Silent Predator (43 page)

‘What about your kids?’

‘That’s mostly what I’ve been thinking about. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt them, but they liked you the last time and at least they’ve met you once. I’ve got a small guest flat at the back of the garage. It’s yours if you want it.’

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Of course I want it. I don’t know where I’ll end up, Sannie, but it’s nice to know I’ve got somewhere to start.’

‘Have you got any idea where you’ll go?’

He shrugged and picked up his beer, taking a long swig. He was, she thought, either avoiding answering the question or really had no idea where he was going. She thought the first of these was correct. He was still holding something important back from her. This whole running away to Africa idea didn’t ring true; it didn’t make sense that he would find solace or escape in a continent where his career had come to a shuddering, bloody halt. He was after something – someone. If he was going after the terrorists
alone, he was mad. Dangerously mad. While she’d broken the rules on his account several times, she was not going to drive off into the wilds of Africa with Tom, toting her nine-millimetre in her handbag to back him up. Of that she was certain. The combined resources of the South African, British and American governments were looking for those men. Tom Furey couldn’t achieve what police, spies and satellites had failed to. Could he?

Their flight was called and they parted in the queue to board. He kissed her and told her he would see her at the other end.

Yes, she thought, but for how long?

‘
Wat doen jy?
’ Tom, lying on his back under the Land Rover, turned his head at the sound of the voice and saw a pair of small bare feet and skinny golden-brown legs.

Tom’s hand was drenched with hot black oil as he unscrewed the plug in the engine sump and let it flow into the tin bowl. His own legs, in shorts, were already starting to turn pink, he noticed as he used his elbows and feet to slide himself fully into the open. He recognised the young voice and the boy standing there, but had no idea what he was saying.

He held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s bright glare. ‘Hello, Christo. Remember me? I’m Tom.’ The boy’s face was haloed by the afternoon sun. Tom wiped his brow with the back of his clean arm. The heat was a shock all over again after London.

The boy nodded. ‘What you doing?’ he asked again, in English.

Tom sat up, grabbed a rag he’d found in the garage, and wiped his hand as best as he could. The sump
hadn’t been drained since the boy’s father’s death, and who knew how long before that. It stained his hand black. ‘I’m changing the oil. Have a look underneath. You can see it draining out.’

Christo shook his head. ‘This is my dad’s
bakkie
.’

Tom saw the boy’s frown and his little brow furrow in concentration as he tried to work out what was going on. Good luck, matey, Tom thought. ‘I know. Your mum’s letting me borrow it for a little while.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘On a bit of a holiday.’

The boy nodded. ‘Mom’s taking us to the Kruger Park for the weekend. Ouma’s coming as well.’

‘That’s nice.’ Tom guessed Ouma was Sannie’s mother, Elise, who had collected them from the airport, shortly after she had dropped Christo and his little sister, Ilana, at school. Elise had smiled when Sannie introduced Tom to her, but he detected no warmth in her eyes. It would take time – if he had it. He didn’t tell Christo that he was planning on accompanying them to the national park and setting off on the rest of his journey from there. He’d let Sannie break the news.

‘Are you coming to live with us after your holiday?’

How the hell should I know? Tom thought. ‘I don’t know, Christo. Hey, I’ve got something for you.’

The youngster’s eyes lit up. Tom left the sump draining and walked into the comparative cool of the converted granny flat in which he was staying. He’d left the airconditioner running, but it seemed to be struggling in the heat. As a last-minute thought he’d stopped in a souvenir shop at Heathrow and bought
a football with Manchester United’s logo emblazoned on it.

‘Cool!’ Christo bounced it straightaway and kicked it, hard enough to reach the brick security wall. It bounced back at him and he dived across the grass to catch it, like a goalie.

Tom laughed as he pulled on a T-shirt. ‘Good work.’ He saw Elise watching them through the kitchen windows. A black maid was standing next to her, and Sannie’s mother was saying something to the woman but keeping her eyes on Tom. He smiled at her but she did not return the gesture. He mentally shrugged it off.

‘Mom will be home soon and then we can use the swimming pool, but not before,’ Christo informed him. ‘Ouma can’t swim,’ he whispered. Tom nodded, sharing the confidence.

