Gone missing?
What the fuck did they mean by ?gone missing??
Captain Tiger Mazibuko ate in the Golf. He had pulled off the road two hundred meters south of the Zambezi bridge and he had the tasteless hamburger on his lap and was drinking out of the Fanta orange can. He wished he could brush his teeth and close his eyes for an hour or two, but at least he was reasonably sure the dog had not passed there yet.
He had stopped at every filling station, Mahalapye, Palapye, Francistown, Mosetse, Nata, and Kasane, and no one had seen a motorbike. Every petrol attendant he had gently nudged awake or otherwise woken had shaken his head. Last week, yes, there had been a few. Two, three English but they were going down to Johannesburg. Tonight? No, nothing.
So he could wait, his furry mouth could wait for toothpaste, his red eyes for healing water, his sour body could wait for a hot, soapy shower.
When he had eaten, he unlocked the trunk, lifted the cover of the spare tire, loosened the butterfly nut, lifted the tire, and extracted the parts of his weapon.
It took two trips to transfer the parts of the R 4 to the front seat without obviously holding a firearm in his hands. There were people walking and cars passing continuously between the border post a kilometer or so north and the town of Kasane behind him. He assembled the assault rifle, keeping his movements below the steering wheel, away from curious eyes.
He would use it to stop the cunt. Because he had to come this way, he had to cross this bridge, even if he avoided the border post.
And once he had stopped him
39.
The battle raged in him as he stood in front of the hotel, booted and spurred, ready to ride. The urge to turn around, to go back, was terrifically powerful. If they harmed Miriam and Pakamile
He had tried to convince himself that she could have taken her child and fled; if the media knew about them, there would be continuous calls and visitors? and he knew Miriam, he knew what her reaction would be. He had phoned from his hotel room, first her house, where it rang without ceasing. Eventually he gave up and thought desperately whom he could call, who would know at eight in the morning. Van Heerden? he could not remember the number, had to call international Information, give the spelling and hold on for ages. When it came he had to write hurriedly on a piece of torn-off hotel stationery. He phoned but Van Heerden was not at home. In frustration, he threw the phone down, took his stuff, paid the account, and went and stood by the motorbike. Conflicting urges battled within him, he was on the point of going back, Lobatse, Mafikeng, Kimberley Cape Town. No, maybe Miriam had fled; it would take him two days, better finish one thing, what if
Eventually he left, and now he was on the road to Francistown, barely aware of the long straight road. Worry was one traveling companion, the other was the truth that he had uncovered through an African song under the Modder river bridge.
?I want to bring the boy to you,? said Vincent Radebe to her over the phone.
?Where is he??
?He?s waiting in the car.?
?Why me??
?I read your story in the paper.?
?But why do you want to bring him to me??
?Because it is not safe. They will find me.?
?Who??
?I?m in enough trouble already. I cannot tell you.?
?Do you know where his mother is??
?Yes.?
?Where?? He answered so quietly that she could not hear. ?What did you say??
?His mother is dead.?
?Oh, God.?
?I haven?t told him yet. I can?t.?
?Oh, my God.?
?He has no family. I would have taken him to family, but he says there is no one. And he is not safe with me; I know they will find me. Please help.?
No, she wanted to say, no, she couldn'?t do this, what would she do, how would she manage?
?Please, Miss Healy?
Say no, say no.
?The newspaper,? she said. ?Please take him to the office, I will meet you there.?
All the directors were there? NIA, Secret Service, Presidential Intelligence? heads of Defence and Police, and the minister, the attractive Tswana minister, stood in the center and her voice was sharp and cutting and her anger filled the room with shrill decibels because the president had called her to account, not phoned but called her in. Stood her on the red carpet and dressed her down. The president?s anger was always controlled, they said, but it had not been that morning. The minister said the president?s anger was terrible, because everything hung in the balance, Africa stood with a hand out for its African renaissance plan and the USA and the EU and the Commonwealth and the World Bank had to decide. As if all the misunderstandings and undermining with the whole
