Gavin and I threw this idea around for a while and finally decided that this is what I would tell Trichardt. It sounded quite plausible. And if he should ask me why I had previously kept this hidden, I would say that Kowalski had told me never, under any circumstances, to admit anything to anyone, even if anything were to happen to him.
”You know, he might just believe you,” Gavin said. “He surely must have known to what lengths Kowalski would have gone to keep these from being taken. He knows the Angolans better than we do and that any rebel group, be it friend or foe, would have stolen them.”
I was sure that an intense search was underway to find Maria. Trichardt would know that it was not sheer coincidence that the runway had been cleared at Luiana and that the An2 was parked at Simjembela. Somehow, I had to be involved, but hopefully only as the source of hire for the aircraft. Would he believe that both Gavin and I were innocent bystanders?
I was sure that if Maria could outsmart Trichardt, avoid capture, and just disappear, given time, the intensity of the situation would dissipate and life would return to a semblance of normality with Trichardt eventually believing I really had nothing to do with the disappearance of the briefcases.
The use of the An2 was the loose link.
“Christ! When you get back, make sure the books are corrected so that if anybody should ask about the hire of the An2 and its movements, we don’t give the game away,” I said.
“I’ll do that, and brief Shirley,” Gavin replied.
I looked at my partner and friend.
“Gavin, do you think we should give him the cases and maybe save mine and Maria’s lives, and maybe even yours as well?” I asked quietly.
“No!” he replied instantly, his voice devoid of doubt. It was good to know that I had his support: and I knew that Maria would have said the same.
The nurse entered pushing a trolley.
“Time for your medicine,” she smiled playfully. I knew the only thing that she would want to administer was a painkiller. I needed it.
1 Certificate of Airworthiness
2 Certificate of Airworthiness
A Week Later
Chapter Seventeen
My stay in the hospital lasted four days, and then I spent some more time at home with Francine popping in and out of the bungalow playing Florence Nightingale and looking after my every need. She had withstood her ordeal fairly well and seemed to bear no grudges. The amazing thing was that she did not pry; she seemed to have accepted the explanation she was given.
I was feeling a lot better. The bandage round my head had been removed and all that showed from the blow to my head was a small bald patch where my scalp had been stitched. The swelling around my eyes and nose had nearly disappeared but sunglasses were still the order of the day: I had two magnificent black eyes and two strips of tape across my nose.
The surprising thing was that I had not heard a word from Trichardt or his goons. My only other visitor had been Gavin. No doubt, Francine was filling Shirley in as to her boss’ medical progress.
Francine could attest to the rapid recovery of my aching body; once I got home and with her leaning over me trying to tuck me in, well, one thing led to another and I soon had her clothes off and in the bed with me.
Of course, after that all I could think of was what a shit I really was. Maybe Gavin was right - in one of his more derogatory moments, he had suggested I buy a bumper sticker that read, “Happiness is lipstick on my dipstick.” I had to resolve this ‘Liaison Dangereaux’ but to do so before the briefcase saga was finally sorted out would be difficult...
After a few days at home, I thought it time to venture back into the working world. One morning, I returned to Lanseria and was met by a rather rapturous welcome from my colleagues and friends, my still prominent black eyes a source of curiosity. Gavin told me that the An2 matter had been sorted out satisfactorily, but that he had had to field a barrage of questions from Shirley before she relented. I also found out that Francine was beating a path between her offices and ours - that definitely had ominous connotations; she clearly believed that she and I now definitely had a thing going, to borrow a phrase from the ever-watchful Gavin.
After I had settled in, Shirley came into the office with a bulging folder and sat down to bring me up-to-date with the business and wade through the sheaf of messages she had accumulated in my absence. Most of it was routine stuff. We only dealt with the exceptions, as she as quite adequately handling the day-to-day operations.
She slid a few notes and papers across the desk to me.
“Here are a few private messages.”
One by one, I perused them. Most were invitations and messages from friends asking that I return their calls. Then I found a slip from Mary Donkin with a rather involved telephone number and realized that it was a satellite phone number. I made no comment, but I was sure that my rather prolonged scrutiny of it brought a slight change to the atmosphere of my office. Shirley stared at me as I studied the small slip. I put the note aside in the same pile as I did the others.
It was clear that Maria wanted me to phone her, but I certainly was not going to do this from my office.
Around five in the afternoon, I left the office, drove to the golf club, and with a handful of large coins closeted myself in the public phone in the foyer. I diligently studied the instructions in the phone book and when requested by the operator inserted a small fortune in coins into the instrument. This was one phone call nobody was going to trace!
Maria’s voice spoke crisply on the other end.
“Hi Maria!” I said, probably speaking too loudly. “How are you?”
“Fine, and safe.” Which I was glad to hear.
