Ivory (28 page)

‘Where did you get this?'

‘That shouldn't concern you. What
should
concern you is Interpol. I'm sure they'll be very interested in chatting to you, now that you've all
but admitted you helped take my ship by force, damaged a significant amount of my property, and killed one of my captains.'

‘I didn't kill anyone.'

‘My heart leapt when I saw you, Mister Reardon,' Penfold smiled. ‘My employee, Mister Van Zyl here, sourced this photo for me, but until you showed up here today we had no idea who most of these men were.'

Mitch nodded. ‘Novak. You got it from Lisa's place.' He looked at Van Zyl and saw the reflection of his own soulless eyes. The eyes of a killer. Lisa Novak had never really liked him, but he had hoped that if he ever settled with a woman she would be like her. She was no-nonsense, with a nasty mouth on her when it suited her, and she stood by her husband whatever he was doing, be it serving in the army or as a contractor in Iraq, or ripping off shipping in the Indian Ocean. And she had a sensational body. ‘She obviously didn't give any more away, or you stole the picture without her knowing, otherwise you wouldn't be talking to me now.'

‘Brilliant, Mister Reardon. Simply brilliant.'

Mitch had the urge to ram his fist into the supercilious Englishman's face and feel his nose squish under his knuckles. If they'd hurt Lisa, Novak would be worse than a grizzly woken early from hibernation. ‘Five hundred thousand. Dollars, not rand.'

‘Ridiculous,' Penfold said. ‘I could pay a team of private investigators to identify the men in this picture. It'd probably take them a week of checking out pubs and resorts on the Mozambican coast.'

Mitch nodded. ‘It'd have to be a big team, and I'm sensing you don't have a week – otherwise we wouldn't be sitting in this little yuppie fortress. So make me an offer.'

‘Ten thousand dollars and you not only identify the men, you also give details of where and how to find them, any relatives living in South Africa or Mozambique, what arms they carry, and a map of their location.'

‘Two-fifty and I'll lead the raiding party to clean them up.'

‘Fifteen thousand and you'll go as part of Piet's team.' Penfold looked
to the South African, who had remained silent for most of the conversation. ‘Under his command.'

Mitch scratched his chin. ‘I'll want a fair cut of whatever loot they've got stashed.'

Penfold looked at Van Zyl, who nodded. ‘Then we have us a deal, though any boats the pirates have are to be burned or scuttled. I don't want you starting up an operation of your own, Mister Reardon.'

Damn, Mitch thought. The guy was smart, and a tough negotiator. But fifteen grand wasn't bad for a couple of days' work. In fact, he would have paid that much himself to watch Alex Tremain die.

 

Alex used the hands-free car kit to talk on his mobile phone as he weaved in and out of the rolling traffic jam that was Johannesburg. He already had the beginnings of a shopping list in mind for the operation.

‘Kim, hello?' said the cultured female voice, the accent that of a South African of British descent.

Just the sound of her voice did things to his body, but at that same instant he pictured Jane's face. The Englishwoman was still lurking in his mind, but he and Kim Hoddy had history. They'd been lovers before he'd left Africa to join the Royal Marines for a second time. She had wanted him to stay and marry her, but he'd thirsted for adventure, even more than he craved every long inch of Kim's supple body. She was rich – very rich – and her parents had not been sad to see the back of the half-Portuguese, half-English boy who wanted nothing more than a humble soldier's life.

‘Kim, it's Alex. Howzit?'

‘Alex! My God! Where are you?'

He told her, and she replied that she was getting her nails done in Sandton Mall.

That figured. She'd always been obsessed with grooming and fashion. Kim cultivated that just-stepped-off-the-yacht look and succeeded every time. Chipped nails had to be repaired as a matter of urgency
and stray hairs could bring on an anxiety attack. He'd taken her to the Kruger Park once and she'd brought with her a cosmetic case the size of an artillery ammunition box.

‘Aren't you still living in Mozambique?'

‘Yes. I'm just here for an overnight business trip. How are Brian and the kids?'

