Chapter 16

Pilgrim’s Nest, Gauteng Province.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white as I tried to steady my breathing. My carefully laid plans, which had felt so solid this morning, now crumbled before my eyes, leaving a sickening weight in my gut. Halfway between the farmyard and the road to the N1, I’d stalled. Not because of a mechanical issue but because of something far worse — a looming sense of dread I couldn’t shake.

The SUV idled off the Pilgrim’s Nest access road, the dust swirling in the wake of my sudden stop and slowly settling back on the car like a shroud. Every second felt like an eternity, the quiet only broken by the low hum of the engine. I tried Georgie’s number again, praying she’d answer this time. It rang once, twice ... six times before her voicemail picked up yet again, her calm, recorded voice somehow making everything worse. Where was she?

Frustrated, I hit the dial button once more, but this time the beep of an incoming call interrupted. I quickly swiped to answer, my heart racing.

“Yes!” I snapped, the anxiety slipping into my tone before I could stop it.

“Alex Meyer?” It was John Groenewalt, Georgie’s cameraman. His voice was firm but carried a trace of concern. “I’m looking for Miss Harper. Is she with you?”

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair. “Hi, John. No, Georgie left a while ago, about an hour and a half back. Why?”

“I can’t reach her. There’s an incident we need to cover,” John’s sigh crackled over the line. “I’ve called her five times, and it goes straight to voicemail.”

The knot in my stomach twisted tighter. “John, I’m sure she’s just stuck in traffic. She’ll be with you soon,” I replied, though my own words did not convince me.

“She’s got Bluetooth in her car, Alex,” John reminded me, his voice heavy with worry. “She can answer with the press of a button on her steering wheel.”

I swallowed hard, the concern seeping into me now. This wasn’t right. Georgie was always reliable; she would’ve answered by now if she could. Something was off.

“Let me try to reach her,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’ll call you back if I reach her.”

“Thanks, Alex. I appreciate it,” John said, then the line went dead.

I stared blankly at the dashboard, the ringing silence left in John’s wake only amplifying my anxiety. She could’ve had her phone on silent ... maybe her battery died ... no, none of that made sense. Georgie was too careful, too diligent. She wouldn’t miss a call from John, not on the day of a possible major story. Something had happened — I could feel it.

Without wasting another second, I dialled Mai-Loan, my heart hammering against my ribs as the phone rang. She picked up after two rings, her voice crisp and direct.

“What’s up?”

“They got Georgie,” I blurted, skipping the preamble. I could hear my own pulse in my ears, each beat louder than the last. “Borrelli called and offered a trade. Zara for Georgie.”

“What?!” Mai-Loan’s sharp intake of breath echoed over the line. “They got Georgie?”

“I tried calling her, but nothing. Her phone rings and then goes straight to voicemail. John’s been looking for her too as she’s late for a broadcast,” I said, my voice trembling slightly as I pressed my palm into my forehead, trying to think straight.

“Where are you now?” she demanded, her voice taking on a more urgent tone.

“On my way out. I barely left the farm, maybe a few kilometres down,” I answered, glancing out at the open road ahead, the farmhouse in my rearview mirror in the distance.

“Turn back. Go back to the house,” Mai-Loan ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll call you in just a couple of minutes.”

The line clicked off before I could respond. For a moment, I just sat there, gripping the phone, feeling the weight of everything bearing down on me. Georgie ... Zara ... Borrelli. It all swirled around in my head, a chaotic mess of thoughts I couldn’t untangle.

With a deep breath, I jammed the SUV into reverse and spun the wheel, kicking up more dust as I turned back towards the farmhouse. Every second felt like it stretched out forever, my nerves fraying with each passing minute. What if Borrelli wasn’t bluffing? What if they already had her?

As I drove back, my mind raced through every possibility, each one darker than the last. My stomach churned, a gnawing sense of helplessness creeping in. There had to be something I could do. There had to be!

The engine hummed beneath me, but all I could hear was the silence on Georgie’s end, the unanswered calls, and the feeling that time was slipping away far too fast.

