Blood Safari

46

I was dreaming of skulls on the mountain at Motlasedi when Jeanette phoned just after eight.

‘I’ve got you on the only direct flight. Departs fourteen thirty-five, arrives five o’clock in the Cape.’

‘That’s a pity.’

‘Why?’

‘Wernich will be waiting for news from his gang of killers. He will be very worried by now. I hope he doesn’t feel a sudden yearning to travel.’

‘Do you want me to keep an eye on him?’

‘That would help a lot.’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Thanks, Jeanette.’

‘Don’t get ideas, Lemmer. I’m doing it for our client.’

I told Dr Eleanor Taljaard that hopefully there would be a family member visiting Emma that afternoon, someone whose voice she had waited a long time to hear.

‘We need a miracle, Lemmer. You know what I told you; the longer they are in a coma …’

‘Miracles do happen,’ I said, but neither of us believed it.

I drove to the airport and waited until twenty minutes before my flight left for Cape Town. Then I phoned Jack Phatudi. They said he was busy, but I said it was an emergency and I wanted his cell phone number.

What kind of emergency?

I had found the people who had tortured and murdered Edwin Dibakwane.

They gave me Phatudi’s cell phone number. He was morose and aggressive until I told him where he could find the murderers of Wolhuter and Dibakwane, the people who had shot Emma le Roux. I told him that most of them were dead, but that one, maybe two, were still alive. They were injured, but could stand up in court.

‘They won’t talk, Jack, but they are the people you’re looking for. Do the forensics, the evidence is there.’

‘Did you kill them?’

‘Self-defence, Jack.’

He said something in sePedi that clearly meant he didn’t believe me.

‘Goodbye, Jack.’

‘Wait. Where’s Cobie de Villiers?’

‘I’m still looking. But you can recall your men at the hospital. There’s no more danger to her.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In Johannesburg,’ I lied. ‘At the airport.’

‘I’m coming to get you, Lemmer, if you’re lying to me.’

‘Ooh, I’m so scared I’ll have to ring off, Jack.’

He got angry and cut me off first. Another opportunity to build bridges between races lost.

I found Stef Moller’s number on the dialled calls list on Emma’s phone. When they made the first call to board, I phoned him. It rang for a long time and then Moller himself answered.

‘Stef, it’s Lemmer.’

‘What do you want?’

‘How is Jacobus?’

‘Cobie.’

‘How is he?’

‘What do you want me to say? That he’s well? After all you did?’

‘How is he?’

‘He’s not talking. Just sitting there.’

‘Stef, I want you to give him a message.’

‘No.’

‘Just listen. Tell him I got them. Six of them. Four are dead, two will have to go to hospital, but they will be under police guard. Tell him I’m on my way to the Cape to chop the head off the beast.’

I listened to Stef Moller’s breathing for a long time before he said in his steady, measured way, ‘Are you sure?’

‘Tell Cobie to phone Pego’s wife for confirmation.’

He didn’t answer.

‘Then, Stef, tell him the doctors say there is only one thing that can save Emma. Jacobus must go and talk to her.’

‘Talk to her?’

‘That’s right. He must talk to her. Take him, Stef. Take him to Emma.’

‘This is the final boarding call for flight double eight oh one to Cape Town,’ I heard in the background.

‘Take him, Stef. Promise me.’

‘What about Hb?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

‘Hb.’

‘Never heard of them, Stef. Isn’t an HB a kind of pencil?’

On the plane I thought about Stef Moller. The man who didn’t want to say where his money came from. The man who sought absolution behind a locked gate by trying to compensate for his crimes against nature.

To each his own way.

I slept for two hours solid on the flight and woke when the Canadair jet touched down hard at Cape Town International. Jeanette was waiting for me in the arrivals hall. Black Armani suit, white shirt and a tie with the South African flag on it. She fell into step with me and we walked outside, shoulder to shoulder, where the south-easter blew at gale force.

‘He’s at their head office in Century City,’ she said over the bluster of the wind.

‘How many offices do they have?’

‘One in Johannesburg, and the plant outside Stellenbosch. I brought you the material from my previous research. You can read it in the car.’

‘The car’ was a Porsche with classic lines and a small spoiler over the rear. She got in, leaned over and unlocked the passenger door for me. I pushed my bag over the back of the seat into the small space behind and got in.

‘Great wheels,’ I said.

She just smiled and turned the key. There were impressive sounds from the back.

‘What do you call this thing?’

‘Babe magnet,’ she said and pulled away. ‘I mean what model is it?’

She gave me a look, as though I ought to know. ‘It’s a nine eleven turbo, Lemmer.’

‘Oh.’

‘Jissis, you ignorant Loxton country folk. It’s the nine thirty series, 1984 model. She was the fastest thing on the road in her day.’

‘She?’

‘Naturally, a “she”. Beautiful, sexy …’

We drove over a speed bump. Slowly.

