African Sky (39 page)

Pip slowed her pace as she came closer to the prone form: ‘Catherine? Mrs De Beers. Can you hear me?'

Catherine rolled over and drew the pistol from the waistband of her jodhpurs. She held it pointed at the policewoman's heart. ‘Put your hands on your head. Turn around so Paul can see you,' she said as she painfully raised herself to her feet. She gave a little wave to Paul with her left hand, and smiled broadly as she pushed the muzzle of the Walther into the side of Pip Lovejoy's head. ‘Hennie!' she called. She ran her finger across her throat, a signal that Bryant should cut his engine.

Bryant shook his head in anger, then killed the engine. He undid his harness and got out of the cockpit.

‘Slowly, Paul. Very slowly. Do as I say and you and your new girlfriend might just live to see another day.'

‘Catherine, you can save yourself a lot of trouble and give up right now. There'll be other aircraft, and a police road convoy here within half an hour,' he said.

‘Not much of a bluffer, are you, Paul? I can see right through you. Look at the state of you. You wouldn't be here if anyone believed whatever you told them about Hennie and me.'

‘Hendrick Reitz?'

Catherine whistled and Reitz emerged from the trees, the butt of his Mauser in his shoulder. ‘Take the pistol out of your holster and put it on the ground. Slowly now, there's a good boy.'

He complied, keeping eye contact with her all the time.

‘So what happens now?' Pip asked no one in particular.

‘We have an aircraft,' Reitz said, motioning with a flick of his head to Bryant's Harvard, ‘and now all we need is a pilot. As you can see, mine is injured.'

Catherine carried on the explanation. ‘I'm going to stay here with Constable Lovelorn . . .'

‘Lovejoy,' Pip said.

‘We girls are going to keep each other company, while you, Paul, take Hennie where he tells you to. When you return, after he has done what he has to do, I will free the constable and Hennie and I will fly away into the sunset.'

Pip risked a sideways glance at her captor. Catherine's face looked pale, but she held her pistol in a steady hand. Her eyes were dark and coldly cruel.

‘I used the last of my ammo bringing you down. If your plan was to strafe the graduation parade, you're out of luck,' Bryant said.

Catherine smiled. ‘Trying to draw me out, Paul? The belts of ammunition I pulled out of Andy Cavendish's aircraft were just icing on the cake. The real surprise is still in our kite. Hendrick, perhaps you should fetch the cargo now?'

Reitz nodded, satisfied that Catherine could keep the man and woman safely under guard. He slung his rifle, jogged back to the crashed aircraft, leaned into the rear of the cockpit and retrieved the bombs.

‘You won't do much damage with those little tiddlers,' Bryant said to Reitz. ‘You've put a hell of a lot of effort into an operation that will kill or wound a score of pilots, at the most.'

Reitz smiled. He laid down the bombs and then undid the buckle of a small haversack he carried over his other shoulder. From it he withdrew a rubber gasmask, which he held up for Bryant to see.

‘You bastard,' Bryant said. 'You're going to poison a bunch of unarmed men, plus a hundred or more civilians and spectators – men and women.'

The smile fell from Reitz's face. ‘Unarmed? So what? Soon they'll be dropping bombs on innocent German women and children. Not only are they
unarmed,
they'll never be combatants. You and the rest of the RAF make me sick. You call me a bastard, but you murder innocents in your so-called
area bombing
.'

‘No different from what your German mates did to Coventry and
the East End of London, Reitz. Anyway, you're South African, aren't you? If you kill Jan Smuts you might start a civil war in your own country. Didn't anyone ever tell you that your lot are supposed to be on our side these days?'

‘My lot
can never forgive the British – and their colonial lapdogs like you Australians – after they murdered tens of thousands of civilians in South Africa. Keep your lies about British fair play to yourself. Smuts is a traitor to my people, Squadron Leader, and it'll be a pleasure to kill him as well as your latest crop of murdering graduates. Get in the aircraft and start it up. You'll take me to Kumalo air base and fly at a hundred and fifty feet above the runway, at a hundred knots. I'm not a pilot, but I can read gauges and navigate from here. If you don't do exactly as I say, Catherine will have no hesitation in dispatching the constable.'

‘Don't do it, Paul!' Pip said. 'There are too many innocent lives at stake.'

