“I’m glad you’ve called. We’ve got a problem here.” Coetzee smiled to himself. Now the boot’s on the other foot. He had left Leo on the terrace and gone to the car so he wouldn’t hear the conversation.
“And what might that be. Has something untoward occurred?”
“You could say that. The fact is that we’re stuck here in Polokwane because Nwosu is in hospital having surgery on his shoulder. He’s been shot!”
A longer pause than usual, then, “How did Sergeant Nwosu manage to get shot?”
“It seems that Blethin was a tougher cookie than he imagined, He shot him with his own gun apparently. But he’s been, what’s the word, neutralised”
“So, at present only yourself and the boy remain unscathed?”
“That’s about the size of it. The boy is fine, but he’s shaken up by the recent events, naturally.”
“Where are you staying in Polokwane?”
“In the circumstances, with people getting shot and murdered all over the place, I’d rather not say on the phone. You’ll understand my position.”
Another pause. “Yes, I understand, of course. In which hospital is the sergeant being treated?”
“Same thing. I’d rather not say on the phone.”
An even longer pause. “Do you know how long he will have to remain in the hospital?”
“The bullet went through his shoulder. It looked like a clean wound to me, but if there’s muscular or ligament damage they might have to operate and it could be a while before they let him out. There’s no chance he’ll be able to travel today, that’s for sure.”
“Mr Coetzee. I understand your predicament and I sympathise with it. With your permission, I will spend some time considering the optimum solution to the problem and I shall call you back again later this afternoon without fail.” The phone went dead.
FORTY-FOUR
Marbella, Spain
Sam turned out to be just as pleasant as Jenny had described. Maybe a little too pleasant, Emma thought to herself. He came across as very entertaining and rather seductive but she sensed he was trying hard to impress them. He was a few years older than she and Jenny, tall and chisel-featured, excellent English with a soft, seductive French accent and an apparently totally relaxed self-deprecating attitude. He was obviously brought up by a very good English nanny, she mused.
He was charming with all three women, but she noticed his attention never wavered far from her sister. He also made a great fuss of Emilio and their attempted conversations in three different languages made them laugh. Encarni served a delicious lunch and Jenny was delighted to see Emma enjoying herself and apparently putting her worries on hold, at least for a little while.
Sam wanted to learn all about Emma, her childhood and travels to Africa, her writing career and her son. With Jenny’s help, she managed to fend off his questions without raising any suspicions. Leticia unwittingly helped, by continually interposing comments about her parent’s flight from Angola and their new life in Spain.
As they reached the end of the meal, Jenny announced, “Fuente has arrived. I told you he would turn up. He can smell grilled fish at a hundred paces. Here you are, Fuente.” A beautiful, black, long haired cat padded across to rub itself against her legs then bent over the dish she placed in front of him, gobbling up the remains of the fish.
“He’s magnificent.” Emma stooped over to stroke him.
“He’s a woman’s cat,” said Sam. “He doesn’t let me touch him. If I get near him he hisses and backs away.”
“Don’t complain, Sam,” Jenny laughed, “he’s done much worse than that in the past.”
“Fortunately for us,” added Leticia.
Neither woman expanded on the story and the cat padded quietly off into the garden. At Jenny’s insistence, Sam told a few amusing anecdotes from his days in the Moroccan Olympic rifle team and they finished lunch in a pleasant ambience, relaxed in each other’s company.
“I’d better check my messages. I’m on holiday, so there’s probably nothing.” Emma gave Jenny a knowing look and went up to her room. There was nothing on her phone but she checked her laptop in case there was any further news.
“Jenny, come quickly!” Emma’s voice echoed from her bedroom window down to the terrace.
Sam jumped to his feet, “I’ll go. Something’s happened. Where is she?”
“No, please don’t worry. She gets these panic attacks,” Jenny invented quickly. I’ll go up. She’ll be fine.”
She ran upstairs, her heart thumping. Emma was sitting at the desk staring at her laptop screen, hand at her mouth, tears running down her cheeks.
London, England
“We’ll have to inform them of this. It will inevitably become known and I have no desire to be accused of concealing material facts.” The Voice and his companion had been checking the online news reports for Johannesburg and Polokwane. The two deaths were reported. It seemed that Coetzee’s story was correct, but the situation was worrying.
“You’re right of course, but they’ll be bloody furious with the news. I don’t know how we managed to end up with so many idiots on this job, it’s not exactly rocket science.”
“Calm down, it’s merely a minor impediment. Our job is to provide solutions so that’s what we’ll do. I’m going to call Harare first. We’ll send a couple of our friends to pick up the boy and neutralise the remaining intermediaries.”
“Tell them to be quick about it!”
Ten minutes later the Voice called Slater’s mobile number.
The man listened in silence, his heart pounding as he registered these latest events. This is all just hearsay from Coetzee. Aloud he said, “How do you know he’s telling the truth? It could be a purely fictitious story. Nwosu may even be there and he doesn’t want to talk to us. Maybe they’ve worked out a different agenda. This whole plan is falling apart. Isn’t there anybody there you can trust? Fucking Hell! How could you let things get so out of hand?” His voice trembled as he thought, How I am I going to relay this news?
