The Fallen (6 page)

Bradley could still remember exactly how he’d felt when he had been summoned from his prison cell and into the visitors’ room where, for the first time, he had seen Chetty and Zulu on the other side of the thick, soundproof glass.

To Bradley’s surprise, all the other booths were empty. And instead of standing in front of the exit door as he usually did, the guard had stepped outside and locked the door behind him.

Frowning, he had sat down in the chair. Chetty had gestured to the phone by his right hand, and Bradley had picked up the receiver. He had listened with growing hope to the proposal that the two men had for him—a proposal as audacious as it was lucrative.

They’d get him out of prison early, shortening the ten-year sentence that he’d begun after the lawyers had cross-examined him, the witnesses had said what they had to say, and the doctors and psychiatrists, the men in the white coats, had analysed it all. He would get out of prison immediately, but in return they wanted his help. They wanted him to run a repair project, one as important and involved as the high-budget undertakings he’d managed in the past.

For a few months, he would be theirs.

In return, he would be a free man. And, when the project was finished, a rich one.

‘Are you agreeable?’ Chetty had asked. His voice had sounded tinny. The men had been passing the receiver back and forth between them as they outlined the proposal to him, and Chetty had smiled knowingly when he said the words, as if he already knew what Bradley’s answer would be.

‘Yes. Yes, of course. But I want a woman with me,’ he’d said, clutching the receiver tightly. ‘If you can bring a woman to live with me, then we have a deal.’

Now, staring at the soft, drowsy blonde in his bed, Bradley felt another overpowering surge of lust for his sweet, helpless little prisoner. He was tempted to rip off his trousers and screw her immediately. He knew he must wait, though. Cleanliness, as his father had forcibly reminded him on many occasions, was next to godliness. He would use her later, after he’d had a shower and given her supper—he hoped force-feeding would not be necessary tonight—adding some crushed Rohypnol to the food to ensure her compliance through the night.

Right now, he had urgent work to do.

Bradley went back to the kitchen where he made himself a cup of instant coffee. Three spoons of coffee, four sugars. Lifting the heavy phone that hung around his neck, he scrolled through the list of contacts and dialled the number for the contact he’d made in prison and who was now assisting them with this job—Kobus.

It is night. Pitch-black night, the kind you can only get in Africa, where those towns big enough, or First World enough, to have electricity are so far apart they seem to have no connection to each other at all. They may not even appear to be in the same country. Just tiny oases of light scattered among an endless desert of darkness.

You look down on them. Your vantage point gives you an excellent view. Do you wonder who lives inside those small towns and what their lives are like? How many of them ever leave, ever venture out on one of those endless, straight and
dusty roads that slice across the continent like knife strokes, looking for change, to end up in a better place or a worse one?

Do you ever consider whether they might be passing the night in houses or in shacks with rickety tin roofs or, for the poorest and most despairing residents, perhaps wrapped in blankets, shivering under the stars, but grateful that, tonight at least, they are not being battered by the freezing, lightning-laced force of one of Africa’s violent storms?

Perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you turn your eyes away, get back to work. Even at this early hour of the morning, you have a lot to do. You tip back the plastic mug and swallow the dregs from your last small cup of bland-tasting coffee—everything tastes bland in your rarefied and roaring environment—and think about the morning and what it will bring.

The sea mirrored Jade’s mood. It gave her some small comfort to feel her own emotions expressed in the force of the crashing breakers and the wind that whipped her face with spray. That must be why her eyes were so wet.

At least the wind had cooled things down and blown away that muggy, oppressive heat.

The sand felt firm under her feet as she strode along. If she could walk fast enough, perhaps she could break free of the pain that clutched at her every time she thought about Naisha, now four months pregnant with the child that would bind David to her forever.

Naisha, with her body growing plumper and her breasts swelling. Accepting the minor discomforts—heartburn, constipation, aching joints—as part of the natural process of pregnancy. Wearing newly bought maternity clothes, because the ones she had owned when expecting the now nine-year-old Kevin would surely have been donated to charity long ago.

