his other side, into the ship itself. Why would those two men be dripping water?
He would stop them when they came back through. Perhaps a bottle of water had burst in the last delivery load and Billy had failed to notice it. He paced up and down the deck near the gangway, his eyes continually drawn ba
ck to the droplets. They annoyed him fiercely. He checked his watch. The men had been inside for more than ten minutes. What were they doing in there?
He walked down the gangway onto the dock and saw the clearly marked trail went all the way back to the van. He decided to investigate.
‘Piet, it’s Billy,’ he said into his radio as he walked along the dock.
‘Go, Billy.’
‘Somethin’s not right here, boss. I’m just on my way to the delivery van on the dock to have a wee look.’
‘I didn’t tell you to leave your post. Get back there.’
‘But Piet . . .’ Billy was at the van already. He thought he heard movement so he put his ear to the closed rear doors. There was definitely something alive in there, groaning and moving about. He pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster and reefed open the door. ‘Jesus fooking Christ.’
Alex and Jane could hear the shouts across the water, although they were already three hundred metres away, paddling back towards the main breakwater.
‘It’s a mini videotape,’ Jane said after she ripped open the package in the car.
‘No diamonds?’
‘Try not to sound too disappointed. Hang on, there’s a USB memory stick in here as well.’
After they returned the kayaks Alex drove as fast as he dared back to the Radisson Waterfront. He waited in the car while Jane walked into the hotel, making sure George wasn’t in the bar or dining areas, where he might see the two of them walk in together.
Jane called Alex in the car to tell him all was clear and by the time he made it to her room she had her laptop switched on and the memory stick inserted. ‘It’s a video – an MPEG. Could be the same as what’s on the tape.’
Alex closed the hotel room door and leaned over Jane’s shoulder. The screen flickered to life. George Penfold was naked, his back to the camera. A woman was lying spread-eagled across a bed, her wrists tied to the four posts. George walked towards the woman holding a length of rope in his hands. There was no indication that he knew the camera was filming him.
The woman said something that was indiscernible but as he wrapped the cord around her neck she made no further sound and showed no sign of protest. George climbed onto the bed between her legs and began having sex with her.
He appeared to have tied the rope in a single knot. As his thrusts became more furious he began to move his hands wider apart, gripping the rope and pulling it tighter.
The woman began to scream and thrash about on the bed.
‘Oh, dear God,’ Jane said.
‘He’s killed her.’
24
Alex sat on a stainless-steel bench pretending to read a copy of The Citizen inside the terminal building of Kruger Mpumalanga International Airport. Although it was cool and gloomy under the soaring thatched cathedral roof he was wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses inside. He didn’t want anyone to be able to recall his description, or see it on a security camera video at a later date.
While he waited for the flight to arrive he checked his watch again and thought about Jane, who was at the other end of South Africa. It had gone badly between them.
They had watched the video to the end. The hidden camera had recorded George’s behaviour when the girl suffocated. He paused, checked her pulse and completed his sexual act with her. Jane had burst into tears at that point and run for the bathroom. He had heard her being sick in there. When she returned she made herself watch the whole thing. Two Asian men – bouncers by the look of them – had banged on the door of the bedroom and George, still naked, had let them in. There had been an argument over the girl, but in the end all three men had seemed resigned to the fact that nothing would be said to the authorities and that their shared priority should be the disposal of the body.
‘Don’t worry, I will pay your employer whatever is required . . . for the girl,’ they had heard George say.
Alex guessed that the men’s ‘employer’ was Valiant Chan, and that the mid-sea exchange had involved George paying for the original tape, as well as the computer file. Alex had wondered aloud how much George had paid.
It was common knowledge in criminal circles that Chan ran a number of brothels in Cape Town and Johannesburg. He imagined the presence of hidden security cameras in the rooms was primarily for the girls’ security, although no doubt the video footage also occasionally came in handy for blackmail.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jane had said. ‘He’s going to pay for the rest of his life.’
Alex had told Jane to come with him, explaining that he had to leave for Nelspruit the next day. He would abandon his pistol and fly, if she would come with him, and if she wouldn’t fly then he would drive through the night in his hire car.
Jane had begun to shake and he had tried to put his arms around her to comfort her, but she had shrugged him off, as though she couldn’t bear the touch of any man right then. He could only imagine how distressed and betrayed she felt at the discovery of conclusive proof of the evil nature of the man she’d been sleeping with.
