Chapter 14

Wonderboom airport. Pretoria, Gauteng province.

The terrace of Villa San Giovanni’s Ristorante and Pizzeria was a sanctuary from the midday heat, perched with a panoramic view of Wonderboom Airport’s apron “A” and the main runway stretching out toward the horizon. To the north, three distinct hills stood out, their silhouettes hazy under the afternoon sun. They loomed over the landscape, dusted in a grey-green tint as the heat waves shimmered above them. The closest, Hall’s Hill, rose to 1289 meters above sea level — just 41 meters higher than the airport itself, making it more of a subtle rise than anything imposing. Still, in the glinting sun, it felt significant.

From here you could hear the distant hum of aircraft engines and see the little Cessnas from the local flight schools darting across the runway like birds on a breeze. The usual midday hustle had given way to a quiet lull, as the lunch crowd dispersed as quickly as it had arrived, leaving only a few diners scattered about enjoying the last of the afternoon.

The Villa itself was something of a local treasure. I’d been coming here for years, and though the décor had evolved, its charm remained unchanged. A family-run business as far back as I could remember, Villa San Giovanni had become more than just a restaurant; it was an experience. From the cozy coffee shop inside the main terminal building, to the spacious dining rooms and terrace that overlooked the airport, to the guest house offering overnight stays, it had everything. They even had a playground for kids, but thankfully, today it was mercifully quiet.

I pulled out a chair for Georgie, the iron legs scraping gently across the tiled floor. She flashed me one of her trademark smiles, the kind that seemed to light up the space between us.

“Thanks, Alex,” she said as she sat down, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “Thank God for air conditioners.”

I laughed. “Out here, it’s just the mist spray to keep things tolerable.”

She glanced at the nearby water pipes with sprayer heads blowing cool mist into the air. “Yeah, but it’s cooler than out there on the apron.”

“True,” I agreed, settling into my chair. The heat had been relentless all day, but the terrace offered a perfect blend of shade and that slight relief from the mist spray, just enough to make it bearable.

I picked up the menu, already knowing what I wanted. “Soda or a milkshake?”

“The blueberry gourmet milkshake sounds yummy,” Georgie said, eyeing the menu.

“I’ll go for an affogato,” I decided, craving the combination of ice cream and espresso. The heat called for something cold, and the caffeine would do wonders.

“You’re ever the coffee pot, aren’t you?” Georgie teased, her smile widening as she shook her head.

“I love my coffee,” I admitted, grinning.

“You know,” she said, leaning back in her chair and taking in the surroundings, “I’ve never been to this place before. It feels pretty upmarket. Skip the milkshake. I’ll go for an affogato too, but only a small one please.” Then, her eyes drifting over the planes outside, almost as if she was contemplating the next big story.

I couldn’t resist. “Is that a hint that I should bring you here for a full-blown three-course dinner sometime?”

Georgie glanced at me, the hint of a playful smile tugging at her lips. “That’s a thought. You could run that by me sometime.”

Before I could dig myself deeper, the waiter appeared, taking our orders and disappearing back inside, leaving us with the afternoon sun and the steady hum of the airport beyond.

“Now, Alex. I don’t want to pry too much, but what’s the story behind that call you just got? And who is the pink-haired girl?” Georgie’s voice carried a blend of curiosity and persistence as she leaned forward, her notebook already primed for notes.

I sighed lightly and leaned back in my chair, allowing the fine mist from the patio’s spray system to cool the humid air around us. “Ah, the pink-haired girl ... Zara,” I began, pausing to let the name hang in the air. “You know how life is: it throws some real curveballs at you.”

“Uh-huh. And?” Georgie pressed, her brow furrowing slightly, clearly not satisfied with my vague response. The glint in her eyes told me she wasn’t one to let go of the thread easily.

I looked at her, my mind turning over how much I should actually say. She wasn’t just anyone; Georgie was sharp, and I could see her trying to connect the dots.

“You wanted to tell me something about Sloan,” I said, smoothly deflecting. “You first, then I’ll fill you in on Sloan, pink-haired Zara, and the call I just received.”

“Okay, playing hard to get,” she shot back, a smirk forming at the corner of her lips. “Well, I found out Mister Sloan Thornton ain’t the angel we thought he was. Even that background I mentioned to you before? It’s nothing compared to what I discovered now.” Her expression shifted, eyes behind her glasses growing serious, hard like stone.

I tilted my head slightly, intrigued but already aware of where this might lead. “Smoke on ... GO,” I replied, my lips curling into a small smile.

“Smoke on go?” Georgie shot me a sharp look, confusion flickering across her face.

“Aerobatic term,” I explained. “It means switch on your smoke trail and show what you’ve got.”

Her eyes widened slightly, but she stayed focused. “Okay ... Well, Mister Thornton seems to have done some underhanded and shady business deals with underworld characters straight out of the Godfather movies.”

“Mafia types?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow while keeping my expression neutral, not wanting to reveal that I already knew much of this.

