The Prey (54 page)

‘Yes. But what I can’t believe is this story about Sindisiwe Radebe. And I quote: “
Colonel Radebe is to be awarded the South African Police Service’s highest decoration for valour, posthumously, for her part in the rescue of Barberton teenager Jessica McMurtrie last week, after being shot by a wanted man known to the police after negotiating with him for the girl’s release
.”’

‘What’s that?’ Jessica asked. She carried a glass of orange juice in her hand and sat down next to Cameron.

‘Nothing.’

‘You can’t shield me from everything, Dad. I was there, remember. Anyway, I heard what you said about the policewoman. She’s the one who let Wellington out of jail, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we’re better off without her,’ Jessica said.

‘Jess, you can’t talk that way. But one thing’s for sure, I’m not letting you out of my sight any time soon.’

‘Cool. The Blue Train’s better than school any day.’

Jessica wandered off to inspect the array of croissants and other pastries on the buffet table.

‘I spoke to Chris Loubser’s father yesterday,’ Cameron said. ‘The family’s engaged a lawyer and they’re going to allege we failed in our duty of care, sending Chris down the mine when we knew there were armed men down there.’

‘The first time or the second time?’ Kylie asked.

‘Both, I suppose. I know he tried to ruin the company, but I liked him.’

Kylie nodded. ‘I would have liked him more if he’d fought the Lion Plains mine in public, maybe used his credentials as a miner to state his case, rather than going behind our backs. Jan can be tough, that’s for sure, the way he sent him back down.’

‘He did have a police escort, not that it did him or them much good.’

‘Here’s the Chinese delegation,’ Kylie said.

Cameron looked around and saw the troop of suited businessmen, eight of them, enter the lounge. Jan was with them, laughing at something one of the men had said via an interpreter, the only woman in the group. Cameron grimaced to Kylie, who scolded him with her eyes. Jess moved back to them and the three of them stood and braced themselves for the introductions. The names of the men from China Dynamic Mining rolled over him. Their female interpreter,
who was introduced as Miss Li, asked if Jessica worked for Global Resources as well.

‘Jessica is Cameron’s daughter,’ Jan interjected. ‘Cameron is paying for her to come on this trip out of his own pocket.’

‘I meant no disrespect,’ Miss Li said.

‘None taken,’ Cameron said as Jan escorted the posse to the other side of the lounge where the four male and one female member of the Global Resources board, all Australians, were seated.

‘You should be over there with them,’ Cameron said to Kylie.

She sat back down. ‘To be honest, I’d rather dip my nose in a bowl of hot cockie kak.’

‘That doesn’t sound nice.’

Jessica laughed.

‘It’s an old Australianism for “no”,’ Kylie said. ‘I hate what’s going on. I know our share price is still falling, but I can’t stand the thought of us selling out to China Dynamite.’

Cameron nodded. China Dynamic’s nickname had come through ongoing criticism of its environmental and workplace safety record. It was ironic, Cameron thought, that Global Resources had been sent into a spiral because of its inability to proceed with the Lion Plains project because of an endangered species and perceived weaknesses in its mine safety, and here it was about to be bought out by a company that couldn’t care less about such things.

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Jessica said, setting down her juice, ‘I’m not complaining about going on a luxury train, but if Global Resources is in such financial trouble, why is Uncle Jan spending so much money taking you all to Cape Town this way? Why not just fly there for the meeting, or have it in Joburg or Barberton?’

‘It’s all about perceptions,’ Kylie said, unable to hide her bitterness. ‘Jan knows the Chinese are fully aware of how tough things are for us at the moment, but he wants to give the impression that the drop in the share price is just a temporary glitch. I’ve seen our South African figures. The truth is we can’t afford a junket like this – at
least not while there are miners laid off until we can get Eureka operational again. It’s all about saving face and posturing.’

Cameron looked across the lounge filled with well-heeled travellers – foreigners in safari wear and locals dripping in designer labels and bling. Jan was blustering away for the sake of the Chinese, who would probably pick up a mining conglomerate for a song. The Australian government’s foreign investment review board had given a merger – they didn’t want to call it a sale – the go-ahead to protect Australian jobs and to keep Global Resources’ Australian operations as a locally-run independent business unit. That meant the South African and Zambian mines would become Chinese.

