The Fallen Read online

  He didn’t know whether visibility was worse on the inside of the car or the outside. The windscreen demister was fighting a losing battle with the mist that kept creeping over both sides of the glass. The interior certainly smelled as if a previous owner might have had a bad incontinence problem. Perhaps that would explain it.

  ‘Where?’ Johan, the gate guard from the harbour, was in the driver’s seat. He hadn’t yet spotted the number plate that one of the Metro cops from the roadblock had called in just a half-hour ago.

  ‘There.’ Kobus pointed. ‘Keep her in sight, OK? And watch out for that robot up ahead. It’s about to turn red.’

  ‘Can’t jump it,’ the weathered-looking man replied. ‘I’ll have to stop. Watch if she turns.’

  Waiting at the red light, the car filled with tense silence. Then, with a squeal of rubber, the Mazda shot forward as soon as the light turned green.

  ‘She’s up ahead somewhere. Go slow now. We don’t want to … hey, wait. Look at that. It’s her. The car’s pulling off the road. She’s goddamn parking it.’

  ‘That’s lucky.’

  ‘Slow down.’

  ‘We can’t get her now. Not while she’s stopped at a shopping centre. We’ll have to wait till she gets going again.’

  ‘You think she’s seen us?’

  ‘No way. Look—she’s getting out. She’s going into the Internet café.’

  ‘Well, she can’t stay in there for long. It closes at eight.’

  ‘And by then this traffic will be gone. Hey, are we lucky fish or what?’

  ‘Huh?’ The Mazda’s indicator ticked loudly as Johan pulled over and parked further down the road.

  ‘Lucky fish. Don’t know why I said that. It’s an old saying. The last time anyone called me that was in school.’ Kobus laughed. He suddenly felt high on adrenaline. Perhaps it was the painkillers. At any rate, he liked the feeling. It took his mind off the dull throbbing in his arm and the brownish-looking blood that had already oozed through the bandage.

  ‘In school, hey?’

  ‘Haven’t heard it since. Might be because I don’t stay in touch with my school friends.’ He was the only one who’d ended up in prison. The only one that he knew of, anyway.

  ‘Might be because you stopped being lucky,’ Johan said.

  Kobus laughed again. ‘Not this time.’

  Using his left hand, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Bradley.

  Bradley answered after four rings. He sounded distracted and his voice thrummed with tension. He was busy now—too busy to help with the hunt, which was why Kobus had enlisted Johan’s help. The operation was going ahead. The deadline, Kobus knew, was looming. Only a few hours left to go.

  He relayed the good news and hung up.

  ‘So now we wait,’ he said.

  ‘Ja,’ Johan said. ‘Let’s sit tight here.’

  The car following Jade was a clapped-out, white, bottom-of-the-range Mazda. A generation older than the cars supplied by the company that Jade used.

  It was an unlikely looking tail, and the driver was good, staying a few cars behind her when there was traffic around. The only reason she picked him up was that she was expecting to be followed. The car never got close enough to allow her to see who was driving, or how many people were inside.

  She could put her plan into action now. But first she needed to stop for water. Where would be safe?

  She drove past a bar, but it looked just about empty and the parking area outside was shadowy and unfenced. She suspected that her pursuers wouldn’t think twice about following her inside and doing the job there.

  She was nearly out of town and she certainly didn’t want to start driving in circles, because that would alert her tail to the fact she’d spotted him.

  And then Jade saw where she could go.

  The small shopping centre where David had picked her up that very morning was brightly lit and the street outside was lined with parked cars. The fast-food outlet looked busy and the Internet café was swarming with teenagers.

  It was the ideal place for a quick stop.

  She parked as close as she could to the Internet café and made her way into the takeaway next door. Trying to look as casual as possible, she ordered a can of Coke and a toasted cheese sandwich. The fizzy drink provided a welcome sugar hit, but her stomach was too knotted for her to take more than a few bites of her sandwich. Still, knowing she would need the energy later, she forced the food down.