“Please remain calm, Mr Slater. I believe our South African colleague is telling the truth. We have some independent verification of the local situation. There are reports of two murdered white men in South Africa in the news today. The first is Lambert, the hotel manager, in Johannesburg and the second is an unknown man in Polokwane. That must be Blethin, the doctor. This corresponds exactly with what he has told us. I will instigate a means of locating the others and report back to you this afternoon.
“In my view, things are still under control. We know where they are and that they still have the boy. Why would they change their plan when they are to receive a substantial amount of money from adhering to ours? It is not so easy to suddenly become an independent agent in an abduction. Just think how long it took us to organise what has been so far a successful enterprise, despite one or two unforeseen events.”
Slater took a deep breath. “So what are you going to do?”
“I have already dispatched two of our Zimbabwe friends to intercept them in Polokwane. It is not such a large town that we can’t find Nwosu in a hospital or Coetzee and the boy wherever they are. We cannot assume they do not wish to be found. When Coetzee knows that help is at hand I am certain he will reveal his whereabouts. If Nwosu is unavailable to escort the boy to Beitbridge my people will do so and the matter will be resolved.”
“When will they arrive in Polokwane?”
“In three hours, no more than that. They will be back over the border later tonight, all being well.”
“Call me as soon as you have definite news.” He rang off then with trembling fingers he called his partner’s number. He was terrified to report the news but he had no option.
The listener waited for the end of his abbreviated version of the story without speaking, then said, “I can’t talk now, I’ll call you back,” and rang off.
Slater put the phone down and went to pour himself a whisky. What have I got myself into? He asked himself as he s
lumped into the hotel chair.
Geneva, Switzerland
At Ramseyer, Haldemann the director, Claude Jolidon, had received a call from Marseille. It was a disagreeable conversation and he shifted uncomfortably as he listened to the bad news.
“Putin de merde. Shit!” He slammed his phone down on the desk in anger then calmed himself down, made some notes and called a number in Brussels on his mobile.
The voice that replied sounded slightly deformed, as if the speaker had a handkerchief over his mouth. “One minute please, I will go to another room.” A moment later he came back on the line, this time speaking French in a clear voice. “What is it, M. Jolidon?” He listened to the news and said, “You’ll have to call our client immediately. He may be able to remedy the situation. It’s always a matter of money, you know.”
“Very well, but remember, I’m not responsible for this. He’s my client but it was you who set up the transaction.” Jolidon finished the call and took a deep breath. He called another number and waited anxiously as it rang. “Bonjour, Monsieur,” he said in French. “I have some news on our transaction. Are you free to talk for a few minutes?”
Marbella Spain
Jenny went across to her sister. “What is it?”
“Look at this. I can’t believe it. What’s going on?”
She turned the laptop towards her. The email message was from [email protected].
It read;
Hello Emma, I have good news for you. I have managed to rescue Leo from his abductors and we are in a safe place where no one can locate us. As you can see, he is in good health and has suffered no ill effects from his experience. I am certain you will want to reward me for saving your son and I don’t want to be greedy after the anguish you’ve gone through. I hope you agree that the amount of $1,000,000- would be a fair recompense for the trouble and danger I have faced to be able to reunite you with Leo.
Your son is a fine boy and I have no wish to harm him, so this is not a trap of any kind. I need these funds to remake my life elsewhere, because I will be in danger if I stay here in SA. Please confirm your agreement as soon as possible and I will send you instructions for the payment and for Leo’s return to his home.
Thank you for your understanding and a positive response.
Marius Coetzee
Jenny looked at the photo attached to the message. Leo was sitting in a wicker chair against the wall of a wooden building, like a cabin or a garden pavilion. He appeared calm and composed, not frightened or angry. Her mind went back to Espinoza’s call. It looks like it must have been the doctor, Blethin, who was killed. He said it was a white man so if it wasn’t Coetzee I don’t see any other candidates. But where is Nwosu in all this?
She noticed it was sent to Emma’s publishing address, [email protected]. Not her private address, the one used by the other senders, but the one that’s in the public domain.
“How can I be getting messages from two sources, both claiming to have Leo? I don’t understand what’s going on” She sat on the side of the bed, tears falling down her face.
When her sister didn’t reply, she stifled her sobbing and asked, “What is it, Jenny? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking this could be very good news. It could be genuine.”
“Why would you doubt it? It was sent by Coetzee from his own email account.”
“Emma, we don’t actually know if this message came from Coetzee. All we know is that it came from his email address.”
“So we don’t actually know if Leo is with him or not, if this message is genuine?”
“Not for sure, but I’m inclined to believe it for several reasons. First, because it was sent to your publishing address, which implies he doesn’t know your private one, so he may not be close to the main perpetrators. Second, from the way he writes I don’t think he suspects that you know he was involved. You seem to have got away without them catching on that you were onto their deception. Third, the photo is not pasted onto the message. It’s attached separately so we can see the properties.”
