The Prey

by Tony Park

  ‘All right, everyone out,’ Cameron’s voice boomed. There were more hushed words as the men filed back out of the cage and Kylie joined them on the bank.

  Kylie saw the floor of the cage was littered with stuff – just about everything in life a man might need. Two uniformed security guards entered and retrieved the contraband before the cage was raised to allow the men in the one below to get out.

  While they waited for the next batch of miners the guards sorted the abandoned goods into piles. There was food – packets of biscuits, bananas, oranges, plastic bags of what she guessed might be maize meal, three small bottles of cooking oil and two bags of rice. There was tobacco – packets of cigarettes, tobacco papers and loose leaf. There were two ziploc plastic bags of what looked to her like something she hadn’t seen since her university days – marijuana – and another bag of small white pills. There were seven small half-litre bottles of various spirits, pornographic magazines, some unopened letters in envelopes, pens, CDs, an iPod and batteries scattered everywhere. The second cage revealed a similar hoard.

  ‘This stuff is all for the zama zamas?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Cameron surveyed the mounds of goods with his hands on his hips. ‘This is part of the problem, why we’re unable to stop the illegal miners. For the most part they’re supplied by our guys.’

  ‘Did you put this on for my benefit?’ Kylie asked.

  Cameron scoffed. ‘Why would I show you how incapable I’ve been of stopping my own men from accepting bribes and perpetuating a crime that’s costing their employers millions of rand per year? No, I knew there was going to be a spot check sometime today, but not exactly when. I imagine the head of security, Tobias, timed this one for your benefit, though.’

  A rotund man in the paramilitary-looking blue uniform of a security company pushed his way through the throng of miners and greeted Cameron then introduced himself to her. ‘Tobias Nombekana,’ he said. ‘Pleased to meet you, Dr Hamilton.’

  Kylie shook the proffered hand and was impressed that someone, at least, had taken the time to read her CV on the company website or intranet.

  ‘Welcome to South Africa. I’m sorry to delay your visit underground, but we take security very seriously here at Eureka and I have to conduct some questioning. Would you like some coffee, tea or a cold drink while you wait?’ Tobias asked.

  ‘You can use my office if you want to check emails,’ Cameron said. ‘I’ll call you when we’re done here.’

  She wasn’t about to be parked in a tearoom or fobbed off, and she was interested in how Cameron would deal with this situation. Clearly a number of employees had broken the rules, but how was he to conduct a thorough investigation and still get the shift underground in time to get some work done? ‘No, I’m staying. I want to sit in on the investigation.’

  He looked at her and shrugged, then walked to the steel staircase that led up a level.

  Cameron started speaking in an African language. ‘What’s he speaking, and what’s he saying?’ Kylie asked Tobias.

  ‘He’s speaking Swazi. He learned it as a boy and he is very fluent. He’s telling them the security officers are about to inspect the seals on their self-contained self-rescuers to see if they’ve been tampered with – opened. These packs contain an emergency breathing apparatus that –’

  ‘I know what an SCSR is, Tobias.’

  Tobias nodded then called instructions to four other uniformed security guards who started moving into the ranks of miners.

  Kylie watched the men. Some held their SCSR containers immediately out for inspection and stood there, looking either bored or relieved. Others jostled about in the group and tried to move to the back or lose themselves among their peers. The security guards started tapping men on their shoulders and separating them from the rest of the shift.

  ‘Those men have nothing in their SCSR containers,’ she said to Tobias, faintly incredulous as one by one the containers with broken seals were opened. She couldn’t believe men would go underground without their emergency breathing apparatus.

  Tobias nodded and didn’t look alarmed at all. ‘It’s what they sometimes use to carry the contraband in. They know we do spot checks – frisking some of the men, and the women, too – and they must carry their own food for the shift in those clear plastic bags you see most of them carrying. If they have too much food we know it’s to be sold to the zama zamas.’

