Hyena Dawn (40 page)

Rayne sipped his coffee, trying to stop himself from shaking. He wanted to get away. Aschaar spoke again.

‘
Mr Brand, if this deal goes through successfully, I hope to be able to do more business with you in the future. How do I get hold of you?’

Rayne put down his coffee, reflecting on Aschaar’s craftiness. ‘We do good business. Unfortunately I have always had a policy of making the first contact. I do not divulge personal details or contact numbers. When you need me again, I will get hold of you.’

‘
A strange way of doing business!’

‘
A good way of staying alive, Mr Aschaar.’ Rayne got up to leave. ‘We will start the moment Mr Singh has the full amount. Two and a half million dollars, Mr Aschaar.’

Aschaar jumped up, knocking his chair backwards. Rayne reacted instantly, ready for action, balanced on his feet like a cat. But Aschaar’s hands remained at his side.

‘
I thought you said the last half million was a ball-park figure depending on the cost of transportation?’

‘
In the course of our discussion I realised I would have problems with you on that. Two and a half million is my price, take it or leave it.’ And Rayne sincerely hoped that Aschaar would leave it.

‘
This will take time to approve,’ the General said angrily. ‘Time I have plenty of. Your answer will be the amount deposited with Mr Singh.’

Aschaar sat back. The look in his eyes did not make Rayne feel in the least bit easy. He left the yacht club, earnestly hoping that Aschaar would not come forward with the money.

Unfortunately the answer was in the foyer of the Hotel Beira when he arrived back. Fernandes was waiting for him. ‘Mr Singh says you must phone him, it is most urgent.’

Rayne was through to Singh in less than a minute.

‘
Good morning, Mr Brand. You are already doing very well. I am holding two and a half million dollars. It will be transferred to your Swiss account the moment I have ascertained that the goods have arrived intact.’

‘
Thank you, Mr Singh. Thank you very much.’

‘
What do you think, Mr Aschaar?’

‘
He’s a strange character, this Bruce Brand. Not what I had been expecting at all. He’s far too tough for my liking. He’ll deliver, I’m sure of it, but don’t you think it’s a bit too much of a coincidence that he should be here just when we want him? Whoever he is, I’d like his background checked out.’

‘
It has already been done and found to be completely clean. Well, clean is not perhaps the right word, but let us say he lives up to his formidable reputation. Do you not think he asked an outrageous amount for the weapons?’

‘
Yes. Naturally, he won’t be paid, I simply told Singh to lie to him. If he has any sense he’ll get out of here fast. I still want him watched as closely as possible, but we must be careful not to upset him - I wouldn’t like the supply of the rifles to be affected in any way.’

‘
The moment I get them we can start full mobilisation of all our ground forces. I hear that the British are even intending to bring out their own policemen to oversee the Rhodesian elections! Mugabe assures me that he will win, but I don’t believe him. There is no place in my plans for calculated guesswork; the result I require can only be achieved by an invasion. The new Zimbabwe without the Beira Corridor is worthless.’

‘
We are of one mind, General. There’s nothing to worry about; elections or not, the people are still clamouring for blood. In a few weeks’ time they’ll have it - and we shall achieve our objective.’

Rayne sat on the balcony of his room, sipping a beer. He asked himself what the hell the formidable Mr Aschaar was doing in Mozambique? It didn’t make sense. Why was he having morning tea with a Russian general? Whatever the answer to these questions might be, there was obviously a larger and more sinister plan in operation than the one John Fry had outlined to him.

As he thought about it, it began to make more and more sense. The Russians would be able to link up the two countries and make them far stronger. The crippled Mozambican economy could be propped up with the Rhodesian one and the latter could use the former’s ports. The next stage was predictable: the severing of all ties with South Africa and the declaration of unity with the African National Congress. But where did Bernard Aschaar fit in with that scenario? There must be even more to the whole plan.

Whatever Aschaar had in mind, he wasn’t going to get very far. Not if Rayne could help it.

‘
You fucking bastard! You fucking, fucking bastard!’ Lois fell off the side of the chopper into the sand and lay face down, sobbing. There was nothing more he could do. It was over. Captain Gallagher would hate him for ever.

Everything had gone wrong. On the Saturday afternoon he’d taken the chopper for a final test flight. After flying out over the sea he’d been coming in towards the beach when the engine started to cut out. Everything he tried had failed. The engine would appear to pick up, then suddenly lose power again.

Desperately he’d wrestled with the controls, terrified that he was going to smash down into the sand. Somehow, he’d managed to bring the chopper down just above the high-tide mark. He staggered out and rested on the beach for over an hour before he tried to fix the engine.

Lois had thought the malfunction would be easy enough to find. Probably some dirt in the fuel lines, he had told himself. But, as the sun set on Saturday evening, he’d realised it wasn’t going to be that simple. Fortunately he had a rat-pack with enough food and water to last him for two days. He hadn’t slept that first night. He’d thought about what Captain Gallagher would do when he came to the farmhouse and found it empty. No chopper. No Lois.

That had been two days ago. Due to his own foresight, he had a full set of tools and the workshop manual with him, and he’d worked and worked, dismantling a section of the fuel supply system, and then other parts of the engine. Sand blew constantly over the machine, and combined with the salt spray from the sea to cover the whole thing in a sticky crust of dirt.

