The Pride, page 28
Kelvin fished in a pocket as he drove and handed the phone into the back.
Emma worked the keypad.
‘Who are you messaging?’ Sonja said.
Emma glanced at her. ‘Hudson. He’s in Botswana – we were in a car crash. He’s a bit banged up, but OK. Long story, I’ll fill you in later.’
Jacob pointed to a turnoff and Kelvin took it.
‘Slowly, now,’ Jacob said. ‘Fourth house on the right.’
As they approached Jacob’s home they saw a man in the front yard, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt.
‘I know him,’ Kelvin said. ‘He’s a friend of my cousin.’
‘There might be another one inside, with the family,’ Sonja said. ‘Probably is.’
‘Let me handle it,’ Kelvin said.
Emma looked up from the phone. ‘Be careful.’
Kelvin smiled at her and nodded. Sonja knew that look.
Kelvin got out and walked over to the man. They couldn’t hear what he said, but they shook hands and it seemed the man was calling to someone else, still in the house, as Sonja had thought. The second man was concealing a firearm in a holster as he came out, and closed the front door.
‘Standby,’ Sonja said to Jacob.
Kelvin led the men to the Range Rover.
‘Go,’ Sonja ordered.
She and Jacob spilled from the Range Rover, pistols up.
‘On the fucking ground,’ Sonja said, training her pistol on one man’s head. She went to him and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck for good measure and forced him to his knees. Sonja slid the man’s weapon from his belt and tossed it to Kelvin.
Both men were kneeling, side by side, and Jacob now held two guns, one in each hand. Sonja saw the fury on his face and knew there was only one thing that would quell that rage. ‘Kelvin?’
He turned to her. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Get in the car, in the back. Look after Emma.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He headed to the Range Rover.
‘And Kelvin?’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t let her watch,’ Sonja said.
‘OK, ma’am.’
Kelvin opened the back door and got in.
‘Cover them, please,’ Jacob said to Sonja. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Sure,’ she said. He had tried to kill her, but he was a gentleman. Sonja felt like his family was lucky to have him. Jacob ran to his house, opened the door and went in. Moments later Sonja heard screams and crying, but of joy and salvation, not of terror.
‘Please,’ one of the men said, trying to look around at her.
Sonja jammed the pistol into his head, forcing him to look forward. ‘Please, what?’
‘Please, we’re just soldiers. We were only following General Hendricks’s orders. What’s that guy going to do to us?’
‘The question is,’ Sonja said calmly, ‘two questions in fact. One: what were you two soldiers going to do to that family? And two: what would you do right now if you were in his position?’
The man started shaking. He sniffed and Sonja thought he was actually crying. Sonja checked her watch. They needed to get moving; however, she was enjoying watching these two sweat. A couple of minutes later, Jacob came to the front door. He was telling his wife to stay inside and that everything would be fine. He closed the door and came out.
‘Thank you,’ he said to Sonja.
‘My pleasure.’
Jacob went to the man next to the one that Sonja was covering and placed the barrel at the back of his head. This one was more stoic than his comrade. He said nothing, but Sonja saw that his eyes were closed and he was mouthing some words, perhaps a prayer.
Sonja glanced at Jacob. One eye was puffy, and twin streams of blood had dried on his swollen upper lip, from where they had flowed when Sonja smashed his nose. He had a look of serene calm on his face.
‘I’ve got this,’ he said to her, ‘you can go.’
‘You sure?’ she said.
‘Better that you’re not here, when it happens.’
She could have said something flippant, such as that she’d seen worse, or done worse, but the fact was that she did not go in for shooting unarmed prisoners. All the same, she bore him no ill will; the decision was his to make. Sonja backed away. She went to the Range Rover and opened the driver’s-side door. Kelvin, she saw, was still in the back seat with his arm around Emma. Good, she thought.
Emma caught her eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘Jacob’s going to kill those men, isn’t he?’
Sonja stared back at her for a moment, not sure if the inflection in Emma’s voice was hope or horror. ‘What would you do?’
