Pale Horses (32 page)

‘What were those?’

‘Our brief was twofold. To prevent this contamination from spreading any further and to kill the story at all costs.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘We buried the bodies immediately; humans and livestock alike. We didn’t want the disease to spread, or the food chain to become contaminated, as we had no idea how persistent the effects were.’

‘How did you do that?’

‘Our CEO Michael Muller sourced a couple of men, ex-army, who specialised in, well, um, sorting out difficult situations. We supplied them with certain equipment, including a bulldozer, as well as bio-hazard suits, just in case the disease could be spread through other methods. They went to the site and disposed of the evidence, so to speak.’

‘The bodies were buried? All of them?’

‘Yes, about twenty metres to the north of the barn. Very deep, but in a sealed grave, so that there could be no risk of contaminating the water table. There was nobody left alive by that stage.’

Jade heard Zelda make a small noise. Regret, sympathy – she didn’t know.

‘Then they tore down the housing and removed the rubble, dismantled
the mill, destroyed the remaining bags of seed and salted the fields so that nothing could grow.’

‘Why did they do that?’ Zelda asked softly.

‘Global 10-422
AM
is not a sterile hybrid. The maize produces seeds that are not only fertile and viable, but whose daughter plants grow exceptionally true to type. Of course, there is a reduction in yield when seeds are replanted, as there is with all hybrids, but we didn’t want to risk a second crop germinating from even one stray seed. And, of course, we canned all further research on that hybrid.’

‘So you didn’t tell Sonet the truth?’

‘We did not enter into any communication with her. Mr Engelbrecht from Williams Management attended the meeting and explained this was to go no further. He said that nobody at the charity should be told.’

Jade paused the recording for a moment. So Engelbrecht had known what was going on at the farm, although Sonet had not. That was interesting. Certainly, it explained how the hired gunmen had followed her car from the farm to the hospital so soon after her interview with him. They must have been briefed to be on the lookout for her and told that, if she were to drive to the hospital, it meant she had guessed too much and should be disposed of.

Jade restarted the recording and Zelda’s voice once again filled the car.

‘But surely … and this is what I’m battling to understand … those residents must have been in contact with friends and families elsewhere. What did you think would happen long term if they suddenly disappeared?’

There was a very long silence. In fact, Jade turned the recorder off and on again to make sure it was still running properly.

‘Again, this was not a decision I would have made, and it was eventually decided on at the end of a very long meeting. Overnight, in fact. I was beyond exhausted. Eventually I agreed to it just to get out of that damned boardroom.’

‘So what was the decision?’

‘The decision was to say nothing.’

‘To do
what
?’

‘I know, I know. The executives agreed on the fact that Siyabonga had been a very small and isolated community, and also that these residents
had been among the country’s poorest people and were, as such, not well connected to anybody in a position of power.’

‘I don’t believe that. How arrogant. How brutally cold-hearted …’

‘I know. Trust me, I thought so too, but the decision-makers here were directors and board members, many of them from overseas. They made the judgement call that there would never be sufficiently high numbers of questions asked to form a critical mass. They decided that even if friends and family went to the authorities their enquiries would end up falling on stony ground, to use an agricultural metaphor.’

‘And if they had been wrong? What if a civil servant had investigated?’

‘We were told funds would be made available that would … satisfy such an individual that there was no point in pursuing the matter.’

The Dictaphone hissed and Zelda’s sharp, intelligent voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘So Global Seeds had no idea that Ntombi Khumalo and her son had survived?’

‘No. We assumed that the woman who had contacted us had died with the rest of her community. Right up until she got hold of Sonet and gave her the seeds. At which stage Sonet contacted you about doing the story, I presume.’

‘Ntombi Khumalo didn’t contact Sonet herself. Her employer did – she went off to Johannesburg and found work after this happened. He’s been in touch with us, and has been very helpful in getting facts and information for the story. I’ve never met Ntombi. I’d love to meet her one day. Hopefully I will, when I see her employer again.’

