Ivory

by Tony Park

  ‘I know, XO, I heard it too.’ Fourie could feel his stress levels start to rise.

  ‘Penfold Son, Penfold Son, we heard they had arrived safely, over,’ Kumalo replied.

  ‘I know that,’ said the worried voice from the freighter. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t know how it happened, but something . . . something exploded just after they touched down, while the rotors were still turning. My God . . . it was . . . it was horrible. The blast threw the helicopter on its side and over the edge. The explosion seemed to come from one of the rocket pods and . . .’

  Fourie processed the information. The voice had tailed off into silence. ‘Maybe a missile malfunction?’ he said out loud. He left his seat and took the handset from his executive officer. ‘MV Penfold Son, this is the Commanding Officer of the SAS Talana. To whom am I speaking, over?’

  ‘George Penfold, master of the Penfold Son and MD of Penfold Shipping.’

  Fourie had heard of the man – no one at sea had not. The millionaire’s position and standing meant little now. ‘How long ago did this happen, over?’

  ‘Only a few minutes ago, Captain. We’ve launched a boat to look for survivors, but the helicopter went down fast.’

  Fourie turned to Kumalo, but before he could speak the African officer said, ‘Should I launch a RHIB sir? It will get there much faster than we will.’

  Fourie nodded. ‘Send both of them, XO.’

  Kumalo moved to the Talana’s broadcast system and issued the orders.

  ‘Mister Penfold, hold in place and continue your search. We’re sending two boats to help you. They’ll be there soon and we won’t be far behind. Have you suffered any casualties?’

  ‘Negative, Captain. Hurry, please. I just hope we can find those brave airmen alive.’

  Van Zyl paced the bridge of the Penfold Son like a caged lion. ‘We’ve got to kill them, now. Those sailors are going to want to board us to talk to you. If the prisoners start banging on the walls of that container again we’re finished.’

  George frowned. ‘Agreed, but keep the woman alive.’

  ‘Forget her,’ Van Zyl said, shaking his head. ‘She’s your weakness, George.’

  ‘Shut your bloody mouth. I will keep her alive as long as it suits me. Take her below decks and chain her somewhere in the engine room.’

  ‘What about Tremain and the pilot? Do you want to do it, or shall I?’

  ‘I’ll do it. I want to make sure the job’s done properly.’

  Van Zyl ignored the implied insult and looked out over the deck. His men had barely shifted the Rooivalk helicopter. Pushing it over the edge was easier said than done. The Rooivalk sat on a three-wheeled undercarriage, with two at the front, beneath where the crew sat, and a tail wheel. The containers on the Penfold Son were stacked close together, but there were still narrow gaps between them and every time one of the Rooivalk’s wheels hit a gap it required a strenuous effort from the men to dislodge it and get it rolling again. ‘Well, you can come and give me a hand to move that helo as well. And summon some more of your crew or else it’ll still be there when the navy arrives.’

  Van Zyl slung his M4 over his shoulder and joined his men, who were clustered around the helicopter, panting in between efforts as they leaned against the fuselage. ‘Come on, you bastards, get your backs into it.’

  It seemed Van Zyl was incapable of getting anything right. He’d told George that he and his men had held their fire on board the Peng Cheng until he had all the pirates in his sight. But by waiting for Tremain to get into the stolen helicopter – Van Zyl’s plan was to kill all of them and destroy the aircraft machine in one go, before it took off – he had allowed the bulk of the pirate crew to escape. But at least George had their leader.

  George walked over to the container which housed the prisoners. He was looking forward to killing Tremain, but wished it hadn’t been necessary to finish off the innocent airmen.

  He didn’t underestimate the cunning of a pirate and a pilot, so when he opened the door he stood back. He’d brought a powerful Maglite flashlight with him from the deckhouse and he raised it with his left hand and used it to scan the darkened interior.

  Jane cowered in a far corner, sitting down with her knees drawn up to her chest. Tremain, in his South African Army camouflage fatigues, was next to her, in a similar position, although his head was resting on his knees. The man was broken. The black pilot of the helicopter was in the other corner, standing, and the dead crewman lay in a pool of his own blood where Van Zyl had dropped him.