Bryant turned and looked into her eyes. ‘I can't let you die.'

Pip shook her head. ‘They'll kill us anyway, Paul.' She looked at Catherine, waiting for her to confirm it.

‘You know who we are, and whose side we're on now,' Catherine said, looking from Pip to Paul. ‘No doubt you've told the police that Hennie and I were up to something. Whether or not they believe you now doesn't really matter. By tomorrow, Hendrick and I will be famous – or infamous, depending on which side you're on – but we'll also be safely away from Rhodesia. We won't conceal anything by killing you both. But,' she said, turning to Bryant, ‘you can definitely save your life, and hers, by doing what we ask of you.'

Bryant thought about it for a moment. ‘How are you going to get away, once I do what you want?'

Reitz said: ‘When we get back, Catherine will come on board in the back seat with me. We'll leave the woman here, but you can make a call to alert the authorities when we get to where we're going. When we get to our final destination, you'll be released. You have my word as an officer of the Third Reich.'

Bryant shook his head.

‘Enough talking,' Catherine said. She motioned for Bryant and Pip to walk ahead of her, into the hangar. Reitz followed them in and, while Catherine kept Paul covered, Reitz pushed Pip up onto the workbench.

Bryant glared at her. ‘If you renege on this, Catherine . . . if you lay a finger on her while I'm gone, I'll kill you.'

Catherine laughed. ‘Empty threats and idle promises. A typical male. You don't scare me, Paul. But rest assured, if you keep your end of the bargain you'll get your little policewoman back.'

‘Come on, let's get this over with,' Bryant said angrily.

‘Don't think you have to do this for me, Paul,' Pip said. She felt utterly helpless now, tied and humiliated.

‘It's war, Pip,' he said. ‘Sometimes you just get caught in the middle of situations where you have to make a decision, and lives depend on it.'

‘Blah, blah, blah,' Catherine said. ‘This is making me sick. Be gone, the two of you.' She blew Reitz a theatrical kiss and said: ‘Hurry, or you'll miss the parade. I'll expect you in two hours. If you're not here in three I'll kill the girl and head for the rendezvous point in the farm truck.'

Reitz nodded, unslung his rifle and motioned for Paul to leave the hangar ahead of him. He pointed with his rifle to the first-aid kit on the floor and said to Catherine, ‘Clean your wound and bandage yourself.'

‘I'll be back,' Paul said to Pip. She just closed her eyes and tried very hard not to cry.

Outside, when they reached the aeroplane, Bryant said, ‘I could fly us both into the ground as soon as I take off, you know.'

Reitz laughed as he climbed into the rear of the cockpit. ‘You don't have the guts, Squadron Leader. Catherine told me all about you.'

‘Buckle up – I wouldn't want you falling out,' Bryant said.

‘Don't worry, I'd already thought of that. Close your cockpit canopy and don't try anything stupid midair.'

‘Or what, you'll shoot me? You won't get far without a pilot.'

The noise of the engine whining and coughing to life momentarily put an end to any talk. They put on their flying helmets, checked the intercom was working, and then Bryant taxied down the grass airstrip.

‘Perhaps you should cancel the parade.' Hayes' voice was nasal and his pronunciation was hampered by the blue-black swelling of his broken nose.

‘We've been over this before,' Wing Commander Stephen Rogers hissed back at the policeman. They stood outside the Kumalo officers' mess. A pair of motorcycle policemen cruised slowly up the base's main road, a black Bentley gleaming behind them. ‘For the last time, man, do you or do you not believe Bryant killed Felicity Langham?'

Hayes gingerly touched his nose. ‘Yes, I do. The man's just weaved some story to throw us off the track. He's also clearly unbalanced. Shell shock, I suppose. Look at the way he bailed you up with a revolver and opened fire in your office.'

Rogers nodded. He and Hayes had gone over the information available and nearly convinced each other they were right to ignore Bryant's half-formed, garbled warnings about a Nazi plot. All the same, Rogers had doubled the gate guard and he'd had Wilson siphon off twenty askaris from their ceremonial duties to form a roving perimeter patrol. As an added precaution, he had also ordered the long single line of display aircraft hurriedly reorganised into two ranks, facing each other across the wide taxi-way. If someone – perhaps even Bryant in his deranged state – wanted to attack the parked aircraft from the air, at least they would be spaced out.