Now it was the third day. He knew time was against him, but he would not abandon the chopper. He’d run out of water the day before, and he’d had to get some water this morning by sinking a container into the sand and stretching some plastic sheeting over it, then weighting it in the centre with a stone so that when the early morning dew formed on the inside of the sheet, it rolled down into the container. That had provided half a cup of rather brackish water.

He was sure that the chopper’s problem was a blockage somewhere in the fuel supply system; he’d been too hasty in filling the tanks and should have taken more care to double-filter all the fuel. The battery was getting tired now, too. There was nothing more he could try. Anyway, he was all in.

He got up out of the sand, crawled back to the cockpit and searched around in the storage containers inside. Eventually he found what he was looking for. He pulled himself into the pilot’s seat with the pistol on his lap.

He watched the waves rolling up the beach, lost in his thoughts for a while. The old, wounding words echoed through his head. ‘Bloody faggot, good for nothing.’ Then he released the safety and pulled back the pistol slide.

The muzzle of the pistol tasted strange in the roof of his mouth. This was the best, most effective way, he had been told - but he was scared that the explosion might push his head back and cause the bullet to go out of the side of his mouth. He pulled his legs up and rested them against the control panel ahead of him. This, he reasoned, would force him back into the seat and ensure that his body stayed still at the moment of firing. He breathed in, closed his eyes and - pistol at the ready - pushed his legs hard against the panel.

The noise of the chopper engine starting up was deafening. The machine shook violently, and he fell forward, dropping the gun. Then he was at the control panel, hastily grabbing at different switches, making sure that the miracle wasn’t lost. His whole body tensed as he lifted the machine off the ground, then he started to laugh hysterically at the irony of it all.

He swooped down low over the sand, scaring a flock of birds on the edge of the sea, then headed for a large tree and pushed the button controlling the two M134 six-barrel 7.62-mm Miniguns. Moving in closer, he opened them up, and the tree exploded into pieces as two thousand rounds of ammunition tore into it in under fifteen seconds. On his second fly-past nothing was left but a tattered stump.

He turned the helicopter quickly to the west and headed inland, keeping as low to the ground as possible. Then he crossed over the place where he knew the camp must be and saw that it was deserted. He pulled away rapidly as a South African Army Land Rover pulled out of the bushes to see who was coming in to land.

Lois approached the farmhouse cautiously. He’d flown in as the sun was setting and had landed a considerable distance away. To move to the building on foot was the best course. If there was anyone waiting for him, he’d be in a better position to surprise them. He reckoned the Army Land Rover at the camp meant one of two things. Either the South African authorities had apprehended Rayne with his men, or they had discovered the site after Rayne had left. The latter was the most likely.

By the time he got to the back corner of the house, Lois was pretty sure there were people about. His senses were hyper-alert, the slightest noise putting him into a crouching stance, ready to fire.

The lights came on as he was about to disappear into the bush. Gunfire erupted around him. In a fraction of a second he had swung round, aiming his rifle very carefully. He hit the floodlight with the first shot and then pivoted slightly and fired at the spot where he had seen a man with a rifle break from the bushes, heading straight for him.

The man screamed out, and Lois heard him stagger forwards. In the darkness he glimpsed the outline of an R3 assault rifle and quickly picked it up. He could just make out a man in uniform illuminated by the lights inside the house, giving orders.

There was only one choice. Lois switched the firing switch to the single-fire position. Without hesitating, he squeezed the trigger, going for a head shot. As the man crumpled to the ground, Lois aimed his second shot at the light in the house.

First Lieutenant Koos Conradie could hardly believe his eyes. There on the dirt, lying in a pool of blood, was the legendary Major Piet Viljoen - not popular, but still something of a hero amongst the men. He’d said that the army wasn’t capable of handling the investigation of the suspicious goings on at the farmhouse on their own. Sadly, he’d just been proved right.

The radio operator ran up to First Lieutenant Koos Conradie and, breathing heavily, waited for permission to speak.

‘
Yes, Swart. What’s the airforce say?’

‘
Sir. Direct orders from Pretoria, sir. We are to remain here. On no account are we to attempt pursuit. This is a Bureau of State Security matter. The airforce have been told that my previous message about a helicopter was a mistake.’

‘
Shit. The bastard’s just shot two of our men. Now we’re supposed just to let him go.’

‘
The orders came from the highest authority,’ Swart stammered nervously.

‘
All right Swart. Switch the bloody radio off. I’m going to demand an explanation.’

John Fry left the American Embassy in Pretoria just after 9 p.m. Things between him and the American Ambassador had been very tense. He had not expected trouble so early on from Rayne’s men, but he had alerted the South African border forces not to act immediately if anything strange happened near the Mozambican border.

The American Ambassador as usual had not wanted to help him. A direct call from the White House had changed his mind and brought him away from the glittering evening function he’d been enjoying. The Ambassador then made the call to the South African Minister of Defence. The Minister was furious: two South African soldiers dead, and some maniac in a helicopter who was to be left alone.

The Ambassador spent ten minutes listening to a tirade against his country’s double dealing on the African continent. The

American Ambassador then reminded the Minister of the importance of some undercover arms deals between the United States and South Africa.