Ghosts of the Past

by Tony Park

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you growing a conscience, Claire Martin?’

  She gave him a playful punch on the arm. ‘Sure and you’re the one who said he’d had enough of war, and now you’re blowing up trains and rescuing fair maidens. Our work isn’t done here, Blake, not while I’ve still got some of Kruger’s gold left.’

  Colonel von Deimling’s headquarters, Keetmanshoop, German South West Africa, one week later

  Colonel Berthold von Deimling was poring over a map of the Karasberge, looking for a way to get back into the mountains and rout Jakob Morengo’s forces once and for all. A knock on his door made him look up. ‘Enter.’

  Leutnant Kurtz, his young aide, opened the door, limped in and saluted. ‘One of the Boer scouts, du Preez, is here to see you, sir.’

  ‘I’m busy, Kurtz. Find out what he wants and make a time this afternoon.’

  ‘He says it is about the Australian fighting with the Nama.’

  ‘Ah, show him in, quickly now, Kurtz.’

  The aide saluted and left and du Preez entered, taking off his hat.

  ‘Sit, sit,’ von Deimling said.

  ‘I have word of the Australian, Prestwich,’ du Preez said.

  ‘I have learned his real name is Blake, but carry on,’ von Deimling said.

  ‘Our source in Upington –’

  ‘Yes, the barman. What is his name?’

  ‘Erasmus, Colonel. He says Prestwich – Blake – has been gathering horses, a good many of them, perhaps fifty. Erasmus told me that the British Cape Mounted Police have been paying him for information and supplying him with their own intelligence on Blake’s movements. Blake has been gathering them in Upington and is planning on delivering them to one of Morengo’s men on our side of the border.’

  Von Deimling tapped his lip. ‘We can catch him.’

  Du Preez shook his head. ‘With respect, Colonel, Blake will sniff out an ambush by the Schutztruppen a mile away. I can catch him, because I know how he works. I’ve passed word to Blake via Erasmus that I have a herd of cattle to sell, on this side of the border. Blake has said he is interested and can meet me on the twenty-fourth of the month. Erasmus believes that this is when the Australian will be bringing horses to Morengo’s man.’

  ‘You know what is expected of you when you meet Blake, du Preez?’ von Deimling said. ‘High command has no wish for a trial, even one that will end in a hanging, nor of meddling from the British government or their colonies.’

  Du Preez stood and nodded. ‘This man is an enemy of your Kaiser, operating in civilian clothes, as a spy. He fought against my people and his kind took joy in executing prisoners taken on the field of battle. In addition he is a traitor to his race. Trust me, Colonel, you will not have to worry about Blake after I see him.’

  Von Deimling gave a curt nod. ‘Very good. Send in Leutnant Kurtz on your way out.’

  Du Preez put on his battered hat and left. Von Deimling felt a rush of excitement. Blake was almost within their grasp and according to du Preez, the British colonel, Walters, had helped deliver the time and the place of the Australian’s next border crossing via the double-dealing informant Erasmus. That meant it was time for von Deimling to honour his side of his deal with Walters. The young officer entered.

  ‘Kurtz, you know Frau Kohl, the doctor’s wife?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I want you to talk to the Landespolizei commander and have charges drawn up against her, for sedition. She was most strident in her criticism of conditions on the railway line and the camp at Lüderitz. I suspect her of aiding the rebels and she is wanted for questioning on the British side of the border for an historic crime in South Africa. She is to be taken into protective custody, until further notice.’

  Kurtz looked surprised. ‘Ah, sir, she is a lady of some repute in the colony. Do we perhaps have some evidence that I can cite or take to the –’

  ‘Kurtz? You dare to defy me? I might have the Landespolizei arrest you instead. You of all people with your wounded leg should feel no sympathy for those who support our enemy. Now get to it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Kurtz saluted and left.

  Von Deimling shook his head at Kurtz’s impudence. He would need to get word to Walters that he was taking the woman into custody, but not via Leutnant Kurtz. The foolish young officer was correct in that the woman would have some standing in the community, but Claire Kohl was not pure German and, as such, lacked the strength and moral courage of his people. She was a liability to the colony with her soft liberal views, even if they might be shared by certain weak-willed people back in Germany. It would do no harm to his command or South West Africa if she was delivered into the hands of the British to face justice for her crimes in South Africa.

