Chapter 10

Pilgrim’s Nest, early morning.

The Springbok Flats is a vast, flat plain located in Limpopo, South Africa, stretching across an area approximately 80 kilometres wide and 130 kilometres long, oriented in a north-easterly direction with its centre near the town of Roedtan. The plain is bordered to the south by the Pienaars River, which intersects the N1 highway between Pretoria and Polokwane. To the west, it encompasses the towns of Bela-Bela, Modimolle, Mookgophong, and Makopane, while to the east, it includes Roedtan, Crecy, Morolong, Nutfield, Tuinplaas, and Settlers.

Situated at an altitude of 1,000 meters above sea level, the terrain is exceptionally flat and characterized by warm summers and dry winters, with annual rainfall averaging around 620 millimetres. The fertile vertisols of the region make it ideal for agriculture, and the area is also rich in natural resources, including coal and uranium deposits within its sediment layers.

As dawn breaks over the Springbok Vlakte, the air is crisp and still, carrying the faint scent of dew-kissed grass and wildflowers. The sky is a pale gradient of lavender and gold, casting a soft glow across the landscape and gently waking the day. The horizon stretches wide, with the early morning mist lingering in the low-lying valleys, giving the bushveld an ethereal quality.

To the east of the N1 highway, this region is a mosaic of rolling hills and vast open plains, where the land alternates between grassy savannahs and dense thickets of acacia and camel thorn trees. The vegetation is a mix of hardy shrubs and tall, slender trees, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers silhouetted against the growing light. Here and there, the earth rises into rugged hills and small mountains, their ancient rocky faces weathered by time before they slide into the flat plain of the real Springbok Vlakte. The hills are dotted with boulders, some the size of small houses, and covered in a patchwork of scrub and hardy bushes.

The bushveld is alive with the sounds of nature beginning its day. In the distance, the distinct call of a fish eagle echoes from the direction of a nearby river, a meandering waterway that cuts through the land, flanked by thick riparian vegetation. The river waters are clear and cool, winding through the plain and carving out deep channels that form hidden pools and waterfalls, which glisten in the morning light. Two such pools are on Pilgrim’s Nest, one flowing into the other through a fifteen-metre-high waterfall.

Game ranches dot the landscape, their boundaries marked by sturdy fences that stretch for miles. Within these ranches, herds of impala, springbok, and kudu graze lazily, their coats glistening with the morning dew. Occasionally, a group of giraffes can be seen ambling gracefully through the trees, their long necks reaching for the tender leaves of the acacias. The sight of a warthog family scurrying through the underbrush, tails held high like flags, brings a smile to Alex’s face.

Perched on the patio of his homestead, Alex takes a deep breath of the cool, fresh air. The view from here is spectacular, a vast panorama of the Springbok Vlakte that seems to stretch on forever. His homestead is a sturdy structure built from local stone and wood which blends seamlessly into the natural surroundings, offering comfort and protection without intruding on the wild beauty of the land.

With a steaming mug of coffee in hand, Alex leans back in his chair, savouring the tranquillity of the early morning. The rich aroma of the coffee mingles with the earthy scent of the bushveld, creating a moment of pure contentment. In the distance, the first rays of sunlight catch the peaks of the distant mountains, painting them in hues of pink and orange.

The rest of the crew, Mai-loan, Nadia, Laura, Ally, and Zara—are still fast asleep, their rooms quiet and still. But for Alex, this is the best part of the day, when the world is just beginning to wake up and he can enjoy the solitude of his farm. The vastness of the plain, the early morning sounds of the cattle lowing in the fields after milking, and the earthy smell of the land. It all promises another day under the wide African sky.

A rustle in the air told me that the house was stirring. Militah, my trusty “domestic engineer”, will take care of breakfast, and already the smell of frying bacon mixes with the aroma of the half mug of coffee in my hand.

“Such a beautiful day...” Laura spoke behind me.

“Morning Laura. Yes, it’s the best part of the day.”

“I see your cattle grazing. Had you completed milking?”

“Yes, the rest of the farm hands took care of it.”

“You know that Mai-Loan farms with cattle?” Laura asked as she sat down on a patio chair. She had a mug of coffee in her hand, so I suppose she got to the coffee maker in the kitchen and met Militah.

“No, I had no idea,” I replied. “I should ask her about that sometime.”

“Do so. She loves to talk about her cattle.”

“I thought that she works full-time for the foundation and the airfreight business?”

“Nope! She has her little farming venture besides all the other stuff. She says it calms her soul.”

On that note, Militah appeared on the patio.

