Ivory (52 page)

A door opened beside him and Alex turned and sidestepped as the silver blade of a meat cleaver swung in an arc. The tip of the honed metal passed millimetres from his nose. Alex reversed his rifle and smashed the butt into the face of the
Peng Cheng
's chef. The grey-haired man reeled backwards, in a clatter of pots and pans, and fell to the greasy floor of his bug-infested galley. Alex stamped mercilessly on the man's right forearm and felt bone shatter under his boot. The cook yelped like a dog. They were determined to stop him – even the ones who couldn't be trusted with a rifle. Alex had hijacked their ship, but when he thought of the meals Henri had cooked for the crew when they were hostages he felt nothing but contempt for this gang.

There was more shouting. Van Zyl and his mercenaries were behind him. Alex pulled another hatch closed and stopped. He was breathing hard, sucking in great gulps of air as he opened one of the pouches on his vest. From it he took one of the fragmentation grenades the crippled gun dealer had sold him in Alexandra. He took a small roll of trip wire from another pocket, quickly tied one end to the ring, then pulled the pin almost completely out. Gently, as the slightest disturbance would free the pin, he wedged the green orb in between a fire extinguisher and the metal bulkhead to which it was mounted. He pulled the wire taut and tied it off to the locking dog of the hatch. The footsteps on the other side were loud, as were the orders barked by Van Zyl.

Alex ran down the companionway and through the next hatch, which he closed and locked just as he heard the one behind him being opened.

The next door led to the cargo hold. It was empty bar the net full of elephant tusks, which had been lowered down via the ship's crane.

‘Grenade!' someone shouted.

The ship vibrated with the explosion. Those who survived the blast would have been deafened in the confines of the closed compartment. Alex clambered up onto the mountain of yellowed, bloodied ivory and began shifting tusks, unstacking them as he dug down into the core of the white gold.

‘H
ere he comes again,' Novak said into his headset. He and Heinrich sat side by side in the open cargo hatch of the Oryx, their rifles ready, full magazines loaded for the Rooivalk's next pass. Novak thought it would probably be the gunship's last.

Henri screamed through gritted teeth as Kevin tied the tourniquet around his right thigh. The inside of the helicopter was spray-painted with blood. One of several twenty-millimetre cannon shells that had passed through the fuselage walls had all but severed the Frenchman's leg. The pulpy mess was studded with the bright white of shattered bone and the leg rested at an obscene angle. Kevin's quick work might just save his life. It was probably wasted effort, Novak thought. The weapons officer on the gunship had his eye in now and had steadied his nerves. Death was coming up behind them.

 

‘Fuel state critical,' Oliver Msimang said.

‘Roger,' Jaco said. ‘I've got him. He won't survive this pass. We hit him last time. There'll be
okes
bleeding on their ivory in there now.'

Oliver nodded to himself.

They were chasing an unarmed whale of a troop helicopter. There was no way he could fail. The consequences of letting these men escape were not worth considering.

 

‘Kufa,' Kobus said into his mouthpiece, ‘get on the satphone and call Jose on the island. Give him our location off the GPS on the instrument panel. Tell him to come to us in the
Fair Lady
and –'

‘But what about Alex? This isn't part of the plan, Kobus.'

Novak cut in on the chatter. ‘We're about to fucking die, Kufa. Do as he says, man! If any of us survives it'll be the only chance we have. Fire!'

On Novak's command, he and Heinrich each emptied a magazine of bullets in the direction of the Rooivalk, which was now in range, at about three hundred metres. They aimed high, hoping the other helicopter might fly into one or two of their rounds. Even if they did score a hit, though, the projectile would bounce off the armoured cockpit windows. By a fluke, they might sever a fuel line or damage some other vital component through the aluminium skin.

Kobus threw the Oryx hard over to the right.

Cannon shells ripped through the tail boom and Kevin laid his body over Henri's.

‘Kobus, we're smoking!' Novak yelled into the microphone. Behind them, the Rooivalk had veered off to avoid flying into the thick cloud that was pouring from their engine exhaust.

