Night of the Black Bastards (An Action-Packed Thriller) (14 page)

Night waited in the same position never taking his eyes off the office entry until Stanislov arrived with the X5 outside.

Night asked the girl what her name was and reassured her that everything would be okay. He knew she was just a pawn and had been used in a bigger plot to kill his principal. He had seen it before. It was common in South Africa for criminals to coerce young children into carrying out their dirty work by breaking them by raping them and promising them they would be immune from criminal prosecution because of their young age. They were often used as tools to commit murder. They were as much victims as the victims themselves.

Stanislov arrived with the vehicle.

“You’re late! Nine Mikes!”

Night got his principal safely into the vehicle and they double timed it out of the farm and onto the main highway. They called the local police station and reported the incident, explaining that the would-be assassin girl was handcuffed and locked in the pay office and where to find the keys. Being Police Officers it frustrated Night and Stanislov to have to leave the girl alone and shackled in the office. Normally their first priority would be to detain the suspect properly and take her to the local police station for processing. They would also have liked to track and chase down Swarty and bring him in for further questioning. As bodyguards, though, their first obligation was to remove their client from danger and get her to safety. That meant leaving the girl where she was and letting Swarty get away. However, before Stanislov left his over-watch position he had noted that Swarty was headed on foot in the direction of a waiting vehicle parked at the edge of the farm’s perimeter so chasing him would probably have been a futile endeavour anyway. The waiting vehicle also gave more weight to a conspiracy theory.

They called General Arosi and reported what had happened. He could take Control of the situation from a higher level.

“Okay Mike, I’ll take care of everything. Shall we meet at the Radium for a de-brief tonight?”

“Yeah we need to. Eight o’clock good for you?”

“That’s fine, bring Stani with.”

Night dropped Annabel and her vehicle off at her secure home in Sandown and left in his own SS but not before explaining that he would not look after her while she engaged the services of the former BOSS man Hendrik. He wanted to explain to her that he thought Hendrik was involved in the murder attempt against her. But decided against it when she ordered him off her property for suggesting that she fire Hendrik. She was brainwashed and paranoid and somehow she thought Night was working against her. That’s gratitude for you and that’s what happens when spies get involved, Night thought to himself.

Night still cared about Annabel and knew it was best to explain his theory to the General. The General could then try to talk sense into her. The General, like the BOSS spy, had special persuasive powers. Night hated all of that though and it was the single biggest dislike he had in the security and defence industry: spies, manipulation and conspiracies. He avoided all of that. And people like that. As much as he could.

CHAPTER TEN

Bang on 2000hrs after grabbing a bite to eat at the local Italian restaurant in Norwood on Grant Avenue Night and Stanislov arrived at the Radium Beerhall in Orange Grove for the debrief. Stanislov brought along an extra liver for the meeting. His VW Golf was already parked outside – the General must have had one of the local officers collect it from the farm and drive it down for him, Stanislov remarked to Night.

They entered the Beerhall to find the General and an unknown uniformed officer, a constable, sitting in their usual perch within the bar. Tony, the General’s driver and bodyguard, was in his customary position tactically situated just behind his principal.

“General. Constable.” Night and Stanislov greeted the two police officers and acknowledged Tony with a slight nod in his direction.

The General introduced the uniformed officer as Constable Molokomme who was stationed at the Bergman farm. He was the officer who had driven Stanislov’s vehicle into Joburg and to the Radium Beerhall for the General and had agreed to have a quick drink. Constable Molokomme explained that he couldn’t stick around any longer as he had to get back to his station and book off duty. The General asked Tony to drive him back to his posting and explained that he would ask Night for a lift home. Tony and Constable Molokomme left but not without protest from the General’s bodyguard. He didn’t want to leave the General alone.

“I am fine Tony. Don’t worry, I am with the Sheriff of Norwood after all” said the General with a nod in the direction of a now seated Sergeant Night.