The question hung there in the car. A phone rang outside. Sonja saw Jacob answer the call, which had come through on Hendricks’s phone. Jacob pressed the gun hard into the back of the head of one of the men. The other whimpered his prayers.
‘Yes, second turn to the right after you exit the motorway,’ Jacob said into the phone.
They all heard the wail of sirens. Sonja pushed the start button, rammed the gear lever into drive and stood on the accelerator. In the rear-view mirror, she saw the first of the police cars screaming up the street.
Jacob looked at the disappearing car and gave her a small wave. He was a long way behind already, but she thought he was smiling as the police pulled up next to him and his captives.
*
‘Mum,’ Emma said once they were clear of the crime scene. ‘Did you kill Denzel?’
She looked at them, still holding each other. ‘No, but . . .’
‘But . . . ma’am?’ Kelvin said.
A thought had crossed her mind, about the people who had been killed in her wake. ‘Nothing,’ Sonja said to him, without turning her head.
‘Ma’am, it’s just that, at medical school, we were studying blackouts, like when people can’t remember something they might have done. It can be associated with excessive alcohol consumption, or it can be psychogenic, linked to some trauma or horrific event a person’s been through.’
‘I hadn’t been drinking when I went after Denzel,’ she snapped back, ‘well, no more than usual.’
‘Then if it’s not alcohol related, Ms Kurtz, what about past trauma?’ Kelvin said.
Poor kid, Sonja thought, hooking up with a family who couldn’t remember how many people they’d killed. However, the kid might be on to something – the one truly terrible thing she had tried to erase from her memory and life kept coming back lately. ‘I remember what I did and didn’t do, Kelvin.’
‘The news media said that the police in Botswana were after us,’ Emma said. ‘You – for killing some guy in Vic Falls and others in Hwange National Park, and me for killing a guy in Botswana.’ Emma brought Sonja up to date with what had happened on the road, when she and Hudson had tangled with Wu’s drug courier. ‘But I didn’t kill him, Mum. He was alive when I left.’
‘I shot up all that mining shit in Hwange,’ Sonja said. ‘But I did not kill Denzel, nor Platt, the guy who set up Hudson for killing an elephant.’
‘OK,’ Emma said, ‘good to hear. They also said I killed all three guys who tried to kidnap me at the Waterfront. I didn’t.’ Emma sat back in her seat and whispered, ‘I only killed two.’
Sonja glanced back at Kelvin. ‘Would your uncle kill some guys for botching a kidnapping?’
Kelvin shrugged, talking to her via the mirror. ‘For sure, he wouldn’t be happy with them and they might pay for it, but I don’t think he would have them gunned down in a back street of the Waterfront.’
‘Hmm.’ Sonja nodded. ‘He was such a sicko he’d probably want to torture them first.’
‘So, where does that leave us?’ Emma asked.
‘Still at risk. We need to leave the country. I need to get you to safety, Emma,’ Sonja said. ‘Give me a phone.’
‘You’re driving, Mum, keep your eyes on the road.’
Sonja turned her head and glared at Emma. Kelvin handed her his phone.
As she drove, Sonja typed in a number.
‘Andrew Miles,’ said the voice at the other end.
‘Andrew, it’s Sonja Kurtz. Where are you?’ she said, getting straight to the point.
‘I’m in Cape Town. You’ve been everywhere in the media. Where are you, in prison? Is this your one phone call?’
‘Is that offer of work still going?’
‘It is, but I’m flying out from Cape Town in an hour’s time, late-night flight to Mozambique, under the radar, so to speak, with a new load of recruits.’
‘Message me the details and don’t leave without me.’
*
Hudson Brand checked himself out of hospital in Kasane, Botswana. It was after dark, but the air was still warm.
Emma had messaged then called, telling him that she and Sonja were free and giving him an at-times-breathless, at-times-teary account of her near kidnapping and the fight in the warehouse. He wished he could have been there for them, instead of laid up with a broken leg, but he realised he could not be Sonja’s shadow all the time, even if she wanted that, which she did not.