Thinking about what to name her new baby.

Marriage and children had never featured in Jade’s life plans, so she couldn’t say she felt jealous of her in any way. But it was the thought of David, coming home to Naisha in the evenings, dumping his briefcase down in the hallway as she knew he liked to do, bending his long legs to get them under her dining room table, that made her grind her teeth so hard her jaw began to ache.

The end at last. She’d never imagined this could happen. She and David had somehow kept things going ever since Jade had returned to South Africa, through good times and bad—the
good being very good and the bad disastrous. In the back of her mind, though, she had often worried that David had seen their relationship as time out from his troubled marriage. That, try as she might, she would never have all of his heart.

She’d occasionally toyed with giving him an ultimatum, but had always decided against it, telling herself that in the end, he had to make up his own mind.

But in the end, he hadn’t. His own idiotic actions had decided his future for him.

Jade picked up her pace, her feet sinking deeper into the sand as she stomped angrily along.

Friends
.

As for that, well, how clichéd could you get? And how unlikely. There was more chance of President Jacob Zuma embracing Zen Buddhism.

She should drive back to Johannesburg tomorrow. This holiday was proving to be nothing but a heart-breaking waste of time. David could spend the rest of the week down here alone.

In fact, perhaps she should pack up the car and leave as soon as she got back to the chalet, rather than spending a night alone in the double bed, with David sleeping on the couch, like a ‘friend’ would do.

The thought of the steaks she’d lovingly prepared for him made her clench her fists. What
had
she been thinking? With the benefit of hindsight, she should have filled the car with bags of lentils and salad ingredients.

And Tabasco sauce, which David frequently complained turned his guts to napalm.

Eyes narrowed against the spray, Jade marched on into the growing darkness.

As she neared the jetty, she heard a loud flapping sound coming from the water. Frowning into the gloom, she saw that the tarpaulin covering the larger dive boat was loose. It was catching the wind like a sail, then slamming down onto the unsteady deck.

A slim figure was struggling with the tarp, trying to secure it back into place, but as Jade watched, the wind snatched the heavy, blue plastic away. It billowed up into the air again, the
force rocking the boat so violently that the figure slipped and almost fell overboard.

Jade turned and jogged down towards the jetty. As she drew closer, she realised it was the denim-shorted form of Monique, the Velcro-for-men dive instructor, battling with the wind.

Jade also realised she was still carrying the champagne bottle. She bent down and placed it carefully onto the sand before attracting Monique’s attention.

‘Need a hand?’ she shouted.

She saw the blonde woman’s head turn sharply in her direction, but Monique made no reply.

Jade was tempted to leave her to her struggles. Instead, grasping the edge of the jetty rail, she lowered herself carefully down into the boat, which felt like a bucking horse, and grabbed hold of one edge of the tarp. The deck was slick with spray and Jade found it was just about impossible to keep her footing when every tug of the tarp almost yanked her off her feet. She fell twice; the second time bashing her hip painfully on the front seat.

Even with their combined efforts, what they were attempting was seemingly impossible.

But then Jade managed to get two of the hooks into place, subduing the thick plastic long enough to allow Monique to get a firm grasp on her side. From there, it was easier. A few more minutes and they were done.

Jade scrambled up onto the slippery jetty with Monique close behind. Jade saw she was holding a small black object in her hand, but before she could get a good look at it, the dive instructor pushed it into the back pocket of her shorts.

‘Thanks,’ she muttered to Jade.

A gust of wind blew her blonde hair over her face and she lifted an arm to tuck it behind her ear.

‘Is everything …?’ But before Jade could even complete her question, the instructor turned and hurried away. As soon as she’d crossed the beach, she broke into a run and headed up towards her room.

Left on the jetty, Jade found herself frowning, and not because of the dive instructor’s rudeness and lack of gratitude.

When Monique had pushed her hair back, Jade hadn’t been able to help but notice that the woman’s face had been sheet-white, frozen-looking and tense with what could only have been overwhelming fear.