“He seems concerned for your safety General. Is there something we should know?” asked Constable Stanislov, genuinely inquisitive.

Night interjected: “There are plenty of things that we should all know about General Arosi, Stani. But I am sure he’s not in that much danger, are you General?”

“No of course not gentlemen. Tony is just being cautious. He is a professional and takes what he does, protecting me, very seriously. I think he only feels that he has done his duty each day after he has dropped me off safely at home.”

Fernando, the regular barman, had just arrived and after warm greetings all around he took their drinks order.

The three men sat and discussed the day’s events over their usual drinks of choice; Captain Morgan and Coke for the General, Johnny Walker on ice for Night and Smirnoff Vodka straight for Stanislov. All agreed that Swarty was definitely involved in the attempt on their client’s life, probably on instruction from his boss Hendrik Van Tonder. He was the decoy and then back-up plan they surmised. The men calculated that Swarty’s primary role had been to distract Night, to create an unforeseen problem, a maverick threat. Then if the girl had failed in her attempt to carry out her role as primary assassin, which was always going to be highly likely, Swarty’s job would then be to eliminate the bodyguard, Night, and kill Annabel himself. This theory also fell in line with Swarty carrying a Colt 1911 semi auto .45 ACP.

A.45 calibre firearm delivers a lethal round with plenty of slaying power but is not the ideal pistol to carry for the purpose of close protection; it is too big, too bulky and difficult to conceal and comfortably carry and perhaps most importantly in a high risk African CP detail the weapon’s magazine carries only seven rounds, at best that’s seven rounds plus one in the chamber, eight. This is opposed to the weapons Night and Stanislov both carried while on a CP task, a more conventional armament for the purposes of close protection work: H&K USP 9MM Compacts, almost double the capacity with thirteen rounds in the magazine and one chambered, fourteen chances to save your client’s life as opposed to just eight. The HK ammunition magazines are also smaller and lighter so more can be carried.

The .45 ACP is more commonly carried by assassins, and cowboys. Only carried to and from the point of execution and two shots to the head or heart is all you need. Bang Bang, good night sweetheart.

Now, though, Swarty had neither a .45 nor his right arm and if he didn’t receive medical treatment swiftly he was going to bleed out rapidly and expire.

The question was raised about why Van Tonder would deliberately hype up his client about a potential threat on her life when it was in fact Van Tonder who wanted to carry out the assassination. The General identified that it was a common tactic of intelligence agencies around the world to create the very threat, and knowledge of the threat,  before carrying out the threat themselves. That way a journal of warning and a diary of traceable paperwork and defensive evidence is created that “proves” the innocence of the very people who actually took part in the conspiracy. This “evidence” created and delivered by the perpetrators provides any investigating authority with suspects, motives and reason to rule out the actual killers from being suspects at all.

“I agree, General. It is a relatively common and highly effective method of deception and collusion employed by spies the world over.” Said Stanislov. 

“So how” asked the General, “did you manage to take Swarty’s arm off, Nickolai? Mike has told me he has seen no one better with a pistol or rifle but hell man why blow the guy’s entire arm off?”

“My intention was not to blow his arm off. I was simply following my orders from Mike, not to kill, only to disarm. I hit the firearm, the .45, bang on, I nailed it, I saw a spark as my round impacted on the .45! But the round must have ricocheted off the weapon and up Koevoet’s arm taking it clear off at the shoulder. Bad luck for him.”

“And disarm him you did! We found it on the floor at the farm with the Colt in hand, get it? In hand, his finger, well his old finger that used to belong to him and now belongs to his arm only, was on the trigger. A trigger finger meant to be pulled on you I believe Mike, good job you had this sharpshooter over here neutralise the fucker!”

“Hell yeah General. Having a defensive sniper on the roof is golden but having a clandestine defensive sniper on the roof is priceless!”

“So Annabel didn’t know that Nickolai was there?”

