Old Lovers Don't Die

by Anderson, Paul G

“No, this is very therapeutic; it’s keeping my mind off the wound. Keep going, Issy.”

  “Her name was Simone; she was a black American third-year medical student. Her father was a diplomat in Cape Town. I first saw her in the university bar, surrounded by three or four rugby players. That was not surprising given her stunning looks, long black hair, and a figure to die for. What was surprising was that when the rugby players left, she came over to me and we got chatting. Within five minutes, we were like old excited friends and then she told me that I really turned her on. I was so taken aback that I do not think I replied for two minutes. I had never really considered sex with another woman before, and then I thought why not? It would be something new, fun, and definitely unknown chemistry.”

  “So you are gay? And if the answer to that is yes, I guess there goes any future chance of revisiting our chemistry.”

  “That’s a very cute pout. And don’t interrupt; although I suppose that I should be grateful that you weren’t like most boys and didn’t say something such as was it as good as being with me?”

  “Well, was it?”

  “Christian!”

  “Okay, I was teasing. I promise to behave; please keep going.”

  “I’m not sure yet whether I’m gay. There was an enormous warmth and fun with Simone. I loved exploring her body and its softness and having her explore mine. In many ways, because you know your own body so well, you instinctively know what can give pleasure. Many males can’t spell clitoris. You of course are one of the exceptions, I should add quickly, let alone finding it and causing pleasure. In my small research group, most seem to think it was down there somewhere, and a hard penis was all that was required.”

  “That doesn’t sound like you want to cross back too soon.”

  “Don’t go pretending that you are all hurt and rejected. What we had was very special, and you were very sensitive and stimulating as a lover, which is why I’m not completely won over to the other side.”

  “So there’s a chance still.”

  “Maybe. You had better hurry up and get better if you want to find out,” She said, standing at the foot of his bed smiling mischievously.

  “Quick, place your healing hands on me then.”

  Christian looked at Isabella sitting at the foot of his bed. She hadn’t taken her eyes off him, in a way that girls do when they’re intent on conveying pleasure and availability. He tried to think about being well again and whether they could recapture what they had, when he heard a light knock at the door. Isabella looked at her watch and said to Christian,

  “It’s probably Mike, although he’s half an hour early according to my reckoning. He will most probably want to make certain that you have not been using the propofol!”

  Isabella unlatched the door slightly and then stood back quickly as it was pushed open from the outside. Michelangelo appeared, a shocked look on his face, and then tripped on the step, falling facedown at the foot of Christian’s bed. Isabella helped him up and as she did so, Christian noticed him looking anxiously towards the door. Through the open doorway, Christian could make out the shapes of three men in the darkness beyond. None looked like Mohammed in his flowing robes. Michelangelo ran and hid behind Isabella when one of the men walked into the room. He was a tall muscular black man, hair carefully plaited with long golden earrings. A camouflage shirt was completely unbuttoned and rolled to his shoulders. A black T-shirt, worn underneath, had welcome to Kariba’s hell emblazoned in red letters. Evil emanated from under the bony ridges which shaped his eyes. He looked at Christian and then at Isabella.

  “Stay where you are and I won’t kill you!” He half spat at Isabella.

  Turning away from Isabella, he looked at Christian. He said,

  “Your turn to die, Muzungu. You killed my son. Now it’s your turn to die.”

  “I didn’t kill your son; his disease killed him.”

  “You didn’t save my son so that means you killed him, and in Kariba’s world, it’s a life for a life. You should be grateful that you are going to die; I could just rip your eyes out and eat them. My brother is a devil worshipper and that is what he wants me to do. Eating a Muzungu’ s eyes will let me see things in the dark. The king should be able to see in the dark; however, I want you to see the hell that you are going to and feel your breath disappearing as my son did.” He then laughed in a way, Christian thought, that suggested he was high on some drug.

  “Muzungu bitch, who escaped from me. Come and inject this morphine,” he said, pulling out two dirty 50 ml syringes from his pocket while pointing the pistol with his other hand at Isabella’s head.”

