Chapter 6

Wonderboom Airport, Pretoria, Gauteng Province.

I sank into one of the easy chairs in Leon’s office, feeling the weight of the morning’s events pressing down on my shoulders. The room was dimly lit with a single shaft of sunlight breaking through the blinds, casting long shadows across the floor. I reached for my mug of coffee, still sitting untouched on Leon’s desk. The dark liquid had lost its warmth, but I needed something to ground me, even if it was a sip of cold coffee.

This morning had brought more than its fair share of problems. The engine stall, the uncertainty, the gnawing sense that something was deeply wrong — it all added up to a tangled mess of questions. Now that I had a clearer picture of why the engine stalled, those questions multiplied, each one pushing at the edge of my mind, demanding answers. I could see the same thoughts reflected in Leon’s furrowed brow as he sat across from me, hunched over in his chair like a man who’d just been given the worst news of his life. Then, as if reading my mind, Leon voiced the first question that had been gnawing at both of us.

“If it was an explosive device, how was it detonated?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, like he was afraid of the answer.

“With a mercury switch that triggers a time delay circuit,” I replied, my voice steady, though inside, I felt anything but. “How many times did you go inverted before the incident?”

“It was our second loop from last, about the third of forth loop...” Leon’s voice trailed off, barely more than a breath. He was still hunched forward, eyes fixed on the floor, as if trying to make sense of it all.

“Do you know how a mercury switch works?” I asked, leaning forward slightly, trying to gauge his understanding.

“No,” he admitted, finally looking up at me. “But we could ask Nadia, Dave Granger’s back-seater. She’s an explosives expert.”

“What!” I sat back, surprised by the revelation. “That skinny short little girl?”

“Yeah,” Leon said with a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Besides explosives and flying back seat, she has other skills too. Something that I’d rather not speak about.”

“Like what?” I pressed, curious now.

“Like blowing up bridges, Russian tanks, and mountain cliffs in the Middle East,” Leon disclosed, and I couldn’t hide my shock. My mouth fell open, and Leon noticed. “And she knows the blunt end from the sharp end of most assault rifles and handguns.”

“That sweet girl?” I couldn’t believe it. Nadia, with her bright smile and unassuming demeanour, had always seemed so ... innocent.

“Yeah,” Leon said with a hint of a smirk. “That sweet girl ain’t so sweet and innocent as she looks. Now, close your mouth. There are flies about.”

I shut my mouth, still reeling from the revelation, but tried to lighten the mood. “You know, now that I think of it, she’s a redhead, like Don’s wife Tracy. Also, Miss Harper, as well as Dan Du Preez’s fiancé, Bobbie. Looks like we have four redheads in our midst and should endeavour to keep them apart,” I chuckled, the tension in the room easing slightly.

“Why?” Leon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Redheads?” I grinned, enjoying the momentary distraction. “Bring them together, and they form a critical mass that might go BOOM! World domination and mayhem might be the order of the day.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Leon said, the hint of a smile fading as he returned to the grim reality at hand. “Now, who would have done a thing like killing Brian?”

“I can’t speculate on that,” I replied, the seriousness of the situation returning in full force. “Brian may have had some enemies, but that we don’t know. Besides, it could have been someone that wanted to put the Red Dragons out of business as well.” I took a sip of my coffee, grimacing as the cold liquid hit my tongue. “Damn! The coffee has gone cold.”

“Get some fresh coffee...” Leon said, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. The concern etched on his face was unmistakable.

There could have been many reasons for Brian’s killing, but if my assumption was correct, if it really was an explosive device that brought the aircraft down, then Brian was murdered. The weight of that realization settled heavily between us, a dark cloud over an already troubled morning.

I decided to change the subject. Leon’s mood was slipping into a more depressed state, weighed down by the loss of Brian, the aircraft, and the looming financial implications. I could see the stress carving deeper lines into his already tired face, and I knew he needed a distraction.

“Do you know Don Lambert well?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

Leon looked up, a faint glimmer of interest breaking through his gloom. “We do get together once in a while. Nice fellow. He has shares in a lot of stuff. Like that Angel’s Express Logistics airfreight business running out of here and out of Lambert Field in Northwest,” Leon explained, leaning back in his chair as he spoke. “Why do you ask?”