  ‘On your feet, Tremain.’

  The man said nothing.

  ‘Leave him alone, George. For God’s sake leave us all alone, or just kill us,’ Jane screamed.

  ‘Get up, Tremain. Now!’

  Jane leaned over to him and put her arms around the sitting man. ‘He’s finished, George,’ she said softly. ‘Can’t you see he’s no threat to you now?’

  George laughed, long and loud, his peals echoing off the inside of the steel box as he stepped inside. ‘Not such a big man now, are you, you bastard.’

  ‘What of me?’ the pilot asked. ‘Are you going to execute me or set me free?’

  ‘You, my friend, have become an inconvenience. I really wish you hadn’t landed on my ship.’

  ‘So do I.’ He took two paces towards George.

  ‘Stop! Sit down, where you are.’ The pilot complied and slid to the floor, his back against a side wall.

  George licked the sweat from his top lip. It really was like an oven in this box. He stepped over the body of the helicopter crewman.

  ‘TREMAIN! Get on your feet or I’ll shoot you where you’re sitting.’

  ‘George, no, please,’ Jane cried. ‘Can’t you see he’s beaten? He’s no threat to you. You could let him go and leave him on his island. Please, let him live.’

  George laughed again. This really was very amusing. ‘And tell me, why should I do such a ridiculous thing?’

  ‘Because I love him, George. Let him live and I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll be whatever you want. I’ll be your slave, George, if that’s what you want . . .’

  He shook his head. ‘Too late, darling. You had that chance, only you could have done it in style, as my next wife, but you rejected me for this burned-out loser. And now you’ll pay for your treachery.’ He raised the pistol and pointed it at the seated man. ‘At least be a man and face me, Tremain.’

  ‘No!’ Jane screamed.

  George wanted the pirate to look him in the eye, but he felt the rush anyway. The man deserved to die for his cowardice alone. Jane was showing more balls than this pathetic creature. He squeezed the trigger.

  The noise of the .44 was deafening. He’d aimed the first shot low, into Tremain’s gut, because he wanted to hear him cry, but the man was silent. Amazing. He fired the next into his head and when the bullet struck it flicked the skull back so that the face was visible. ‘Shit . . .’

  While George was talking Alex had closed his hand around the handle of the metal slop bucket, which he and Jane had positioned close to him. The helicopter gunner’s drying blood was all over him, on the dead man’s clothes and plastered to his face and hands from the sticky pool on the floor of the container. He looked like a red-streaked creature from hell as he unleashed a war cry and swung the bucket at George’s head.

  George fell to his knees, but then dropped to his belly and rolled, avoiding Alex’s backswing.

  ‘Run!’ Alex yelled at Jane and Oliver.

  Oliver lashed out at George, kicking him hard in the ribs as he tried to crawl away. George loosed another shot, which would have struck Jane if she hadn’t dodged to her left. Alex stomped his booted foot down on George’s wrist and the other man cried in pain and dropped his pistol. Alex scooped the weapon up and pointed it at George.

  ‘I should kill you now.’

  ‘I’ll kill him for you, man,’ Oliver said.

  Alex shook his head. ‘No. Not yet, at least. We need him.’

  George g
ot to his knees, nursing his wrist. Alex guessed it might be broken.

  ‘On your feet.’ He grabbed the Englishman by the collar of his shirt and hauled him upright, eliciting another cry of pain. He checked Penfold’s pockets and relieved him of a speed loader fitted with six rounds of ammunition for the pistol.

  ‘What now?’ Oliver asked.

  Alex held the pistol under Penfold’s chin, his free hand locked around his neck. ‘Why did you land your helo on the ship?’

  ‘Fuel,’ answered Oliver.

  ‘How much have you got left?’

  ‘Enough to start it and make a short hop. The tanks would be dry soon after.’

  ‘How far could you get?’

  ‘I don’t know. A kilometre, maybe two?’

  ‘That’s enough. We’re going to go out there and you’re going to take Jane, get off this bloody tub and fly towards the Talana. Ditch if you have to. They’ll pick up your emergency rescue beacon.’

  ‘How do you know about the Talana?’