  *

  Leutnant Thilo Kurtz leaned on his walking stick as he limped out of the headquarters building onto the dusty Keetmanshoop Street. A Nama woman carrying a skinny baby hurried out of his way and crossed the street to avoid him.

  Kurtz had come to German South West Africa full of the patriotic zeal to protect his country’s interests against a murderous heathen enemy. What he had seen had both surprised and disenchanted him. The Nama were mostly Christians, poor people who had nothing any more, no land or possessions, and who had initially fought on Germany’s side. Von Deimling had said Kurtz should hate them, but he didn’t. He had watched in horror on that day in Narudas how some of his soldiers had slaughtered innocent civilians, and how the mountain guns had zeroed in on the Nama’s homes. This, he had thought, was no way for a professional soldier to wage war.

  Dr Peter Kohl was a kindly, jovial man, and he had saved Thilo’s life and his leg with his quick first aid and, later, surgery. Thilo had met Peter’s wife, Claire, once, and she had struck him as being as opinionated and headstrong as she was beautiful. She reminded him of a girl he had left behind in Munich.

  Von Deimling had told him to advise the Landespolizei of his intention to have Frau Kohl arrested. Well, Thilo thought, Peter Kohl was a policeman, and as Claire’s husband he should be notified of the crimes she was about to be accused of. It was late in the day, the sun turning the desert dust red gold. Dr Kohl would be propping up the bar in the Schützenhaus, which happened to be on the way to the Landespolizei station. Thilo walked up the stairs of the shooting house.

  Chapter 49

  The desert east of Lüderitz, Namibia, the present day

  Joanne’s car engine cut out and she drifted off onto the left-hand side of the road.

  Nick glanced at Anja.

  ‘Nick, won’t you get out and have a look under the bonnet, please?’ Joanne said. ‘I’ll try and start the car when you tell me.’

  ‘I’m a city boy, a journalist, I’m no mechanic,’ Nick said. ‘Anja’s spent a lot more time in the bush than me, maybe she should take a look as well.’

  Joanne frowned. ‘Well, I suppose so, but she’s an academic, isn’t she?’

  ‘She,’ Anja said, opening the back door, ‘has fixed her uncle’s old Land Rover plenty of times. If it’s a leaking fuel line we might be able to fix it.’

  ‘OK, no offence meant,’ Joanne said.

  ‘None taken,’ Anja said.

  Nick got out and lifted the bonnet when Joanne popped it. Anja joined him. Nick had a quick look around the engine bay.

  ‘I can’t see anything obvious, Joanne. Maybe give it another try?’ he called.

  ‘OK.’

  Nick heard a faint click from inside the car, but there were no noises from the engine bay.

  ‘There’s a car coming, from the Lüderitz side,’ Anja said.

  Nick peered around the open bonnet lid and looked where Anja was pointing. As the car came closer he recognised it. ‘It’s Scott’s car.’

  Joanne got out. ‘Shit.’

  Nick heard another engine and turned the other way. From the di
rection of Aus, to the east, he could see a white pick-up with a green box-like rooftop tent. It looked like one of the many hired safari cars he had seen since entering Namibia. The truck was travelling fast, while Scott was slowing.

  Nick stepped out into the road as the tourist vehicle closed on them. He put his hand up.

  ‘What are you doing, Nick?’ Joanne called. ‘Come back.’

  He ignored her. ‘Anja, come here.’

  She went to his side and he lowered his voice to a whisper as he continued waving. ‘Read the email I sent to your phone a few minutes ago. We need to stop this car.’

  The driver of the hire vehicle, perhaps worrying that Nick meant him some harm, tried to swerve around him, but Anja moved further out onto the road, preventing the driver from passing them. The vehicle stopped.

  Nick went to the driver’s window and rapped on it. Anja moved quickly in front of the truck to stop the driver from leaving.

  A blond man wound down the window.