“No. Not initially but she figured it out after I started communicating with him on the comms. More importantly though, neither did our friend Van Tonder. I told him that Stani’s role was only going to be one of an SAP (Security Advance Party) and that he wouldn’t be on the farm after the initial handover.”

“Which meant that Swarty didn’t know either.”

“Exactly.”

“That also means that seconds before Swarty had his arm blown off by a hidden former Russian Special Forces sniper he must have been thinking this was going to be an easy gig for him; He must have thought that he would walk into the pay office, with his weapon drawn, as it had been all day, raise it and blow your head off, Mike. Annabel next.”

The men continued to discuss the day’s events while draining their glasses, each with their own hypothesis about the conspiracy and how events were planned to have gone down. Another round arrived accompanied by Tequilas, lemon and salt and quickly taken care of.  As the topic of conversation was coming to its natural conclusion and the men were looking for another round of drinks Fernando approached the General, Night and Stanislov but not to take their drinks order, not yet. Fernando looked serious and official. The men fell silent and looked at the barman.

“Excuse me Officers, I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation but I need to ask you something, I am not totally sure about the etiquette in these matters but I feel I have no other choice than to approach the subject in a direct manner.”

A little surprised by this, the General and Stanislov looked almost annoyed and picked up their glasses to drain the remainder of the contents - Civilians are not to know this but asking off duty police officers and security contractors formal questions in a formal tone usually leads to no good. The only people who do this usually want something they shouldn’t want or want to know something they shouldn’t know. Admittedly perhaps a little over sensitive but it’s the nature of the game. Sergeant Night, though, always trying to be amicable and also now interested in the barman’s out of character behaviour, responded politely to his enquiry.

“What’s up Fernando? How can we help?”

“Well Sarge. There is a man in the bar at the moment and he has been hanging around here for the last couple of days asking all types of questions. Questions cops usually ask. And he’s not a cop, he’s not from around here either. He has also been throwing names around from the….um… security world. And I well wanted to ask you about him and what we should do. The boss wants me to throw him out but I thought I should ask you first Sarge, General, you know, I mean I wouldn’t want to piss you guys off or anything.”

“First off tell us his name.”

“Well they just call him ‘The Man.’”

“What does he call himself?”

“He introduced himself to me as John but I don’t believe that’s his name.”

“John Smith right?”

“Yeah, how did you know.”

The police officers laughed. Fernando’s story was promising to be quite humorous.

“So what’s ‘The Man’ been asking you?”

“Well not just asking me, he has been asking anyone who would listen and specially the junior constables that come into the bar in uniform. Questions about last week’s bank robbery, about who the suspects might be, about the devil guy, you know uSathane, and about you Sarge, you and your men, the Black Bastards.”

“Could he be NIA, General?” Sergeant Night asked.

The NIA is the South African Government’s National Intelligence Agency.

“No, they already know all they need to know about that. And I, we, work with them. It’s not NIA. What else Fernando?”

“Um, also about gold, he’s asking about gold, questions about any news on the gold.”

“You say he is in the bar right now. Describe him for us Fernando, describe him and what he is wearing right now” instructed Night.

The Radium Beerhall was jam packed as it usually was at this time on a Friday night. And it was truly multicultural. Men and women of all races and religion frequented the bar. And unlike many of the socialite clubs and saloons in Johannesburg or Sandton there was nothing false or forced about the cosmopolitan nature of the guests crammed into the Beerhall. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that it was recognised as an official police bar and people felt comfortable being surrounded by off duty cops who were leading by example and “mixing the races” as the South African Police Force has always done, always light years ahead of the general population in looking beyond skin colour and pathetic politics. Fernando was about to point out “The Man”.

“Don’t point Fernando. Describe.”

“Ah sorry. He’s the skinny white guy in the expensive white shirt and trousers sitting at the table next to the entrance. He has a beard and is wearing spectacles. In his late forties, early fifties I think. And he has a thick posh English accent, like the queen.”

Night used the mirror facing him to get eyes on “The Man” sitting at the table next to the door.