Private Gold

Chapter 23

Shadrack Mashishi was driving to the drop-off point as fast as he could. He was behind schedule and in a panic about it, because it wasn’t good to arrive late when working for these bosses.

It was only his job to drive. That was why he had a job. Because he drove capably, and because he was prepared to do what he was told without asking questions. He knew he was lucky to have work at all with his criminal record — a six-month conviction for assault and battery after a vicious bar fight some years ago.

At first, he thought the silver BMW coming up behind him was a hijacker because of the speed with which it approached, flashing its lights as it stormed along in his lane. Then the car passed, and Shadrack was just heaving a sigh of relief when the brake lights flashed and it swerved in again.

“Shit!” Clamping his jaw tight, he slammed on the brakes, feeling the truck start to fishtail on the wet road. He prayed it wouldn’t overturn and cause him to lose the official load of coffee beans that he’d freighted from Zambia. As for the unofficial load, hidden behind an inner panel — well, he was sure the twenty men crammed in there would have a few bruises after his evasive maneuver.

He skidded to a stop behind the BMW. After a moment to collect himself, it occurred to Shadrack that this might be one of his employers. Maybe plans had changed. Either way, he needed to stay calm. A tall, thin man unfolded himself from the car and strode over, grinning at him with a lopsided smile that stretched only as far as his cheekbones, leaving his eyes stony cold.

“Shadrack?”

Definitely one of the boss men.

“Yes,” he replied, opening the door and climbing down. He focused on trying to appear willing, not letting his face show the mixture of exhaustion and fear that was seething inside him.

“This is a precautionary stop. There’s a situation to resolve at the site, so we are delaying delivery of the cargo.”

“Ah,” Shadrack said. He wondered how long the wait would be. He had his own deadlines to meet. When border officials were routinely bribed so that a search meant opening the truck’s back door and glancing inside — well, a man ended up doing favors for friends. And branching out into additional enterprises to cover expenses. There were some pills stashed in the door compartment, and a couple of underage pornographic DVDs he’d obtained to sell on. That particular market wasn’t his taste, but it sure paid well for material.

“Did you know the rear-access door of your truck is loose?” the cold-eyed man asked him, and something in his tone made Shadrack’s stomach lurch. “You could be fired for that. Get round the back, check your cargo, and close it properly.”

“Will do.” Shadrack pulled himself up straighter. Suddenly it was like this guy had planted a ramrod in his spine. He marched round to the back of the truck and stepped up to the small access door.

Loose? It didn’t look loose. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure. Go through the motions, please the people who signed the paychecks.

He opened the door, looked obediently in at the closely stacked sacks, and closed it again, twisting the handle vigorously.

When he looked back at the man, a gun had materialized in his hand, its cold black eye staring directly into Shadrack’s own.

“Hey,” he shouted. “Wait!”

Shadrack wanted to run, but bright headlights filled his vision, an approaching truck was blinding him, and the hard-eyed man paused, as if waiting for the truck to pass before doing the deed.

Then darkness swallowed him.