He had no idea how he was going to get back to Zimbabwe. His own vehicle, the Nantwich Lodge Land Cruiser game viewer, was a write-off, and had been towed to an impound yard at Kazungula, at the border crossing into Zimbabwe.
Leaving the hospital grounds on crutches he turned left onto President Avenue, speeding up to avoid being hit by a police Land Rover from the nearby station.
He decided to head to the bar at the Chobe Safari Lodge rather than risk getting tangled up in the local justice system. He hobbled the short distance down the road to the hotel.
The main building was a large, thatch-roofed structure. Hudson went past the curio shop and reception and made his way through the foyer out onto the expansive deck overlooking the Chobe River. The dining tables were full of tourists having dinner after their late afternoon game drives or cruises. A hippo honked obligingly nearby.
A waiter greeted him and showed him to a table. ‘Castle Lite, please,’ Hudson said.
He settled himself into the chair, took out his phone and dialled.
‘Inspector Khumalo, hello?’ Goodness said.
‘Howdy, it’s Hudson Brand. How are you, Goodness?’
They exchanged pleasantries and she told him she was still in Kasane, but off-duty.
‘Where are you?’ Hudson said. ‘I’m at the Safari Lodge.’
There was a pause and, he detected, a sigh. ‘So am I. We’re just coming in through the foyer. I see you.’
Hudson ended the call and saw Goodness walking across the deck with Inspector Poster Mpho, the Botswana Police detective who had interviewed him. He began hauling himself to his feet.
‘Mr Brand. Don’t get up,’ Poster said, ‘I was going to come visit you again in hospital. I actually called, not long ago, and the matron told me you had discharged yourself. You’ve saved me having to issue an all-points bulletin, or have you arrested at the border.’
Hudson looked down at his moon boot. ‘I’m not going anywhere fast any time soon, Inspector. Join me for a drink?’
Poster looked to Goodness, who rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders.
Hudson waved to the waiter. ‘I’m buying.’
‘Sparkling water,’ Goodness said, when the man arrived.
‘Chivas, double, on the rocks,’ Poster said.
Goodness looked at him.
Poster spread his hands. ‘I’m off-duty. And we’re on a date.’
‘Date?’ Hudson and Goodness said at the same time.
Poster put a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat. ‘Business meeting, I meant.’
Hudson took his notebook out of his pocket and opened it. ‘I made some calls, while I was in hospital.’
Goodness slumped back in her chair. ‘The media has been calling me, from Zimbabwe and South Africa, about your friends, Kurtz junior and senior. It’s been a long day.’
‘You didn’t release that information, about them being wanted for murder?’ Hudson asked.
Their drinks came. Goodness shook her head, then sipped her water. Poster clinked glasses with Hudson.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I was called by a reporter from News24, asking me for a comment on a multi-jurisdictional investigation into murders in Hwange, Botswana and Cape Town.’
Now it was Hudson’s turn to shake his head. ‘Let me guess, Rosie Appleton.’
‘Yes, that was her name,’ Goodness said. ‘You know her?’
‘Had a couple of run-ins with her in the past. There’s bad blood between her and Sonja. Rosie’ll do anything for a story.’
‘Is she a good reporter, or is someone feeding her?’ Poster asked.
‘She’s good,’ Hudson said, ‘but to piece all this together so quick means that someone’s feeding her, or using her, maybe.’ Hudson found himself warming to the male cop.
‘Appleton’s picked up what I have; the only common denominator I can see in all of them is Carrington Wu.’
‘The abalone smuggler?’ Poster asked.
Hudson nodded. ‘Yep. He’s got a finger in everything. It was one of his drug shipments that we upended on the road to Nata.’
‘These Kurtz women . . .’ Poster began.
‘The mother is a psychopath, a trained killer and mercenary,’ Goodness said.
Hudson sipped his beer. ‘That’s a little harsh, don’t you think, Goodness?’
