He drove out of town, back to the N2.
?Turn right. Towards Cape Town.?
Over a bridge.
the signboard read. Then he spotted the road sign.
?This one,? said Griessel.
He put the left indicator on. Gravel road. He saw the vehicle parked there, chunky in the lights of the Nissan. A Mitsubishi Pajero. Two men stood beside it. Each with a firearm, shading eyes from the headlights with their free hands. He stopped.
Only one man approached. Thobela wound his window down.
The man did not look at him, but at Griessel. ?Is this the killer??
?Yes.?
The man was clean-shaven, including his head. There was just a small tassel of hair below his lip. He looked at Thobela. ?You die tonight.?
Thobela looked back, into his eyes.
?You the father?? Shaven Head asked Griessel and he said: ?Yes.?
The man smirked. ?Your daughter has a nice little cunt.?
Griessel made a noise behind him and Thobela thought: not
don?t do anything now.
Shaven Head laughed. Then he said: ?Hokay. You ride straight. We will be somewhere behind you. First, we will look if you brought some friends. Now go.?
They were in control, he realized. Didn?t even look for weapons, because they knew they held the trump card.
Thobela pulled away. He wondered what was going on in Griessel?s head.
The two detectives from Witness Protection were carrying shotguns when they came to collect her.
She packed a suitcase. They accompanied her down in the lift and they all got in the car and drove away.
The house was in Boston, old and quite shabby, but the windows had burglar proofing and there was a security gate at the front door.
They showed her around the house. The master bedroom was where she could ?make herself at home,? there were groceries in the kitchen, the bathroom had towels. There was television in the sitting room and piles of magazines on the coffee table, old issues of
and a few copies of
?That?s how they bring in the drugs,? said Griessel when they had been on the gravel road for half an hour.
Thobela said nothing. His mind was on their destination. He had seen the weapons of the two in the Pajero. New stuff, hand carbines, he guessed they were Heckler & Koch, family of the G36. Costly. Efficient.
?Infanta and Witsand. Every fucker with a ski boat goes there to fish,? said Griessel. ?They are bringing the stuff in small boats. Probably off ships . . .?
So that was how the detective was keeping his mind occupied. He didn?t want to think of his child. He didn?t want to imagine what they had done to his daughter.
?Do you know how many there are?? asked Thobela.
?No.?
?You will want to reload your Z88.?
?I only fired one shot. In your house.?
?Every round will count, Griessel.?
She was in the sitting room when there was a knock on the door. The two detectives first looked through the peephole and then opened the series of locks on the front door.
She heard heavy steps and then the big man with the Western Province rugby cap stood there and he said: ?You and I must talk.?
He came to sit on the chair closest to her and the two Witness Protection detectives hung around in the doorway.
?Let?s not make her nervous, chaps,? said Beukes.
Reluctantly, they retreated down the passage. She heard the back door open and close.
?Where is the money?? he asked when the house was quiet.
?
money?? Her pulse beat in her throat.
?You know what I?m talking about.?
