Ivory (53 page)

George nodded. ‘They have aviation fuel on board?'

‘Yes, and they're equipped to take helicopters too.'

‘Well let's get inside out of this heat. We'll get you a cool drink and there's even an indoor swimming pool if you'd like to cool off.'

Kronje smiled. ‘
Lekker
. This beats the navy any day.'

George led them along the walkway beside the stacked shipping containers.

The loud clanging of metal on metal stopped the military men.

‘Hey, what was that?' Msimang said.

‘Probably something coming loose, falling over or banging into something.'

‘It's smooth as glass on the water,' Kronje said.

‘Quiet! I can hear a voice,' Msimang said.

‘I'm sure it's nothing,' George replied. He reached behind his back and lifted his shirt. Tucked in the waistband of his jeans was a .44 Magnum pistol. He liked the feeling of power a big gun gave him.

The pilot moved to the container and his stocky warrant officer planted himself in the centre of the walkway, watching both his superior and George.

‘It's a woman!' He leaned his head closer to the hot steel of the box. ‘She's calling for help. How do you open this thing?'

‘My God, perhaps it's a stowaway,' George said, hoping he sounded surprised enough.

‘Show me your hand, Mister Penfold, sir,' Kronje said, hands on hips.

‘Oh, all right, if you insist. But I wish you hadn't said that.'

George pulled the pistol and shot the warrant officer in the heart.

 

‘HELP!' Jane rattled the stinking bucket over and over against the container's side. ‘Help me!'

She stopped when she heard the shot. She sensed there was no longer any point, and she slumped to the floor, tears filling her eyes.

A while later she heard the hum of outboard engines. The noise grew louder and when it stopped she heard the ebullient voices of Piet van Zyl and a couple of his men. George was talking rapidly, but his deep, low tones were harder to decipher.

When the door creaked open she retreated, like a night creature, from the flood of light that invaded her prison.

The first man who came through the door was dead. She cowered at the back of the metal box as a booted foot rolled the body over. The dead man wore a green military flying suit that was drenched with blood, front and back.

The next man in walked like a zombie. He was an African, dressed the same as the first. He barely registered Jane's presence when he blinked, his eyes finally finding her in the gloom. She said nothing.

With the door open she could hear George's voice clearly. ‘We've got to get that helicopter off the deck,' he said.

‘How?' Van Zyl asked.

‘Push the fucking thing, I suppose.'

‘All right, but let me lock this bastard up first,' Van Zyl said.

Jane watched the black man. He looked around the container, his nose wrinkling at the smell of her.

Three men were silhouetted in the doorway of the container, against the blindingly bright outside light. One was pushed to his knees and the door slammed shut.

The sudden appearance then loss of light ruined Jane's vision and she blinked in the gloom, waiting for it to return. ‘Who's there?'

‘Jane?'

She got to her feet and stumbled towards the sound of his voice as he said her name again. When she bumped into him in the dark she lost her footing, but he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight.

‘Jane,' he said, and she felt him bury his face in her hair. She clung to him and fought back the sobs.

‘Alex, I didn't want to die without seeing you again.'

He kissed her cheek and her forehead. ‘I know how you feel. But we're not going to die on this ship.'

C
aptain Gert Fourie sat in his padded leather chair in the airconditioned bridge of the SAS
Talana
, sipping a mug of coffee.

He projected an air of calmness in the face of the mounting excitement building in the voices of the officers and sailors around him. They had listened to the radio transmissions between Tactical HQ and the Rooivalk crew, and the men and women on the bridge had cheered when the news came through that the hijacked Oryx had been downed.

A suspect vessel was out there somewhere ahead of them, and their job would be to intercept and board it, as soon as they had taken the Rooivalk on board and refuelled it. With the help of the gunship they would also have to search for and apprehend the pirates who had left their downed aircraft. It would be a busy day and the first real test of the
Talana
's crew against an armed foe.

