young man who had tried to sell him Malawi Gold — marijuana. For the first time that day, Tom wasn’t displeased to see him.
‘Boss, would you like some…’
‘What I want, my friend,’ Tom ran his hand through his hair, slicking away the cool, fresh water, ‘is some information.’
‘Me, bwana, I know everything about Cape Maclear. You want it, Solomon can find it.’ He beamed with the friendliness of a salesman close to clinching a deal.
Tom walked back towards the camping ground and the boy fell into step beside him, striding out to meet Tom’s pace. ‘Who lives in the house with the big hedge?’
‘Ah, bwana, I am hungry.’
‘My money’s in my vehicle.’
‘Then shall we go, boss?’
Tom shook his head. When they reached the camping ground he told the youth to wait on the beach, and he went to the Land Rover and fetched his wallet. He opened it and peeled off some notes. Back at the water he palmed the tout ten dollars. ‘He is an Indian man.’
‘From Malawi?’ Tom asked.
The boy shook his head. ‘No, South Africa.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘This man, he likes his privacy, bwana. A friend of mine was… visiting that house one night, and the security guards caught him. They beat him very bad, bwana.’
By visiting, Tom assumed the boy’s comrade was trying to burgle the place.
‘I should not be talking about that place. Bad things have happened there.’
‘Such as?’
The boy shook his dreadlocks. Tom peeled off another green note.
‘The women in the village — my mother, also — tell us never to go near that man. He has been coming for many years and the women say to all the children you must never talk to that man or go in his car.’
‘Name?’ Tom asked again.
The boy glanced over his shoulder, nervously, as if the occupant of the house might be following them. ‘Khan,’ he whispered.
Tom nodded. He felt his mouth start to dry and his pulse quicken. ‘Is he there now?’
Solomon shook his head. ‘He is on his island, I think. I saw his boat some days ago.’
‘His island?’
‘Yes, he is a rich man, bwana. The island is far, about five kilometres, but I can organise a boat for you.’
Tom nodded. ‘Okay. For tonight.’
‘A speedboat, bwana, or a kayak for you?’
Tom rubbed his jaw. He didn’t want to telegraph his approach. ‘This is what I want, for this afternoon…’
Captain Henk Wessels poured himself a cup of coffee from the percolator pot in Sannie’s kitchen and picked up her cordless phone. He pressed the redial button and gulped the lukewarm brew while he waited for the phone to answer.
‘South African Airways, good day,’ the female voice said.
Wessels hung up the phone without speaking and slammed the cup down on the counter. He reached in his trouser pocket for his car keys.
‘Bloody woman. I should have known.’
Sannie parked her car at OR Tambo International Airport, grabbed her sports bag, locked the car and jogged across to the terminal. She took the lift to level two, cursing its slowness, and stepped out into the departures hall.
She scanned the check-in counters until she found an SAA desk with the flight to Lilongwe, Malawi illuminated on the sign board behind. She glanced at her watch. Less than half an hour to boarding — she had only just made it.
Shifting her weight from foot to foot like a boxer eager to land the first blow, she tried to breathe deeply as the rotund African businessman in front of her badgered the woman behind the desk for an upgrade. Her cell phone rang and she forgot her impatience.
‘Van Rensburg.’
‘Sannie, it’s Henk. Where the bloody hell are you?’
‘Umm…’
‘Bloody hell, woman, it doesn’t matter. We’ve found your kids!’
Sannie squealed with delight, causing the businessman and the check-in clerk to stare at her. She didn’t care. ‘Where? How, Henk? How are they? Please god, tell me they’re safe. If anyone’s touched them I’ll… Where are you… are you on your cell phone?’
‘Slow down, Sannie. Yes, I’m in the car on my cell. Two uniforms have the kids. There was a complaint of some excessive noise in a house in Boksburg. The officers went to visit and there was a shoot-out. There was a man guarding Christo and Ilana. He was killed, but your kids are fine, Sannie. The police with them say they appear to be unhurt.’
Sannie started to cry, cuffing the tears away. ‘Oh, Henk. I have to get to them.’
‘Okay, okay. Where are you? I’ve been to the gym and it’s clear you’re not there.’
She felt guilty and embarrassed about her impetuous actions, and thought about Tom. She had to get some word to him, but for now he was on his own. ‘I’m at the airport, Henk. International terminal.’
He was silent for a few seconds. ‘On any other day I’d throw the bloody book at you, Inspector. Stay right where you are and I’ll come to you. I’ll lead you to the house.’
‘Just give me the address, man. I’ll drive there myself.’
‘Sannie, I want to be there with you. You’ve been through a hell of a lot. Also, who knows… there might be accomplices on their way back to the house. I need to take charge of the scene and then we’ll move your kids out. I couldn’t let the uniforms take them away just yet. I want to catch these bastards, Sannie.’
‘Me too.’ She knew he was right, and not just about the operational aspects. She needed a friend to lean on now as well. ‘Hurry, Henk.’
She rushed outside and across the road, causing a BMW driver to slam on his brakes. Sannie ignored his insults and ran through the car park, clutching her bag. ‘Oh, no, man!’
The front tyre on the driver’s side was flat. How the hell did that happen? She felt like screaming. She unlocked the car and was lifting the carpet in the boot to get the jack out when her cell phone rang again. She swore, then answered it.
‘It’s Henk. I’m just pulling into the airport car park. Where are you?’
‘You’re here already?’
‘I was already on my way to Boksburg, and travelling fast,’ Henk said.
She gave him directions to the bay where she was parked and he pulled up thirty seconds later.
Henk pushed a button and his electric window slid down. ‘ Ag, just get in, Sannie.’ He leaned across and opened the passenger door of his Ford Falcon. ‘We can come back for it later.’
Sannie nodded. He was right and she couldn’t wait a minute more to see Christo and Ilana. ‘Okay. Just let me lock it.’ Her gym bag was on the rear seats, where she had just tossed it. She reached in and grabbed it. A car with a flat tyre was like an open cold box to a monkey when it came to thieves. She locked her vehicle with the remote, threw her bag in Henk’s car and jumped in. ‘Okay, man. Let’s go!’
The muscles in the fisherman’s back rippled as he propelled the dugout effortlessly across the lake’s surface. In contrast, Tom was sweating profusely, even though he was doing nothing — other than bailing with the cut-off, capped remains of a plastic Coca-Cola bottle.
The water glittered like a massive silver satin sheet littered with gold coins. Behind them, Lake Malawi was devouring the sun once more.
‘Crocodile Island,’ said the fisherman, lifting one hand from the paddle and pointing to the green speck ahead of them. Tom heard a fish eagle cry, another indicator they were nearing land.
Solomon had told Tom that the island was no more than a kilometre in diameter. It had been developed as a small, exclusive tourist resort and could cater for a dozen people. Khan had bought it as a going concern, but