  She drained the last of her Coke and tossed the remains of her meal into the dustbin. Then she wiped her hands with a paper napkin and walked over to the Internet café, where a sternly worded notice on the inter-leading glass door informed her that no food or drink was welcome inside.

  The machines were occupied by a number of teenage boys, each immersed in their own online world. The air was thick with testosterone. Jade paid the goateed man at the desk for half an hour’s Internet usage and took a seat at the only available computer. Her neighbour was playing an online game that involved butchering a monster with an axe. Sheets of virtual blood flew through the air and Jade found herself turning away from the sight.

  Focusing her attention on the screen in front of her, she clicked on Google, hoping that in this limited time she’d be able to find answers there.

  Something was going on at the harbour. Jade was convinced of it. She and David had arrived there early that morning to ask questions, and the attempted hit had taken place on their way back.

  She remembered the way the uniformed guard had called her away from the screened-off area. What was behind it?

  An Internet search informed Jade that the Richards Bay harbour, today the country’s biggest and northernmost port, had got off to an inauspicious start when Commissioner Henry Cloete, surveying the estuary in 1843, declared that it had little or no potential as a future harbour.

  Despite this discouraging verdict, the harbour had been built in 1976 for the purpose of exporting coal, and had since expanded to deal with other bulk cargo, mainly exports. Twenty-one berths were currently in service, and an additional coal berth was under construction. Jade couldn’t find any information on the tanker berth that the gate guard had mentioned.

  She did, however, learn that the port was a popular stopping point for international cruise ships, because of its proximity to the local game parks and the St Lucia World Heritage Site.

  The article on the harbour linked to a news report on the environmental assessment that Craig had mentioned. According to its author, there was a strong possibility that dune mining in the park would go ahead. It was only the ongoing protests of the environmentalists that were keeping the bulldozers and drills at bay.

  ‘If it pays, it stays. That is our motto,’ the CEO of a company called Richards Mining had told the journalist. ‘It is untrue that the coastal environment north of the park is being adversely affected by our current mining operations. Expansion of our operations into the park itself will create 150 additional jobs, which are sorely needed by the local population and which ecotourism, despite its promises, has failed to deliver.’

  Smoke and mirrors, or the truth?

  Reading on, her heart skipped a beat as she found the writer had sourced a comment from none other than Craig Hitchens himself, local ecologist and a member of the conservation team that was now in the process of reassessing the park’s environment.

  ‘The Richards Mining operation has already exceeded the northernmost limits that were agreed on prior to the start of the dunes being strip mined. They are also re-mining previously mined dunes that were supposed to have been fully rehabilitated by now. While we believe that any mining that takes place in the park will have disastrous consequences for the ecosystem surrounding the dunes, and we will oppose all such activities, we also believe that Richards Mining has acted in breach of contract and should have their existing licence revoked.’

  Below the quote, which ended the article, were head shots of the two men, taken separately but p
ictured side by side, as if they were having their argument in person.

  Looking down at the bottom right-hand corner of the computer screen, Jade checked the time. It was still a little early, but she could try.

  Mustering some courage, she called the Richards Bay General Hospital and asked to be put through to ICU.

  ‘I’m phoning to find out about David Patel,’ she said, having introduced herself as his wife.

  ‘We don’t have a Patel in this ward.’ The nurse who answered sounded confused and, for a dreadful moment, Jade thought David hadn’t made it as far as the hospital; that he had died in the ambulance. Then the woman said, ‘Hold on.’ Jade could hear her speaking to somebody else in muffled tones, as if she’d covered the phone’s mouthpiece with her hand.

  Then she came back on the line.

  ‘I’m sorry. We do have a Mr Patel who was admitted earlier this evening, but he’s still in theatre. I don’t know when he’ll be out.’

  Jade felt a huge, crushing relief. Premature, she knew, but at least David was still alive, and safely out of harm’s way.