‘Well just be careful of this helpful employer, OK? At this stage, I don’t trust anybody.’

‘I will.’ Zelda sounded taken aback, as if she hadn’t considered this possibility.

Jade nodded slowly. She wondered why Ntombi Khumalo had remained silent on this matter. As the only survivor of the tragedy that had befallen her community, the woman must surely have wanted to tell her story.

Now she knew that Mrs Khumalo had fled to Johannesburg, taking a sample of the seeds with her. After hearing her story, her employer had got in touch with Sonet and Zelda, who then must have sent the seeds to Koenraad Meintjies’s farmhouse for cultivation in the greenhouse.

What Jade still did not know was why the evidence pointed to the fact that Mrs Khumalo was now being forced to make a road trip with a brutal killer.

Waiting in the car for David to finish with the local police, Jade’s mind was filled with the implications of the story that Zelda had extracted from Danie Smit during the interview.

An experimental hybrid of corn that had proved to be a genetic aberration; one that thanks to its unique combination of virus
DNA
and fast-growing genes had caused malignant tumours to erupt in the digestive systems of its consumers.

‘I suppose that if you keep messing with nature without really knowing what the hell you’re doing then once every so often, just like the slot machines, you’re going to end up with the wrong set of numbers all in a row,’ she said aloud.

Instead of creating a new innovation in the biotechnology market, the researchers had unwittingly created a monster, magnifying the deadly properties of the fast-growing cells and viral
DNA
that had been spliced into the plant and manufacturing a lethal weapon.

A short while later, the frightened Smit had indeed turned up dead and, probably quite soon after that, Zelda had gone missing.

Jade understood why Koenraad Meintjies had cultivated the seeds. It had been done, surely, in order to provide incontrovertible proof to back up Zelda’s story.

But why had he been so badly tortured?

And why hadn’t he used his gun in self-defence? It had been there, waiting in the hallway. There was no way he could have been taken by surprise; not in those quiet surroundings. Nor had there been any sign of a struggle. So, perhaps he too had ended up trusting the wrong person.

The gunmen in Johannesburg had been on the hunt for Zelda Meintjies. They had tried, and failed, to find her. Perhaps that meant she had taken Smit’s warning to heart and was even now in hiding.

Had Koenraad’s torturer also been trying to track her down? Was he still?

Although Jade still had unanswered questions, she couldn’t wait to tell David what she had discovered on this device and then let him listen to the recording, watching his face as he felt the same excitement she had done as piece after missing piece slotted into the puzzle.

This had changed the profile of the case from a murder investigation to a crime of a much larger scale, one that might even cross into David’s jurisdiction of Organised Crime.

David had finished briefing the two policemen and was pacing up and down outside the front door, speaking furiously on the phone. Presumably he was updating the Jo’burg team with the latest developments. She watched as he ended the call.

And then, as he shook hands with the two officers and then started striding towards the car, Jade realised she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t reveal anything to David about the conversation on the Dictaphone she had discovered. At least, not yet.

After all, it was Zelda’s story, and the woman might well be still alive. If she was, she deserved the chance to break it herself.

As he drew level with the bonnet, she hesitated, torn by the implications of what both decisions would mean. She was tempted beyond logic to share with him the crucial information she had just discovered. Leaving it now would mean lying to David about its whereabouts forever, because she couldn’t come to him a day or a week later and tell him what she’d found at the farm. For now, though, the interview between Zelda Meintjies and Danie Smit would have to remain a secret.

She grabbed the recording instrument from the central console and stuffed it into her pocket as David pulled open the driver’s door.

They didn’t speak much on the journey back to the airport. Each was silent, immersed in their own thoughts. Whenever Jade’s thoughts drifted to the Dictaphone hidden in her pocket she felt a sense of impending doom, as if she’d singlehandedly sabotaged the investigation. Well, not even ‘as if’. By her actions, she had. The recording represented a critical piece of evidence, and without it, for a while at least, the investigation was likely to veer in the wrong direction.