  ‘But what if there’s a carbon monoxide leak or a fire? They’re gambling with their lives.’ Kylie thought of Cameron’s lottery. Perhaps day-to-day life was a gamble for these men.

  Tobias shrugged. ‘Cameron will not be happy. This has happened before, and all the men know that emptying their SCSR is an offence for which they will be dismissed.’

  Cameron spoke some more to the men, his cadence and tone rising. She could see his knuckles were white on the steel handrail he gripped.

  Tobias translated: ‘He is asking them, “How can you men supply drugs and drink and food and tobacco to the men who murdered your colleagues?” He’s saying, “The bodies of Themba Tshabalala and Paulo Barrica are not yet in the ground; their widows and families are grieving, and you men are profiteering from the criminals who were responsible.” He asks how they can deal with those who have a good man, Christiaan Loubser, possibly held captive. Chris was well liked, Dr Hamilton, as is Cameron. These men must be feeling bad now.’

  All bar seven men, those with the empty emergency packs, moved back into the cages.

  The last gate was shut and the remainder of the shift were lowered away. They disappeared into the blackness. Cameron walked down the stairs, his heavy boots ringing on the steel. It was the only sound in the winding-gear room.

  ‘I’ll speak English now, so Dr Hamilton from head office can see what we do not tolerate here at Eureka. Anyone not understand me?’ He repeated the question in Swazi and then, according to Tobias, in Fanagolo. There were no responses and no raised hands. ‘Good. You all know the rules. They are given to you in written and verbal form by your shift boss each week. You are to check your SCSR packs before your shift starts and any man who does not have his emergency breathing apparatus with him underground is liable for dismissal. Understood?’

  One man raised his hand. ‘Boss, someone tampered with my SCSR. I didn’t know it had food for the zama zamas in it until just now.’

  Cameron shook his head. ‘I say again, you know you are to check your pack before you start your shift, to ensure that doesn’t happen, Gideon. Safety is my number one priority. My number one priority, and it should be yours, too. It’s your life we’re talking about. Now I know that some of the other men who just went down for their shift were also carrying gear for the zama zamas and they will be complaining because all that stuff in the bin bags, which they paid for and expected to make a profit on, is going into the furnace. But they still have their jobs. You seven do not.’

  A few of the men looked at each other in silence as the words sunk in.

  ‘I’m going to speak to each of you now, in the presence of Dr Hamilton, and with your union shop steward in attendance as well.’

  Kylie looked to the door at the sound of footsteps. A man in jeans and a polo shirt walked in. She guessed this must be the union man. He folded muscled arms across his broad chest and stared at the men. They could expect little intervention from their representative this time. Cameron nodded to the man, who returned the gesture. This had either been done many times before, or Cameron had lied and it was choreographed for her benefit. It didn’t really matter either way. Kylie was actually pleased to see him exhibiting some modicum of managerial skill. She had begun to wonder how the man had ever made it to mine boss in the first place.

  ‘Tobias?’

  The security guard stiffened. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Have these men escorted to my office. They are not to leave, unless they want to forfeit what pay they’re owed from this month, and they are not to talk to each other.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’
>
  Cameron walked to Kylie, pointedly ignoring the beseeching stares of the men. ‘Come, let’s go.’

  She resented his tone, but she was curious about what was going to happen next. Kylie replaced her lamp in its numbered spot, effectively registering that she was not underground. If there was an accident and her lamp was not in its place it could be assumed she was lost in the mine somewhere.

  She quickened her step to catch up with Cameron as he strode back to the office block. ‘So, what happens to the men who dumped the grass and the pills? Do they just get away with it? You can hide a bag of grass anywhere on your body, but bananas and oranges would have to be carried in the SCSR containers. Surely drug supply is a worse offence than supplying food?’