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel in frustration, adrenaline coursing through me. We had to get her back.

As I stepped up onto the patio, the rough texture of the steps beneath my boots barely registered. My mind was a mess, nerves on edge. Before I could take a seat, my phone buzzed in my pocket, the sharp trill cutting through the thick tension in my chest.

“Yes!” I answered, my voice tight with impatience.

“Okay, I just got the call from Mai-Loan. What’s Miss Harper’s cell number?” Ash asked, his tone clipped and efficient, wasting no time.

“Zero eight seven...” I rattled off Georgie’s number. “Why?”

“If it doesn’t ring and goes straight to voicemail, that means the phone’s off or dead. But if it rings a few times before hitting voicemail, the phone is on silent,” Ash explained calmly. “If the battery holds, we might be able to trace her location.”

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. “You can do that?”

“We at the foundation can do a lot more than the SAPS,” he said, the confidence in his voice unsettling but oddly reassuring. Then I heard him speak to someone off the line. “Angie, call, trace, and locate this number,” he instructed, and in the background, a muffled response came.

I gripped the phone tighter, the seconds stretching on as voices murmured indistinctly on Ash’s end. My pulse thudded in my ears, the weight of the situation sinking in further with every heartbeat. Georgie trapped somewhere. God, what was happening to her right now?

“Okay, Angie’s on it,” Ash continued, bringing me back to the present. “We’ll have her location in ... standby...” His voice faded briefly as more muffled conversation filtered through the speaker.

I paced, the crunch of gravel beneath my feet doing nothing to calm the storm brewing inside me. I glanced at the wide stretch of land ahead — the farm’s slightly rounded hills like ocean swells that once felt so peaceful, now seemed distant and irrelevant.

“Spot on!” Ash’s voice came back loud and clear, breaking the tense silence. “We have a location on the East Rand. The N3 highway ... No! Wait! Angie’s got a second weaker signal from a lot further on...”

My gut tightened. “The East Rand? Where exactly on the East Rand? And why two signals?”

“Does Miss Harper have a smartwatch?”

“Now that I think of it ... Yes, An Apple product ... it goes with her iPhone.”

“Good girl!” Ash replied. “I’ll scramble the Puma to go look. I think her phone is somewhere ditched on the N3. Sorry, Alex, but it looks like she was high jacked. According to the satellite images, the second weaker signal comes from a place in Dalpark Industrial. The building’s about 533 square meters. It’s located on Airport Road, right next to Brakpan Airport.”

I frowned, trying to make sense of it. “What would Georgie be doing there?” I asked, though I already knew it had nothing to do with her. This was all Borrelli.

“If Borrelli’s behind this, that’s likely where they’re holding her,” Ash replied. His voice was calm, methodical, but I felt the urgency lurking beneath the surface. “What time did he say they wanted to do the exchange?”

“At 14:00,” I said, checking my watch. Time was slipping away fast. “How does Georgie’s smartwatch communicate with her phone if it’s not in range?

“Because it is an Apple product. As long as it can get a Wi-Fi signal, she can use it and it transmits a location from the GPS in the watch. That means the watch is connecting via Wi-Fi and not cellular or Bluetooth connection.”

“I must get one!” I replied.

“I thought you had one ... All pilots have iPhones and iPads,” Chuckle.

“I trust Samsung, iPhones are too expensive. Besides, Samsung works great with navigation and moving map displays on their Tab 10 or Tab S9.”

“iPhone and iPad too. Now, if it is Borrelli that’s got her,” Ash replied. “They won’t move her before 13:00, maybe 13:30 at the latest. That gives us three hours, give or take.”

“Three hours for what?” I asked, my stomach flipping with the realization that something big was about to happen.

“Three hours to mount and execute a rescue plan,” Ash said flatly, as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

I felt a jolt of surprise. “Ash, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Leave it to us, Alex,” he replied, his voice steady. “Angie’s already pulling up the building’s schematics, and Mai-Loan and TC will come up with the extraction plan. We’ll have Miss Harper out before Borrelli knows what hit him.”

