by Blake Banner
Njal consulted the satellite maps we’d printed. “Two miles west you got Haksdoorn, on the Namibian side of the river. It’s a farming community, by the looks of the fields, but it is a fair guess a young guy can make more money in a couple of months on a building site in South Africa than all year on a farm in Namibia. And who’s gonna stop you swimming across the river, right?”
“How many white guys did you see?”
“OK, I was coming to that. I saw the guys in the Range Rover. Three of them are white, the fourth is black. They did the same thing yesterday and today. They spend an hour at the hotel, then they get in the truck and leave toward Steinkopf.” He shrugged. “Or at least toward the N7. Beside them, I seen five guys who are not so black. At this distance you can’t say if they are white with a tan or mixed race. If we need to, we can turn up looking for work and explore the place, but that is a high risk option.”
I grunted. “OK, so so far as the guys in the Range Rover are concerned, I think we’ve got two options. Ambush the Range Rover tomorrow morning on its way back, or go and look for it tonight. I don’t know what impression you got of Steinkopf when we drove through, but I don’t figure it has a huge catering trade going on. There can’t be that many hotels. If there aren’t any, we’ll need to move on to Springbok and look there. But maybe we’ll get lucky and find them in Steinkopf.”
“I like that option. We go look for it now. If we find it, cool, if we don’t, we go for plan B and set an ambush in the morning.”
“Good, let’s go.”
The way back was quicker. We scrambled down the south side of the rocks and then ran the distance, though gullies and open spaces, to where we’d left the Land Rovers. It was an eight mile run, but we made no effort to stay hidden now. Dusk was falling and we were pretty confident we would be virtually invisible; plus we knew where our enemy was now, and what they were doing. Speed was now the imperative, not concealment. We made it in just under two hours, transferred my crate of weapons from my Land Rover to Njal’s, clambered in, and pulled out of the cover of the rocks and onto the track, headed back toward the N7. I checked my watch; it was nine PM.
The only light we had was from the rising moon, which was waxing toward full. I knew it was about twenty miles to the N7, and I planned to make it in less than an hour, so I put my foot down and it was an uncomfortable ride for the next forty minutes, bouncing over ruts and small holes, skipping over rocks and furrows. It rattled our bones and shook our teeth loose in our skulls, but forty minutes later, we rolled onto the blacktop, turned south and covered the next sixteen miles in fifteen minutes.
The darkness of a desert at night is hard to describe. Even with the moon almost full, the light and the shadows are deceptive and misleading. But it is also true that you see things at night in the desert that you might miss in the full light of the sun. That was what happened to me, less than half a mile outside Steinkopf, when I saw bright lights thirty or forty yards from the roadside on my right, flooding out of what looked at first like some kind of compound.
I slowed and saw there was a turn off from the road onto a track leading to a cluster of huts surrounded by a kind of wooden palisade. Then the cones of light from the truck caught the sign. It was small, which was why we had missed it before, but now in the light of the headlamps I read, ‘SELF CATERING, HOTEL RONDA’.
I muttered, “Son of a bitch!” under my breath and turned in. Half way down the track, Njal said, “Stop here.”
I pulled up and before I could ask why, he had the door open, had swung down and was peeing into dirt by the side of the road. I sighed. “Seriously? Now?”
He ignored me, did up his fly, then crouched down and did something in the dirt for a moment. After that he stood, with something in his hands, and went to the back of the vehicle. After a moment, I saw him pass my window and crouch in front of the grill. Then he stood, wiped his hands on his pants and climbed back into the truck, slamming the door.
“OK, now the plates cannot be identified. We can go.”
After a moment, I grinned at him and we drove on into the compound.
It didn’t take long to spot the Range Rover. It was the only one there and it was parked outside the largest of the huts. I pulled in beside the main compound gate, forty feet from the cabin, and killed the engine. Then I grabbed my assault rifle and we crossed the compound quietly toward their hut. The lights were on and there was the muffled sound of music playing inside. We stood at the door a moment, listening. There were voices, too: talk, male voices and female. I made a question with my face. Abort or go? Njal shrugged, pulled his Glock and knocked. I pulled my Sig and cocked it.