A wave crashed against the edge of the jetty, the coolness of the spray shocking, but invigorating. In the distance, lightning illuminated enormous, bulky clouds.

She wondered what David was doing. He’d probably gone to bed without even a bite of food. He did that sometimes when he was tired, and he’d looked exhausted. Jade let out a sharp breath, frustrated by her seeming inability to stop her thoughts from returning to him.

What to do? Drive back to Jo’burg now, or stay here for the night?

Her car keys were in her pocket. But her gun and cellphone were in the chalet, and after storming out so dramatically she was reluctant to go back inside for them.

Jade leaned on the metal railing, temporarily indecisive.

Lightning flashed once more, reflecting off the clouds with an eerie, but surprisingly bright glow. In the distance, Jade noticed a skinny, ragged-looking man heading in her direction along the sand.

A vagrant or a beach bum in this area? Surprised, and rather taken aback by the sighting, she realised the idea of drowning her sorrows alone on the beach had started to lose its appeal. But when the next lightning flash came, the vagrant was no longer right on the beach. Instead, he was heading up towards the chalets, his stride decidedly more purposeful.

Jade frowned.

Picking up the champagne bottle from its resting place in the sand, she walked back, more slowly now, along the beach towards the chalets.

It was now pitch black. Jade could still make out the white, foamy crests of the waves and the thick clouds overhead, but not much else. And then, suddenly, she saw there was somebody ahead, somebody walking swiftly towards her.

Jade’s heart sped up and she gripped the heavy bottle more tightly.

The vagrant?

No, too tall.

He slowed down when he saw her and they approached each other cautiously. When she saw the tell-tale ponytail, Jade felt herself relax.

‘Craig.’

‘Jade?’ He came closer, studying her carefully. And then, perhaps sensing her mood, ‘You
OK
?’

A lock of blond hair had escaped from his ponytail and curled over his shoulders.

In her industry—police, private investigation, bodyguarding—close crops or clean-shaven scalps were the norm. Those types of men didn’t have long hair. Perhaps because it was too easy to grab it in a fight. Or maybe because it was a sign of weakness; of femininity. The shorter the hair, the tougher the guy underneath it.

‘I’m just heading back to the resort.’ She almost had to shout to make herself heard over the noise of the ocean. Even so, the wind threatened to snatch her voice away.

‘I’m going down to the dive boat. I think I left something there.’

‘The boat’s covered with a tarp. I helped Monique with it just now. I don’t rate your chances of getting it off and back on again.’

‘Damn,’ Craig raised a hand and rubbed his beard.

‘What did you leave behind?’

‘My wallet.’

Jade was going to tell Craig that he’d do better to come down again first thing in the morning. She didn’t think that anyone would be willing to do battle with that tarpaulin, in that swell, on the off-chance there’d be something of value underneath it.

But then she remembered what she’d seen when she climbed out of the boat.

Monique, avoiding Jade’s gaze as she shoved something small and black into her back pocket. And doing it furtively, not in a way that somebody would handle a legitimate personal possession.

‘A black one?’ Jade asked.

‘Yes. Did you see it?’

‘I think Monique might have found it and taken it up to the resort with her,’ Jade said carefully.

‘Oh.’ Craig glanced down the beach to the jetty, where waves were pounding the dive boat against the dock bumpers, and then looked back at Jade again. ‘Did she say she’d found it?’

‘No. But you could ask her anyway.’

‘I suppose I could. Are you heading back that way?’ Now Jade saw Craig look down, with some curiosity, at the champagne bottle she held.

Jade began to wish she had smashed the damn thing on the floor after all.

‘Yes,’ she snapped. She didn’t offer any further explanation. Just turned, bracing herself against the wind, and walked up towards the resort with Craig, keeping a sharp eye out for any signs of the scrawny man she thought she’d seen a short while ago.

She wasn’t really paying any attention to Craig as he headed across to the staff quarters and, after some hesitation, stepped up onto the covered paving and gave a gentle knock on the nearest door.