“Shall I set the table in the dining room, Alex?”

“Militah, I think the ladies can come dish in for themselves in the kitchen and then come out here on the patio.”

“Are there more ladies? Alright. They can come as breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes,” She replied and turned to go back inside, throwing over her shoulder: “I did not know you started a guest house for ladies ... Usually men just bring home one at a time,” And she laughed as she melted with the shadows inside the house. She had seen the girls and was just pulling my leg. Little rascal.

“There! You are in the el-torro-poopoo with her,” Laura chuckled.

“Nah, she’s good with it,” I replied.

“Where did you find her?”

“At a domestic worker agency. I needed someone to take care of this house, and she came highly recommended.”

“She looks like she could be of Malayan decent. She’ll get along fine with Roxy.”

“Who’s Roxy?”

“Oh, the mocha devil with her milkybar sidekick. Stick around with the Angels and you’ll get to meet them.”

“Mocha devil?”

“Yeah, Roxy is a Cape Malayan girl. Dark tan mocha coloured skin with long thick black hair and dark-brown eyes.”

“Is she also dangerous?”

“Pretty dangerous. Good with a knife and a gun. Ask Ash, next time you speak to him,” Laura replied. “But now that smell from the kitchen is doing things to me. That thunder you hear ain’t thunder ... it’s my tummy.”

With that, Laura got up to go to the kitchen, and with a sigh I followed her. All the more I hear of the Angels, the more I become hesitant about the mess with Sloan and that Italian Mafia guy. Then a thought struck me: I know of Mai-Loan and Nadia, but how many “Angels” does this Ash guy have?

Somewhere on the East Rand.

Sloan was just about to roll out of bed when his cell phone erupted with a shrill ring, cutting through the haze of his sleep. The screen flashed aggressively, demanding his attention. He groaned, reaching for it with a sluggish hand, his eyes barely open.

“Yeah?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

“You’re still in bed? The day’s running away from you,” the voice on the other end barked, irritation palpable.

“I’m awake, ain’t I?” Sloan shot back, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to shake off the grogginess.

“Don’t get smart with me. Are you awake enough to understand what I’m going to tell you?” The tone was sharp, cutting through the remnants of his drowsiness like a knife.

“Yes! Dammit, just spit it out,” Sloan snapped, now fully awake but far from alert, his mind still sluggishly catching up.

“Must I do all your work for you?”

“What work?” Sloan’s impatience was rising, his grip tightening on the phone.

“The girl...”

“What about the bitch?” he snarled, more out of habit than real anger. The mention of her, however, sent a jolt of unease through him.

“You’re looking in the wrong places for her,” the voice on the line continued, with an air of condescension that grated on Sloan’s nerves.

“She’s in freaking Rustenburg. A local floozy. Nothing more,” Sloan insisted, though a seed of doubt began to take root in his mind.

“She’s NOT in Rustenburg.”

“Then where the hell is she? If you’re so damn smart,” he challenged, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Try looking for her in Pretoria,” the voice suggested, calm and unnervingly confident.

“Why Pretoria?” Sloan’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse quickening.

“Because she was seen leaving Rustenburg with that boss-man of the Red Dragons.”

“What!” Sloan’s stomach twisted into a knot, the implications of this news sending a wave of nausea through him. His mind raced, trying to piece together what this meant.

“It seems like she blabbed to that guy about you and Spanner. Now, listen closely. You’ve got to take care of her. Fast,” the voice instructed, each word dripping with menace.

“But what if she told him about Spanner and me?” Sloan’s voice wavered slightly, the realization of how deep he was in this mess starting to hit him.

“If the police get involved, and she’s no longer around to testify, the SAPS will drop the case. No witness, no case.”

“So I need to check out Wonderboom Airport?” Sloan asked, his mind spinning as he tried to map out his next steps.

“I don’t think that boss-man will take her there. Use your imagination and follow the guy. He lives with his daughter near the airport. Maybe he took her home since she’s the same age as his daughter.”

“Okay, I’ll check it out...” Sloan’s voice trailed off as he tried to suppress the rising panic.

“What about the pilot for our next drop?” the voice demanded, shifting gears without warning.

“I’m working on it,” Sloan replied, his thoughts scattered, unable to focus on more than one crisis at a time.

“Work faster! The shipment is due in four days,” the voice snapped, impatience and anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Why don’t you guys just rent a helicopter?” Sloan suggested, more out of desperation than logic.

“And how exactly do you think we can get the shipment from the plane to the helicopter and flown out to the location we need it at? Think, Sloan!”