  Jane looked at him.

  ‘Long story. The short version is I put a call into Tactical Headquarters to tip them off about the Peng Cheng – that’s the freighter we landed the stolen ivory on. I didn’t want that ivory leaving Africa and ending up in China or Taiwan.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Oliver said. ‘You stole millions of rands worth of ivory and you were going to hand it back again?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  Jane smiled.

  Penfold’s face showed his disbelief and outrage. ‘It’s a bloody double-cross is what it is. You prick. You were going to take Chan’s money and then shop him.’

  Alex shrugged. ‘You and Chan set me up and ambushed me. I’m a pirate – what’s your excuse, George?’

  *

  Piet van Zyl stormed away from the Rooivalk. His men rested in the shade of the drooping rotor blades. They were all strong guys, but they would need more muscle power to tip the helicopter overboard, and time was running out. He’d heard the shots from inside the container and assumed George was executing all of the prisoners.

  ‘Christ, what a bloody mess,’ he muttered to himself, rueing his decision to take Penfold’s money. Still, he told himself, they were all in it up to their necks now. There was no going back. He climbed the stairs to the bridge. He would get the first mate to broadcast a message to the rest of the ship’s crew over the PA system, summoning every spare man to the helipad.

  ‘What’s going on down there?’ the mate said as Piet opened the door.

  He turned and held a hand to his eyes to shield them from the glare reflected from the deck and the containers that crowded it. ‘Fuck.’

  Piet unslung his M4 and, staying low, moved out onto the starboard bridge wing. He rested his rifle on the rail, switched the selector switch to single shot and took aim.

  ‘Unsling your weapons and put them on the deck,’ Alex commanded Van Zyl’s thugs. Seeing their paymaster, Penfold, with a pistol at his head, the men slowly, reluctantly, complied. ‘Jane, Oliver, grab a gun each. Toss the rest overboard.’ What worried him was that Van Zyl was not with his men. Alex scanned the decks and faraway bridge, but couldn’t see the South African.

  Jane hurled the small arsenal into the blue waters of the Indian Ocean below while Oliver frisked each of the men. He liberated concealed pistols from two of them and stuffed one in the breast pocket of his flight suit. ‘All clear.’

  ‘Oliver, get in and start up.’

  The pilot needed no convincing. He tossed his assault rifle into the cockpit and climbed up into his seat.

  ‘Jane, give me the rifle and get in the front seat.’

  ‘No, Alex. I’m not going to leave you. I’ve got a gun and I’m going to stay here with you, until the navy comes.’

  ‘I’ll face the music – God knows it’s time – but I want you out of here, safe and alive. You’re better off with Oliver in a life raft than on this death ship.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m staying with you.’

  There was a whine from the Rooivalk’s engines and the rotors above them slowly started to turn.

  ‘Get in the chopper! Oliver, close your hatch. There’s still one of the gunslingers unaccounted for. Keep an eye out for him.’

  The pilot cocked his head, unable to hear Alex over the growing noise from the turbojet engines.

  Jane looked from Alex, to George, who glared back at her malevolently. She stared into the eyes of the monster she had very nearly married, then looked into Alex’s. She saw the resignation there, and something else. ‘I love you, Alex.’

  Alex opened his mouth, but the report of the gunshot silenced him.

  The first bullet passed through Oliver’s throat. The second took off the top of his skull. Unrestrained, he toppled sideways, and hung half in, half out of the cockpit.

  Alex threw George to the deck, his pistol still at the shipping magnate’s head. He was unwilling to give up his only bargaining chip. Van Zyl’s men made a run for it, scurrying amidst the mass of stacked containers like fleeing cockroaches.

  Van Zyl’s third, fourth and fifth shots went into the air intakes in front of the Rooivalk’s twin engines. Thick smoke billowed from one exhaust, but the rotors still turned steadily above them.

  ‘Alex!’ Rounds zinged off the metal containers around Jane, sparks and bare metal gouges showing the path of ricochets.

