But not at that exact time, on that exact date in the calendar, when the rising sun is at the height and angle where it shines directly into the cockpit.
Not on a morning after a dust storm.
You thought you knew better. You thought you knew it all.
You bastard.
You careless, murdering bastard. Your hubris, your misjudgement; the reasons why they died. Why those ninety-eight people died. All of them. Every single one, thanks to you, the killer.
My son, Aidan. My husband, Matthew.
I grieved the most for my boy. His was one of the first bodies found. I was spared the pain of having to go home with a box of bloodied fragments of flesh that only DNA analysis had been able to identify as being what remained of my child. I was spared that, at least.
But the agony of seeing his body. His beautiful face, perfect in death, as it was in life, looking as if he was only sleeping. Not even a scratch, not even a graze.
Below that, carnage. The huge ripping gash through his ribcage, the other through his gut. Two terrible injuries. Who knew what caused them? In all that devastation, it could have been anything. Anything at all. They said he died instantly, but that wasn’t quick enough. He was torn, and so was I, never to be whole again.
You murdering bastard.
The Old Testament preaches an eye for an eye. But I will see you that and raise you.
A son for a son.
‘We’re not going to make it in time,’ Jade said. She found herself blinking furiously, her vision suddenly blurred.
‘Why do you say that, babe?’ With a roar of the engine, Robbie sent the Beemer howling through a traffic light a second after it had turned red. ‘We’re going as fast as we can. We’ll be in time.’
Jade shook her head.
‘We won’t. Not in time for him. We’ll be in time to get her, but not him. The sun is already over the damn horizon, Robbie. It’s up.’
‘Not necessarily.’ His fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on the dashboard as he drove one-handed, tyres squealing as he sped around the tighter bends on the winding roads. ‘Depends where you are. This area is very hilly. If the house is west of a hill, it might be another ten minutes till they see the sun.’
‘We’ll have to get inside. Even if there’s tight security, we’ll be able to, won’t we?’
‘Yup. Free-standing house? We’ll find a way in. I’ve got some stuff in the boot of the car that will help us.’
‘What am I going to do then, Robbie?’
‘You mean, if she’s offed him already?’
‘Yes.’
‘We might be in time to save him. Knife injuries don’t always kill instantly.’ Robbie glanced down at his arm again.
‘If we’re not?’
‘Make her go away, of course. You can do that. Easy-peasy, for good, no problem at all.’
‘And then lose the only surviving witness to the truth?’
‘What? You want to do a citizen’s arrest?’ Robbie frowned, as if struggling with the concept of leaving a victim alive. ‘That’s not a good idea, babe. Are you getting soft on me? I mean, the police find a man’s body at her place, they’ll know she’s guilty, especially now all the evidence ties up. Family killed in the plane crash, tickets booked to Namibia and all. She disappears before she boards the plane, they’ll just think she got the better of them. My feeling is, when you get a crazy like that, you put them down permanently. And fast.’
‘Turn right here. This is Mowbray Road. Now we need to look for number sixty-four.’
Jade breathed deeply, preparing herself for what lay ahead. She unfastened her seatbelt and grabbed the door handle, ready for a swift exit.
What was she going to have to do?
She guessed it would depend on what she found.
Early morning, the soft light of daybreak, and the rich aroma of coffee in the air.
Craig stretched and rubbed his eyes, smiling. He realised the sound of his cellphone had woken him, but he didn’t feel like rooting through his trouser pockets to find it now.
He climbed out of the tangled sheets and put on a pair of boxer shorts before following the coffee trail to Elsabe’s neat and tidy kitchen. Pots and pans in gleaming steel hung from hooks on the wall and one counter was devoted to pristine-looking white and chrome kitchen gadgets, including a coffee grinder that had just been used. Next to the stove were some professional-looking chef’s knives, set in a big wooden block.
Elsabe was already dressed. She looked ready to board the plane, pumps on her feet, her hair tied back, even a touch of lipstick.
‘Shall we have coffee outside?’ she suggested. ‘We don’t have to leave just yet.’
Craig followed her out to the back stoep, which overlooked the garden. It was neat and well maintained, apart from a deep drainage ditch that, judging from its raw edges, must have been dug quite recently.
His head was still muzzy with sleep and sex. Blurred but happy thoughts did their best to move through his befuddled brain.
‘Sit down here and watch the sunrise,’ she said. He glanced up at her in surprise, because the request didn’t sound like an invitation. In fact, her voice was unexpectedly sharp, as if she was issuing him with an order.
‘It’s a bit late for that,’ he said. ‘Sun’s just about up. But we can watch it get lighter, I suppose.’
He sat down on one of the chairs and looked across the garden, blinking in the brightening rays, enjoying the sound of birdsong in the trees. Further away, he picked up a faint rattling noise, as if somebody—a neighbour, perhaps—was struggling to get a stubborn gate to open.
He’d expected Elsabe to come and sit beside him, to pick up her coffee mug, but she’d disappeared into the kitchen.
She wasn’t gone for long.
A few moments later, he heard her soft footsteps behind him again.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is definitely a team effort, and my thanks goes to all the experts who generously contributed their time, knowledge and expertise towards answering my questions.
First, thanks to Chris Davies, ecologist, for his specially written ‘worst case’ report on oil spills. This was hugely helpful and I can’t thank you enough for making the time to write it at such a busy point in your life.
Second, thanks to paramedic Mark Stanton who has the amazing ability to get answers back to me in nanoseconds no matter how obscure or difficult the medically related question is. Mark, you are great, and your help is truly invaluable.
Thirdly, thanks to tech/cave/CCR diver John Woods for reading through the relevant sections of the book and making the necessary changes as well as offering many other helpful suggestions to depict Jade’s scuba diving experience more accurately.
And finally, I am grateful to the friendly folk on GunSite South Africa for enthusiastically answering all the questions about weaponry and shooting that I—ahem—fired off at them.
Thanks once again to my delightful editor Frances Marks from Forzalibro Designs—who manages to home in, missile-like, on all those ‘little’ mistakes and repetitions that creep in, and who emails me amusing pictures of miniature hippos to cheer me up when the going gets tough.
I am so grateful to Frederik de Jager, Fourie Botha and Fahiema Hallam at Umuzi for all their support and enthusiasm, to Hannah Ferguson and Camilla Ferrier from the Marsh Agency in London as well as Debbie Gill from Maia Publishing Services for the tireless work they have done on my behalf, and to the awesome team at Soho Press in the USA—Bronwen Hruska, Justin Hargett, Juliet Grames, Ailen Lujo and Mark Doten. I could not ask to be in better hands.
My final and wholehearted thanks goes to my beloved partner Dion. You are my rock and my inspiration, and I feel so blessed to share my life with you.
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