He heard the pause on the end of the line as she thought about her answer. ‘Fine. Just fine. Sharna's five – she's started school now – and Brent's ten already.'

She didn't say anything about her plastic surgeon husband. ‘Is Brian still in the army reserve?'

‘Yes, and the honorary rangers. If he isn't off on manoeuvres somewhere or jolling about Pilanesberg National Park in his silly ranger's uniform, he's on the golf course.'

Alex smiled. ‘I'm close to Sandton now. Have you got time for coffee?'

‘
Ja
,' she said. ‘But how about I get the girl to put on a nice brew at home for us, rather than that American rubbish they serve in the mall?' She gave him her address and he knew how to find the house – it was in the same street where her parents lived. She might look a picture of cool elegance, but Kim had done some things in her folks' place that would have sent them to early graves if they'd known.

Alex turned off the M1 and when he stopped at a set of lights he beckoned for an old woman with an armful of flowers to come to the window. Her gap-toothed smile pleased him almost as much as his fifty rand did her. He tossed the roses on the passenger seat.

Kim's house was like every other in the street – invisible behind a high rendered masonry wall topped with a multi-strand electric fence and coils of razor wire. He'd been in military compounds and safe houses in Afghanistan that weren't as well defended as the average Sandton home. However, it was justifiable paranoia as there were probably more people shot dead each year in suburban Johannesburg than in Kabul. Before he could push the buzzer mounted at window height, the electric gate started to roll open.

There was a bright yellow Chevrolet Crossfire and a British racing-green Discovery 3 – whose numberplate read
BEAUTY GP
– parked on the driveway gravel, which crunched under Alex's wheels and was scattered by the galloping approach of two massive Rottweilers. The dogs had diamante collars – at least he supposed the stones were fake.

‘Sunflower! Pansy!'

Alex grimaced, and hoped for the dogs' sake that they were females. Kim needn't have bothered, as Sunflower was licking his fingers and Pansy had her face buried in his crotch. Kim lifted a hand to her mouth and giggled when she saw him.

Alex waved. She was even prettier now than she had been the last two times he'd seen her, at twenty and thirty. She wore a simple white v-neck T-shirt with very short sleeves, which showed lots of cleavage and her slender arms. Her denim skirt ended above her knees and she didn't have to rise too much on her toes to kiss his cheek, thanks to the high-heel black leather boots that encased her calves. She hugged him tight.

‘You look fantastic, Kim.' She'd straightened her red hair, which had been a mass of curls last time he'd seen her.

She blushed. ‘And you look good enough to eat, as usual.'

She turned quickly and he followed her inside, across the polished Italian marble tiles. He smelled fresh coffee and the fragrance led them to a kitchen as big as one of the suites in his ruined hotel. Kim gestured to him to take a stool at the breakfast bar opposite her and poured from the percolator jug into oversized white china cups. ‘I've given the girl the rest of the morning off. Still just black, no sugar?'

‘You remembered?' He took the cup and sipped the scalding liquid.

‘All of it. I remember everything about those days. Maybe it's a symptom of my approaching midlife crisis.'

‘You're only, what, thirty-five, thirty-six?'

‘Thirty-five!'

He laughed. ‘It seems like only yesterday.' There were snapshots of her children on the refrigerator, and a clutter of posed studio portraits
of the family together and individually on a mahogany dresser behind him in the sprawling lounge room.

‘Nice house. The practice must be doing well.'

‘I'd rather be running a beachfront hotel in Mozambique.'

He shook his head. ‘No, you wouldn't. I'm just about broke, Kim. You'd hate it. No electricity most of the time, no money, no nothing. Just sea and sand. You've got everything here.'

Through the perfectly made-up mask her eyes betrayed her. They looked away from him, away from the comforts of her home and the real dangers of having money in a country full of poor people. ‘I've got nothing.'

‘Your kids look lovely . . .'

‘It feels like a gaol sometimes, Alex. Does your life ever feel like that? I don't know who I am any more, or if I even really exist as anything more than Brian's wife and Sharna and Brent's mom.'