“TC?” I repeated, my head spinning as I tried to keep up with the barrage of information. “Who’s that?”

“The leader of my security team,” Ash explained. “Major TC Kowalski. TC is short for Theodore Charleston. Retired US Marine, now leading my personal task force.”

I let out a slow breath, trying to grasp the scale of what Ash was telling me. “And he’s the one leading the extraction? If he’s retired, then isn’t he too old for this stuff?”

Ash chuckled.

“Don’t let him hear you say that! In the USA, these guys retire at thirty or thirty-five. With him and the Angels on your side, I’ve got only six words for you,” Ash said, his tone shifting to something more intense. “Let your enemies tremble and fear.”

I was silent for a moment, processing his words. Who the hell were these people? The Angels? The TC Rangers? It was like stepping into some kind of action thriller, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready for it.

“But Ash, what about Brigadier Franks and the SAPS Taskforce?” I pressed, my mind still stuck in the realm of logical procedure. This was their territory, wasn’t it?

“Oh, Joe will be there, make no mistake.” Ash said, dismissing the idea with an unsettling casualness. “But we’re leaving the Taskforce out of it for now.”

“What?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Ash, the SAPS knows how to handle situations like this!”

“Alex,” Ash interrupted, his voice calm but firm, “TC and the Angels are a Force Ten whirlwind. When they get going, you’ll see why we’re not waiting around for anyone. This needs precision, speed. No bureaucracy. No red tape.”

A beat of silence passed before he continued, and when he spoke again, his voice had a steely edge. “Get ready to fly. Dave or Don will be there with one of the MD530 helicopters to pick you up shortly. And Alex — pack your nine-millimetre. You’re going to need it.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me like a lead blanket. “I’ll be ready,” I replied, my voice sounding far more confident than I felt.

“Good,” Ash said, and then the line went dead.

I stood there, phone in hand, staring out over the hill where everything had started. Where Sloan had appeared in my life, where this whole chaotic spiral began. A strange, hollow thought echoed in the back of my mind: Who the hell are these people? The Angels and the TC Rangers?

I sat down heavily on the patio chair, my gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Somewhere out there, Georgie was in danger. And somewhere out there, a storm was brewing, led by Ash’s mysterious team of angels and warriors. Whatever was coming next, it was going to be anything but ordinary.

Things started happening fast — too fast, almost a blur. First, the Angels barrelled back into the farmyard, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that drifted across the dry ground. The SUV skidded to a halt, and before the dust even settled, Mai-Loan, Nadia, and Darya were out, moving like they were floating on air. The second SUV wasn’t far behind, tires grinding as it skidded to a stop, and its doors burst open, revealing Leah, Olivia, and a girl I hadn’t met before. Her mocha-coloured skin gave her away immediately. That had to be Roxy, the Mocha-devil.

They were all dressed in light brown military fatigues, the kind you’d expect on a special ops team. Combat webbing, holstered weapons, and tactical gear clung to them like second skins. There was no hesitation — every movement was calculated, precise. The back hatches of both vehicles swung open, and within seconds, gear and equipment was being handed out, double-checked, and readied. The air was thick with the scent of fuel, metal, and the bushveld heat.

Mai-Loan headed straight for me, her face locked in a grim expression. “Here,” she said sharply, tossing me a bulletproof vest that felt heavier than I expected. I caught it, barely keeping hold of the MP7 automatic carbine she handed me next. The weapon was compact, but it looked and felt mean as hell in my hands.

“You’re coming in with us,” she added, her voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “Get dressed, we move as soon as the choppers arrive.”

“What choppers?” I stammered, still trying to wrap my head around the situation. I had expected Dave or Don to pick me up in the MD530, a quick, tight extraction, but this ... this was something else entirely.

“I thought Don was picking me up — just the two of us in the MD530?”

Mai-Loan shook her head with a smirk. “You think we’re squeezing all of us into one bird? The whole squadron’s been scrambled for this op.”

“The whole squadron?” I repeated, feeling my pulse quicken. “How many helicopters are we talking about?”

