Chapter 15

Stellenbosch Airfield (FASH).

The four of us made our way to my hangar, chatting as we walked. Fiona and Angie stopped at the Cessna parked just outside and started inspecting it with curious eyes. Ash and I exchanged a glance and couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” Fiona remarked, circling the aircraft. “Whenever I see one flying over, they look small and slow.”

“You get different models of these birds,” Angie explained. “The 150 and 152 Cessnas are tiny two-seaters — light and compact. But as you move to the bigger four-seaters, they gain a bit of bulk. This one’s a 210 model — six seats and fast. It’s a nice entry-level cruiser, good for cross-country trips. You could fly to Durban in one.”

“Oh, so it’s more of a quick travel option?”

“Yeah, sort of. I guess Roy uses it for his solo excursions into Africa.”

Fiona looked impressed. “No wonder you are a pilot. You know a lot about aircraft.”

Angie grinned. “My mom and dad run a flying charter business in Namibia. I grew up around planes. After I met Ash, my fascination just grew. Actually, I’ve been bitten by the aviation bug since I was a kid, but meeting Ash just made the infection worse.” She chuckled.

“Is it hard to fly one of these?”

“Nah, it’s like riding a bike. You just have to think in three dimensions. Once you get the hang of it, it becomes second nature.”

“Let’s go see what the guys are up to,” Fiona said. “I want to check out Roy’s other toy.”

“Me too!” Angie agreed.

When they joined us inside the hangar, I caught the way both women’s eyes widened.

“Hey, you girls! Close your mouths. There are flies about!” Ash teased, grinning.

Fiona blinked, pointing at the aircraft in the center of the hangar. “What on earth is this?”

“That’s a Beechcraft Model 17 Staggerwing,” Ash answered, resting a hand on the plane’s sleek fuselage. “First flew in 1932. Originally a civilian transport and air racer, then later used by Allied forces during World War II. After the war, it went back to civilian production until 1949. Beechcraft built 785 of them. As far as I know, this is the only airworthy one left in South Africa.”

Fiona’s eyes grew even wider. “So, it’s like ... ancient!”

“Yeah,” I said with a touch of pride. “Old but not cold. Keeping her in flying shape is a challenge. Parts are scarce, and maintenance is expensive. But once you get her off the ground, retract the wheels, she flies like a racehorse on a Greyville straight.”

Ash gave me a curious look. “Would love to take her up, but I’m not rated for it, and she’s a thirsty girl.”

I nodded. “Cruising at 53% power, she does 185 miles per hour, burning about 22 gallons per hour with that 450 horsepower Pratt & Whitney R-985-AN-1 Wasp Junior radial engine turning at 2,300 RPM. She’s got six fuel tanks: two in the upper wing, two in the lower, and one each in the front and rear fuselage. Altogether, that’s 179 gallons, giving her a seven-hour endurance or a 1,300-mile range.”

Ash let out a low whistle. “Not just for pottering around the patch, then.”

“Nope. But if the weather’s good on Saturday or Sunday, why don’t you and Angie come over? I’ll take you up for a spin.”

Ash’s eyes lit up. “She’s a four-seater?”

“Five-seater. Us two in the front, the girls in the back. I’ll even give you some stick time.”

“It’s a deal!” Ash grinned.

“Great!” Angie chimed in. “While you boys play with your toy, Fiona and I will sample the picnic basket.”

Once Ash and Angie left, Fiona and I climbed into the Cessna 210. We took off southward, angling towards Cape Hangklip, then crossed False Bay, heading west to Cape Point. The plane handled smoothly, cutting through the air with a steady hum. Fiona looked out, eyes wide with excitement as the coastline unfolded below us.

At Cape Point, I made a right turn north, skirting the coast past places like Misty Cliffs, Sweet Water, and Kommetjie. The long stretch of Noordhoek Beach appeared, and Fiona pointed, spotting the tiny cottage nestled among the trees on the side slope of Sacred Mountain.

We continued past Hout Bay, flying along the rugged coastline, then skirted the city, gliding past Camps Bay and Sea Point. Robben Island lay ahead, stark and historical, before we crossed at Bloubergstrand, going feet dry and heading back towards Stellenbosch.