  Isabella remained at the foot of the bed and shook her head.

  “If you don’t do it, both of you will die, but I will kill Michelangelo in front of you first and then rape you.”

  Christian looked across to where Michelangelo was and saw that he was now sitting in the corner curled up, his arms over his head, his tears already staining the floor.

  “And in case you were thinking that Mohammed was going to ride your rescue again, he is presently talking to Allah.” Kariba laughed maniacally.

  “Stupid white Muzungu bitch, you have ten seconds to get over here. Otherwise I kill Michelangelo,” he said aiming his pistol at the crouching shape in the corner.

  “If I inject myself, will you let the other two go?” Christian quickly said.

  “Too late, you stupid son-killing Muzungu. I’ve changed my mind. Michelangelo can inject you. He’s about the same age as my son. And then he gets the pleasure of coming to work for me.”

  “That will ruin his life,” Isabella said.

  “Shut up, stupid Muzungu bitch. Kariba gave you a chance, now in a short while, if you’re lucky, he’s going give you HIV.”

  “Just let me do it. I will inject myself, but let Isabella and Michelangelo go free,” Christian pleaded.

  Kariba spat in his direction and strode to the corner of the room. He yanked Michelangelo up by one arm, silencing the whimper by holding the pistol to his head, before dragging him back to Christian’s bed and the intravenous line running into Christian’s vein. Michelangelo hung limply by one arm, eyes closed as Kariba tried to connect the first syringe filled with morphine to Christian’s intravenous line. However because he had not remove the cover from the needle, Kariba could not connect it to Christian’s intravenous line. Then recognising his mistake, he dropped Michelangelo onto the floor so that he could use two hands. Michelangelo quickly crawled under Christian’s bed. Kariba cursed and let go of the syringe, attempting to stamp on Michelangelo’s leg as he disappeared under the bed. Missing Michelangelo with his army boot, he bent down to look under the bed.

  “Come to daddy,” he called mockingly, pointing his pistol in the direction that Michelangelo had crawled.

  Christian quickly looked at Isabella who nodded. He pulled the sheath off the syringe, leaned over the bed, and plunged it into the side of Kariba’s exposed neck. His hope, before he pushed the plunger, was that it was in the internal jugular vein. It needed to strike the large vein to have an instant effect. There was primitive guttural cry of shock from Kariba under the bed, who knocked his head as he reached for the syringe. Christian pushed harder, 30 mils were injected. If it was in the right place, that would be enough to knock out but not enough to kill him. Kariba fired his gun, the bullet shattering the front of the desk as he pulled the syringe from his neck. Isabella slammed the door closed and locked it. The loud beating on the door from Kariba’s henchmen almost drowned out Kariba’s cursing. As he pulled himself out from under Christian’s bed, the rage in his eyes was incandescent. He fired another shot that went up through Christian’s mattress, missing his left leg by centimetres.

  Kariba then pulled himself out from underneath the bed and sat on the floor facing Christian. Slowly he brought his pistol up and aimed at Christian’s head. The pounding on the door matched the pounding in Christian’s head. He wondered whether the pounding was the last sound that he would
ever hear. He was about to close his eyes and accept his fate when then the pistol wavered a little, tracking down to his abdomen, the morphine was starting to take effect. Kariba’s black eyes, he could see, were now struggling to focus, and desperation brought his second hand up to steady the gun. However, even with two hands he could not hold the gun steady and again it drifted away to the left. Momentarily trained on the wall, Isabella in one motion picked up the chair and smashed it across Kariba’s head. The gun discharged as he fell, shattering the small window above Christian’s head.

  “Thanks, Issy. That doorway will not hold the others for long.”

  “I have Mike on speed dial,” Isabella said as she pushed the number seven on her phone.

  “It will take him fifteen minutes to get here; they will be in by then. Give me Kariba’s gun and you and Michelangelo come over here behind me.”