  ‘Take this woman to Lüderitz, to the police, please. This is an emergency and people’s lives are at risk.’

  ‘Nick!’ Joanne called.

  Again he ignored her.

  ‘Blimey mate, are you serious?’ the man asked in an English accent.

  ‘Deadly, mate. Take Anja here, please.’

  The man looked to his female companion, who shrugged helplessly. Nick saw that, thankfully, the vehicle was a double cab, with room in the back for Anja. Before Anja could protest Nick guided her in. ‘Get the cops.’

  ‘OK,’ she said to Nick, then to the driver, ‘go!’

  Joanne got out of the car, carrying her handbag. She reached into it and pulled out a pistol. Nick looked her in the eye.

  Joanne pointed to the BMW sedan which had pulled up a hundred metres from them. ‘That’s Scott’s car.’

  ‘I know,’ Nick said. ‘You think he’s going to try and shoot you, or me? He could have killed us on Shark Island.’

  ‘That’s not his style these days,’ Joanne said, ‘he gets other people to do his dirty work. That’s why he had a sniper open fire on you. He screamed away to make it look like he had nothing to do with it. Just listen to what he says now.’

  Joanne hung the long strap of her handbag on her right shoulder, but kept the gun out of sight in the bag, still gripping it.

  Scott got out of the BMW, but stood behind the open door.

  ‘Nick,’ Scott called, ‘come over here.’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ Joanne said back to her ex-husband. ‘You tried to have him and the German woman killed on Shark Island.’

  Scott shook his head. ‘You’re one of a kind, Joanne. Nick, I had nothing to do with that attack on you.’

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ Nick asked. ‘How did you know where to find us? You left before Joanne arrived.’

  Scott looked to Joanne, then to Nick. ‘She SMSed me, told me where you were heading.’

  ‘Really?’ Nick raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise and looked to Joanne.

  ‘He’s lying, he followed us,’ Joanne said. ‘You can’t trust a word he says.’

  ‘I am not lying,’ Scott said.

  Nick sensed movement in his peripheral vision and turned his head quickly. He was worried a sniper might appear from nowhere. It was, instead, a group of three desert horses – it looked like a big stallion, a smaller mare, and a very small foal. Nick remembered that Anja had seen a newborn. He hoped she would return soon with the police. Joanne and Scott were locked in a tense stand-off and Nick was acutely aware of the gun in Joanne’s hand.

  ‘Anja’s gone to get the police, Scott.’

  ‘Good,’ Scott said. ‘Hopefully they can catch whoever was shooting at us.’

  Joanne laughed. ‘You can’t talk yourself out of this one.’

  ‘I really do not know what you’re talking about, Joanne.’

  Nick interrupted. ‘You’ve got the manuscript, Scott, you know where the rest of Kruger’s gold is, where Claire Martin dumped it.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about? What manuscript? I do not bloody well know where any gold is, but maybe you can enlighten me, since you believe I know already.’

  ‘Paul Kruger’s gold is . . .’ Nick had his eye on Joanne, and as soon as he saw her hand start to come out of her handbag and glimpsed the black metal of the pistol he leapt on her, grabbing her right arm and pushing her to the ground. ‘Help me, Scott, she’s got a gun!’

  Nick had knocked Joanne over and was trying to twist her arm behind her back and force her to drop the pistol, but it was harder than he thought and she was far stronger than he’d imagined. She twisted in his arms and sank her teeth into his shoulder, biting down hard.

  Nick screamed and relaxed his hold on her enough for Joanne to move her hand between them. Then Nick heard the boom of a gunshot and felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  Chapter 50

  The desert south of Klipdam Farm, German South West Africa, 1906

  Blake crossed the border under the cover of darkness. Beside him rode Dawie, the young Nama man who worked for Rassie. Blake needed him to help keep the fifty horses they trailed under control, and then to take the cattle they expected to collect from the Boer, du Preez, back to Upington.

  Blake would not be returning to the Cape Colony.