Cameron’s phone beeped. He took it out of the inside pocket of his blue blazer and checked the screen.

‘Is it from Luis?’ Kylie asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, it’s Coetzee. The
zama zamas
are blasting again.’

‘Geez,’ she said. ‘We can’t catch a break, can we?’

Cameron saw the change in Jessica’s face. She’d gone from being the self-conscious teenager trying to act mature beyond her years, excited at the prospect of the five-star train trip, to a frightened little girl again. He saw her lip tremble and put his hand on hers to reassure her. ‘Don’t worry. We’re a long way from Barberton now. Funnily enough, killing Colonel Radebe, his partner in crime, has finally put Wellington on the most wanted list. Luis is certain he’s in Mozambique. The criminal miners in Eureka are probably just locals. The company will sort them out once this financial business is done. The Chinese won’t take any prisoners if they do end up buying us, that’s for sure.’

‘Where is Luis?’ Kylie said testily. ‘He should be here by now. He was so insistent that he meet Jan and the board while they were all together, and now he hasn’t shown. We’re boarding soon.’

On cue, the train manager turned on his microphone and welcomed them all to the Blue Train and explained the boarding procedures.

*

Luis was supposed to be in Pretoria, waiting to join the Blue Train, ostensibly as another well-off paying guest, but instead he was sitting in a darkened room in the Cardoso Hotel in Maputo holding the pistol Alfredo had given him.

Wellington’s clothes and possessions were littered around the room. It was odd, Luis thought, looking at the dirty socks on the floor, a shirt hanging over the back of the chair at the writing desk, toiletries in the bathroom through the open door, how ordinary everything looked. There was nothing that screamed pathological killer or criminal. The labels on the clothes were reputable, not flashy, and his luggage was likewise functional.

Luis had been watching the hotel since midnight and it was now seven-thirty in the morning. The Lion was at breakfast. The smell of the prostitute’s perfume, and their sex on the rumpled bed linen, hung in the air. Wellington had sent the girl away half an hour earlier and Luis had let himself into the room using one of the hotel’s skeleton key cards. The door opened.

Wellington stood in the doorway, perhaps registering that the curtains had been closed. He glanced at one of the pillows on the bed.

Luis raised his own pistol, and Wellington’s, which he held in his left hand. ‘It was easy to find under the pillow; not very original. Sit down.’

Wellington smiled. ‘Professor. Good to see you, my old friend. I was worried for you. I heard what happened to your wife and wondered if you were safe.’

Luis gritted his teeth. ‘Sit. Down.’

Wellington held up both hands, pale palms out. ‘Chill, my brother.’

‘I am not your brother.’

Wellington moved the chair from the desk and turned it around.

‘Close the door.’

Wellington kicked it shut, not taking his eyes off Luis, then sat down, facing him. ‘You have come to kill me?’

Luis shrugged. ‘I would like to, but no, I am here to talk business.’

Wellington raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

‘You gave orders to take me alive when your men killed my wife.’

‘Yes, but her death was a mistake. She was not meant to die. If anything, I wanted her alive so that I could use the threat of harming her to get you to come back to work for me. I know how much the woman meant to you.’

Luis exhaled through his nose. ‘I don’t admire your honesty, but I respect your cunning.’

‘I am sorry for your wife, believe me.’

Luis didn’t, but if he stopped to think about Miriam now he would become too emotional. This was about business. ‘You tried to kill McMurtrie and Hamilton. Why?’

Wellington shrugged.

‘Answer my question. Was it revenge?’

Wellington swatted away the question with a wave of his hand. ‘Orders. Plus they could identify me from the gunfight when they rescued Loubser.’

‘And the girl – why did you kidnap her instead of killing her?’

‘Mohammed didn’t want her killed, said we could sell her instead to some rich sheikh. It wasn’t my first preference. Why are you here, Luis?’

‘I have a son to raise, and no prospects of a job here in Mozambique. I need money.’

‘I don’t carry much cash with me, but you are welcome to what I have in my wallet.’

‘Keep your hands where I can see them. No, I don’t want your petty cash; I want to go back to work, but not as one of your underground slaves.’

‘You want a cut of the business?’