  Isabella took the pistol out of Kariba’s hand and handed it to Christian as suddenly the pounding on the door stopped. Perhaps others were coming after hearing the shots and those outside had left them, thought Christian. Then thirty seconds later, the pounding restarted, this time with what sounded like an iron bar against the wooden door. Although the wooden door was constructed in two layers, Christian knew it would not last long against an iron bar. He motioned to Isabella to crouch down behind his bed.

  He took aim at the door as the iron bars shattered the top part of the frame. In the darkness, he could just make out a black hand reaching in, searching for the latch. Christian thought about shooting at the hand, but knew that he had to wait to be certain of killing them. He watched as the black hand lifted the latch and slowly withdrew. Christian glanced down to make sure the safety catch had not flicked on with the pistol falling on the floor. It was off and ready to use.

  The door slowly swung, creaking on its hinges, pushed by a hand that he now could not see. He squinted into the darkness beyond the door, wondering if whoever was out there would know that he had Kariba’s gun. Just as he was wondering about firing a warning shot, Mike’s voice drifted through the door.

  “Don’t shoot. We have neutralised both of Kariba’s men.”

  Christian lowered the pistol as Isabella stood up and kissed him on the forehead.

  “My goodness, you get yourself into situations,” Mike said, as he walked through the door with a smiling Galela behind him.

  “You got my phone call then,” said Isabella, clutching onto a shaking Michelangelo.

  “I was already on the way deciding to come early when I got your call. Galela had come with me, wanting to get out for some fresh air.”

  “Have you killed him?” Galela said looking in Kariba’s direction.

  “I don’t think so. I can see him just breathing, and I only managed to inject 30 mls of morphine, not the 50 mls that was in the syringe.”

  “That will indeed keep him quiet. But we’d better tie him up in case he is a fast metaboliser.”

  “Or we could give him the other 20 mls and that would completely deal with the problem if he stops breathing completely,” said Galela

  “Considering how many people he has killed, I don’t think anyone would complain,” Mike replied

  “What you think, Christian? You gave him the first 30 mls, and given the chance, he was probably going to kill all three of you. Shall we give him the extra 20 mils and stop his breathing?”

  “I have a better idea. Killing him would be too easy for him when you think of the number of people he has tortured and raped. There is an international warrant out for his arrest, and I happen to know and have the phone number of one of the international prosecutors. They would love to have him and prosecute him for his crimes against humanity. That way he gets to spend life in jail.”

  “Okay, it’ll need to happen quickly. Even though we’ve taken care of his two henchmen outside, others might come looking for him. We will tie him up and lock him in the mortuary. Is your phone at Dr Sudani’s?”

  Christian nodded.

  “I’ll go and get it,” Isabella said. “I know where it is. And I can get Cindy to look after Michelangelo.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay to go by yourself?”

  “I will be fine. You have all these terrorists tied up. And I need to get Michelangelo out of here and into Cindy’s safe arms. Do you know what’s happened to Mohammed?”

  “No, but I have sent Heinrich and Suleiman, two of our best agents from NIA, to check on him. They arrived last night, and when I got your message just now, they came with us in case we needed a hand but I have sent them to check on Mohammed.”

  “I’ll drop Michelangelo with Cindy and bring Jannie back. He’ll want to know what has been happening, although given what he knows about his adventurous son, I’m sure he won’t be totally surprised.”

  “All right, but phone me if there are any issues.”

  “I will,” Isabella said, scooping up Michelangelo and telling him that it was all over and that he was going to be safe with Cindy.

  “So young man, who is this prosecutor you know at The Hague.”

  “I met her on a plane on the way to London. She had warned me about child trafficking, and human rights abuses in the Congo, and to be careful. Then after I had been here for a few weeks, she sent me a text message saying there was now a warrant for Kariba’s arrest and a reward of five million dollars.”

  “When Isabella brings my phone back, I can text her. If we could get him across the border to Goma, I’m sure they send a plane to pick up Kariba.”

  “Yes, we can always stick him in the ambulance and get him to Goma airport.”

  “What are you going to do with five million dollars? That’s far too much money for a young man to have.” Mike smiled.

