Let the Dead Lie (37 page)

Clusters
of lights burned on the ridge. The black Dodge was parked in the circle of
aloes next to the Ford and the Plymouth. Emmanuel and Shabalala slowed and
stayed flush against the wall of the main building. Child-birthing cries and
grunts came from within the clinic. At least Natalya was still alive.

'We
have to get a visual of the buildings,' Emmanuel said. 'Behind the Dodge and
then to the aloes.'

On
the count of three, Emmanuel and Shabalala scrambled to the car and then to the
line of bright succulents. The grass verge in front of the buildings was empty.
Trees swayed in the breeze and a metal clicking came from the clinic. A short
man in a dark suit stood at the door and tried to turn the handle.

'Where
is he?' The question was screamed into the night and a chair crashed through
the window of Zweigman's stone house. Wood splintered into the air and the
tradesman appeared on the porch. 'Spread out!' he yelled. 'Search every corner
of this place. Now. We have to find Petrov!'

A
white man tumbled out of the Zweigmans' front door, awkward in a dark suit
normally reserved for court appearances when instant respectability helped
sentence reduction. 'I already looked. Both houses are empty,' he said. 'Maybe
there's someone in the other building.'

'First
building,' the tradesman shouted across the vegetable patch. 'Report.'

'It's
locked,' the short man on the clinic porch yelled back. 'There's someone
inside. Sounds like they're sick.'

'Check
the houses again and this time go around the back, too.' The tradesman closed
his jacket against the chill. 'I'm going to get into that locked building.'

The
men split to either side of the vegetable garden and Emmanuel and Shabalala
fell back into the thick brush that grew almost to the back boundary of the
clinic. The old fig tree creaked in the wind.

'They
can't find Nicolai,' Emmanuel whispered. 'He must have got out.'

'I
will go ahead and see if the man is hidden in the bush somewhere,' Shabalala
said. 'You must keep still, Sergeant. Listen for the wood dove. When you hear
it, come towards the sound.'

'Okay.'

The
part-Shangaan constable was an experienced tracker and a hunter. If anyone
could find a group of people in the dark, he could. He melted into the night.

Emmanuel
rested for a moment and listened. He heard Natalya in labour and Zweigman's
gentle voice crooning exhortations. Then another voice joined in.

'Close,
my girl.' It was Lizzie, Shabalala's wife. 'Very close now.'

She
was in the clinic with Zweigman and directly in the tradesman's path.

A
wood dove called and Emmanuel inched forwards, every snapped twig and brush of
thorns louder than a shotgun to his ears. Another distinct coo and he made out
the murky outline of a group huddled together behind the storeroom. He crawled
close to Shabalala.

Nicolai
rested against the trunk of a marula tree. He was barefoot and shivered with
cold despite the crocheted blanket draped over his flannel pyjamas. Squatting
either side of him, like avenging angels, were Lana and Lilliana. They'd armed
themselves in the kitchen: Lana held a bread-knife and Lilliana a rolling pin.

'My
child,' Nicolai whispered. 'Has my child come?'

'Almost.'
Emmanuel gave the crocheted blanket to Lana then unbuttoned the coat taken
earlier from the Russians' suitcase and swung it across Nicolai's shoulders.

Shabalala
unhooked the long wool scarf from around his own neck and gave it to Lilliana,
who wore bed slippers and a quilted dressing-gown fastened by a sash.

'Lizzie?'
the constable asked the assembled group when it was clear that his wife was not
hiding in the bush.

'She's
in the clinic with the doctor. The pale man from the car is headed there,'
Emmanuel said.

Shabalala
crept forwards but stopped when the short man from the
stoep
appeared in the space between the storehouse and the clinic. He hesitated at
the building's edge, too nervous to advance.

'Hello
... anyone there?' The question was called out in a quavering schoolboy's
voice.

'Here,'
Lana called back softly. Emmanuel turned to stop her but she was already up and
moving to the shed. 'I'm hurt. Help me.'

'Wait,
Sergeant,' Shabalala whispered. 'She is bringing him to us.'

'Please,
help me,' Lana called again and the man moved in her direction, still wary but
compelled by the primal need to help a wounded female. He stepped out of the
light from the clinic window and into the darkness. Shabalala waited till he
reached the edge of the brush then grabbed him around the waist and pulled down
hard. The man slammed into the ground and Emmanuel kept him there with a knee
to the chest.

'Quiet.'
Emmanuel pressed his hand to the man's mouth. 'Take off the sash for your gown,
Lilliana. We need it.'

The
German woman set the rolling pin down and untied the fabric sash. It took
almost a full minute; fast, given that her hands shook with the shell-shocked
jitters of a war veteran. Which, Emmanuel realised, was exactly what she was.
Despite never having worn a uniform, Lilliana Zweigman, like him, had seen too
much of the war.

Emmanuel
tore the fabric in half and gagged the man, then tied him to a tree trunk with
the second half. He turned on the flashlight. Nicolai was sweating heavily in
the frigid air.

'He
needs medicine,' Shabalala said.

'The
... medicine ...' Lilliana stuttered,'... in our house. The medicine.'

'The
other man is still in there,' Emmanuel said. 'We have to get him out of the way
and then concentrate on getting the tradesman. The locked door will keep the
others safe for a while.'

'I'll
handle the man at the house,' Lana said with chilling confidence and set off
along the back perimeter of the clinic buildings like a cat stalking her prey.

Shabalala
whistled
low. 'Ah ...
a man must have the heart of a lion to stop that one.'

A
gunshot roused the birds roosting in the trees. There was a brief twitter of
discontent before quiet was restored.

'Stay
here with Nicolai,' Emmanuel said to Lilliana. 'Don't come out until I say it's
safe. If anyone comes back here, hide. Understand?'