“Where are you?”
“In Windhoek, in Namibia. I’m flying out to Germany with Lufthansa at nine this evening. Everything is fine - I did it all as we discussed.”
That meant the money and diamonds were in Namibia. Well, possession of uncut diamonds was illegal there as well, but I doubted whether anybody would be concerned about looking for diamonds entering the country; they would only worry about those leaving. No doubt, she had them stashed in a safe place.
“How are you, Peter?” she asked.
I told her that Trichardt had threatened to deal with me, and gave her a brief account of what had occurred omitting the kidnapping.
“I miss you,” she said, her voice concerned. “You’re going to have to make an overseas trip. Not now, but when things quieten down.”
I agreed. I could not ignore the feeling of arousal I experienced just speaking to her on the phone. The phone has its own erotic moments - the last time I had felt anything so intense was when I was a teenager and had met a final year high school student who seemed to have rid herself of all inhibitions at an early age, taking me on a voyage of new discoveries. One phone call from was enough to kick-start my motor.
“Obviously Trichardt has not finished with me yet - I’m just wondering what’s next on his agenda.”
“Please Peter, be careful. You have to imply that I’m to blame. That would make sense to him, and if the cases were buried then he must realize that I’m the only one who knows where these are, now that Kowalski’s dead.”
I said I would think about.
“We’ll speak again.”
Maria was right. Trichardt was being as tenacious as a bulldog. About a week, later two inspectors from the Directorate of Civil Aviation arrived unannounced, complete with credentials, and demanded that we hand over all aircraft logbooks, hire-out sheets, and the particulars of our most recent customers.
“Routine procedure, this applies to all private aircraft hire out companies,” they said casually.
I knew this to be false, but there was little we could do but to comply. They also demanded photocopies of the licence details of
all pilots who had flown our aircraft during the past few months. I hoped that Gavin and Shirley had done a decent job with the bogus information they had inserted into the records. We both knew that this was a Trichardt operation; through his connection with BOSS; his tentacles stretched everywhere.
The two men departed without volunteering any further explanation. They just said that we would be hearing from them.
Gavin and I were chatting in my office over a beer after the offices had closed and the staff had left.
“You know,” he said, “something’s just struck me. If Trichardt makes a close inspection of the crash site, he would have to assume that the cases were hidden immediately after the crash and therefore must be in close proximity. Do you think he could find the hole where they were buried? He would then have confirmation that these had been removed and the only logical explanation would be the An2. Whoever flew in with it had to have the cases?”
“It’s certainly logical but aren’t we saying he already knows who has the cases?”
“I’m telling you he doesn’t know - he’s not even certain that we’re involved. The hiring out of the An2 to a party that he has yet been able to trace also has him buggered. Maria is long gone; she need not ever return to her employers. She is one of a very few who really are qualified to go underground never to be found again - false identity, changed appearance -Christ! Even you wouldn’t find her.”
I had to agree with that statement.
“So what are you saying?”
“Fuck man, stop protecting her. Tell Trichardt that the two of them wondered off with the cases and returned without them! You don’t know what they did and you didn’t consider it your business to ask.”
I had to concede that I probably was shielding her without really being aware of what I was doing.
“Do you believe he’ll accept that explanation?”
“I’m damn sure he will. Christ, he knows who she is and how smart she is at her job. Man, she’s CIA!”
“Okay, that’s what I’ll do when he comes round again,” I said. If I should have been feeling relief, I didn’t. The An2 still bothered me.
I didn’t have long to wait. Trichardt arrived in his black Mercedes the following Saturday morning - just him and his driver. Gavin and I were casually dressed, as we usually reserved Saturday mornings to catch up with our paper work. The business had flourished and the workload had increased appropriately.
I watched him through the window. He was also dressed casually in a denim shirt and khaki pants with light-tan loafers with a matching Pringle belt.
He stepped into my office and slid onto a chair.
“Morning,” I said.
He merely nodded.
I called Gavin who came through and shook hands.
“Why did you call him to join us?” Trichardt nodded his head in Gavin’s direction. “For moral support?”
Oh, he was spoiling for a fight. The man annoyed me, but I had to profess, he was smart. I felt my blood pressure rise.
“No, he’s my partner.” I hoped my statement indicated we did things together.
Trichardt harrumphed, not hiding his disdain. He stared at me for a second or two and then without moving his eyes from mine asked the question again.
“Where are my cases?”
“For fuck’s sake, Trichardt! I truly don’t have a fuckin’ clue!” I blurted, my expression one of intense anger and frustration - or so I hoped it appeared.
He showed no response to my efforts of indignation.
“Tell me the sequence of events at Luiana, the crash, all over again, and in detail if you don’t mind,” Trichardt requested.