  Alex knew they would be picked off soon enough, and Jane would be the next to die. Penfold was the only thing stopping Van Zyl from shooting Alex. The mercenary was toying with them. He’d told Oliver to close the canopy on the chopper as he knew the Rooivalk’s crew stations were protected by armoured glass. ‘Jane, when I start firing, climb up into the gunner’s seat . . . in the front, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  Jane looked at him, eyes wide with fear, but she nodded.

  ‘On three. One, two . . .’

  Alex’s third count was drowned out by a short burst of five rounds on automatic from Van Zyl’s rifle. Alex countered, emptying the revolver at the bridge. He had little chance of hitting the man at this range, but all he wanted to do was keep his head down. Jane leapt from the container top and climbed into the gunner’s seat. As she slammed the cockpit closed a bullet bounced off it, starring the glass.

  Alex had to release his grip around George’s neck to reload and as he did so Penfold elbowed him hard in the ribs. He knew it was coming, so he rolled out of the way. George sprang to his feet and ran off towards the bridge. Alex rammed the speed loader in the empty chambers of the six-shooter. He fired alternately at George and the bridge wing as he used his free hand to haul Oliver’s body down from the pilot’s seat.

  Alex climbed in and slammed the cockpit hatch closed as a fusillade of shots bounced off the glass. Alex surveyed the array of gauges, switches and buttons in front of him. He’d watched plenty of helicopter pilots over the years but had no idea how to fly. He found the throttle and revved it hard. Above them he heard the engine note change and saw the blades turn faster.

  Jane was on her knees, looking up at him from the front seat. She winced every time a bullet bounced off their glass cocoon. ‘Can you get us off the ship?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m trying.’

  Above the noise of the engine Alex could hear someone talking over the loudspeaker. The words were unclear but, glancing around, he saw Van Zyl’s men start to emerge from their hiding spots, and crewmen in overalls appearing, more tentative than the trained killers, as they climbed up onto the top stack of containers. The men moved towards the helicopter.

  ‘Hurry, Alex!’

  Alex increased the throttle further and pulled up on the lever by his side. He felt the pressure ease off the Rooivalk’s landing gear. He toyed with the cyclic stick.

  ‘We’re lifting!’ Jane squealed.

  Jane had dropped her rifle in her rush to get aboard the helicopter.

  Washington, Van Zyl’s hugely muscled African-American sidekick, scooped the
weapon up.

  ‘Come on baby . . . Please . . .’ The Rooivalk lifted a metre off the deck and rocked sickeningly from side to side as Alex wrestled with the unfamiliar controls.

  ‘We’re flying!’

  The hired gun raised the M4 to his shoulder and opened fire, emptying thirty rounds from the curved magazine into the one functioning engine.

  The Rooivalk dropped like a dead bird, jarring Alex and Jane in their seats.

  Alex looked out and saw Van Zyl and Penfold, side by side, returning to the helicopter. If he opened the armoured glass cockpit to shoot at the men he would be cut down in less than a second by the black man standing guard, his rifle pointed straight at Alex. There was no way he could be quicker on the draw.

  Van Zyl’s men and a dozen of the ship’s crew surrounded the Rooivalk and the two people trapped inside it. They laid their hands on the hot metal and, at Penfold’s shouted urging, began pushing.

  Alex checked the instrument panel in front of him. Even though both engines were dead, the lights on several gauges and monitors were still illuminated. That meant they still had electrical power. ‘Jane, put on the gunner’s helmet.’

  ‘What? It’s like plastic, it’s no good for –’

  ‘Jane, just put the bloody thing on.’

  Alex found the weapons selector switch and moved it to ‘guns’.

  ‘Pull the monocle on the side of the helmet around so you can look through it. Tell me what you see.’

  Jane did as he asked, then said, ‘It’s a sight of some sort.’

  Below them, Alex felt the vibration of something mechanical moving.

  ‘Turning your head moves the guns in the turret under the nose.’

  With the extra manpower the Rooivalk started to slide. It was sitting crossways on the container stack, its nose pointing out to sea on the starboard side of the ship. Looking over Jane’s head Alex could see the front of the chopper was now overhanging the edge. They’d be lucky to survive the long drop uninjured, and if they couldn’t get out they would suffocate once the helicopter went under. He was sure that if they did get out, Van Zyl and George would pick them off in the water.