‘Fuck. Right engine's gone. I'm shutting it down.'

Novak felt the loss of speed. Through the hatch he could see the Rooivalk standing off, just out of rifle range. It slowed its speed to match theirs, waiting out there like a vulture waiting for a stricken beast to die.

‘We can keep going. I've still got control,' Kobus said.

‘Put her down,' Novak said.

‘What? Are you crazy?' Kobus replied. ‘They'll slaughter us.'

‘I said, put us down.'

*

Jaco said over the internal intercom, ‘I'm going to finish them off.'

‘No,' Oliver replied.

‘What do you mean, no? I'm well within range for the twenty-millimetre.'

Even though the Rooivalk was hovering, it was still pointing in the same direction the Oryx had been travelling. Jaco turned his head to the left and Oliver knew the multi-barrelled cannon was moving, following his weapons officer's eye.

‘Jaco, they've got a wounded man down there. They wouldn't have put out the raft if they could take off again. I'm not going to let you murder them in cold blood.'

‘All right. We wait until it looks like they're all clear – until the raft has moved a safe distance away – and then if that fucking helicopter is still afloat I'm going to sink it.'

The captain's voice over the radio stopped further debate. ‘Kestrel One, good work. You are to disengage and proceed to a new rendezvous. I'm told you won't make the
Talana
, but we have contacted a civil vessel which you can land on.'

‘Roger control,' Oliver said, swinging the nose of the Rooivalk to the south, away from the Oryx. ‘What's the name of this ship, over?'

‘The MV
Penfold Son
.'

 

Alex found the canvas satchel he had buried in the mound of tusks after the helicopter had picked up the cargo net. It was time to cash in his insurance policy.

He opened the bag and checked the home-made bomb. Four thermite grenades were bound together with duct tape and wired to a detonator and a satellite phone. If Chan had tried to double-cross Alex, or ambush him – as he had, then Novak would have called the satellite phone once they were all clear of the ship. Receiving the signal would activate the detonator and the grenades. Alex knew Novak wouldn't make the call while there was a possibility Alex was still alive.

The firebomb in Alex's hands would ignite the ivory around it and
punch through the hull of the
Peng Cheng
. It would be like using an oxy-acetylene torch to cut tinfoil. Alex knew the smoke and flames from the burning tusks would make it impossible for the ship's crew to reach the hole and attempt to repair it. The
Peng Cheng
would sink.

Alex didn't have a phone of his own, so he set the alarm for twenty minutes' time. He replaced the bomb in its bag and tucked it under half-a-dozen shafts of stained ivory.

Alex couldn't feel bitter towards Chan, because even if the gangster had stuck to his end of the bargain he would have called tactical headquarters and relayed the
Peng Cheng
's last known position. He'd phoned Silvermine, anonymously, using the same codeword he always did when he was reporting an illegal fishing vessel or a ship he suspected was carrying illegal immigrants.

For months the South African Navy had been apprehending wrongdoers on Alex's information and he'd often imagined their puzzlement at who the source might be. No doubt the staff officers would have a fit if they knew the information was coming from a pirate with a conscience. To lure the
Talana
out he had hinted that the
Peng Cheng
might be carrying arms and explosives as well as ivory and rhino horn. He wanted to make doubly sure that while the elephant cull would go down in history as a disaster, the ivory would never make it to Asia.

‘Drop your gun, Tremain.'

Alex looked up. ‘Van Zyl?'

‘You can call me “Death” if you like.' The South African grinned across the sights of his M4. ‘I said drop it. Don't make me kill you now – my employer wants that privilege for himself.'

Alex stood slowly, laid down his R5 and unholstered his pistol.

‘What were you doing in the ivory?'

‘I was going to hide under the tusks.'

Van Zyl laughed. ‘That's pretty stupid.'

Alex shrugged and started to move away from the ivory. He wanted to draw their attention away from the explosive device. ‘So who's your boss – Chan?'

Van Zyl followed him towards the shaft of light that shone down
from the open cargo hatch above. Alex moved to a ladder, unbidden, and started climbing.