A voice called through the door. It sounded like he said, “Who uzut?”
I put a smile in my own voice and said, “Hi, we’re your neighbors. We’re here from California? And my wife wondered if you could use another bottle of vodka at your party!”
Njal sighed, closed his eyes and shook his head. I heard a small laugh inside and the door opened. The guy was in his late forties, wearing chinos and an open shirt over a distended belly. He was barefoot and had a glass of what looked like gin and tonic in his hand. I put the muzzle of the Sig in his face and said, “Only trouble is, my wife looks like a big, ugly killer. Back up.”
He took a step back and I moved in, shoved him hard so he staggered back and fell on his ass, spilling his drink. Njal stepped in behind me and closed the door. There were a couple of small screams. The music was Brazilian jazz.
There were two guys sitting on a leather sofa. They both looked to be in their late forties. One of them had a Saddam Hussein moustache and the other was black and bald. Each of them had a girl on his lap. Both girls were half undressed. A third guy, maybe ten years younger, with brown hair over his collar, was in a leather armchair with another girl who had most of her clothes on the floor beside her. I scanned the room for the fourth girl.
I saw polished wooden floors, a zebra skin, a coffee table with a mirror and traces of powder, eight glasses. Beyond the sofa I saw a table, a kitchen, a bar with bottles on it. Two open bedroom doors, a third door closed.
I pointed at the closed door and said, “Check the john for the fourth girl.”
Njal went and I looked at the seven stunned, frightened faces looking up at me. The guy I’d knocked over scrambled backward to the other armchair and climbed into it.
“What do you want?”
I was thinking ahead, about the girls. Njal had opened the bathroom door and was pulling out a pretty young girl in her twenties. Her eyes were wide and she wanted to scream, but he had his finger over his lips, pointing to the sofa and the chairs. I said:
“Sit down, behave and nobody is going to get hurt.”
She crossed the floor, staring at me, and sat on the floor beside the sofa. I turned to the guy I’d knocked down.
“How much cash have you got in the house?”
He swallowed, glancing at his friends on the sofa. The big, bald guy gave a small shake of his big, bald head. Saddam Hussein said, “Tell the truth, Ken. It’s not worth the risk. It’s only money. They’ll find it anyway.” He turned to me. “We got a hundred thousand rand. That’s a lot of money. You take that and you go. OK?”
Njal looked at me. “That’s seven or eight thousand dollars.”
The guy looked mad. “That’s two fuckin’ years executive salary, you lazy fuckin’ thievin’ bastard!”
The bald guy said, “Shut up, Ken.”
I gave Ken the dead eye and said, “Yeah, Ken, shut up.” To the bald guy, I said, “Go with my friend and get the money.”
He got to his feet. I saw his hands were shaking. He held them up to shoulder height and crossed the floor to one of the bedrooms, with Njal just behind him. They went into the bedroom and I said to the girls, “Get dressed.”
As they started pulling on their clothes, I said to Frank, the guy I’d knocked down, “Where are the keys to the Range Rover?”
He looked like he might get s
ick and pointed at a linen jacket hanging on the back of a chair at the table. I jerked my head at the girl sitting on the floor, who was already dressed. “You know how to drive?”
She nodded.
“Go get the keys.”
Frank said, “What the hell are you playing at?”
“Shut up, Frank.”
From the bedroom I heard Njal’s voice. “Nice and slow and easy so I can see what you are doing.” Then, “OK, now take it out to the living room.”
They came back from the bedroom and the bald guy was holding an attaché case with a lot of money in it. The girl who’d been in the john was standing behind the sofa, holding out a set of car keys toward me. Her pose and her expression had something tragic about them, like a scared little girl who wants to please Daddy. I said to her, “Take the case, take the Range Rover, get the hell out of here, go to Cape Town, don’t ever come back. Go, now.”
