Chapter 9

The drive back to Noordhoek Beach cottage.

Fiona was thoughtful and quiet on the way back, her gaze fixed on the passing coastline as we drove along the main road past Clovelly. The rhythmic sound of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional rush of wind through the open window.

I took the familiar route, turning right at the traffic circle in Fish Hoek and easing the SUV onto Kommetjie Road. The drive would take us past Sunvalley, through a few scattered intersections, and eventually to Noordhoek, where the cottage lay nestled against the slopes of Chapman’s Peak.

“So, where’s your equipment?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road as I took the right fork toward the cottage.

“In three boxes and one crate, all secured in the back of the Landie,” she replied.

“You came prepared.”

“It’s my own personal equipment. Well ... technically, it belongs to Anderson. He insisted on buying it for me rather than having me borrow it from the university or rent it. That way, I didn’t have to disclose why I needed it and risk drawing attention to the Star.”

“Smart alternative.”

“Yeah ... but that was when I first started putting two and two together and getting five.”

“Why?”

“The equipment, for one. Then there was the confidentiality clause in my contract. That’s when I realized Anderson wanted the Star for himself. He had no intention of sharing it with the scientific world.”

“A confidentiality clause doesn’t necessarily mean that. It could just be to protect his investment.”

“Are you taking his side now?” she asked, turning to study my expression.

“No, just stating the obvious,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. Fiona was quiet for a few moments, lost in thought.

“That wasn’t the only reason I suspected him of keeping the Star a secret...” she continued.

“What was the other?”

“One time, he let something slip — something about the Star having powers that could elevate him to a position of influence. Riches beyond imagination.”

“The man’s a nutcase.”

“Maybe. But he also gave me an opportunity to find one of the rarest artefacts in history.”

“Fiona, I told you I believed you. But what if the Star isn’t there?”

She shot me a look. “You’re the one who said ‘what if’ is fake and an illusion.”

I chuckled. “Touché. Let me rephrase — what happens when the Star isn’t where you think it is?”

She sighed, staring out the window. “I don’t know...”

We pulled up to the cottage, the engine rumbling to a stop. The crisp scent of the ocean drifted through the air as we stepped out.

“Coffee or a soda?” Fiona asked, already heading for the kitchen.

“Soda. Coke will do fine.”

I sank into the sofa, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. Just as I got comfortable, my phone rang. I glanced at the display and grinned before answering.

“Hello, my friend. What’s up?”

“Ah, the Scarlet Pimpernel is available,” came the amused voice on the other end.

“And what can he do for you, Citizen Chauvelin?” I countered.

“It’s not what you can do for me, but what I can do for you.”

“The suspense is killing me.”

“Then let me fall with the door into the house. What the blazes are your connection to one Alan Anderson?”

“Oh, that,” I said with a chuckle.

“Yes, that,” Colonel Anton Smalberger repeated.

“Oh, I drank his whisky and then stole his girlfriend.”

“He wants to know your background. Who you are. If you had any special forces training, yada, yada...”

“What did you tell him?”

“I don’t know you and I’ll get back to him if and when I find out something.”

“Good show, old chap. But what’s your connection to him?”

“Oh, I helped him out with a fraudulent cheque or two before in days gone by. Found the culprits and persuaded them to pay up.”

“Hmm. And are those perpetrators still around?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, after they paid up, are they still around to pay tax? You know Anderson has a way of making problems disappear.”

“That’s why I called. He thinks you’re a problem. One problem he has to solve.”

“You know, back in 1905 when they wrote that story about the Scarlet Pimpernel, he was a hero who protected the oppressed. But today, he’d be seen as someone who only exploits the misfortunes of the wealthy and powerful for his own gain.”

“So, you’re not interested in Alan Anderson’s misfortune?”

“I didn’t say that. Of course, I’m interested. In fact, I aim to contribute further to it.”

“What did he do to you, Roy?”

“Scratched where it didn’t itch.”

Anton exhaled. “Okay ... I’ll tell him you’re the local issue solver for the Americans Gang. That you’ve got connections to the 28s Prison Gang...”

“No, tell him that the latest word on the street is that an Anderson guy from Gauteng is trying to break into the sex trafficking scene in Cape Town, and that the good, church-going citizens of the Cape Flats aren’t going to let him meddle in their affairs or take food out of their children’s mouths. They’re coming for him.”

“Holy crap, Roy! I can’t say that!”

“You can. You’re just relaying the word on the street. Nothing more.”