“Okay,” I said, “Here’s the absolute truth without any omissions.”
I started to relate the whole story again. Finally, I got to the gist of my tale; I lowered my voice as if I was relating part of a conspiracy.
“When the aircraft slid to a stop, it was burning and we scrambled to get out, Kowalski dragged the cases out with him. This slowed him down and nearly killed him; he was very close to the explosion. He even lost some of his bloody hair to the fire. We told him to abandon the cases, which he refused. He yelled at us that they contained mega-wealth, trying to convince us that they could not be abandoned. He mentioned a figure of five million, but it was all meaningless at the time. We were all concerned with possible rebel patrols, either UNITA or MPLA. If they opened these, we would be dead, and the contents would be gone. Truly, I had other concerns at the time and took little notice of either Kowalski or that Garcia woman. I just kept the crash site under observation, waiting for a patrol to arrive. I needed to know whether it would be friend or foe. All I can tell you is that they wondered off for a while, and returned without the cases. Kowalski told us that we should insist that they had been destroyed in the fire. That’s it - believe it or not. That’s what I’ve done until now,” I said with finality.
“Why’re you telling me this now?” he asked busy lighting his usual cigar.
“Because you keep pushing for the truth, and Kowalski’s dead. Now please, leave me alone,” I said with savage irritation.
He looked at Gavin. “And you? What have you got to say?”
“That’s all I’ve known all along but I was told to keep my mouth shut.”
“You’re a good partner,” Trichardt said his voice dripping with sarcasm. It seemed that Gavin’s esteem had undergone a change for the worse.
He then just sat there, mulling things over, puffing on his cigar, blowing smoke towards the ceiling, looking around as if we were not present.
Finally, he rose from his chair.
“All right, I believe you and will leave you alone. If you’re lying, then God help you. I’m trying to trace that Drummond fellow who piloted your Russian job to Luiana.”
I knew he had to draw a blank with Drummond. What was the poor man spending trying to trace this fictitious person?
Trichardt walked out and drove off.
We both just sat there, traumatised.
“Well, if he had any doubts about Maria before, he sure hasn’t got them now,” Gavin said.
His statement didn’t make me at all happy. Trichardt would be after her with a vengeance now. I only hoped he never found her.
Gavin laughed.
“Do you know what so unique about this? In the eyes of the law, it’s not theft. Who is going to claim theft and lay charges? Nobody, that’s who,” He chuckled again, “the only place he could lay a charge is in Angola - well, with whom...?” He shook his head. “The perfect crime.”
Of course, he was right.
That is, provided Trichardt didn’t eventually kill us.
Four Months Later
Chapter Eighteen
For four months, we heard no word from Maria. Any attempt to contact her using the satellite phone only resulted in a recorded message that informed us that the instrument was inactive. Understanding her need to go underground, neither of us was perturbed, even though we had no idea where the diamonds and cash were. We thought they might still be in Namibia, or Maria might have secreted them out of the country months ago. Through the grapevine, we heard that Trichardt had sent people to Luiana to investigate and search the area around the airfield, but had come up with nothing.
The only incident that had any bearing was when Rockell arrived in the bar late one evening with a young woman on his arm. I had been in the bar since seven, accompanied by Francine, Shirley, and Mike. Early in the evening, I had switched from beer to brandy and coke, a drink notorious for bringing out the worst in people, a known catalyst for aggression. When I saw him, I couldn’t help myself. I sidled up to him at the bar.
“Well, well,” I said. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
He turned, his immediate expression one of surprise as he recog
nized me. I had clearly caught him unexpectedly.
“How’s your nose and nuts?” I asked.
His face was apoplectic. I readied myself, and as I expected, he took a swing at me with his right, his reaction readable... I ducked and as his arm passed over me, brushing the top of my head, I stood up, grabbed him by the hair and rammed his face down on the bar counter. His head hit a half-full plate of peanuts, scattering them over the bar. I heard his female companion scream, but ignored her. Before he could recover, I lifted his head and socked him in the mouth with my fist. He slid to the floor.
By this time, Mike had grabbed me, an arm around my shoulders, and he forcibly dragged me out of the bar into the car park. He is a big man!
“Boss, are you insane?” he admonished me. I saw Francine and Shirley standing behind him.
“Let me go - I’m all right,” I shouted, pulling myself together. I had achieved what I wanted and was rapidly cooling down. “I was just making sure the score was even. Anyway, did you see? He swung first. He instigated it! He can’t run to the law!”
Mike just looked at me. “Are you okay? Under control?”
I said I was.
Francine had come out from the bar.
“Peter, let’s go home.” She said quietly. I followed her to her car.
“Did you have to do that?” she snapped once we were seated. Her voice was sharp and reprimanding.
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