The
German woman nodded and Emmanuel ran with Shabalala to the corner of the
storeroom overlooking the grass verge. The tradesman stood on the clinic
stoep.
White splinters showed out of a new bullet hole in the wooden door.

'Come
out,' the tradesman said. 'Or I'll keep shooting. It's a small building. I'll
hit something eventually.'

He
shot the door again and the lock shuddered under the impact. Natalya's
child-birthing cry turned into a yelp of fear.

'Double
around to the drive,' Emmanuel said to Shabalala, who was crouched next to him.
'Set up on the other end of the porch. We'll press the tradesman from both
sides.'

Shabalala
slipped into the bush and Emmanuel lifted his head higher to get a better view
of the stone building. Lantern light spilled out from the front windows, bright
enough to see by.

The
clinic door opened and Zweigman stepped onto the
stoep.
The shattered wood panel closed behind him. A lock turned. The German doctor
raised his hands in the air. Emmanuel kept below the level of the porch and
inched closer.

'Move,'
the tradesman said to Zweigman. 'I want the Russian colonel.'

'He
is not here. Only his wife is inside.'

'Hand
her over.' The tradesman's voice was hard. 'I want her out here, now.'

'You
cannot have her,' Zweigman said. 'She is in labour and cannot be moved.'

'I'll
be the judge of that.'

'No,'
Zweigman said. 'I will be the judge of that. This is my clinic and she is my
patient.'

Emmanuel
peered over the veranda edge. The tradesman had the gun barrel pressed to
Zweigman's forehead but the doctor stood still.

'Get
out of the way or I will kill you.'

'So
be it,' Zweigman said. 'But I will not move.'

Yesterday
afternoon, in the rope storehouse, the tradesman had said the 'boss' didn't want
any more civilian casualties. The stubborn old Jew was about to make himself
the exception to the rule.

'Fucking
kike ...'
The tradesman grabbed Zweigman by the lapels and lifted him into the air.

Emmanuel
surged up the steps, taking them two at a time, and knocked the tradesman
sideways. Their bodies slammed into the clinic wall and the gun clattered to
the
stoep.
Emmanuel pinned the pale man against the stone wall. They grappled.

'Get
the gun!' Emmanuel shouted to Zweigman. 'Get the gun.'

Zweigman
retrieved the gun and lifted it to hip height. Thank god. Emmanuel did not know
how much longer he could keep the tradesman pinned. The German threw the
revolver off the
stoep
and into the garden.

'Christ
above,' Emmanuel muttered. Fear of guns was fine in theory but Zweigman's
phobia had lost them the advantage. He tightened his hold on the tradesman's
arms but felt no slackness in the muscle, no sign of weakening. The fight would
last a while longer. Where the hell was Shabalala?

'Doctor.'
The lock to the clinic door clicked open and Lizzie peered out. 'Doctor, hurry.
It is time.'

Zweigman
hesitated, torn between two crises.

'The
baby is almost here,' Lizzie said and the German disappeared into the stone
building. The shattered door closed and the lock clicked.

'Back
down,' the tradesman said when he failed to break Emmanuel's hold. 'I work for
Major van Niekerk. He sent me here.'

'I
don't believe you.'

'You're
an idiot, Cooper.' The tradesman's breath smelled of cool mints. 'This clinic
is in the boondocks. How do you think I found it at night? I was given detailed
instructions by the major himself. He wanted the Russians extracted with no
civilian casualties.'

'He
could have done that when the Russians were under his roof in Durban,' Emmanuel
said, but a poisonous seed had been planted. Van Niekerk was the only one who
knew for sure where he and the Russian couple were hidden. Lana had even called
to confirm their final destination.

'The
Berea house was too public. Van Niekerk wanted to keep his name out of this. He
gave you and the Russians up to my boss in exchange for a promotion.'

Emmanuel's
grip slackened. He'd seen the major talking to the
soutpiel
colonel on Point Road. Were they arranging the deal then? The tradesman sensed
the doubt in Emmanuel. He threw his head forward and delivered a full-force
headbutt, a Liverpool kiss that knocked Emmanuel off balance. He staggered
back.

'You
just don't know when to stay down, Cooper.'

The
tradesman moved to deliver a king hit but his fist was caught by Shabalala's
giant hand and crushed. The Zulu constable forced the pale white man face down
onto the
stoep.
After a few moments of groaning and flailing, the tradesman collapsed
exhausted.

'You
are hurt, Sergeant?' Shabalala asked.

'Just
my pride,' Emmanuel said and patted the tradesman down for weapons. He was
clean.

'Where's
the other gun?' he asked.

The
tradesman laughed and Emmanuel checked the main house. A gun could be trained
on Lana right now. He quickly walked to the stairs.

'Keep
that one down,' he said to Shabalala. 'I'll check on Lana at the Zweigmans'
house.'

'You're
in big trouble,
kaffir,'
the tradesman said. 'Hope you
like prison food.'

Shabalala
settled his weight onto the tradesman's back and smiled. 'This one will not
move,' he said.

The
rolling silhouettes of mountains were now visible in the breaking dawn. Night
lifted and early birds began their chorus. The murmur of the river came from
deep in the valley. Nicolai rounded the corner of the
stoep,
moving
slowly. A tall man stood at his shoulder. A jab to the back pushed Nicolai
forward. The third gun was accounted for.

'Colonel
Edward Soames-Fitzpatrick,' Emmanuel said and enjoyed the surprised look on the
tall man's face. 'The commander in chief.'

'Detective
Sergeant Cooper.' The colonel squared his shoulders. 'Move aside.'

'On
whose authority?'

'The
South African police.'