Ken was half on his feet. “Now wait a minute!”
I leveled the Sig at his head and Njal pressed the muzzle of the Glock against the back of the bald guy’s head. Everyone went very still. I looked at the girl and said quietly, “Do it now.”
She hurried around the sofa on small feet, took the case, looked into the bald guy’s face for a second and said, “Sorry,” then she and her friends were hurrying toward the door. As they opened it, I spoke, without taking my eyes off Ken, “Never talk about this. If you do, I will come and I will find you, understand?”
There was absolute silence from the door, then they wrenched it open, ran out, and slammed it closed. We heard them squealing lightly as they clambered into the Range Rover outside. More doors slammed and a moment later, we heard the engine roar and the car speed out of the compound.
To the bald guy I said, “Sit down.”
He sat and Njal walked behind the sofa. I waved my gun at Frank and at the younger guy with the daringly long hair. “Turn your chairs to face me, so I can talk to you better.”
They both glanced at Njal, knowing that if they turned to face me, none of them would be able to see what he was doing behind them, and he’d have all four of them at his mercy. I smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile.
“Now, you can all see that my friend and I have no interest in money, and no interest in women. We are interested in only one thing: information.”
For the first time since we’d come in, I saw real fear in their eyes. I gave them a minute, studying each face in turn. I didn’t see a really big willingness to cooperate. I sighed.
“This is really simple, and you boys need to take a moment to assimilate exactly what is happening here, and what kind of situation you’re in. When my friend and I leave here tonight, we will leave with the information we came for. That is not in question. The only question is, what state will you be in when we leave?” Frank had gone the color of yesterday’s mashed potato. Ken was sweating, his hands were shaking badly and the bald guy and the young guy didn’t look any better. I held up three fingers of my left hand. “You can finish this night in one of three conditions: alive and well, dead, or, if you’re really unlucky, alive and not well at all. Am I getting through to you?” I turned to the young guy with the long hair. “What’s your name?”
“Bob.”
“How well do you think you’ll stand up to torture, Bob?”
He shook his head. “Please don’t…”
I turned to the bald guy. “What’s your name?”
“Nelson.”
“You know what always distresses me about torture, Nelson? When a guy is really brave, and he holds out and he holds out, until he has lost fingers, toes, maybe even an arm or a leg; and then he breaks and talks.” I shook my head, holding his eye. He looked sallow, and there were yellowish patches under his eyes. “What a pointless sacrifice, right? Personally, I think it’s a charity to kill somebody when they reach that point.” I looked at Njal behind them. “You remember that guy in Vegas?”
He shook his head and sighed. “That was sad, man. It’s times like that I question my job, you know?”
“Right. He was tough. I never knew anybody as tough as that guy. He held out practically to the end. We had taken off both his arms and both his legs. We were going to start on his eyes when he broke. He finally told us what we wanted to know.” I spread my hands and started laughing, looking at Njal, who started laughing too. “But what’s the point, right? What the hell? You’re gonna talk, talk before I cut your fucking arms and legs off!” I shook my head again and sighed. “Man…”
I studied Bob’s face carefully, because I’d figured him as the weakest of the four. “So here is how we do this.” I pulled my Fairbairn and Sykes from my boot. “I am going to take a left thumb from each of you, just so you know I am serious and I mean business…”
Bob was already half out of his seat, holding up both hands, palm out. “No! No, no, no! That isn’t necessary! You don’t need to do that! We will cooperate! Nelson, Frank, tell them! Tell them we’ll cooperate, please! I really don’t want to lose my thumb!”
His face was creasing up and I thought he might start crying. I glanced at Njal and smiled. I looked at the other three. They didn’t look like they were ready to disagree. I sighed. “I always take something off to start with, to establish clearly that I mean business.”
Nelson closed his eyes. He was now sweating like Ken. “You don’t need to establish that. We believe you. Please. We are just employees. We will tell you whatever you need to know. You don’t need to mutilate us.”