Anton sighed. “Fine. But I’ll put it more diplomatically than you just did.”

“Don’t lose the meaning. You’re the expert, mister Commander SAPS Internal Communications.”

“Don’t remind me. You can have this job any day.”

“Come on, you love writing reports and media releases.”

“Maybe. Possibly not. The SAPS world has changed a lot since ‘94.”

“Yeah, brother. It’s changed everywhere. The Mandela vision has tarnished. Faded to where the next generation of the struggle are just looking out for themselves, and screw everyone else in the process, even their own people.”

“You’re not allowed to say that.”

“What, that the three-brain-cell-crowd has fucked up everything? One airworthy SAAB JAS 39 Gripen fighter, One airworthy 25-year-old Hercules, two Puma helicopters? What a Mickey Mouse air force! Electricity Utility in bankruptcy, No railway, Road infrastructure failing. The Rand plummeting to new lows? No wonder the Chinese and Russians walk all over us. Favouring terrorists and wearing their colours, while not many years ago THEY were the ones that had not observed any human rights and killed innocent women and children. I have freedom of expression, my friend. I will say may say. It’s in the Constitution.”

“They have a nice room for you in Koosie Mampara Prison.”

(Author’s Note: Slang name for Pretoria’s Kgosi Mampuru Prison is Koosie Mampara. Koosie is the definitive of the Afrikaans name “Koos”, a derivative of the name Jacobus, an Afrikaans derivative of the English name Jacob. Mampara is the Zulu word for “fool”.)

“Anton, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. You of all people should know that.”

“I’ll tell Anderson you were never in SAPS or SANDF. That you’re a lone ranger, working for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t be lying. I am self-employed. Afghanistan, Syria, Bosnia, Herzegovina — that was a long time ago.”

Anton’s tone shifted. “Do you still speak French?”

“Cajun French, yeah.”

“I won’t tell Anderson that.”

“Good.”

“Roy, it was good speaking to you again. If you need anything, just shout. Brothers stick together.”

“All in, all the time.”

“The only easy day was yesterday, ” Anton said. “See you around, Roy. Stay sharp.”

The line went dead. I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, a slow grin forming. The game had begun. A game Anderson did not realize he was playing.

During this conversation, Fiona was seated in the little dining alcove, typing furiously on her laptop. Her reading glasses had slid down her nose a few times, and I was amused to see her pushing them back up into place with her index finger without missing a beat on the keyboard. She was so focused, so absorbed, that I figured she must’ve had plenty of practice typing like that.

She kept at it for about forty minutes, her fingers clattering away with the kind of intensity that made me wonder if she was single-handedly solving a global warming crisis. Then, with a satisfied sigh, she leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms above her head.

“Phew! I hope that’s done,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“What’re you up to? You’ve been hammering away at that keyboard without a break,” I asked, setting my Coke tin down.

“Oh, answering emails from students who can’t read a textbook.” She rolled her eyes, then added, “I swear, half of them think it’s my job to hold their hands through life.”

“I thought you were on vacation. Besides, three-quarter of your students can identify with you because you’re about the same age as they are.”

“I am, but I have two doctoral students that need guidance. Sometimes they get distracted by the smallest thing and think it’s the end of the world.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “Then ‘Prof’ has to step in and save the day.”

“Or sometimes they just require confirmation that they’re on the right track,” I offered.

“That too.”

“I guess I should break out my laptop and start earning my zero dollars by tracing some maps of the caves above Kalk Bay.” I got up and stretched.

“There’s plenty of space here at the table. Join me, then I won’t feel like I’m working alone,” she said, giving me a hopeful smile.

“You catch up with your students, and I’ll work on our project,” I said.

“Aww, Roy! You said ‘our project.’ Thanks! Now I feel like I’m not alone in this endeavour.”

“Pleasure, Fee. I told you I’d support you all the way.”

I went to fetch my laptop bag, pulled out all the necessary gear, and set up my workspace next to hers. Mobile Wi-Fi router, external hard drive, and my trusty cordless Bluetooth mouse — because I hate those ridiculous little finger pads on laptops. I disabled mine permanently. Best decision ever.

As I settled in, Fiona glanced at me sideways, her curiosity obviously piqued. “I wasn’t going to ask, but my curiosity is getting the better of me...”

“Ask away,” I said, clicking through the response links to my Google search.

“I don’t want to pry, but you were just sitting five paces from me. I could not help but hear. Who was that on the phone?”

“An old friend. We go way back.”

