Hyena Dawn (60 page)

But it was when Fry started investigating Samantha Elliot that the anxiety really began to get to him. She was that journalist, wasn’t she, the one whose photographs had helped to bugger up the public reaction to Vietnam? Surely they had a file on her downstairs?

In the giant sub-basement room that was also a nuclear shelter, he indexed in the code for Samantha Elliot and watched the information come up on the computer. Student activities . . . Activities in Vietnam . . . Activities in Rhodesia . . . Published photographs in
Time,
in
Stern,
in
Tribune . .
. Suspected political sympathies . . . Suspected political affiliations . . . Lovers . . . John Fry saw the name of Rayne Gallagher staring up at him.

It was a disaster. With the help of Samantha Elliot, Rayne Gallagher could blow his story round the world. Pray God van der Spuy had got the gunship and killed them both - and the pilot too!

After that, it had been a question of waiting. He’d sat at his desk, reading reports, signing letters, making phone calls, and all the time waiting, waiting.

At last the call had come. Van der Spuy had to announce the failure of aerial reconnaissance. No Bell Huey had been seen on the Mozambique border. John Fry had to face the almost certain possibility that Gallagher and Elliot had got across the border undetected and were now in hiding in South Africa, possessed of information that could destroy him utterly.

They parked the helicopter at the private airstrip without incident, and arrived at the Daytona Motel on foot, just after two o’clock. It was a seedy-looking place, and the clientele looked seedy too.

Sam giggled. ‘This is obviously a lunchtime rendezvous for businessmen and their mistresses. They’ll probably think we’re out of work, looking for a job.’

Rayne saw what she meant. The three of them were still in the same grubby clothes they’d been wearing when they got out of Mozambique.

‘
Maybe we should choose somewhere else,’ said Sam. ‘Rubbish, this is exactly the sort of place we should stay. No one asks any questions and everyone looks the other way.’ He glanced at Lois. ‘You’ve got our money, safe, haven’t you?’

‘
Sure thing. I’ve hung onto it through thick and thin.’

The hotel manager, sitting in reception with an open bottle of beer and the
Star
newspaper in front of him, and a cigarette drooping from his bottom lip, managed to look even sleazier than his establishment.

‘
Whaddya want?’ The tone indicated that he did not see Rayne as a potential customer.

When Rayne said nothing, the man got up, took the cigarette from his mouth and had another swig from his bottle of beer.

‘
Look, china, I’m trying to relax.’

‘
Listen. I want two rooms and I want them clean. We intend to stay at this establishment for some weeks so I want them away from the busy area.’

The man swept a greasy lock of black hair from his forehead.

‘
Well, sir, the standard rate’s twenty per person per night, and the deluxe rate’s twenty-six. In the deluxe you get a lounge area and your own fridge. You also get a colour TV and colour- coordinated wallpaper and curtains.’

‘
OK. Two deluxe rooms - one for my friend here, and one for the lady and myself. And we’d like them next to each other.’

‘
My pleasure, sir.’ He leered knowingly. ‘I’ll get your keys right away.’

Rayne woke up at six the next morning. He resisted the temptation to stay in bed beside Sam, who was still sleeping soundly, but got up and made some coffee. Then he dressed and went out for the morning paper.

He enjoyed the
Rand Daily Mail
, a paper which did its best to fight the restrictions of the South African government. He was pleased to see that there was no mention of the helicopter, and read with interest an editorial on the attack on Beira, which declared that it was obviously an attempt by the Rhodesian government to weaken Robert Mugabe.

He turned idly to the business section. To his surprise, a picture of Bernard Aschaar completely dominated the first page. His mining consortium, the Goldcorp Group, was evidently set on acquiring even more mines, and Aschaar argued that this consolidation of interests would bring about a reduction in the cost of producing gold. Rayne was sure that was the last thing Aschaar intended to happen.

He handed the paper over to Sam and poured coffee.

‘
That’s interesting, Rayne.’

‘
What, the editorial on the raid?’

‘
No, this article that says a new Russian general has arrived to take over Soviet interests in Mozambique.’

‘
But what about Vorotnikov?’

‘
According to the article he died of a heart attack on the day of the assault.’

‘
What a coincidence!’

‘
You don’t think his death was an accident?’

‘
I doubt it. You know Aschaar was with him or had just left him at the time?’

‘
Foul play?’

‘
Exactly.’

Rayne started thinking. Aschaar’s power was awesome; he had been naive to think it would be easy to get his revenge. Perhaps he needed help from someone else, someone who knew Aschaar well, had access to him, and could help put him away. There must be many others who felt about Aschaar as Lois and he did.

Rayne had two things on Aschaar: his involvement in the invasion of Rhodesia, and his having paid Lois to sabotage that plane all those years ago. Penelope had been in that plane - and he’d seen in the paper today that she was spending a couple of weeks in Johannesburg. She could put him in touch with her father, Sir George, who was on the CMC and must know Aschaar intimately.