Luis nodded. ‘You can’t go back to South Africa just now. They want you for the kidnapping of the McMurtrie girl and the killing of the police colonel. The Hawks will connect the dots and realise you killed the dominee as well. I can get across the border and into Eureka and bring production back up to where it was, or higher.’

Wellington shrugged. ‘So what? Why should I cut you in on anything?’

‘Because you are no use to Mohammed if you cannot produce gold. You are hiding here with your whores, but your money will not last forever. My plan is that I will go back and run the mine and you will stay here, in Mozambique, as the middleman. I know the mine and I can run it, better than you did.’

‘So what do you want from me, a signed contract?’

A meeting with Mohammed. A guarantee from you, and from Mohammed, that my son will not be harmed if I come back to you voluntarily, and that I will get a share of the profits, linked to increases in productivity in the mine. I believe I can boost production by twenty per cent, at least.’ Luis could see the Lion was doing the sums in his head.

Wellington shook his head. ‘I owe you nothing. You can come back to work for me for the same money. I’ll review your pay in six months and we can talk about a profit share then. I can find a metallurgist and engineer anywhere.’

‘Then I’ll go to the South African police.’

‘
Pah
. You’re a
zama zama
, and a foreigner, like me. You’ll never get citizenship and a job with a South African mining company, and if you could have found a position with a Mozambican company you wouldn’t be here now.’

‘What you say is true. So that leaves me no option.’ Luis raised the pistol in his right hand until it was pointed between Wellington’s eyes.

‘Wait, wait!’ The pitch of the Zimbabwean’s voice had risen an octave. ‘Don’t shoot. We can negotiate.’

‘Who is Mohammed? What is his full name? Where do I find him?’

Wellington shook his head again. ‘I cannot tell you that. I would be killed. Please, Luis, my friend, my
partner
, we can structure this deal without Mohammed being involved. What you want will come from my share. Mohammed need never know and I will give you this in exchange for my life.’

‘No. With you gone, Mohammed will find me, in the mine, when he wants his next shipment of gold. You owned me for too long, Wellington. It is time for me to send you to hell.’

‘No! Please!’

He looked piteous, almost, Luis thought. He took up the pressure on the trigger.

‘I’ll tell you who Mohammed is. Just put the gun down, please, my brother.’

*

Capitao
Alfredo Simango and three detectives waited in the hallway of the hotel, outside Wellington’s room. Alfredo checked his watch. If he didn’t get the signal from his cousin in the next five minutes, he would go in. They had been in there too long.

Luis should have been in South Africa, meeting with the mining people, but instead he had begged to be in on the operation to entrap Wellington. He was wearing a wiretap under his shirt. The South Africans had put pressure on the Mozambican police to find the killer, but Alfredo had played his cards close to his chest. He had Wellington’s cellphone number, courtesy of his cousin, and that was how they had tracked him to the hotel, by tracing the phone’s signal. Now it was he, Alfredo, who would catch the wanted Zimbabwean.

He was worried about Luis. He had been in there too long with Wellington and had not called them. He worried the Zimbabwean had got the drop on his cousin. Using a keycard to enter the room would give advance warning to Wellington – he would surely hear the buzz of the lock being freed. Alfredo nodded to the detective next to him, who had a sledgehammer for just such an eventuality. The other two men, like Alfredo, had Makarovs drawn and ready.

‘On three,’ Alfredo whispered in Portuguese. ‘One, two …’

The gunshot made them start and the man with the sledge-hammer swung his muscular arms.

Alfredo had his pistol raised, ready to fire, as he entered the room. ‘Police!’

‘Don’t shoot, cousin.’ Luis held out his two pistols, dangling from his fingers through the trigger guards. Wellington was sprawled backwards, a neat hole drilled between his eyes and blood rapidly pooling on the carpet.

‘What happened?’

Luis shrugged. ‘He went for his gun; it was hidden under the pillow on his bed.’

‘That gun you have in your left hand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Give it to me.’ Alfredo took the pistol from Luis, pulled out the tail of his shirt and wiped the weapon clean of prints. ‘Wait outside,’ he said to the other men. When the trio had moved to the corridor Alfredo took Wellington’s pistol, wrapped it in the dead man’s right hand, aimed to the right of where Luis still sat, and fired. Luis flinched.