Georgie leaned in closer, her voice dropping as if she were about to reveal a deep secret. “Have you heard of the name ‘The Ghost’ before?” she asked, her smirk returning, this time with a hint of triumph, like she was holding onto something explosive.

“El Fantasma?” I countered casually, keeping my tone light.

Her brow furrowed. “El Fantasma?” she repeated, clearly caught off guard by my response.

“Italian, for The Ghost,” I said softly. “It’s the nickname for Luciano Andreotti.”

Georgie’s eyes widened. “Alex! What do you know about this Luciano ... The Ghost?”

I shifted in my seat slightly, gauging her reaction. “That he tried to take over the ‘family business’ in Italy. Some wheeling and dealing landed him in trouble with the rest of his family. When things got too hot, he fled to South Africa, where he built a new empire. Expanded it, in fact, until he became an international player in trade between South America, the East, and Europe.”

“Dammit! For an aerobatic display pilot, you’re well-informed...” she sighed, crossing her arms. “Are you not moonlighting as a PI?”

I grinned at that. “Nope. I got pulled into this mess when Sloan arranged Brian Selby’s murder.”

Her eyes flashed, and she leaned forward, clearly not expecting that revelation. “How did that come about?”

I held up a hand. “Finish your story first.”

She gave me a measured look but continued. “Alright. According to my source, Sloan Thornton works for this Andreotti guy and is running the local operation here in Gauteng. Sort of a provincial commander in chief.”

“Go on...” I said, urging her to continue.

“I don’t have much more, not yet. I still need proof.”

I glanced at her untouched affogato, which had started to warm up slightly. “Do you want something to eat while we’re here?”

She waved off the offer with a shake of her head. “No, I’m fine. Why? Are you hungry?”

I chuckled lightly. “No, but if I tell you my side of the story, it might take a while. You might get hungry.”

Georgie’s expression shifted into one of amused suspicion. “Alex?”

“Sit back and relax,” I said, lowering my voice. “What I’m about to tell you will give you all the proof you need. But this stays between us. Do I have your word? No publishing any of this until we close down Andreotti’s operation.”

She met my gaze, her eyes steady. “I know when to shut up and keep my pose.”

“Good. Then here goes ... The day before yesterday, Leon came to me...” I started, recounting the events leading up to Zara showing up at my place, and the attack we managed to foil. I left nothing out, weaving the details as Georgie quietly sipped her affogato, now and then nodding as she processed the information.

The afternoon sun began its descent, painting the sky in shades of amber as our conversation stretched into early evening. At one point, she ordered another affogato and a plate of chips and dip, her serious demeanour not letting up.

“Dammit! Alex!” she finally exclaimed when I finished the story.

“Do you want a little girl spanking?” I teased, a grin tugging at my lips.

“NO! Why?” she shot back, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“Stop saying ‘dammit’. Pretty girls don’t use words like that.”

She chuckled, the sound light and musical. “Then you better go oil the belt, ‘cause I’ve got plenty more colourful verbs and nouns to use,” she giggled, the playful side of her peeking through.

“Next time.”

“Next time, what?” she asked, eyes narrowing playfully.

“Next time your butt might burn,” I said, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

“Oh, so there will be a next time?” Her voice took on a teasing lilt.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to play it cool. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, you seem to think we, you and me, will be chatting in the future, and not just over the phone...” she replied, throwing in a wink for good measure.

I leaned back, crossing my arms with a small grin. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” She smiled back, her expression softening. “Now when can I meet this Zara girl and the others who saved her life?”

“Any time you want. But Georgie, not a word out on any channel.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die...”

I smirked, holding up a hand. “Say that again, but this time, show me your hands.”

She shot me a look. “Why?”

“So, I can see you’re not crossing your fingers.”

This time, Georgie laughed out loud, a sweet melody that echoed in the cooling air.

Back at the hangar, Georgie started her car and put the canvas top up. The soft, canvas roof rose smoothly into place, and I couldn’t help but notice it matched the car’s paint colour exactly. Custom job. It probably cost extra.

I pulled my own car out of the hangar with Georgie following closely behind. The thirty-minute drive to Pilgrim’s Nest was peaceful. The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting long golden shadows over the open fields. It was a calm contrast to the day we’d had, and as I glanced in the rearview mirror, I could see Georgie’s car cruising along comfortably behind me. The top was now firmly in place, protecting her from the hot afternoon sun.

When we finally pulled up to the homestead, Georgie parked next to me and her eyes immediately began scanning the surroundings — the horses grazing in the paddock, the cows dotting the field off to the left of the house, and a few chickens and geese wandering lazily around the stables, pecking at the grass.

A hint of a smile played on her lips as she took it all in. Her head moved slowly, like she was trying to soak in every detail, her eyes bright with curiosity. Then her gaze settled on the house itself, the old homestead standing proudly amid the serenity.