  She quit the Internet browser and stood up, car keys in hand. Engrossed in their online world, the other occupants of the café didn’t give her a second glance. For a disconcerting moment, she wondered whether they would show any surprise if the people following her burst into the shop and gunned her down at the door.

  She walked back into the fast-food outlet. Aware that someone had followed her out, she turned to look, only to see a spotty youth whose attention was firmly fixed on a dark-haired teenage girl on a bar stool near the counter. His testosterone-fuelled swagger made Jade think yet again of the zebra stallion.

  She bought two plastic half-litre bottles of water and, declining the offer of a carrier bag, strolled as calmly as she could out into the car park.

  Elsabe’s car was a familiar brand. Jade had driven a Corsa many times before. In her experience, the older models tended to overheat easily. One of the hired cars she’d had a few months ago had developed a water leak, forcing Jade to pull over every few kilometres to top up the radiator. It had been a fiddly experience, and she still had the scar from where her forearm had brushed against the scaldingly hot engine block.

  Better to take some water along just in case, and to check the radiator level before she set off. She was about to attempt some evasive driving, and an overheating engine would present a deadly risk.

  33

  As soon as the target left the Internet café, Kobus got going again.

  The Mazda might be old, but it didn’t lack power. Recently overhauled, the original engine had been replaced by a three-litre monster from a newer model.

  The result was a car that looked like an old skedonk, but could keep up with just about any vehicle on the road. The perfect vehicle for a tail.

  ‘She took her time in there,’ Kobus observed, gently rubbing his fingers over the blood-stained bandage on his arm. It hurt like hell, but, thanks to the cocktail of medication that Bradley had given him, it was as if he was a watcher, rather than a participant, in the pain. Weird, but he wasn’t complaining.

  Johan shrugged. ‘She was having supper.’

  Kobus laughed. ‘Meat is meat and a girl must eat. Think she’s seen us?’

  ‘No.’ Johan spoke the word slowly, thoughtfully. ‘Not yet. But I think she will see us. Or at any rate, she’ll expect somebody to be following.’

  Kobus nodded. ‘My guess is she’ll make a run for it. She’ll try and lose us when she’s out of town.’

  ‘She looked under the bonnet before she got going. Did you notice that?’

  ‘I did. Wonder if she’s been having engine problems.’

  Up ahead, the brake lights of the Corsa lit up and Johan slowed his own vehicle, keeping as wide a distance between them as he dared.

  ‘So we get her when she’s on the main road?’

  ‘Yes. If she takes the main road back to the resort, we’ll wait till it’s quiet. Just her and us. Then force her off it. The harder she crashes, the better. That might do it. If she’s still alive afterwards, we’ll go in and finish the job.’

  ‘Right.’ Johan stared ahead, into the thickening mist. ‘And if she goes another way?’

  ‘Then we make another plan.’ Kobus tapped a dirty-nailed finger against the holster of his gun.

  They knew the girl didn’t have a gun. It had been taken from her at the roadblock, thanks to the swift thinking of the Metro Police sergeant who’d also supplied them with the uniform. She wasn’t carrying, she didn’t have another weapon stashed in her car. All the dice were loaded in their favour.

  ‘Orange light ahead,’ Kobus warned. ‘Slow the hell down, man.’

  ‘Sorry, but I have to jump this one. Otherwise we won’t be able to see if she takes the highway turn-off or the main road.’

  The Mazda surged forward. Hooters blared as they roared through the light a couple of seconds after it had turned red.

  ‘Look. She’s spotted us.’

  The girl was turning on the main road, accelerating back towards the resort, and at a frantic pace. Driving too fast, braking hard when a light turned red and pulling away like a drag-racer when it turned green again. It made her easy to follow. They could have tailed her by the whine of her engine alone.

  Kobus could feel himself grinning as they pursued her towards the main road. The girl was panicking and the girl was running.