Emma opened up the photo file. “You’re right. Look, it was created by Marius Coetzee and loaded onto his computer on July 15th at 15:15. That was just half an hour ago, so it must be genuine.”
“And then there’s the amount he’s asking for, it’s a fraction of the other demand.”
“What should we do? Shall I reply immediately”
Jenny thought back to her conversation with Espinoza, considering whether she wanted to divulge the last piece of evidence unearthed by him.
“What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“It’s something I learned from Espinoza today. Something that happened yesterday.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense, tell me what it is. If Leo’s safe and we can get him back then I can take any news now, good or bad.”
“First, I need to get rid of Sam and send Leticia out to the pool with Emilio. Then we can talk about this. We don’t want them to think there’s anything wrong.”
She went to the door, “Stay here and I’ll tell them you’re not feeling well and need a rest. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Sam was on his mobile at the other end of the terrace with his back to the others. He put the phone away and came over to her. He seemed suddenly to be distracted. “Is anything wrong?” She asked.
“I’m afraid I have to leave. Is Emma alright? Can I help?”
“She just needs to rest. I think her trip to South Africa was more tiring than she realised. She’s sleeping now, so we’ll leave her in peace.”
Leticia stood up from the table. “If Emma’s sleeping I’ll take Emilio up to the lake to feed the fish so we don’t disturb her. Say au revoir to everyone, chéri.” The little boy kissed them all goodbye and went off happily with his mother.
Sam took Jenny in his arms. “I hate to rush off, darling, but there’s a problem I need to deal with immediately.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”
“It’s a business matter that I need to take over myself. You know what it’s like, the buck ends here.” He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll sort it out. But I don’t like to leave you after such a short visit.”
“That’s alright. I have to look after my sister anyway. She seems very tired and she’s missing Leo.”
“Yes, I was wondering where her son is. It’s strange that he’s not here when they just returned from Joburg, don’t you think?” He looked intently into her eyes, awaiting her reply.
“She wants him to be with other young people, Sam. It’s his summer holidays and he’s been with her for the last two weeks, wouldn’t you feel the same?”
“Of course, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. I was just a little worried that something might be wrong. I’m glad that’s not the case. How long will Emma be staying?”
“Probably another week or so. And Leo will be coming next week, so you can meet him. If you’re staying around that is. Are you? Am I going to see you again soon?”
“It depends on this latest development. I may have to take a trip. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’ve made my plans.”
She walked with him to his convertible sports car and they kissed for a long moment. “Give my kind regards to Emma. I hope she feels better soon.” He climbed into the car and waved as he drove out of the gate.
Jenny breathed a sigh of relief when he disappeared from view. Oh, Dear God, please let Espinoza find Leo, she prayed as she walked back to the house. Emma can’t take much more of this. And neither can I.
FORTY-FIVE
London, England
The Voice was speaking to someone in Cambridge, a university city about sixty miles north of London. The town is at the heart of one of the UK’s Hi-Tech research areas, known as Silicon Fen, England’s answer to Silicon Valley in California. Thousands of innovative inventions and discoveries have been incubated in the business start-ups that populate the area, a lot of them directly linked t
o the thirty-one colleges which constitute the University.
Simon Pickford, one of the Voice’s old pupils, was now a celebrated pioneer of satellite and terrestrial tracking, of vehicles, equipment, people, just about anything that moved. His company, EzeTracker, had recently been floated on the UK stock exchange, making him an extremely, not to say obscenely, wealthy young man, much to the Voice’s chagrin, since he had taught the young man everything he knew for four years. However the valuable knowledge Simon had extracted from his old mentor was not unappreciated by the entrepreneur and he welcomed the opportunity to give assistance whenever he could. In addition, his experience in the cutthroat arena of hi-tech innovations had taught him to be discreet, very discreet, and the Voice usually required that quality.
“So, what is it this time, Sir? Are we looking for elephants in Cameroon, or black rhinos in Zambia?”
“Nothing so exotic, my dear boy. A very mundane request. For you and your team, technically undemanding in the extreme. Nevertheless, time is of the essence and I would appreciate your immediate collaboration.”
“Right. Hang on and I’ll get Louise to cancel my next appointment. I wasn’t looking forward to the interview in any case.”
He came back on the line. “My limited abilities are now at your disposal. What can I do for you, Professor?”
Marbella, Spain
“My God, yet another death. These people who’ve got Leo must be monsters.”
Jenny had decided to tell her sister about the death in Polokwane and that she was convinced that it would help Espinoza in his investigation. Emma was white in the face, imagining her son in the hands of merciless murderers.
She’s falling to pieces, thought Jenny. We can’t go on like this. “Emma,” she said, “it’s time I spoke to you sensibly, so please don’t get upset. I know this is an awful situation for you and Leo, but you can’t take refuge from everything that occurs by bursting into tears. You’re a clever woman and you’ve got to start using your brain in a more constructive way. We’ve made amazing progress already and I’m certain that we’ll continue to do so when Pedro gets into Polokwane. But I can’t think of every possible angle by myself and I need you to help me.”
The Rwandan Hostage Page 26