“Open your eyes, Nelson.”
He opened them.
I wagged a finger at him, then wagged it at the others. “I’m going to give you a chance to share everything—everything—with us. But the first sign of hesitation, prevarication, dishonesty… anything like that, and things will turn ugly. And I do mean ugly.”
“We’ll talk.” It was Nelson; he glanced right to left at his colleagues. They all nodded.
Frank added, “We’ll talk.”
SEVEN
I pulled over a chair from the dining area, sat on it and pulled a pack of Camels from my pocket. I lit up with my old Zippo and inhaled deeply. As I let out the smoke, I said, “What is it?” Before any of them could answer, I said, “Remember, guys, prevarication or hesitation results in a lost limb. OK? Now, what is it?”
It took about half a second, but they all shifted their eyes and glanced at each other. I took careful aim at Nelson’s shoulder. I saw the panic build in his face and at the same instant, Njal smashed his open palm into Ken’s ear. They all screamed out and started shouting. Ken was holding his head, rocking back and forth saying, “Oh God, oh God…”
Njal grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him. I kept my gun trained on Nelson’s shoulder and repeated, “What is it?”
Ken and Nelson both spoke at the same time. Nelson blurted, “It’s a power station!”
And Ken groaned, “It’s a fusion reactor… please don’t hit me again, please…”
My head reeled for a moment. “A fusion reactor.” I took a long drag and let the smoke out slow. “That’s impossible. The science for a fusion reactor is all still theoretical.”
Nelson shook his head. “No, no, it’s not. We’ve been fusing atoms for years in tokamaks, but…” He hesitated.
I said, “You work for Omega, right?”
He frowned. “You know about Omega?”
“I know about Omega. I have let two hesitations pass, Nelson. The next time you hesitate, it gets ugly.” I turned to Ken, who was still holding his head. “What do Omega employ you to do, Ken?”
“I’m in charge of personnel. I keep discipline among the workers, keep the job on track…”
“Who do you report to in Omega?”
“I don’t…” He looked over at Frank. “I report to Frank. Frank reports to Omega.”
“What about you, Nelson? What’s your role?”
He pointed over at Bob. “Me and Bob, we’re in charge of the architectural design. We
’re building the housing for the reactor.”
“Frank?”
“I liaise with Omega.”
I spoke to Nelson again. “You need temperatures six times as hot as the sun to create nuclear fusion. Generating that kind of heat is almost impossible, and creating materials capable of withstanding that kind of heat is impossible.”
He shook his head. “It’s not. We’ve been researching fusion since the forties. We can achieve temperatures of one hundred and fifty million degrees, ten times the heat of the sun. Fusion then occurs between deuterium and tritium. When this happens, we get a helium nucleus, a neutron and a lot of energy! To sustain the temperatures needed for this process, we create like a cage of magnetic fields which prevent the heated particles from escaping. This plasma…”
I held up my hand. “I believe you. What’s the deadline on the project?”
Frank answered. “Eighteen months.”
I screwed up my brow at him. “That is a hell of a deadline.”
“That’s what they want. It’s up to us to make it happen.”
“How do you plan to achieve that?”
He took a deep breath and puffed out his cheeks. They all exchanged glances. Frank hunched his shoulders. “Well, you know, we have the most advanced computer technology on the planet, the machinery we’re using is latest generation and sometimes beyond. Omega provide us with everything…”
“That’s bullshit, Frank, and you know it. We’ve been watching you for two days. The machinery you’re using is standard. Whatever computer technology you may have used, you used it for design, not construction, because there are no computers involved in the building work you’re doing.”
Bob spoke up. “Don’t be an ass, Frank. Risk your own fucking limbs if you want, but don’t risk mine. We laid the foundations and the first few months’ work in the standard way. But we are entering a new, experimental phase next week. We’re pulling in more kaffas and we are feeding them steroids with their food.”