“You sounded serious, and I distinctly heard you say something about stealing someone’s girlfriend.” This time, she looked up at me, biting the back of her pen.

I laughed. “Figure of speech. Me trying to be funny.”

“I heard the name Anderson...” she pressed, tilting her head slightly.

“Anderson is trying to get background information on me,” I sighed.

“And how did your friend know this?”

“I’ll tell you all about it. But first, get that pen out of your mouth unless you want black lips like a Gothic chick.”

Fiona took the pen out of her mouth, glanced at it, then chuckled. “It’s a blue pen.”

“Whatever. Now, about the phone call...” I relayed the conversation with Anton while she listened attentively. When I finished, she was thoughtful. Too thoughtful. That damn pen found its way back to her mouth.

I got up and went to the kitchen. Returning, I dropped two sticks of dried biltong sausage in front of her.

“Here. Chew on this. At least it’ll save you from scrubbing ink off your pretty face.”

“You were hiding dry wors in your kitchen?” Her eyes lit up like I had just handed her gold.

“There’s plenty. Go ahead and chew on it, but if you get an upset stomach, don’t blame me.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have a home remedy for that too.” She giggled, bit into the dried sausage, and closed her eyes in bliss. “Yum! You won’t believe how long it’s been since I had this!”

“Knock yourself out.” I chuckled. The room fell into a comfortable silence as we both got back to work.

After a while, I found what I was looking for. Following a few links and leads, I downloaded three maps of the caves and dropped the files onto a thumb drive. Satisfied, I leaned back and stretched.

“I need to run over to Ella. She’s got an A3-sized printer. She won’t mind printing this for me.”

“What did you find?” Fiona asked, suddenly alert.

“Surveyed and to-scale maps of Robin Hood’s Cave, Oread Halls Cave, and Boomslang Cave.”

“Let’s see!” She was next to me in a flash.

I turned my laptop towards her. “Here.”

“Roy! This is perfect. Let’s go see if Ella can print this for us. And then...”

“What then? It’s too late in the day to head out there.”

“No, not that. But do you eat sushi?”

“Yeah, love it,” I said, looking up at her.

“After we get this printed, let’s go search for sushi. After this morning, I don’t want anything heavy for supper.”

“Yeah, me too.” I shut my laptop. “Let’s go.”

Getting back from the main house, where Ella had printed the maps for us on crisp A3 sheets, Fiona and I were just about to climb into my SUV when her cell phone rang. The sharp chime cut through the stillness of the early afternoon, and as she glanced at the screen, her expression shifted — her relaxed demeanour replaced by a flash of something raw and unsettled. Disgust. Maybe even fear.

“Who is it?” I asked, already knowing the answer before she said a word.

“Anderson.”

Without hesitation, I held out my hand. She hesitated for only a second before placing the phone in my palm. I hit the answer button, bringing it to my ear.

“I told you to leave Dr. Reid alone, Anderson.” My voice was calm, controlled — but there was an edge to it that even I could hear.

“I want to speak to her,” Anderson’s voice crackled through the line. “She works for me, and I’m entitled to a progress report.”

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “Do you, for one moment, believe that Drake parked the Star on a hilltop with a giant neon sign that says, ‘X marks the spot’?”

There was a pause. “No,” Anderson admitted, his tone clipped, “but I need to know if she’s located it yet. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, it’s not,” I replied. “And the answer is no — she hasn’t. So, there’s nothing to report.”

“Then let me speak to her.”

“No.”

A tense silence filled the air. I could feel Fiona’s eyes on me, watching intently from the passenger seat. Her posture was rigid, shoulders slightly hunched as if bracing herself for something unpleasant. She sat with one leg tucked beneath her, the other foot planted firmly on the floor. Her hands were clasped in her lap, fingers twisting around each other. Even without looking directly at her, I could sense her anxiety.

“What don’t you understand about NO, Anderson?” I continued. “The N or the O?”

“Funny man.” His voice had a slight sneer to it. “I want to speak to Dr. Reid. Now.”

I glanced at Fiona. She looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and when our eyes met, she gave the smallest shake of her head. No.

“Dr. Reid is currently unavailable for casual phone chats,” I said, my voice cool. “She’s busy doing research for some moron asshole named Alan Anderson. So, butt out.”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “It seems to me that we got off on the wrong foot,” Anderson said, his voice shifting. The aggression faded, replaced by something that almost sounded like ... an attempt at civility. “Can’t we try again?”