“Something Ally mentioned,” I said, shifting in my seat. “She said she made friends with Don’s wife, Tracy, but that Tracy said Don’s wife, Laura, was tending to the farm while Don, Tracy, and Mai-Loan were at the Rustenburg air show. How could that be?”

“Easy,” Leon replied, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Don is married to Laura.”

“But I thought Tracy was his wife?” I said, confusion creeping into my voice.

“That’s true,” Leon nodded.

“But how can he be married to two wives at the same time?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around what Leon was saying.

“He is legally married to Laura,” Leon clarified, “marriage license, ceremony, and all. But he’s also married to Tracy in a common law manner.”

“And the two girls are okay with that?” I asked, my eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Yes,” Leon said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “They have a mutual understanding about it.”

“Wow! I’ve never come across something like this before...” I muttered, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Ask Mai-Loan,” Leon continued, a mischievous glint in his eye. “She’s the third wife ... or is it the second wife ... or maybe the...” He trailed off, clearly amused by my confusion. “Oh, never mind. Don is married to all three. Laura officially, and Tracy and Mai-Loan by association.”

That’s when it happened. The sheer absurdity of the situation hit me all at once, and I tried to stifle a laugh. But as I took a sip of my coffee, the laughter won, and the next thing I knew, coffee was shooting out of my nose. I coughed and spluttered, trying to regain my composure as Leon chuckled across from me.

The confusion, the tangled web of relationships — everything about it was so utterly bizarre that it was almost too much to handle. And yet there we were, discussing it like it was just another part of the day.

“That brings me to Dave Granger,” Leon continued, his voice casual as if he were discussing the weather. “In the same way, he’s married to Lisa, Nadia, and that little blonde who owns Angel’s Express Logistics: Lucy.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. My mind was spinning, trying to process this new information. It was like I had fallen down some rabbit hole where the rules of relationships no longer applied. I needed air, something to clear my head from the surreal reality Leon was casually laying out. I stood up, pacing towards the window, but Leon wasn’t finished yet.

“ ... and,” Leon added, almost as an afterthought, “don’t tell Ally. I’ve always suspected she’s suppressing a crush on you. This information might just push her over the edge...”

My breath caught in my throat as I turned back to face him. “But you go ahead and let me babysit her?” I asked, feeling like the ground was slipping out from under me. “Seriously, Leon?”

Leon leaned back in his chair, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and something that almost resembled a challenge. “If you can’t fight them ... join them.”

“But she’s bound to find out for herself,” I protested, my mind racing with the implications of what he was suggesting. Ally wasn’t just some kid; she was smart, intuitive. It wouldn’t take long for her to put two and two together.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Leon said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His voice took on a sing-song quality as he added, “The future’s not ours to see ... What must be, must be.”

“Now I’m in a little bit of a mess...” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

“Why?” Leon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Because that news hawk, Miss Harper, got tickets to a show of that phantom singer, Mockingbird, and proposed to Ally that I take her to see the show, since Georgie can’t make it. She’ll be in Durban to cover a story.”

“When’s the show?” Leon asked, still looking far too relaxed for someone who had just turned my world upside down.

“Saturday night at the Super Bowl,” I replied, already dreading the impending evening.

“Then go. Take Ally. She’ll enjoy it; Mockingbird is a sort of idol to her.”

I shook my head, trying to deflect. “I’d rather you take her.”

“No,” Leon said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You take her. It’ll sort of solve a problem for me.”

I frowned. “What problem?”

Leon’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned in slightly. “I might not be buying an Airbus product, but I have a date with a great girl from the Airbus marketing department on Saturday...”

The absurdity of it all hit me like a ton of bricks. I could feel my sanity fraying at the edges. Without another word, I turned and made a beeline for the door. I needed fresh air — desperately.

As I closed the door behind me, I could still hear Leon’s laughter echoing down the hallway. It wasn’t just a chuckle; it was a full-bodied laugh, the kind that shook his shoulders and had him wiping at the corners of his eyes. How could he be so casual about the whole situation? Ally was his fourteen-year-old daughter, for crying out loud. If I were in his shoes, I’d be reaching for a sjambok and a shotgun, ready to guard her innocence with a fervour only a father could muster.