“Four for now. The EC135’s still down in Cape Town, but the two MD530s and the BO105 are incoming. Should be enough for what we need. The Puma is circling the target at 16000 feet MSL.”

I whistled low under my breath, barely containing the growing tension in my chest. “Holy shit ... you people don’t mess around.”

“Nope,” she replied curtly, her eyes darting to the sky. “Get ready. They’re inbound.”

As if on cue, the unmistakable high-pitched whine of helicopter rotors broke through the stillness. I turned toward the sound and spotted them — three dark specks in the sky, quickly growing larger as they skimmed low over the acacia trees to the west. The MD530s, sleek and aggressive, flew in formation. But it was the BO105 that caught my attention, painted in desert camo with the two .50 Browning machine guns menacingly mounted in the open doors. It looked like something pulled straight from a war zone.

The patch of grass in front of the farmhouse wasn’t exactly a perfect landing zone, but these pilots weren’t your average flyers. The choppers came in low, circling tightly as they tested the wind. My heart raced as I watched them hover for a moment, their rotors kicking up a storm of dust and debris, leaves scattering in every direction. And then, one by one, they descended, touching down with barely a thud — two MD530s side by side and the BO105 landing just behind them like a silent predator.

I chuckled at the BO105’s registration: I-BITE. I’m sure with those .50 Brownings mounted, it can bite a big chunk out of anything that crosses its path.

Mai-Loan gave me a firm shove, pushing me toward one of the MD530s. “We’re with Dave. Move it!”

I barely had time to register what was happening. My feet carried me forward on autopilot as Dave Granger, sitting cool as ice in the cockpit, beckoned me in. The rotor wash was deafening, the wind whipping against my face as I climbed in, fumbled with the headset and buckled in.

“Let’s go,” Dave’s voice crackled in my ears the moment Mai-Loan and I buckled in. There was no time for pleasantries — this was all business.

Within minutes, Dave pulled back on the collective, and the MD530 lifted off with a sudden jolt. My stomach dropped as we climbed fast, the ground falling away beneath us. The other two helicopters followed, their shadows chasing us across the bushveld savannah grass as we banked south, south-east and levelled off at 6,500 feet MSL on a course of 159 degrees magnetic.

“Puma’s already in position,” Dave’s voice cut through the noise in my headset. “They’re at sixteen thousand feet, holding steady over the target. They found Miss Harper’s BMW along the N3 towards Heidelberg, and Joe Franks and his crew are on their way to secure it. Ash and Angie are ignoring the iPhone signal and concentrating on the other weaker signal from her smartwatch. I just love a tech-savvy girl!”

I glanced at Mai-Loan, who was sitting to my right, her eyes narrowed as she listened to Don’s report. “They’ve picked up twelve heat signatures inside the building,” Don continued. “Eleven of them are moving, but one’s stationary, located in a room to the north. I just hope the Puma don’t fry them with that ground penetrating radar!”

“They won’t use the ground penetrating radar. Just the FLIR and the infra-red scanner,” Mai-Loan interjected. “But for all I care, they can fry the mother fuckers in that warehouse!”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. “You think that could be Georgie? Miss Harper, in that room?”

Mai-Loan nodded, her face set in a determined scowl. “If it’s Georgie, this just got a lot simpler. That room is right up against the side of the building. Nadia can breach the exterior wall with a small charge. We’ll go in fast, grab her, and get the hell out. Then Dave and the chopper will be waiting for evac.”

“And the rest of them?” I asked, a chill running down my spine despite the adrenaline. I had no illusions about the people we were dealing with.

“TC and his squad will mop up whatever’s left,” she said coldly, her hand tightening around her weapon.

As the helicopters sliced through the sky, I felt the weight of the vest pressing against my chest, my fingers gripping the MP7 tightly. Every second stretched, the tension building, the anticipation of what lay ahead gnawing at my gut. I could feel the sweat on the back of my neck, the pulse in my temples, the rapid thud of my heart in my ears.

This wasn’t a rescue — this was a battle of the Titans!