Elise came to the back door. ‘Christo! Come in here and have some milk. I have baked some treats as well.’ She held a plate of biscuits, which Tom could smell from the other side of the swimming pool.

‘Yay!’ Christo forgot his questioning and his soccer ball and scampered for the house. Elise ruffled his hair as she steered him towards the house. She disappeared inside the kitchen again, but returned with a bottle of Castle Lager.

‘Here, Tom. It looks like you could use a beer after your work,’ she said. The corners of her mouth were curling upwards slightly. She walked towards him. ‘Come, let us sit in the shade.’

‘I’m not finished yet, not by half, but a beer would be lovely, thanks.’ He hoped this signalled a
defrosting, but he wasn’t banking on it. Elise led him to a wrought-iron outdoor table and chairs, underneath a shady tree with red flowers.

‘Sannie’s husband loved that truck.’

Tom opened the beer and took a long, grateful sip. ‘It’s kind of Sannie to lend it to me. I’ll bring it back in one piece.’

‘It’s not the Land Rover I’m worried about getting broken, Tom.’

Well, he thought, at least she didn’t waste time coming to the point. ‘I’m not here to hurt anyone.’

She waved her hand, possibly shooing a fly away, but it also had the effect of brushing his words aside. ‘My daughter was just coming right after the death of her husband. I know what she did with you – for you – in Mozambique. I can’t forgive her for that, but it’s in the past. She knows she shouldn’t have taken such risks, with her life and her job, but she did it because of you.’

It was as much an accusation as a statement of fact, he thought. There was no way he could argue with the woman, though.

‘Don’t lead this family into more danger, Tom.’

He took another drink. ‘I won’t. Where I’m going, what I’m doing … I’ll be on my own.’

Elise nodded. ‘Good. That’s her car now.’

Sannie had gone into the office midmorning to report in to Wessels on the inquiry and her trip. She told Tom she had no plans to mention the Englishman staying in her flat, and he had agreed that was a good idea. She’d been released from work early, though, to spend some more time with her kids. Christo came
running from the house, a biscuit in his hands. Ilana, who had avoided Tom so far, stuck her head out the back door and peered down the driveway. The electric gate rolled open and Sannie drove in.

She scooped up both the kids in her arms and plastered them with kisses, before setting them down and waving to Tom. Elise stood, nodded to Tom to ensure her warning had been received and understood, then waved to Sannie and retreated indoors.

‘Put your cozzie on and join us in the pool,’ Sannie called to Tom as she walked towards the house, a child clinging to each of her legs.

‘Let me finish with the truck first.’

Sannie waved and disappeared inside, while Tom crawled back under the Land Rover and replaced the sump plug. As he lifted the spanner to tighten it he realised the last person to have touched the tool before him was dead. It was odd, being among another man’s possessions. With his family. He couldn’t blame Elise for her suspicion or for her silent resentment of him.

He refilled the engine with oil from an unopened container he’d found in the garage. He’d do the filters, too, before dinner as Christo had laid in a good store of spares and consumables.

The Land Rover was fully kitted out for camping in the African bush and Tom could tell that Sannie’s late husband had been passionate about his vehicle. It was immaculate, inside and out, save for a layer of dust which had settled since it had last been driven. To Tom’s surprise it had started, albeit slowly, and he had left the engine idling for half an hour to warm the
old oil and restore some more life to the twin-battery system he’d discovered under the bonnet.

On top was an aluminium roof-rack with customised fittings for two gas bottles, which Tom found under a tarpaulin with some other camping gear, and a pair of jerry cans. There was also a big rectangular thing on the roof, which he thought at first was a storage box, covered with a waterproof canvas cover. However, when he undid it, he discovered it was a fold-out rooftop tent. Inside, in the back, was a compressor-driven fridge-freezer which ran off the dual battery system. The fridge lid had been chocked open with a piece of wood to stop mould from forming, and when he worked out how to turn it on while the engine was running, it hummed to life and soon started getting cold. In the garage were plastic boxes filled with neatly packed camping essentials, including cutlery, plates, cups and pots in one box; non-perishable cooking basics in another; and a third crammed with portable lights, an air compressor and various electrical adapters. He’d expected that he would have to fit out the vehicle himself, but Sannie had already told him he was welcome to whatever he could find in Christo’s well-ordered trove of gear, tools and equipment.