At George airport, Jade’s suspicions were confirmed when she overhead David speaking on his cellphone as they were checking in.

‘The animals were poisoned, or something,’ he said. ‘Get a vet to travel with you when you go out there tomorrow. We had a look at one of them and saw signs of cancer.’ He waited, listened. ‘No, I don’t know. A dead end so far, with no bloody witnesses. No living ones, anyway. Yes, I’d say it might be related to the land claim somehow. Sabotage in some form. God knows where the residents of the Siyabonga community went. Hopefully, Van Schalkwyk, the parachutist’s ex-husband, can shed some light on the situation.’

He paced up and down just outside the cordoned-off area of the check-in zone while Jade waited for their boarding passes to be printed out. Once again, they had managed to arrive just minutes before the flight closed.

‘Yes, intimidated into leaving, perhaps,’ David said in a loud voice, causing a group of Japanese tourists, their trolleys piled high with luggage, to stare at him curiously. ‘If any of them come forward at some stage you may get more detail. For now, though, there’s a hitman on the loose. Somebody murdered that farmer, and that man will now be on the run.’

The tourists exchanged worried glances and the little group shuffled closer together.

‘Follow up on the Boere Krisis Kommando.’ He waited, listening. ‘Yes, I know we’d pegged them as a hate speech group, but it may be they’ve changed tactics. Or have aligned themselves with one of the more militant organisations.’

Jade took the boarding passes together with her and David’s ID documents, and as she shuffled them together and slid them carefully into her pocket, her cellphone beeped.

For just one moment she thought it was simply the airline sending confirmation of the flight bookings. But then she realised the confirmation would have been sent to David’s phone. With the boarding gates on the verge of closing, there was no time to waste.

She took it out and had a look.

It was from the same phone number that had sent her the message earlier begging her not to call or SMS back. The number that she now suspected belonged to Ntombi Khumalo.

This time the SMS was only two words long.

‘u there?’

‘Right, Jadey,’ David said. ‘Let’s move it.’

Over the loudspeaker came the final boarding call for their flight.

‘Just a sec,’ Jade said, frowning at the text message.

This time there was no request not to respond. Presumably, then, contacting the sender was OK.

Or had been?

She sent back a short reply: ‘Ntombi? Can I call u?’

‘Jadey! Come on. We have to get through security.’

In lieu of luggage, David carried only a plastic bag from Markham, the gents’ clothing store they’d stopped at on the way to the airport. He’d been rather furtive about it, but when they were returning the hired car, she had noticed that he’d taken the muddied, sweat-stained shirt he’d threatened to throw away, folded it up carefully, and put it into the carrier bag.

Preserving the memories, perhaps?

Now, impatiently grabbing his keys and phone and looking around to locate the boarding gate, David hadn’t noticed that Jade, following behind him, had put two items into her plastic tray and not one.

Her phone and the recorder.

She swiftly pocketed the recorder, but as she was about to do the same with the phone it beeped again.

She snatched it up.

‘Pls do not call.’

So messaging was all right; calling not. Why?

Either she was in a meeting and could only send and receive messages but not speak, which Jade thought unlikely, or …?

Or somebody might overhear. Or see that a call had been made. Jade was convinced someone was monitoring Ntombi Khumalo’s actions but that she’d managed to snatch some time on her own. If she was in a car with the man who had murdered Koenraad Meintjies, Jade could understand her caution.

‘Where ru? I want 2 help,’ Jade sent back. She stuffed her phone into her pocket as they reached the boarding gate and, a minute later, Jade
was crammed into a centre seat, David on one side and a large woman with a burgundy-coloured hairstyle and doused in heavy perfume on the other.

She took her phone out again, willing it to beep, for Ntombi to send a message back.

Over the loudspeaker came the tinny tones of the captain’s welcome and the flight safety briefing. Stewardesses sashayed up and down the aisles, checking that everything was in order before take-off. Jade snapped her seatbelt shut and slipped her phone under her leg and out of sight.