‘This'll be the end of us if we're wrong,' Rogers muttered.

‘Us?' Hayes snorted and swallowed a clot of blood. ‘I'm just a copper chasing an armed suspect. You're the one who's decided to carry on.'

‘Get out of my sight. You look a mess, and you'll only start people asking questions.' Hayes reluctantly turned his back on the wing commander and walked back to his police car, as the Prime Minister of Rhodesia's limousine and escorts pulled to a halt outside the mess.

Two immaculately turned-out black askaris stepped up to each of the Bentley's rear doors, opened them and saluted.

Sir Godfrey Huggins stepped out of the door nearest the mess, nodded a polite acknowledgement of the salute and said, ‘Stephen, how good to see you again.'

Rogers saluted his head of state and shook his hand. ‘Prime Minister. I hope your journey was pleasant.'

Rogers lead Huggins through the open double doors of the mess, and they were followed inside by the prime minister's military aide-de-camp – a young Rhodesian army captain – and two civilian men in suits. Clive Wilson, in his capacity as acting adjutant, ushered the official party towards a trestle table covered in a starched white tablecloth. African stewards took orders for coffee and tea, and Wilson brought cups to his commander and the politician.

Huggins explained that he had visited the air training base at Gwelo briefly the day before, and spent the night in the nearby town, midway between Salisbury and Bulawayo. ‘It's been too long since I was at Kumalo, Stephen. Hard to believe it's two years since I was here for the official dedication of the base.'

Rogers agreed. He genuinely enjoyed the company of Sir Godfrey whom, they had both realised on their last meeting, he had met once before. It had been in England, in 1917, where Huggins was serving as a twenty-four-year-old army doctor. The future prime minister had pulled a Spandau machine gun bullet from Rogers' leg, the legacy of an unsuccessful tangle with a Fokker triplane over the Western Front. Three bullets had already been removed from the fighter pilot's body, but the fourth was lodged dangerously close to his femoral artery, so he had been hurriedly evacuated to Blighty for the attentions of a specialist. Even at a young age Huggins had distinguished himself as a surgeon. Genial was the word Rogers would have used to describe him. With his aquiline features, neatly trimmed moustache and soft voice, he still seemed more the reassuring doctor than the shrewd politician he was.

‘Leg still giving you curry?' Huggins asked, noticing Rogers' slight limp as he placed his empty teacup on the table.

‘Only when the rains are coming. We've reserved the anteroom in the mess for your meeting with Prime Minister Smuts after the parade. I hope it will be suitable.' Rogers felt prickles of sweat in his armpits. He hated hiding the events of the morning from the country's leader, and prayed he had made the right decision.

‘I'm sure it will be fine. Now, tell me about the troubles you've had here, Stephen.'

‘Troubles?' Rogers swallowed hard, fearing the prime minister's entourage might somehow have picked up on police radio traffic or some other gossip about the morning's debacle.

‘A woman murdered and a pilot killed by blacks across the border. We do know what goes on in Bulawayo, even though government is based in Salisbury, Stephen,' the PM smiled.

Rogers tried to hide his relief. He hurriedly assured Huggins that the riot in town had been swiftly contained, and that they were expecting a breakthrough soon on the search for the dead pilot's aircraft. The latter was a half-truth, as Bryant had been babbling something to that effect. If the man were captured, Rogers at least wanted an explanation of what he had learned about the fate of Smythe's Harvard.

‘The business in town worried me greatly, Stephen. We've had no violence between blacks and whites for decades and I don't want to see a repeat of it.'

‘Of course, Prime Minister. Rest assured, the troublemakers have been dealt with.'

‘I don't have to tell you there are some natives who want to flex their muscles politically but I don't want the police or the air force giving them something to protest about. I want peace between the races. Our Africans do all right and the fate of blacks in South Africa will be better if Jan Smuts comes around to our way of thinking as well.'

‘Really, how is that?' Rogers asked, grateful that the conversation had quickly swung away from the recent unrest to Huggins' favourite topic, the idea of a union between Southern Rhodesia, South Africa, Northern Rhodesia, Bechuanaland and Nyasaland.