‘… and without suspension?’

‘Fuck off, Lemmer. Your homework is behind you.’

I turned around and picked up the small pile of documents. There was a company prospectus on top: Southern Cross Avionics. Innovation. Dedication. Quality. A photo of a Mirage fighter plane in flight decorated the cover. It was printed in full colour, on thick, expensive glossy paper. I began to read.

Southern Cross Avionics is Africa’s foremost developer of aerospace systems, a world-class competitor driven by constant innovation, total dedication to client satisfaction, and a passion for absolute quality in our products.

‘Modest people,’ I said.

‘Propaganda,’ said Jeanette.

I turned the page. The heading read ‘Our Heritage’.

In 1983, two brilliant South African electronic engineers had a dream – a dream of starting their own company based on their unwavering belief that innovative research and daring design were the cornerstones of developing aerospace systems for the future. They resigned from their jobs with a parastatal weapons manufacturer, and founded the company in a tiny warehouse in their hometown of Stellenbosch.

From these humble beginnings, and despite the tragic loss of one of the founding members in a 1986 mountaineering accident, Southern Cross has grown into a multimillion-rand concern, employing more than five hundred dedicated staff members, of which more than fifty are internationally trained world-class engineers.

On their way to success, the company had a major hand in developing a laser-based rangefinder for the Dassault Mirage F1AZ fighter plane, which permitted highly accurate fusing and aiming of unguided munitions. The success of this system was acknowledged by Jane’s Defence Weekly, which concluded that the FlAZ’s proven accuracies were within the order disclosed by the USAF for their F-15E Strike Eagle.

While much of the work done in the early years was of a classified nature, the invaluable experience of developing cutting-edge technology led to the products that can truly be called world class today.

Amongst them are the XV-700 ‘Black Eagle’ surface-to-air missile guidance system, the XV-715 ‘Bateleur’ air-to-air guided missile, and the revolutionary XZ-1 ‘Lämmergeier’ heavy, long-range anti-armour missile.

On the third page there was a photograph of Quintus Wernich under the heading ‘Founding Father and Managing Director’. He did not smile, but there was a benevolent air to the face behind rimless glasses, a kindly paterfamilias with his short steel-grey hair.

‘I thought he was chairman of the board.’

Jeanette glanced down at the document on my lap. ‘He is. That thing is two years old. Look at the cuttings.’

I paged through the pile. A Business Day newspaper cutting read ‘Black MD just the first BEE step for Southern Cross’.

The appointment of Mr Philani Lungile as managing director is just the first step in a comprehensive process of Black Economic Empowerment (BEE), says Mr Quintus Wernich, former MD and now chairman of the privately owned Stellenbosch weapons systems developer Southern Cross Avionics.

‘Bloody traffic,’ said Jeanette. I looked up. She wanted to turn off the N2 on to the N7 but it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

‘We never have this trouble in Loxton,’ I said.

‘Read the one about the missile programme. I found it on the Internet,’ she ordered, and lit a Gauloise.

I rolled the window down and searched through the documents. The printout came from the International Centre for Strategic Research.

South African Ballistic Missile Programme

Even today, little is known about South Africa’s short-lived ballistic missile programme.

The country had been developing short-range tactical missiles and rockets since the 1960s, but only became the focus of international attention after a test launch of what the apartheid regime called a ‘booster rocket’ in July 1989.

Western intelligence agencies soon pointed out similarities between the South African capabilities and Israel’s Jericho II missile, prompting speculation that Israel had supplied crucial technology to South Africa’s development effort.

This claim was substantiated by the fact that the two countries also shared knowledge and expertise in developing electronic weapons systems for the Dassault Mirage jet fighter in the seventies and eighties – through government owned ARMS-COR and privately held companies such as Southern Cross Avionics.

I looked up, because more pieces began to fall into place.

‘When I read that, I knew where the rifle came from,’ Jeanette said.

I nodded.

‘OK, Lemmer, tell me.’

‘What?’

‘Everything. What the fuck has Southern Cross to do with Emma le Roux?’

‘How long will it be before we get there?’

‘At this rate? Half an hour.’

‘What else is in this pile?’ I rifled my fingers through her cuttings.

‘Do you know how the big arms deal works? The one for the new Gripen fighter plane?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Saab of Sweden and BAE in the UK won the contract to supply twenty-eight Gripens to South Africa. But part of the deal was that they must invest and develop locally. Southern Cross was part of that – they are also going to build systems for BAE. And there’s a report that Wernich and company are courting Airbus passionately.’

‘That’s why they still want to keep it quiet,’ I said. ‘That and the black economic empowerment.’

‘What, Lemmer? What do they want to keep quiet?’

‘Did you bring me a firearm?’

She flicked the Gauloise out of the window and pulled the left flap of her jacket open. There was a pistol in a leather holster under her arm. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Today I am your bodyguard, Lemmer. Now tell me everything.’