Goodness narrowed her eyes, and, perhaps out of habit, lowered her voice. ‘I looked her up. The CIO, our central intelligence organisation, has a file on her. She’s suspected of trying to assassinate the former president.’
‘And the daughter executed the driver of the truck carrying the drugs?’ Poster said. ‘Meaning, what, she is a player in the drug trade?’
Hudson held up a hand. ‘No, no, no. Emma, the daughter, is a good kid, and she was on the road, hitchhiking out, when the ambulance came for me. The driver was still alive then. No way did she double back to shoot that guy. I have a theory . . .’ He reached for his notebook.
‘About a mysterious black Mercedes four-wheel drive,’ Goodness said, finishing his sentence for him. ‘I’ve put the word out.’
Hudson flipped through some pages. ‘I’ve been checking.’
‘With whom?’ Goodness asked.
‘People I know – the gate guards at Hwange National Park, a contact at Pandamatenga border post; I’m always driving back and forth through there, from Zimbabwe to Botswana.’
Poster set his drink down. ‘You really should leave police work to the police.’
‘He’s a private investigator,’ Goodness said.
Hudson didn’t know whether she’d said it as a compliment or an insult, but Goodness did nod to him, as if he should continue.
‘In this part of the world, as you both know, Toyota is king, followed by a few old diehards, like me, who still own Land Rovers as their personal vehicle, plus a few Nissans, Fords and VWs when it comes to four-by-fours, so a big, black Mercedes kinda sticks out.’
‘Unless you’re a politician,’ Goodness muttered.
Hudson checked his notes: ‘On the 24th, the day the shipment of abalone was discovered –’
‘Discovered?’ Goodness let out a laugh. ‘Shot to pieces and burned by your girlfriend, more like it.’
Hudson cleared his throat. ‘On the day that Carrington Wu’s tour truck passed through Pandamatenga border post, my guy at the border says a Black Mercedes G-Class four-by-four passed through from Botswana to Zimbabwe about half an hour after the overland truck was discovered on fire by your cops, Goodness.’
‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘Is there more?’
Hudson nodded, consulting his notebook again. ‘The ranger on duty at the Robins Gate entry to Hwange National Park, right next to Nantwich, has a register of the same vehicle entering the park an hour after the abalone truck was shot up. Just like the border, they have to record make and model, and driver’s name, licence plate, etc.’
‘You have those details?’ Poster asked.
‘Yep, and I’ll give them to you. It’s a CA – Cape Town – registration. The name of the driver is given as Jane Smith.’ He looked to both of them.
‘Doesn’t ring any bells with me,’ Poster said.
Goodness shook her head. ‘Nor me, but we’ll run it.’
‘Sounds like an alias to me,’ Hudson said. ‘The parks guys probably only checked the licence plate. The same vehicle exited the national park via Sinamatella later that next day and later that evening the professional hunter, Platt, who worked for Carrington Wu, was shot dead in Victoria Falls. That’s all I’ve got on the car, but Goodness, maybe you can check with Kazungula border post if it exited Zimbabwe out that way.’
‘I’ll check with my people,’ Poster said. ‘I’ve seen those G-Class wagons online. They’re built like tanks, but they’re made for the German autobahns, so they move. The road between Kazungula and the South African border has plenty of Botswana Police speed traps; if one of our officers caught them speeding, they might very well remember the vehicle.’
‘Good thinking,’ Hudson said.
‘So, who’s driving this Merc?’ Goodness asked.
Hudson sipped his beer and sat back in his chair. ‘All we know is that it was a woman. Maybe she was following the truck full of abalone.’
‘Why do you think this vehicle has some connection to Wu or the smuggling business?’ Poster asked.
Hudson took out his phone and tapped the screen. He passed it to Goodness so she could see the video he had just started and share it with Poster. ‘That’s a black G-Class wagon in Victoria Falls, heading past the Three Monkeys bar on the night Platt was killed. It’s CCTV video from outside a curio and souvenir store – a friend of mine is the owner.’