  “I’m sure Cindy could use it at the orphanage and it would rebuild part of the hospital that is falling down.”

  “Do you know who has the key to the mortuary? “ Galela asked.

  “Dr Sudani has one,” Christian replied

  “Let me text Isabella to bring the key back.”

  Before Mike could finish texting, they heard the sound of feet running down the concrete pathway from the hospital. Mike quickly switched off the light and Galela crouched low in the doorway. Christian watched as he brought up his Glock pistol and pointed it in the direction of the footsteps.

  “It’s okay,” said Mike. “Heinrich and Suleiman are back.”

  Galela went outside while Mike again switched the light on. Christian could hear the animated discussion through the door, some in English and some in Afrikaans.

  “Kariba killed Mohammed,” Galela said as he walked back in through the door. “Heinrich and Suleiman found his family tied up in the mosque and have freed them. We will need to notify the local police chief.”

  “I will do that,” Mike said. “I talked to him after the Kariba incident so I have his phone number.”

  “Mike, why don’t we get Heinrich and Suleiman to put Kariba and his two henchmen in the mortuary. I am just a little concerned about Isabella. Raoul Assad could be out there somewhere if Kariba is,” Galela said.

  “All right, Heinrich and Suleiman can wait here for Dr. Sudani and the key to the mortuary. Let’s follow up on that gut instinct of yours; it’s always been right in the past.”

  As Isabella rounded the corner to the Sudani’s house, she could feel Michelangelo shivering. It could have been the cool night air, but it more likely was the shock of what he had been through. She stopped at the driveway entrance and took off her jacket, wrapping it around Michelangelo’s shoulders. He looked up at her, smiled at her, and said thank you. Further up the driveway, she could see the light on in the kitchen. She took hold of Michelangelo’s hand before realising he had no shoes. She picked him up and walked along the edge of the granite chips, noting that the washing was still on the line, which was somewhat unusual. Chantal always took it in to avoid it disappearing during the night. Just before she turned the corner, she looked up and saw Jannie, Cindy, Emmanuel, and Chan
tal sitting at the kitchen bench. None of them were talking; all were looking in the direction of the doorway. She motioned to Michelangelo to keep quiet and crept forward.

  Standing a little closer to the window, she could just make out the bulging outline of Raoul Assad. Isabella could not make out or hear what he was saying, but the terrified look in Cindy’s eyes spoke volumes. Isabella withdrew into the darkness and taking Michelangelo by the hand, she headed quietly back down the pathway. Once she was obscured by the hedge, she texted Mike. Within minutes, a message returned. Stay put will be there in 10 min.

  Within two minutes, Mike and Galela appeared out of the darkness slowing to a jog as they approached Isabella.

  “That was quick. I have only just finished texting you.”

  “Ingcuka just had this gut feeling about the Syrian so we decided to check up on you just in case he appeared somewhere.”

  Isabella quickly told them what she had seen.

  “Mike, that Syrian is ex-military. He will want to shoot his way out.”

  “Yes, I know. I have read his rap sheet and his predilection for young girls. We need to be able to try and lure him out or distract him.”

  “You can’t see him through the window. He is standing in the darkness of the hallway so I doubt whether you could get a good shot through the kitchen window.”

  Mike looked up. “They have both fires burning.”

  “Yes, that usually heats the front room and the kitchen on cold nights,” Isabella confirmed.

  “If we could plug the chimneys, we might be able to smoke them out.”

  “He would hear you get on the roof,” Galela said.

  “Not if someone was light and small,” Mike said looking at Michelangelo.

  “You can’t ask him to do that after the trauma that he has been through,” Isabella said horrified.

  “I want to do it. That’s one of the men that killed Mohammed,” Michelangelo said, pulling away from Isabella.

  “Let’s take the washing off the line. We can use that to stuff down the chimneys. If you stand on Galela’s shoulders, Michelangelo, you will be able to pull yourself up onto the roof. Be very careful. There may be loose tiles. We will wrap all the washing in Isabella’s jacket and hand it up to you. Block each of those pipes and then we will help you down.”