The
Talana
was already off the coast of Mozambique, thanks to an anonymous but supposedly reliable tip-off that a ship smuggling arms was in the area. Fourie didn't know if the report was linked to the stolen helicopter and the ivory heist, but one thing was certain – they were now in dangerous waters.

The ship needed a win. The air of controversy over the government's
purchase of four new frigates from the Germans had never entirely cleared. Opposition parties and the media had criticised the ships as too costly for a country where too many people still lived in poverty, and there had been questions over the transparency of the tender process.

But Fourie was a navy man through and through. Third generation. Every day of his life had been preparation for this one and he was determined every man and woman under his command would be going home safe to their base at Simon's Town.

The screen set high in front of him showed their position in relation to the MV
Penfold Son
, which was ahead. They would soon have visual contact.

‘XO, what's the position of the suspect freighter?' Fourie asked his executive officer, Commander Mishak Kumalo.

‘Target is bearing zero-four-two degrees, twenty nautical miles, sir. He's making a steady eight knots further into international waters,' Kumalo replied from his place behind the captain.

Fourie looked across at the framed photograph of his ship. He would miss her when his posting ended in a few short weeks.

‘SAS
Talana
, this is the MV
Penfold Son
, over,' came a voice over the loudspeaker on the bridge.

Commander Kumalo acknowledged the call and the captain listened intently to the exchange. The voice of the
Penfold Son
's master sounded anxious.

‘We've got an emergency situation here,' the Englishman said. ‘Your air force helicopter has just crashed into the sea!'

Fourie craned his head to look back at Kumalo, who held the radio handset by his side. ‘Sir, the last report from the Rooivalk crew was that they had landed safely on board the
Penfold Son
.'

‘I know, XO, I heard it too.' Fourie could feel his stress levels start to rise.

‘
Penfold Son
,
Penfold Son
, we heard they had arrived safely, over,' Kumalo replied.

‘I know that,' said the worried voice from the freighter. ‘It's just . . . I
don't know how it happened, but something . . . something exploded just after they touched down, while the rotors were still turning. My God . . . it was . . . it was horrible. The blast threw the helicopter on its side and over the edge. The explosion seemed to come from one of the rocket pods and . . .'

Fourie processed the information. The voice had tailed off into silence. ‘Maybe a missile malfunction?' he said out loud. He left his seat and took the handset from his executive officer. ‘MV
Penfold Son
, this is the Commanding Officer of the SAS
Talana
. To whom am I speaking, over?'

‘George Penfold, master of the
Penfold Son
and MD of Penfold Shipping.'

Fourie had heard of the man – no one at sea had not. The millionaire's position and standing meant little now. ‘How long ago did this happen, over?'

‘Only a few minutes ago, Captain. We've launched a boat to look for survivors, but the helicopter went down fast.'

Fourie turned to Kumalo, but before he could speak the African officer said, ‘Should I launch a RHIB sir? It will get there much faster than we will.'

Fourie nodded. ‘Send both of them, XO.'

Kumalo moved to the
Talana
's broadcast system and issued the orders.

‘Mister Penfold, hold in place and continue your search. We're sending two boats to help you. They'll be there soon and we won't be far behind. Have you suffered any casualties?'

‘Negative, Captain. Hurry, please. I just hope we can find those brave airmen alive.'

 

Van Zyl paced the bridge of the
Penfold Son
like a caged lion. ‘We've got to kill them, now. Those sailors are going to want to board us to talk to you. If the prisoners start banging on the walls of that container again we're finished.'

George frowned. ‘Agreed, but keep the woman alive.'

‘Forget her,' Van Zyl said, shaking his head. ‘She's your weakness, George.'

‘Shut your bloody mouth. I will keep her alive as long as it suits me. Take her below decks and chain her somewhere in the engine room.'

‘What about Tremain and the pilot? Do you want to do it, or shall I?'

‘I'll do it. I want to make sure the job's done properly.'