‘You'll meet him soon enough, but I sense it'll be a pretty brief chat.'

Alex looked down at the South African as he climbed. ‘Why not do me a favour, as one soldier to another, and shoot me now?'

Van Zyl shook his head. ‘As one soldier to another, you'll understand orders are orders. Don't worry, though, you won't be alone. You'll have someone else there to talk to. An old friend of yours.'

Alex swallowed. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Five six, strawberry blonde, nice legs . . .'

 

Jane heard the changing note of the diesel engines somewhere below her and felt the ship slow. She sweated profusely in the hot, stuffy shipping container that was her cell. She had prayed to God – something she hadn't done since she was twelve – and hoped that her parents wouldn't suffer too much. She wondered if the change in pace of the vessel signalled her end.

She looked up and the beams of light that penetrated the air holes at the top of the container were momentarily eclipsed. She placed a hand on a warm metal wall and felt a different hum. It was louder now, the buzzing noise increasing in volume as the ship's engines slowed even more.

A helicopter.

She allowed her hopes to rise, though told herself to stay calm. Was it a rescue force, or something yet more sinister, related to the fate she had all but resigned herself to? Someone was yelling outside, shouting instructions. She couldn't make out the words.

Jane started banging on the walls of the box with her balled fists. The sound was puny and not even she could hear it over the competing mechanical notes of the aircraft and ship. She tried yelling, but her voice was lost too.

Jane looked around her. The only thing in the container was the steel
bucket full of her own waste. She grimaced as she grabbed it and emptied it in the furthest corner of her gaol. She retched and swung the bucket with all her might against the wall of the container. It made a satisfyingly loud clang, so she did it again.

 

George Penfold walked down the stairs from the bridge wing. Sitting on a tightly packed row of shipping containers was a Rooivalk attack helicopter.

To ignore the distress call from the South African National Defence Force would have simply drawn unwelcome attention to the
Penfold Son
, but having a stranded helicopter gunship on his vessel was tantamount to the same thing.

He tensed his face into a grin and moved closer to the aircraft as its blades finally stopped turning and began to sag. The Rooivalk looked less like a kestrel and more like a giant resting dragonfly. He eyed the rocket pods, cannon and wing-mounted antitank missiles. There was enough hardware here to stop a troop of tanks or a company of infantry.

The pilot and gunner opened their cockpits.

‘Welcome aboard,' George called over the last dying groans of the engines. ‘I'm George Penfold.'

‘Lieutenant Oliver Msimang and this is my weapons officer, Warrant Officer Jaco Kronje.'

George shook hands with the two airmen as they stepped down onto the deck.

‘I can't tell you how grateful we were to see your ship on the horizon. We were on fumes,' the black African said.

George laughed politely. ‘So, what exactly are you guys doing out here?' The panicked satellite phone call from Chan had told him already, but he needed to feign innocence.

Msimang explained they had been tracking a smugglers' ship and a stolen helicopter full of ivory. ‘We splashed it,' the pilot said proudly.

‘Wow,' George said. ‘That must have been quite a sight, seeing another aircraft go down in flames.'

Kronje shook his head. ‘They ditched in the ocean, but the helo was still afloat. You'll hear rescue traffic on your radios soon. The
Talana
will be looking for survivors, and we'll get back into the game once we're refuelled.'

George processed the new information. Tremain was being brought to the
Penfold Son
by Van Zyl and his men. He'd hoped the gunship would have killed the rest of the pirates, but they were possibly still at large.

Chan was making for Ilha dos Sonhos, the nearest landfall, where he would stash his cargo. With Mitch Reardon in charge of the island and the pirates out of action, Chan could hide out on the resort for as long as required. The
Peng Cheng
would sail on, in international waters, and if it was boarded by the South African Navy its crew would say the stolen helicopter had tried to force a landing on her deck.

‘How will you refuel?' George asked the pilot.

‘We've got just enough left for one takeoff and a short hop, to the SAS
Talana
, when she gets close. To be honest, she'll need to be almost alongside as we're just about dry.'