Tom replaced the oil filler cap, lowered the bonnet and looked up as the back door opened again. Little Christo and Ilana, in their swimsuits, charged for the in-ground swimming pool and Sannie walked behind them, smiling and laughing. She carried a green-coloured rum cooler drink in a bottle and another beer, which she held up to him. She looked good enough to drink herself. She had changed out of her
suit into a yellow bikini top and a pair of short-cut blue board shorts with an Australian surf brand running down the side. He’d seen her naked, and in her bra and pants, but now, if it were possible, she looked even sexier. She was a promise of long, carefree summer holidays and endless sunshine. A world without murder and terrorism and politics. She threw back her head and laughed at something her mother had said from the kitchen, and swayed her hips as she swung the bottles by her side and walked towards him. This was a Sannie he hadn’t seen before. At home with her children, safe from the outside world and free to be a kid again herself. She looked like a flirty teenager as she came to him and leaned a hip against the warm aluminium fender of the truck.

‘
Jissus
, but I missed the sun.’ She upended the cooler and used the serrations of its cap to lever off the top of the beer bottle, then unscrewed the twist top on her drink. Tom drained the dregs of the one Elise had brought him. The leftovers had already been warmed by the afternoon sun, but the lager Sannie handed him was cold and dewy. He wanted her, right then, and allowed himself the brief fantasy of life forever after by the beach with this sun-kissed girl. ‘You’re
filthy
, man,’ she said, looking at his hands. ‘Did the truck start okay?’

‘First time.’

She sipped her drink, then, in reply to a demand from Christo, called out that she’d be in the pool soon. ‘Come join us for a swim,’ she said to Tom.

‘I’m nearly finished here.’ He gestured to the truck. ‘Go play with your kids. I’ll watch you from here.’

Sannie pouted. ‘Was my mom horrid to you?’

He smiled. ‘Not in so many words, but you could say that the riot act has been read and understood. She’s only trying to look after you.’

Sannie nodded, then looked over her shoulder. Her mother was watching them from the kitchen. ‘Mom! Get in the pool!’ Ilana yelled.

‘Duty calls,’ she said, setting her drink down on the Land Rover’s fender. Tom watched as she turned and ran, full pelt, to the edge of the pool and executed a running dive that barely raised a splash. She surfaced and lunged at the two children. ‘Here comes the
krokodil
!’ The children squealed with delight.

Elise had cooked a roast chicken dinner, though she barely acknowledged Tom’s compliments on it.

Christo had lost his initial reservations about the near stranger in the house, and pestered Tom with questions about English football teams and the country’s rugby side. Despite Sannie telling the boy to be quiet and eat his greens, Tom was happy to chat to him. Little Ilana was still quiet and shy, though a couple of times she smiled at him, then giggled, before hiding her face behind her hand. They were lovely kids, he thought. A credit to their mum and their prickly ouma. He could understand the older woman’s protectiveness.

Sannie had showered and changed into a simple slip-on sundress with a bright sunflower print. It showed off her tan and barely came halfway down her slim, athletic thighs. Like her kids she was barefoot
at the dinner table, and Tom was perspiring freely, despite the fan that blew across them from a kitchen benchtop.

‘Is David Beckham the best football player in the world?’ Christo asked.

‘Carrots, Christo,’ Sannie said, in between chewing on a wing.

‘He gets his photo in the newspapers more than any other player,’ Tom said. Christo nodded as if this settled the argument and Tom felt toes running up his shin.

He glanced across at Sannie sitting opposite – her mother was at the head of the table – but she ignored him. She asked her mother to pass the salt, running her foot higher and higher until it rested in Tom’s crotch. He coughed, and Sannie asked him if he wanted more water, or another beer. ‘Oh, I’m fine just as I am,’ he said. She smiled and he thought he caught the hint of a wink. She wriggled her toes and he felt himself starting to harden. Tom concentrated on his chicken.

After the meal Elise boiled the kettle for coffee, telling Tom to stay seated. He was extremely grateful. Sannie grinned behind her mother’s back.