Justus did not waste time even pretending to reassure Carver. He got straight to the point: ‘Where is she?’
‘I think he’s taken her to the old Stratten Reserve. In fact I’m sure he has.’
‘But you do not know?’
‘Not for certain, no.’
‘And you need me because…?’
‘You can guide me in and out. We need to get to the house unobserved, then make a run for the border.’
‘It’s been a long, long time since I worked there. A lot has changed, I’m sure.’
‘Maybe, but you still know more about the place than any of us. And the land itself hasn’t changed. Look, I know this is a huge ask. But I’m not expecting you to get involved in any close combat. It’s not right to risk your life that way.’
‘So you want me to come with you, but you deny me the chance to fight?’
It took Carver half a second to spot the trace of humour in Justus’s voice.
‘So you’ll do it?’
‘Of course. I am in your debt, it is what I must do. And not just because of you. It is because of men like Mabeki that my beautiful Nyasha, the love of my life, is dead. For her sake, I must have my revenge.’
‘You sure? Your children have lost their mother. I don’t want them to lose their father, too.’
‘They are almost grown now, ready to make their own lives, whether I am with them or not. Better that they should have the memory of a hero than the presence of a coward.’
‘Then you’d better go and tell them that now. They’ll be on their way to the border in a couple of minutes. If all goes well, they’ll be waiting for us when we get Zalika out. One way or the other, it’ll all be settled tonight.’
Justus nodded and walked back to his son and daughter, passing Sonny Parkes, who was walking over to Carver.
‘He agree?’ Parkes asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘And it’s just going to be the two of you? Because if you want me or any of my guys to tag along…’
‘Thanks, but I’d rather you looked after the kids, make sure they get out of the country alive. I paid for their educations. I don’t want my money wasted.’
Parkes smiled knowingly. ‘Ja, that must be it. Don’t worry, bro, we’ll get them out in one piece. You decided on weapons? I’ve still got a couple of unused drums of ammo for an AA-12, if you want it.’
‘No thanks. For this kind of job I need precision more than power.’
‘Agreed, but I thought I’d ask, just in case the little demonstration back there made you change your mind. Anyway, I got you two M4 carbines with US Special Forces modifications: noise-suppressor kits and three thirty- round mags apiece. That’s what we use on operations like this and we like the results. I got you an M11, too. I heard on the grapevine that’s your handgun of choice. With a suppressor, of course.’
Carver nodded. ‘Thanks.’ The M11 was the US designation for the Sig Sauer P226. ‘I always feel cosier with one of them around.’
‘For me, what I like best is a good knife,’ said Parkes. ‘A nine-inch Bowie blade, black carbon steel, preferably. I assumed you and Mr Iluko would feel the same way. You may need them.’
Carver grimaced at the thought of a knife slicing through an exposed throat. There were few more horribly intimate ways to kill a man. But Parkes was right: there were also few more effective ways of silently eliminating one’s enemy.
‘The kit’s all in that Defender over there,’ said Parkes, nodding in the direction of a dusty olive-green Land Rover. It’s got a full tank of gas and an extra jerrycan in case you need it. Believe it or not, that gas was much harder to come by than your weapons. Anyway, I’ve got you water, rations, and there’s a winch fitted to the front bumper in case you need to pull yourself out of trouble.’
‘Looks like you thought of everything.’
‘Well, that’s my boss’s niece you’re going after. Nothing but the best, eh?’
‘I appreciate it. Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Parkes. ‘Well, I’d better get going. We’ve got a plane to catch.’
He turned to go, then paused for a second.
‘Hey, Carver… good luck.’
‘Thanks,’ said Carver, ‘but actually there is one thing you forgot.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Beer, a cold one. It had better be waiting when I get across the border tonight.’
‘Count on it,’ said Parkes.
85
Parkes, his men and the two Iluko kids crammed into a Toyota Previa people carrier with blacked-out passenger windows, slipped out of a side gate of the builder’s yard and joined the traffic heading out of town at the start of the afternoon rush-hour. It took a while to get on to the two-lane ribbon of cracked and potholed tarmac that constituted the main route to the South African border, and even then the going was slow. More than ninety minutes had passed before the driver took a right turn on to a much more basic dirt track that snaked away into the flat, featureless expanse of the bush.
A few minutes later, the De Havilland Twin Otter took off from Buweku airport without any passengers aboard. Barely ten minutes into its flight, less than fifty miles from Buweku, the pilot radioed the control tower, reporting multiple systems malfunctions. He said he would attempt to make an immediate forced landing and requested information about nearby landing strips.
The air-traffic controller hesitated. There was, indeed, a full-length runway right under the Twin Otter’s flight path. It was one of the many Forward Air Fields built thirty years earlier by the former white minority rulers of Malemba. Fighting a war in which the enemy could appear anywhere in the country, at any time, they’d wanted to be able to fly troops in and out of battle zones as fast as possible. Today, many of these airfields were derelict and overgrown, but the strips were still there, for all the plants that were pushing through them.
The controller wasn’t sure whether the positions of the forward fields were considered a state secret. Of course, everyone knew where they were, but could one say so in public? In a government based on unreason and downright madness, it was so hard to tell.
‘It is possible that there may be facilities close to your current position, but I am not at liberty to be specific,’ he said, with painstaking caution.
To his surprise, the controller heard laughter in his headphones.
‘Ja,’ the pilot agreed. ‘I have a feeling I may have heard of facilities like that, too.’
Seconds later, the Otter adjusted its course and began a rapid descent towards the crumbling remains of the airstrip.
‘Bang on time,’ said Sonny Parkes with a nod of satisfaction as he watched the Otter coming in to land.
Of the original two-thousand-yard runway less than half was still usable, but that was plenty for a plane with the Otter’s short takeoff and landing capability. It came bumping along the runway, swung through one hundred and eighty degrees and paused, engines still running, just long enough for its seven passengers to clamber aboard before the pilot raced back the way he had come and climbed into the dimming light of the late-afternoon sky. Then he banked to the south and headed for the South African border, some forty miles away.
Watching the Otter reappear on his radar, the air-traffic controller suddenly felt a lot less pleased with himself. He had been conned. The plane had never had anything wrong with it at all. It had landed in order to make a drop or a pick-up. And since it had left Buweku empty, a pick-up was the overwhelming likelihood. For the past two hours he had been hearing snatches of news and gossip about the attack on the prison van. Several prisoners were still missing. Had some of them been spirited away on that plane? Men willing to commit such a crime in broad daylight, in the middle of Buweku’s busiest street, would surely not baulk at such a dramatic