But then there was Saturday — his date. The thought gnawed at me. Was Leon finally moving on from the tragedy of losing his wife? Had he decided to dip his toes back into the murky waters of the dating game? A part of me was genuinely happy for him, hoping he’d find some semblance of happiness after all he’d been through. But then, like a slap to the face, another thought hit me — Ally. Was it possible she had her sights set on me? The idea sent a cold shiver down my spine, one that lingered long after the thought passed.

Where did I stand in this tangled mess? It was a question I couldn’t easily answer. Did I really see the little blonde as just a friend? Or was there something more — something dangerous — lurking beneath the surface? The thought alone was enough to make me sweat. Just the idea of innocently brushing her hair out of her face or helping her bundle it into a flight suit was suddenly laden with risk. One wrong move, one misunderstood gesture, and I’d be facing twenty years in jail, my life destroyed over something I never intended to happen. Or am I over reacting to something that might not even be on Ally’s mind?

I tried to push the thought out of my mind, but it clung to me like a bad omen. There was no denying that Ally was growing up, and fast. But where did that leave me? Was I just the guy who looked out for her, or was there something more that I hadn’t even allowed myself to consider? I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion, but it only settled in deeper. The last thing I wanted was to end up on the wrong side of this situation.

But how do you walk that line? How do you stay close enough to protect her without stepping over a boundary that would ruin both our lives? The answer was as elusive as it was terrifying.

Rand Airport, Near Kempton Park, Gauteng Province

The rest of the week fell into its usual rhythm, with the daily grind keeping me on my toes. The farm ran like clockwork, the management team showing the kind of dedication I’d come to expect. But then again, they had a stake in the business — literally. As shareholders, their hard work wasn’t just about a pay cheque; they knew that at the end of the day, there would be real financial rewards to reap.

The charter business was humming along as well. In a market as competitive as ours, that was no small feat. We had four flights scheduled for the week—one to Botswana and three to local destinations. For the Musina (FAMS) flight, seven civil engineers needed transport to inspect and compile a report on the condition of the bridges spanning the Limpopo River at Beit Bridge. For this, I authorised the use of the Pilatus PC-12, and the three pilots on my payroll took the contingent out early Tuesday morning. Two pilots to fly the bird and the other one to play hostess, and she would not mind. It gets her out of the office too.

The bridges they were inspecting were vital to the infrastructure—a lifeline between South Africa and Zimbabwe. One bridge carried the weight of road traffic, while the other, fifty meters to the east, handled railway traffic. The maintenance of these structures was a joint effort between the South African Department of Roads and Transport and the Zimbabwean Government Maintenance Department. This collaboration was crucial, as this route was the main artery for trade and tourism between the two nations.

By Wednesday morning, I found myself at Rand Airport, gearing up for my meeting and interview with Tshepo Masemola of the SACAA. The meeting went smoothly, largely focused on the operation of the L-39 Albatros aircraft, reaffirming what Leon had already testified. But as we wrapped up, Tshepo had something else to show me: the engine from Brian’s L-39, recovered and now sitting in the hangar of NAC Aircraft Services.

“Have you recovered everything from the aircraft?” I asked, curious about the extent of their investigation.

“Everything we could find, yes,” Tshepo replied, his tone measured. “Why do you ask?”

“Anything unusual? Something that doesn’t belong on an aircraft, a foreign circuit board, a piece of wire ... anything?”

Tshepo raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by my line of questioning. “What are you getting at?”

“Did you recover the oil pump?”

“Yes, we recovered most of it,” he confirmed. “We believe it shattered on impact.”

“Most of it?” I echoed, my interest piqued. “But that part of the fuselage was relatively intact, wasn’t it?”

“Except for where the engine broke clear and was left thirty meters behind the main wreckage,” Tshepo explained.

“Can you show me the parts that were recovered?” I asked, my mind racing with possibilities.

He led me over to a table cluttered with twisted metal and charred components. “It’s all here. But why all the questions?”

I leaned in, examining the remnants of the oil pump. “The oil pump is located on the right side of the engine, near the high-pressure compressor, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Tshepo nodded, following my gaze.

“On the outside of the engine housing...”

“Yes. But where are you going with this?” Tshepo’s curiosity was now fully engaged.

I pointed to a cover plate lying amongst the debris. “Look at the cover plate over the high-pressure compressor. Notice the hole? The edges are bent inward, towards the compressor.”