  He waved a hand in the air. ‘Yes, you’re right, it’s not a perfect system. The reality is that we can’t really stop the contraband getting to the zama zamas, nor the gold coming out. If I investigated and prosecuted everyone who was involved in supplying the illegals I’d be hard-pressed putting together a shift.’ Cameron looked over his shoulder then opened the door to the office block for her, not moving until she went ahead of him. He lowered his voice. ‘And I’d have no head of security.’

  ‘Tobias? Really?’

  ‘Don’t let his “yes Dr Hamilton, no Dr Hamilton, three bags full Dr Hamilton” fool you. I’ve changed my head of security three times in the last four years. He’ll be next. Paulo was in the process of getting me proof that the bribery of the security men goes all the way to the top.’

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘Surely this is a matter for the police?’

  ‘Like I said, they’re not interested, or more likely they’re being paid to look the other way. Besides, they have bigger problems on their hands, trying to keep a lid on the violent street crime in this country. What’s it to them if a multibillion-rand goldmining company loses a few million here and there?’

  ‘What about the men we lost?’ she countered.

  ‘On average, a policeman is killed every day in the line of duty here in South Africa and we have a higher murder rate than Iraq. The cops are drowning above ground, we’re not a priority.’

  ‘I give up,’ Kylie said, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. ‘Is there nothing we can do?’

  ‘In the past we worked with a specialist underground security company and apprehended plenty of zama zamas. I know the board in Australia thinks the security guys were a bunch of Rambos, but losses on both sides were minimal. We worked with the local prosecutors to prepare dockets for court cases: in effect, we did the police service’s job for them. But that’s all stopped,’ Cameron said, unable to hide his bitterness.

  ‘Your idea of minimal losses and ours were different.’

  He shook his head. ‘Please go through to my office. I have to get something out of my car. The union rep is on his way and Tobias’s men will bring the workers.’ Cameron closed the main door to the administration block behind her and walked over to his bakkie. She went to his office and let herself in.

  *

  Chris sat on a pile of rock in the blackness, hugging his knees. The claustrophobia came in waves; but funnily enough, the longer he was entombed, the easier it became to deal with it. Wellington blew a stream of cigarette smoke in his direction and Chris coughed. He’d given up five years earlier and couldn’t stand the smell now.

  ‘How much are you worth?’ the Zimbabwean asked from the dark, his face momentarily illuminated as he drew on his cigarette again. Chris doubted he would be able to recognise him in daylight – if he ever saw daylight again.

  ‘I don’t understand. Do you want to know how much money I have?’

  ‘Hmm, not yet. I hope it won’t come to me demanding payment from your family. I know you’re not married, and I don’t imagine your retired parents have much money.’

  Chris shivered, despite the oppressive heat. It unnerved him how much Wellington knew about him. He was no madman. He’d done his research. ‘Are you going to ransom me?’

  ‘Very astute. How much do you think Global Resources will pay me to get you back alive?’

  Chris thought it was a very good question. ‘They won’t negotiate with criminals.’

  Wellington laughed, the peals echoing off the walls. ‘We’re not talking about the US government negotiating with the Taliban. There are no morals or ethics or public relations issues to consider here, Christiaan. This will be a commercial arrangement. They want you back alive, presumably, and Global Resources is a very powerful company. Besides, you know it’s not without precedent. There was the strike last year.’

  Chris remembered the incident well – a shift boss, an unpopular man whose management methods had not moved with the times, was taken hostage by his own workers at the time of a protracted pay claim being put to Global Resources by the union. The shift had gone on strike and sent a message above ground that they would stay underground, holding the shift boss hostage, until the company agreed to the union’s demands. Cameron had been away in Mozambique on leave, uncontactable on the Island of Dreams where he was helping an old army buddy and his employer renovate a dilapidated hotel. Coetzee, Cameron’s deputy manager who had been left in charge of the mine, was a friend of the kidnapped man, and he’d sent word on the second day that the company would agree to meet the workers’ pay demands.

  ‘The deputy mine manager nearly lost his job and the shift boss who was taken hostage was later made redundant,’ Chris pointed out.