Rayne cleared the papers from the bed, pulled Sam down next to him and held her close. He needed her, he loved her and he wished that they could go away together, just to have some time alone. But he had to get John Fry and Bernard Aschaar.

‘
Sam. Two things. What I want us to do today is, I want to tell you in detail, from first to last, everything about the assault on Beira, and I want you to write it down, and then we’ll see if we can find a typewriter anywhere in this dump, and maybe you could type it up. I’m not sure what I want to do with it yet, but I think we have to make a detailed account of everything that happened - if only for insurance purposes. Are you with me?’ Sam nodded.

‘
And then this evening I want to go and see Penelope O’Keefe. I want to talk to her about Bernard Aschaar. I’ve told you about her, haven’t I? There’s nothing between us now, I swear it.’

‘
All right, Rayne. I believe you!’

They put the finishing touches to the account late that afternoon. Rayne had added an appendix listing every character involved in the operation.

‘
Rayne, any editor in the world would give a year of his life to be able to print this story. It’s incredible!’

‘
You’ll have to hold your horses on that. I’m sure it will be published in the end, but let’s see how we go, take things step by step.’

‘
What are your plans for John Fry, Rayne? You haven’t said anything yet about him. How are you going to make contact?’

Rayne smiled grimly. ‘I’m still working on it. But I think I know someone who might be useful.’

That evening, before Rayne went out, they drank a toast and then sat still for a few minutes, thinking of those who had not made it out of Mozambique alive. Sam thought about Tongogara. One day she would write a book about him, to make sure his story did not die.

The outside bar at the Sunnyside Park Hotel was one of Johannesburg’s favourite watering-holes, and as Rayne drove past he could see that the area round the pool was filled with late-night revellers. The hotel that lay behind, however, was far more exclusive. It had once been the official residence of Lord Milner, the governor of the Transvaal after the British victory in the Boer War. Rayne parked among the Mercedes and the BMWs, thinking how much of the atmosphere of that time the building still retained.

Rayne knew that someone like Penelope would not receive uninvited visitors, so he waited till the man at the reception desk turned his back to take a phone call, then spun the visitors’ book quickly towards himself. Penelope O’Keefe had the sixth floor to herself. He headed for the stairs - a better bet than the lift, which he suspected might not go as far as the exclusive sixth floor without the use of a special key.

The sixth floor was dimly lit. Facing him across the landing was a majestic set of double doors. Rayne was halfway across the carpet when a dark form intercepted him, and he found himself staring straight into the eyes of a typical strong-arm - unintelligent but vicious.

‘
I suggest you get out of here, mate.’ The accent was surly and the words were spat out in his face.

‘
I’ve come to visit Miss O’Keefe. I have an appointment.’

‘
I don’t think so. She didn’t tell me she was expecting anyone.’

‘
Let me see her!’

The next moment the man took a well-aimed swing at him with his right fist. Rayne neatly side-stepped, grabbing the arm as it zipped past his ear and twisting it expertly up and back behind the man’s back. Then he rammed the man’s face into the wall, and he fell unconscious to the floor.

Rayne pulled off the man’s tie and bound his hands behind his back. Then he slipped off the belt from the man’s trousers and tightly bound his legs together. He carried the inert body to the bannister above the stairwell and, double-checking the strength of the knot round his feet, hung the man face-down into the void. This done, he walked back to the double doors and rapped on them sharply.

He heard her voice from the next room. ‘I told you I was not to be disturbed.’

Rayne walked through and saw the woman he had loved many years before lying in a silk dressing-gown on a chaise-longue, watching the television. She was more beautiful even than he remembered - almost too perfect. She turned and stared at him uncomprehendingly.

‘
Who the hell are you? And how did you get past Max?’ Her accent had an American twang to it.

‘
That’s true. Don’t I know you from somewhere . . . ?’

She got up from the couch and walked towards him with a slow, sensuous movement that was entirely natural to her. She took his face in her hands.

‘
God, Rayne, you’ve changed. I’d heard you were dead. You never wrote, never stayed in touch.’ She stared at him. ‘And what have you become, Rayne? You who had the most talent out of anyone I knew?’ He was silent. She said, ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘
I saw the article in the paper and put two and two together. You always loved this hotel.’

‘
And you know all about me?’

‘
I’ve seen your films, they were on circuit in Rhodesia. You’re a brilliant actress, a star. I always knew you’d do it.’

‘
Yes, I’ve got it all - fame, wealth and beauty. What more could I want?’

‘
You don’t fool me with that kind of sarcasm, Penelope. You like what you’ve got. I think you’ve turned yourself into the sort of person you always dreamed of becoming.’

‘
And what’s wrong with that?’

‘
Nothing. Now how does one get a drink round here?’

‘
That cabinet in the corner. You can get me a whisky while you’re about it. Just ice.’