Van Zyl ignored the implied insult and looked out over the deck. His men had barely shifted the Rooivalk helicopter. Pushing it over the edge was easier said than done. The Rooivalk sat on a three-wheeled undercarriage, with two at the front, beneath where the crew sat, and a tail wheel. The containers on the
Penfold Son
were stacked close together, but there were still narrow gaps between them and every time one of the Rooivalk's wheels hit a gap it required a strenuous effort from the men to dislodge it and get it rolling again. ‘Well, you can come and give me a hand to move that helo as well. And summon some more of your crew or else it'll still be there when the navy arrives.'

Van Zyl slung his M4 over his shoulder and joined his men, who were clustered around the helicopter, panting in between efforts as they leaned against the fuselage. ‘Come on, you bastards, get your backs into it.'

It seemed Van Zyl was incapable of getting anything right. He'd told George that he and his men had held their fire on board the
Peng Cheng
until he had all the pirates in his sight. But by waiting for Tremain to get into the stolen helicopter – Van Zyl's plan was to kill all of them and destroy the aircraft machine in one go, before it took off – he had allowed the bulk of the pirate crew to escape. But at least George had their leader.

George walked over to the container which housed the prisoners. He was looking forward to killing Tremain, but wished it hadn't been necessary to finish off the innocent airmen.

He didn't underestimate the cunning of a pirate and a pilot, so when he opened the door he stood back. He'd brought a powerful Maglite flashlight with him from the deckhouse and he raised it with his left hand and used it to scan the darkened interior.

Jane cowered in a far corner, sitting down with her knees drawn up
to her chest. Tremain, in his South African Army camouflage fatigues, was next to her, in a similar position, although his head was resting on his knees. The man was broken. The black pilot of the helicopter was in the other corner, standing, and the dead crewman lay in a pool of his own blood where Van Zyl had dropped him.

‘On your feet, Tremain.'

The man said nothing.

‘Leave him alone, George. For God's sake leave us all alone, or just kill us,' Jane screamed.

‘Get up, Tremain. Now!'

Jane leaned over to him and put her arms around the sitting man. ‘He's finished, George,' she said softly. ‘Can't you see he's no threat to you now?'

George laughed, long and loud, his peals echoing off the inside of the steel box as he stepped inside. ‘Not such a big man now, are you, you bastard.'

‘What of me?' the pilot asked. ‘Are you going to execute me or set me free?'

‘You, my friend, have become an inconvenience. I really wish you hadn't landed on my ship.'

‘So do I.' He took two paces towards George.

‘Stop! Sit down, where you are.' The pilot complied and slid to the floor, his back against a side wall.

George licked the sweat from his top lip. It really was like an oven in this box. He stepped over the body of the helicopter crewman.

‘TREMAIN! Get on your feet or I'll shoot you where you're sitting.'

‘George, no, please,' Jane cried. ‘Can't you see he's beaten? He's no threat to you. You could let him go and leave him on his island. Please, let him live.'

George laughed again. This really was very amusing. ‘And tell me, why should I do such a ridiculous thing?'

‘Because I love him, George. Let him live and I'll do whatever you want. I'll be whatever you want. I'll be your slave, George, if that's what you want . . .'

He shook his head. ‘Too late, darling. You had that chance, only you could have done it in style, as my next wife, but you rejected me for this burned-out loser. And now you'll pay for your treachery.' He raised the pistol and pointed it at the seated man. ‘At least be a man and face me, Tremain.'

‘No!' Jane screamed.

George wanted the pirate to look him in the eye, but he felt the rush anyway. The man deserved to die for his cowardice alone. Jane was showing more balls than this pathetic creature. He squeezed the trigger.

The noise of the .44 was deafening. He'd aimed the first shot low, into Tremain's gut, because he wanted to hear him cry, but the man was silent. Amazing. He fired the next into his head and when the bullet struck it flicked the skull back so that the face was visible. ‘Shit . . .'

 

While George was talking Alex had closed his hand around the handle of the metal slop bucket, which he and Jane had positioned close to him. The helicopter gunner's drying blood was all over him, on the dead man's clothes and plastered to his face and hands from the sticky pool on the floor of the container. He looked like a red-streaked creature from hell as he unleashed a war cry and swung the bucket at George's head.