  Now it was just a case of playing the waiting game, letting the right moment present itself—which it would do soon, because the roads out that way were quiet and traffic wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.

  Then he saw the flash of her emergency lights.

  Johan slowed immediately, hitting the brakes hard and pulling over onto the verge. The Mazda juddered and bounced on the uneven ground. The two cars following them swished past. In the distance, Kobus saw a few sets of headlights approaching.

  ‘Kill your lights,’ Kobus ordered, and Johan complied. He didn’t want her to see them waiting.

  ‘You think we should do it now?’ Johan asked. He was whispering now, as if she might be able to hear them, even though they had stopped well back.

  ‘Not right now. Too many people around. We need to wait. If she’s got engine trouble, she’ll be calling the AA, won’t she? They’ll take at least twenty, twenty-five minutes to get here. Gives us plenty of time.’

  ‘She’s opened the bonnet again.’

  Luckily for them, the girl had stopped right under a street lamp. If Kobus squinted, he could see her fiddling with something. He wondered whether they should try and take her now.

  But then Johan spoke again.

  ‘She’s closed it. She’s getting back inside.’

  A second later, the emergency lights were turned off. The brake lights flashed red, then disappeared. The Corsa was pulling away.

  Johan turned his own lights back on and followed. As the Mazda passed the spot where she’d stopped, Kobus glanced down and saw, discarded on the verge, the distinctive blue-labelled shape of an empty plastic water bottle.

  Now he was grinning again.

  ‘Looks like she’s been overheating. Shame.’

  ‘That could make things easy for us,’ Johan agreed.

  A few minutes passed, Johan keeping his distance, staying patiently back as they left the last of suburbia behind.

  And then they were out of town, with only the ocean and the forest to keep them company. She was in the danger zone now. In the killing zone. And they had an empty highway up ahead. Not even the glow of oncoming headlights in the distance.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ Kobus said.

  He’d never killed a white woman before. Only black ones, a few of them, up north in the old days.

  Kobus wondered if it would feel any different.

  Johan flattened his foot on the accelerator and Kobus watched the red taillights ahead of him get bigger and sharper as they drew ever closer to the fleeing Corsa.

  Suddenly, Kobus
realised she was going more slowly than he’d expected. She’d dropped her speed right down and, when he saw the reason for it, he couldn’t help but laugh.

  Swathes of steam were erupting from the Corsa’s bonnet. He even thought he could hear the loud hissing as the overheated engine boiled away all the water it had left in its cooling system. The vehicle was crippled. This was a gift—the best bit of luck they could have possibly hoped for.

  And she wasn’t stopping. She was pressing on, which meant that even if she was lucky, she only had a couple more minutes before the last of the water was gone and the engine reached an unsustainable temperature. Then it would seize. The pistons would fry, jamming themselves together, welded by heat into an immovable mass.

  When that car stopped, it would be stopped for good.

  A thought occurred to Kobus.

  Could she have called for help earlier? He hadn’t seen her use a phone when she’d pulled over, but perhaps she had made the call before that. Was she hoping she could keep going until backup arrived?

  They would have to make it quick, he decided.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Johan asked.

  And then Kobus saw it.

  The moment he’d been waiting for. The sudden, wobbly deceleration. She tried to move her crippled car over to the side of the road, but barely managed to get halfway before it finally juddered to a halt.

  Once again, the emergency lights began to flash.

  Johan hit the brakes as another car came past them, headlights on full beam. Kobus had no need to worry about whether this was help arriving, because the driver was clearly no Samaritan. Without so much as touching the brakes, he—or she—swerved into the oncoming lane to avoid hitting the disabled vehicle and disappeared into the distance.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’

  He would have liked to stop beside her car, to open his passenger window and pump her full of bullets without worrying about collecting up the casings afterwards. But they weren’t going to play it that way. Bradley had said that one shooting on the main road out of town could be regarded as a freak incident, but two would be more closely investigated—and by police who weren’t on their payroll.