He said nothing, but stood and walked around the granite-topped counter to her. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face.

‘Tell me I'm beautiful and fuck me, Alex.'

‘Fuck me, you're beautiful, Kim.'

She laughed.

 

Later, one arm behind her head, her hair in elegant disarray over the pillows of her marital bed, Kim said, ‘Are you with anyone at the moment, Alex?'

He looked up at her, from the diamond he'd been kissing in her belly button, over the recently enhanced breasts that he wasn't mad about, and thought about her question for a moment. ‘No. Not as such. Thought I did, but she walked out on me before I got to know her.'

‘Like you're going to do to me now.'

He raised his eyebrows, then started kissing her belly, moving upwards.

‘Chase her, like you should have chased me – like I should have chased you. We're not getting any younger.'

‘I couldn't have given you the life you wanted,' he said.

‘I don't want it, believe it or not, but I want it for my children, and for that reason I'll do my time. You haven't come looking for money, have you, Alex?'

He raised his head and shook it, and she wound her fingers into his black hair and drew him to her mouth.

‘I'd give it to you, if you wanted it. Anything.' They kissed for a while, remembering.

‘Come visit me in Mozambique some day. With Brian and the kids.'

‘If I come, it'll be alone.'

‘Not this morning.'

She laughed.

‘I want you in the bathtub, like the old days at your parents' place.'

While Kim was in the ensuite running the bath taps he quickly dressed and went to the walk-in wardrobe. Kim's side was strewn with shoes and discarded clothes and he felt a sudden pang of guilt when he realised she'd probably changed for him as soon as she'd got home from the mall. Brian's half was laid out with military precision. Rows of designer suits and sports jackets faced off the uniforms of his part-time pursuits.

Alex pulled a green kitbag from a top shelf and stuffed in three sets of camouflaged army fatigues and two of national parks khaki. He checked Brian's shoe size and smiled. He took polished boots for the military outfit and a pair of grey
veldskoens
to complete the uniform ensembles. Riffling through a drawer he hit paydirt – two identity cards, which he pocketed.

He walked out of the house which, he thought as he looked back, had about as much charm and warmth as Colditz Castle.

Pansy the Rottweiler sidled up to him as he pushed the button for the electric gate. He took a rose from the vase where Kim had placed his flowers, stripped off the thorns and threaded it through the dog's collar. ‘Go look after your mom.'

*

Alex thought about Kim as he made his way through the comparatively light afternoon traffic to Kempton Park on the eastern side of Johannesburg, near the international airport. There wasn't a lot of room for guilt in his life these days. He had used her, but she had done the same. Her life was a product of the decisions she'd made, just as his was.

They'd thought they had been in love when they were younger, but he couldn't imagine Kim married to a Royal Marine commando, living on base or in one of the gloomy coastal towns in the south of England. She'd like Mozambique, he thought, once he had the hotel renovated, though how long she'd last without easy access to her own nail artist, he didn't know.

Three military and two national parks uniforms were a good start for the plan he had in mind, but he needed more, and his next stop should make up the difference. He called Lisa Novak's number on his mobile phone but there was no answer. Perhaps she was in the garden or out shopping.

Kempton Park was down-market compared to Sandton. The modest single-storey houses were set behind iron grilled gates rather than faux-Tuscan ramparts. It was an industrial suburb and the homes were interspersed amongst freight companies, small factories and warehouses.

Alex turned off the R21 and navigated by memory to the street where the Novaks lived. He knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the two police
bakkies
parked on the grass verge. There were two other sedans which looked like unmarked cars. He slowed as he cruised past the house. Through the gate he could see a man taking photos, the flash bouncing off the frosted glass beside the front door. If he'd been watching his front he would have seen the two cops sooner.

‘Hey, pull over!'

Alex hit the brakes and the overweight white policeman scowled at him. His hand moved to the holster slung low on his right hip. The parts of his blue-grey uniform shirt that bulged from under his body armour were stained dark with sweat. His African partner carried a shotgun.

‘You should watch where you're
bladdy
going, man. Get out of the car. Let me see your licence.'