“Okay, I’ll contact a guy I know,” Sloan conceded, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

“Is he trustworthy?”

“He requires the money,” Sloan replied, knowing full well that in their world, need often trumped loyalty.

“Get on to it. The girl and the pilot.” The line went dead, leaving Sloan staring at his phone, the cold silence amplifying the tension in the room.

“Argh!” He growled, frustration boiling over. He fought the urge to throw the phone against the wall, knowing it wouldn’t solve anything. Instead, he forced himself out of bed, his body stiff from the tension that had gripped him since the call began.

He stretched, his muscles protesting as he made his way to the refrigerator, the knot in his stomach tightening. He rummaged through the sparse contents, finding a lone slice of bread and a can of beer.

“Well, looks like bread, butter, and beer for breakfast,” he mumbled to himself, trying to find some semblance of normalcy in the mundane routine. But the reality of his situation loomed large, impossible to ignore.

He took a swig of the beer, the bitter taste doing little to wash away the sour taste of fear in his mouth. He had a girl to find and a pilot with a helicopter to secure. The clock was ticking, and he knew that failure wasn’t an option. With a deep breath, Sloan steeled himself for the day ahead, the tension in his shoulders only growing heavier with each passing second.

Wonderboom airport, Pretoria, Gauteng.

Leon was buried in a stack of paperwork when an incoming email pinged in his inbox, catching his attention. The subject line alone was enough to make him pause and open it with a smile. The message was from Airshow South Africa, inquiring about the Red Dragons’ availability for an upcoming air show in the Western Cape later in the month.

Participating in air shows was something Leon enjoyed, both for the thrill of the flight and the camaraderie among the pilots. But as always, there were logistics to consider like the availability of his pilots, the condition of the aircraft, and the readiness of the ground crew. It wasn’t just a matter of saying yes; it required coordination and careful planning.

After mulling it over for a moment, Leon decided this was something he needed to discuss with Alex, his right-hand man and the Red Dragons’ number two. Alex had a sharp mind for these things, and Leon valued his input on anything involving the team. Plus, with everything that had been happening lately, Leon felt that a face-to-face conversation would be better than a phone call. And if he was being honest with himself, there was another reason he wanted to make the drive out to Alex’s farm: his daughter, Ally, was staying there keeping Zara company.

Leon thought about his daughter. Ally had a natural gift for making others feel at ease, and it seemed she was doing a great job of helping Zara settle in. It was a tough time for the young girl and knowing that Ally was there to support her until other arrangements could be made gave Leon a little more peace.

Leon quickly composed a response to the air show organizers, letting them know he was interested but needed to confirm the team’s availability first. He assured them that he’d get back to them as soon as possible with a decision. Satisfied with that, he closed his office door and made his way out to the car, already looking forward to the drive.

“Pete!” Leon called out to his hangar manager and chief technician as he walked across the tarmac. Pete looked up from the engine he was working on, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’m heading out to Alex’s place for a couple of hours. Keep things rolling here, okay?”

“You got it, boss,” Pete replied with a nod, already turning back to his work.

Leon climbed into his car, the familiar hum of the engine grounding him as he pulled out of the hangar. The drive to Alex’s farm wasn’t far, just long enough to clear his head and switch gears from the administrative tasks of the day to something more enjoyable. He barely noticed the traffic as he left Wonderboom Airport behind, his mind already on the conversation he would have with Alex and the sight of Ally at the farm.

What Leon didn’t notice, however, was the small Japanese compact car that pulled out onto the road behind him, keeping a discreet distance. The driver, a pair of sharp eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, had been watching Leon’s every move, waiting for this exact moment. As Leon drove on, blissfully unaware, his unknown tail followed, the car blending into the morning traffic with practised ease.

Leon was focused on the upcoming discussions, oblivious to the danger that was slowly but surely closing in.

Pilgrim’s Nest, north of Pretoria.

It was late morning at the farm, and I was in the midst of my routine, making sure everything was in order around the stables. I checked on the five horses, each one a thoroughbred, a breed known for its racing heritage but now enjoying a quieter life here on the farm. They might have had their origins in the fast-paced world of racing, but here they were just good, everyday riding horses. They had that distinctive thoroughbred spirit—agile, spirited, and full of energy.

After making sure they were fed and groomed, I led them out to the large paddock next to the stables. With a bit of help from the stable hands, we opened the gates and let the horses loose. It was always a joy to see them explode into the open space, their pent-up energy unleashed. They bolted out with an exuberance that was a reminder of their racing roots, but then as if on cue, they slowed down and began to graze on the lush green grass and the hay bales scattered around the paddock.