“Wow, Mister Meyer,” she said, her voice soft with admiration. “This is so serene and homely. No wonder you’re always so relaxed. If I had this view to wake up to every morning...” She trailed off, her words carried away in the hot afternoon air.

“You can come spend a weekend here if you want,” I offered casually, trying not to make a big deal out of it. “Though it’s a bit crowded at the moment.”

“A little crowded?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “Zara and Ally are here, along with Zara’s four bodyguards. Let’s just say it can get a little rowdy.”

“Four bodyguards? Does Zara really need four of them?” Georgie asked, intrigued.

I smirked. “Come on, let’s go meet them. You can judge for yourself.” But before we could take a step, the stable doors burst open, and two figures came bolting out, headed straight for us. Zara and Ally, with their messy ponytails bouncing, they came skipping across the yard, their grins wide and infectious. Behind them, Nadia and Darya trailed along at a more leisurely pace, looking much less enthusiastic but still amused by the antics ahead.

“Here come the typhoons. Brace yourself,” I said with a wink, bracing for impact.

“You’re not used to having teenagers running wild here, are you?” Georgie giggled, clearly entertained.

“Hello, Georgie!” Ally called out when she was still a few meters away. “Welcome to Pilgrim’s Nest!”

I braced for Ally’s usual energetic greeting, but surprisingly, she stopped just short of leaping into my arms like she usually did. It seemed Georgie’s presence had inspired a rare bit of restraint, and I was more than a little relieved.

Nadia and Darya reached us next, more composed than the younger girls. “Hi there, I’m Nadia,” the redhead said with a friendly smile, extending her hand. “This is Darya.”

Ally, ever the jokester, piped in, “Oh boy! Two redheads in close proximity! Alex, we must keep them apart. Just now we’ll have mayhem and world domination to contend with!”

“Ally!” Darya scolded, rolling her eyes. “Don’t scare the guest.”

Georgie looked between the two of them, clearly amused but slightly confused. “What is that all about?” she asked, a bemused smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“I’ll explain later,” I replied with a knowing grin. “Come on, let’s get out of the sun and into some shade.”

We all headed up the steps to the patio, where the shade from the overhanging roof provided a welcome break from the sun. Mai-Loan, Ronny, and Leon were already sitting around the patio table, enjoying the last of the afternoon light, and they looked up as we approached. Mai-Loan waved warmly while Ronny gave a quick nod of greeting. Leon, ever the composed one, just smiled softly. I made the introductions all around and Georgie got a seat next to Ally.

Zara, never one to shy away from curiosity, turned her attention to Georgie as we sat down. “So, Miss Harper, are you the girl from TV?”

Georgie smiled modestly. “Guilty as charged,” she replied, her voice light.

“Oh, boy! A real celebrity here with us. I better behave...” Zara teased, flashing a quick smile before glancing shyly in my direction. I gave her a small, reassuring nod.

Turning to Leon, I nodded towards the house. “Leon, would you mind joining me in my study for a moment? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“Sure, Alex,” Leon said easily, standing up.

As we walked into the house, I glanced back and saw Georgie laughing at something Ally had said, her smile wide and genuine. The atmosphere was light, the warmth of the place wrapping around all of us, despite the noise and youthful energy.

It felt like home.

When Leon and I reached the study, I waved him in and quietly closed the door behind us. The soft click of the latch seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, adding weight to the conversation we were about to have. The air felt charged, heavy with the unspoken tension that had been building since the incident. Sunlight filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the floor, but the warmth of the afternoon outside couldn’t pierce the cold resolve settling in my chest.

I walked past the heavy oak desk and sat down in a chair next to Leon, who was already leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, eyes fixed on me with concern. I could feel his anxiety radiating off him, but I needed to stay calm. One of us had to be.

“I had a call from someone,” I began, my voice steady but low, “sounding a bit Italian.”

Leon’s brow furrowed. “And...?”

“This person claimed that if I don’t return Zara to him by noon tomorrow, something is going to happen at my business.” I leaned back, watching Leon closely, letting the weight of my words sink in.

“Holy crap!” Leon’s eyes widened, his expression a mix of shock and urgency. “We need to speak to that Ash guy. Not now-now, BUT NOW!” His voice was sharp, almost panicked.

“Whoa there, Leon. Hold your horses.” I raised a hand, trying to calm him. “I have a plan.”

“Alex, you don’t play with these guys.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering into a fierce whisper. “We need to get things in place. Look what happened last night!” His eyes were locked onto mine, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

“And do you suppose I just hand them Zara without a fight?” I shot back, feeling a flicker of irritation at his suggestion.

Leon sat up straighter, shaking his head. “Alex, listen to me. This has got nothing to do with you. Let me handle it and get Ashwin Windsor and Brigadier Franks briefed. They’ll come up with a plan.”

His words were reasonable, but I couldn’t shake the feeling clawing at my gut — the violation, the threat. My blood simmered just below the surface.