  Blake had taken the gold that Jakob Morengo owed him – Claire’s gold – and some of her remaining stash from her farm, and used half of it to buy the fifty new horses. The remainder would pay for the cattle du Preez would sell him. When the deal with the Boers was done Blake and Dawie would part company and Dawie would take the cattle to Upington and deliver them to Morengo at the Spangenberg farm. The money Dawie would make for on-selling them in the Cape Colony would go to help the Nama refugees in the camps on the British side of the border.

  After leaving Dawie, Blake would take the horses a short distance further to Gert, Morengo’s man who commanded a new band of rebels the Black Napoleon had formed in the Klipdam area. Morengo had decided it was time to escalate the war against the Germans.

  Blake and Dawie led their mob of horses along a gully, the way ahead clearly visible thanks to a night sky ablaze with stars. Thoughts of Claire kept the chill from cutting through his oilskin.

  The longer Claire and Blake stayed in Africa the greater the risk of the Germans or Llewellyn Walters catching up with them, but Claire was adamant that she wanted to leave some sort of legacy behind. They had discussed it and Blake had agreed to help her implement her plan to supply a last herd of horses to Morengo. He knew this was important to her, perhaps to atone for the theft of the gold in the first place. As tired as they both were of war they knew that Jakob Morengo and his people would have to continue the fight after they were gone.

  Blake and Dawie rode on through the long, cool night. Their strategy was to rest up during the day to avoid German patrols.

  Blake decided he would miss Africa’s enchanting night skies, not to mention the sunrises, but after the horses were delivered and Dawie was on his way with the cattle he was looking forward to a new life. To the east Blake saw the red sun peeking above the dunes and the silhouettes of two men on horseback.

  Blake looked to Dawie, who nodded, indicating he had seen them too. Dawie took his Lee–Metford rifle, an older but well cared for predecessor of Blake’s Lee Enfield, from its holster by the saddle and chambered a round. Dawie cradled the rifle across his lap. Blake opened his oilskin coat to make sure his Broomhandle Mauser was within easy reach.

  The two riders closed on Dawie and Blake, and as they got closer the sun climbed, and Blake recognised them.

  ‘Du Preez, de Waal,’ Blake said, nodding to the two Afrikaners.

  Blake reined in his mount, stopping twenty metres short of the Boers. Both men were traders, like him, and he knew from bar-room talk that the pair had
been on commando, fighting against the British and colonial forces during the war in South Africa. That in itself was not unusual for men of their age, but they had moved to German South West Africa rather than live in their birth country under British rule. They were frequent visitors to Upington and de Waal was the man who had tried to molest Liesl in Rassie’s bar. While he and Blake had traded blows that night, they hadn’t fought since.

  ‘I’m curious,’ Blake said. ‘Who would have told you that I was moving horses?’

  Du Preez shrugged. ‘It’s hard to keep the movement of fifty animals a secret in a small town like Upington. I tried to buy some myself to sell this side of the border and old Stephanou told me you’d bought up all his stock.’

  Blake nodded. The story checked out.

  ‘Where are the cattle?’ Dawie asked the men.

  De Waal indicated with a flick of his head. ‘Over that far dune, grazing.’

  ‘All right,’ Blake said. ‘Let’s have a look.’

  They walked their horses to the base of a dune.

  ‘We must dismount here,’ du Preez said. ‘It’s quicker if we climb the dune rather than ride all the way around to the valley.’

  ‘Take your rifle with you,’ Blake said quietly to Dawie, who nodded.

  Blake got off his horse and lagged behind as du Preez set off with Dawie beside him. De Waal was between him and the others. Blake noticed the two Boers had both left their rifles on their horses.

  ‘I like your rifle, boy,’ du Preez said to Dawie. ‘Lee–Metford? An old one but a good one.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dawie said, pride evident on his young face.

  ‘Can I have a look at it?’

  ‘It’s loaded,’ Dawie said.

  ‘I know how to handle one of these almost better than I do a woman.’ Du Preez laughed.

  ‘Dawie,’ Blake called. He would never hand another man his weapon, unless it was unloaded and cleared.

  Dawie looked over his shoulder but he was already passing his treasured weapon to du Preez.

  Du Preez took the rifle, swung around and fired from the hip, shooting Dawie in the chest.