‘No, Alex. I’m going to the police here in Cape Town. If Chan was involved in this, then the crime took place here, in South Africa. The police will know who this poor woman was. George has been here on business four times already for the preliminary negotiations over the De Witt deal.’
‘You could drop off the evidence anonymously. The video speaks for itself.’
‘No. I have to do this. It’s the right thing to do.’
‘Jane, you need to come with me. Now. Once Penfold works out it’s you who’s gone to the cops you won’t be safe. Don’t tangle with him, he’s a ruthless killer.’
‘I bloody well know he’s a killer! That’s why I’m going to the police and not running away. And you of all people can’t tell me what’s right and what’s wrong.’
He placed a hand on her forearm, but she shrugged it off. ‘Why the hurry to get away anyway?’ she asked him. ‘Stay here. Back me up. Be with me.’
‘Jane . . .’
‘What? What do you have to do that’s so fucking important, Alex? I won’t even say “What about us?” What’s more important than bringing a murderer to justice?’ Her cheeks were reddening with anger. ‘Well?’
‘Jane . . .’ He heard the accusation in her voice, but had no answer for her.
‘You’re going thieving, aren’t you?’
He replied with silence.
‘Tell me you’re not going to steal something from someone tomorrow, Alex. Tell me you and your band of bloody pirates aren’t going to terrorise some good, honest people at the end of your guns. Go on, tell me.’
He turned away from her.
‘You bastard. Get away from me. I thought you might be different – that you might have been serious about going straight. What a bloody idiot I’ve been. Get out of my life! You’re no better than Penfold.’
He’d left the hotel and her words had hurt more than the shrapnel that had carved his body, or his string of failed love affairs. He had left bitter. Now he felt empty. His only hope was that if he pulled off this job he might be able to redeem his wasted life.
It was impossible to miss the South African Army public relations team as they entered the terminal from the arrivals side of the airport, even though they all wore civilian clothes. A soldier could spot another soldier whatever he was wearing.
The one who looked like an officer was a white man and Alex guessed by the length of his hair and the way he called the other two, a black and an Afrikaner, by their first names that he was probably a reservist.
The African had the muscled physique of an infantryman, but was festooned in gold jewellery. The other white, whom the officer addressed as Dirk, hadn’t bothered to shave that morning. He wore elephant-tail and copper bracelets.
Their luggage also betrayed them. There was a precarious mountain of black dust and waterproof carry cases and two sets of tripods. On top of the pile, like an afterthought, were the men’s military kitbags.
The offic
er walked purposefully across the terminal to a car rental agency. Alex wandered past just as the man was taking possession of the keys, and heard the bay number and directions to the team’s rental car. It was all he needed.
Outside, heat haze shimmered above the airport car park. Through the shimmering waves came the Nissan bakkie that Alex had cached in the storage unit in Nelspruit. It slowed and barely stopped as he jumped into the back and banged on the roof. Novak accelerated away from the terminal.
The green tarpaulin in the back moved and Heinrich’s face appeared from under it. ‘OK?’ he asked.
Alex nodded and Heinrich passed him out a camouflage shirt and trousers. Henri sat up as well and fitted a curved thirty-five-round magazine to the R5 assault rifle he was cradling, and cocked it. After Alex struggled into his military uniform, which was no easy task lying down in the back of a moving vehicle, Henri handed the readied weapon to him.
The airport was set in the rolling green hills of Plaston, a farming community near the picturesque regional town of White River. The runway had been laid along a ridge line and the terminal building, from a distance, looked out of place amid the horse studs and macadamia farms.
Alex banged on the roof of the truck again, signalling Novak to pull over. The spot they had chosen was just short of a stop sign, at a quiet railway crossing at the bottom of a small valley. Novak had followed the signs from the airport to the Kruger National Park on the R538. It was the shortest, most logical route to the reserve, and Alex was sure the PR team would take it.
He leapt out of the truck and walked to the front. Novak pulled the bonnet release catch and Alex lifted it. Henri and Heinrich also got out of the back and lifted out a toolbox, which they placed at Alex’s feet.
Kevin and Kufa got out of the front seat, where they had been sandwiched in next to the bulky Novak. They took off their tradesmen’s grimy blue overalls, as did Novak, to reveal South African Army camouflage beneath. Kevin and Kufa fished their R5s out of the back and lay down in the grass on the verge beside the truck. They laid their rifles beside them and put their hands behind the back of their heads, reclining in the universal attitude of soldiers snatching rest when and where they could find it.
