Part 22 (1/2)

41.

'Hayi! Hayi!'

The woman's wail filled the night, as she stared at the fiery shack, her home, tears lensing her eyes.

She and her five children were cl.u.s.tered behind the inferno. The back door was open, providing a wrenching view of the rampaging flames destroying all of the family's possessions. She struggled to run inside and rescue what she could but her husband, Stephan Dlamini, gripped her hard. He spoke to her in a language James Bond took to be Xhosa.

A large crowd was gathering and an informal fire brigade had a.s.sembled, pa.s.sing buckets of water in a futile attempt to extinguish the raging flames.

'We have to leave,' Bond said to the tall man standing beside him, next to an unmarked SAPS van.

'Without doubt,' said Kwalene Nkosi.

Bond meant that they should get the family out of the towns.h.i.+p before Dunne realised they were still alive.

Nkosi, though, had a different concern. The warrant officer had been eyeing the growing crowd, who were staring at the white man; the collective gaze was not friendly.

'Display your badge,' Bond told him.

Nkosi's eyes widened. 'No, no, Commander, that is not a wise idea. Let us leave. Now.'

They shepherded Stephan Dlamini and his family into the van. Bond got in with them and Nkosi climbed behind the wheel, gunned the engine and steered them away into the night.

They left behind the angry, confused crowd and the tumultuous flames . . . but not a single injury.

It had been a true race to the finish line to save the family.

After he'd learned that Dlamini was going to be targeted by Dunne and that he lived virtually anonymously in a huge towns.h.i.+p, Bond had struggled to come up with a way to locate him. GCHQ and MI6 could find no mobile in his name or any personal records in South African census or trade-union records. He had taken a chance and called Kwalene Nkosi. 'I'm going to tell you something, Warrant Officer, and I hope I can rely on you to keep it to yourself. From everyone.'

There'd been a pause and the young man had said cautiously, 'Go on.'

Bond had laid out the problem, including the fact that the surveillance had been illegal.

'Your signal is breaking up, Commander. I missed that last part.'

Bond had laughed. 'But we have to find where this Stephan Dlamini lives. Now.'

Nkosi had sighed. 'It is going to be difficult. Primrose Gardens is huge. But I have an idea.' The minibus taxi operations, it seemed, knew far more about the shanty towns and lokasies than the local government did. The warrant officer would begin calling them. He and Bond had met, then driven fast to Primrose Gardens, Nkosi continuing his search for the family's shack via his mobile. At close to six p.m. they'd been cruising through the towns.h.i.+p when a taxi driver had reported that he knew where Dlamini lived. He'd directed Bond and Nkosi there.

As they'd approached, they'd seen another van at the front, a white face glancing out.

'Dunne,' Nkosi had said.

He and Bond had veered away and parked behind the shanty. They'd pushed through the back door and the family had panicked, but Nkosi had told them, in their own language, that the men had come to save them. They had to get out immediately. Stephan Dlamini was not at home yet, but soon would be.

A few minutes later he'd come through the door with his young son, and Bond, knowing the attack was imminent, had had no choice but to draw his gun and force them out of the back door. Nkosi had just finished explaining Bond's purpose and the danger, when the grenades went off, followed by the petrol bomb.

Now they were on the N1, cruising west. Dlamini gripped Bond's hand and shook it. Then he leant forward to the front pa.s.senger seat and hugged him. Tears stood in his eyes. His wife huddled in the back with her children, studying Bond suspiciously as the agent told him who'd been behind the attack.

Finally, after hearing the story, Dlamini asked in dismay, 'Mr Hydt? But how can that be? He is best boss. He treat all of us good. Very good. I am not understanding this.'

Bond explained. It seemed that Dlamini had learnt something about illegal activities Hydt and Dunne were engaged in.

His eyes flashed. 'I know what you are speaking of.' His head bobbed up and down. He told Bond that he was a maintenance man at the Green Way plant north of town. That morning he'd found the door to the company's Research and Development office left open for deliveries. The two employees inside were at the back of the room. Dlamini had seen an overflowing bin inside. The rubbish there was supposed to be handled by somebody else but he decided to empty it anyway. 'I just was trying to do good job. That's all.' He shook his head. 'I go inside and start to empty this bin when one of the workers sees me and starts screaming at me. What did I see? What was I looking at? I said, ”Nothing.” He ordered me out.'

'And did you see anything that might've upset them?'

'I don't think so. On the computer beside the bin there was a message, an email, I think. I saw ”Serbia” in English. But I paid no more attention.'

'Anything else?'

'No, sir.'

Serbia . . .

So, some of the secrets to Gehenna lay beyond the door to Research and Development.

Bond said to Nkosi, 'We have to get the family away. If I give them money, is there a hotel where they can stay until the weekend?'

'I can find some rooms for them.'

Bond gave them fifteen hundred rand. The man blinked as he stared at the sum. Nkosi explained to Dlamini that he would have to stay in hiding for a short while.

'And have him call other family members and close friends. He should tell them that he and his family are all right but that they have to play dead for a few days. Can you plant a story in the media about their deaths?'

'I think so.' The warrant officer was hesitating. 'But I'm wondering if . . .' His voice faded.

'We'll keep this between ourselves. Captain Jordaan does not need to know.'

'Without doubt, that is best.'

As the glorious vista of Cape Town rose before them, Bond glanced at his watch. It was time for the second a.s.signment of the night one that would require him to enlist a very different set of tradecraft skills from dodging grenades and firebombs, though he suspected that this job would be no less challenging.

42.

Bond wasn't impressed by the Lodge Club.

Perhaps back in the day, when it was the enclave of hunters in jodhpurs and jackets embellished with loops to hold ammunition for their big-five game rifles, it had been more posh but the atmosphere now was that of a function room hosting simultaneous wedding receptions. Bond wasn't even sure if the Cape buffalo head, staring down at him angrily from near the front door, was real or had been manufactured in China.

He gave the name Gene Theron to one of the attractive young women at the door. She happened to be blonde and voluptuous and wearing a tight-fitting crimson dress with a lazy neckline. The other hostess was of Zulu or Xhosa ancestry but equally built and clad. Bond suspected that whoever ran the fundraising organisation knew how to tactically appeal to what was, of whatever race, predominantly a male donor pool. He added, 'Guest of Mr Hydt.'

'Ah, yes,' the golden-haired woman said and let him into the low-lit room where fifty or so people milled about. Still wine, champagne and soft drinks were on offer and Bond went for the sparkling.

Bond had followed Hydt's suggestions on dress and the Durban mercenary was in light grey trousers, a black sports jacket and a light blue s.h.i.+rt, no tie.