  ‘So what?’ Wellington said. ‘The point is the company paid. Think how bad the press would be for the company if I sent them your head when they refused to pay, along with a short video to SABC 3 or eTV. No, on second thoughts I’d send it to a television station in Australia, then the company might really take notice.’

  ‘They’d send the army in here to kill you.’

  Wellington laughed at the empty threat, and Chris knew his captor was right. ‘They don’t scare me, Christiaan, and they could never catch me. But back to business. How is the testing coming along?’

  It was Chris’s turn to laugh, though he barely managed a snort of derision. ‘The testing is underway … but noxious gas, mercury poisoning, unsafe work practices and elevated dust particle levels are only part of the problem in your mine. All those will bring slow death, but you’ve got a real killer on your hands, an immediate threat to you and your men.’

  ‘I know that. So, find out what it is and how to stop it or you’ll end up like Nelson, screaming in the dark.’

  Chris was concerned by any avoidable loss of human life, but part of him couldn’t care less if Wellington and his whole band of pirates all died of cholera. Chris felt something brush his head and he screamed. When he tried to flick it away he realised it was Wellington’s fingers, now wrapped firmly around his neck.

  ‘Christiaan.’ He’d come to him silently in the dark, like a black cat, and his breath, which smelled of mint toothpaste, was warm on Chris’s ear. He felt the panic rise in him again. ‘You’ll do the fucking job I need you to do. Or I will skin you alive.’

  9

  ‘Kylie, I wonder if you could give Tobias and me a moment alone, please,’ Cameron said.

  He hoped she wouldn’t object, and undermine him, as she had been doing since she’d arrived in South Africa, and as she’d often done when they’d spoken on video conferences in the past.

  To his surprise, and relief, she said, ‘No worries. I’ll just go get a coffee. Can I get you one?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Cameron said.

  ‘Tobias?’

  ‘No thank you, Dr Hamilton, though thank you very much for asking. We have a girl who can get you coffee.’

  ‘Where I come from we look after some things ourselves.’ She looked at Cameron and excused herself. Perhaps she was smart enough to know that she didn’t want to be in the room for what happened next.

  They had interviewed the men who’d been caught with empty rescue kits. It had all been done by the book. All of t
he men except Gideon admitted their guilt and apologised for their actions. Cameron, with the accordance of the union man and Kylie, was inflexible, though. Gideon, however, had ranted and yelled, protesting he was innocent and that he had simply forgotten to check his emergency pack. He said he’d had no idea it had been tampered with. Cameron might have been tempted to believe him if he hadn’t been aware of the man’s track record – and if he hadn’t noticed the way Gideon repeatedly looked to Tobias, rather than his union representative, for support. Tobias, in response, kept pointedly looking away.

  ‘This man knew the consequences of not checking his emergency pack,’ Tobias had said at one point.

  It wasn’t the security man’s place to make any comment on Gideon’s guilt or innocence, and Cameron had thought Gideon was going to get up and attack Tobias after the remark, such was the seething hatred in his jaundiced eyes.

  Cameron had also smelled booze when he’d stood and moved to Gideon, on the pretext of getting him to sign an admission of guilt. Gideon had screwed the paper up and tossed it across the desk. Cameron suspected Gideon was still drunk at the start of his shift. He had been disciplined in the past for being caught with alcohol underground. He’d said it was for himself, but Cameron had suspected him of taking it for the zama zamas – and having a few nips by way of commission. Gideon had been adamant it had been for his own use and had volunteered to undergo alcohol counselling. The union had supported his request and his apparent contrition had saved his job.

  But when Paulo had begun investigating the trail of corruption through the ranks of his own officers he had told Cameron that he had seen Gideon giving Tobias an envelope on returning above ground after a shift. It could have been a handover of something innocent, but Cameron couldn’t think for the life of him what a miner would carry in an envelope for several sweat-drenched hours underground and then present to the head of security on emerging.

  Kylie closed the door behind her.