Fiona’s smile never faltered, though she gave me a wide-eyed look when we hit a bit of turbulence, the wings giving a slight shudder. The 210 rode it out like a seasoned pro, just a small porpoise motion before settling again.

After landing, I glanced over at Fiona. “Enjoy the flight?”

She smiled, a little flushed. “More than I thought I would. That was ... amazing! It’s much better than SAA. One can see things!”

I couldn’t help but grin back. “Good to know. Maybe next time, we’ll take the Staggerwing.”

On the road to Cape Town International Airport.

Anderson blinked. This was not the road to the Cape Town Waterfront. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowing as the driver continued east on Michigan Street, veering away from the hotel. The cityscape gave way to a more industrial area as they turned right onto Tower Road. Anxiety prickled at the back of his neck.

At a gate on the left, labelled “Foxtrot 5,” the car stopped briefly at a stop sign before turning left towards the entrance of the General Aviation Area. Anderson clenched his fists. Something was wrong.

“Why are we going to the airport?” he demanded, his voice taut with suspicion. “This is not the way to the Waterfront.”

The driver didn’t answer, but the tall gang member in the seat opposite him spoke up, his tone surprisingly calm despite the threat lacing his words. “Mister Anderson, sir. You’re going to Gauteng to fetch that deed my employer wants. So, relax. It’s still early in the day. We go to Gauteng, you get the deed, hand it over to us, and then we all fly back here. You’ll still catch the sunset from the Waterfront tonight. Else...”

The silence that followed was thick and ominous. Anderson glared at the man, his pulse racing. “You think you’re going to get away with this, asshole?”

The gang member’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “We ARE getting away with it, Mister Anderson.”

Anderson set his jaw, his anger overriding his fear. “I will not hand over that deed. You can go fuck yourself!”

The tall man moved with deliberate slowness, reaching into his jacket and producing a menacing handgun, which he placed on his lap. The barrel gleamed dully in the morning light, and Anderson swallowed hard.

“Now, Mister Anderson,” the man said, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather. “Let us understand one another. We go to Gauteng. You get the deed and hand it over to me. Then we fly back here, and we each go our own way. Else...” He paused, his eyes cold and flat. “I will make a hole in your head big enough for me to put my dick in and fuck you. Am I clear?”

A shiver ran through Anderson’s spine. He wasn’t used to being treated this way, and the threat was as vivid as it was grotesque. His gaze flicked to Jimmy, who sat silent beside him, staring out the window, his expression inscrutable.

As the car passed through the security gate and turned into Beechcraft Road, Jimmy finally spoke up, his voice resigned. “Boss, it’s not worth it. Give these nice people the fuck’n deed and let’s get on with our lives.”

Anderson shot him a look of disbelief. “Jimmy, do you know that without that deed we can’t force the bitch to get that artefact for me?”

Jimmy sighed, his tone weary. “Sorry to say it, Boss, but it was your attitude that got us in this mess in the first place. If you hadn’t been so hell-bent on coming here to screw that bitch, that newspaper guy wouldn’t have interfered, the farm in Heidelberg wouldn’t have been compromised, and you wouldn’t be in shit with the fuzz. It’s all that paper boy’s doing.”

“Jimmy! Shut up!” Anderson barked, his anger directed at both his right-hand man and the gang members.

The leader of the gang contingent chuckled softly. “I must write that speech down. Good advice you should heed, Mister Anderson.”

The driver took a left into a short side street off Beechcraft Road, driving another sixty meters before pulling through a double gate in a high security fence. The car came to a stop on a concrete apron facing a shiny Cessna Citation jet, its sleek silhouette gleaming in the sunlight.

“Ah, we have arrived at our ride,” the tall gang member remarked, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

Anderson stared at the jet, his mind racing. This was real — there was no turning back now. As he contemplated his next move, his thoughts were interrupted by the gang member opening the door and gesturing for him to get out. Anderson hesitated but knew resistance was futile. He stepped out, eyes darting around for any sign of help. None came.

Behind him, the gang members moved with professional precision, one guiding Anderson towards the aircraft while the others unloaded small duffel bags from the trunk. The sense of impending doom settled over him like a cold shroud. There would be no simple escape from this situation.

Noordhoek Cottage.

The clock was ticking to just before 14:00 as Fiona and I walked into the cottage, closing the door behind us. A sudden gust rattled the windows, and I paused for a moment, listening to the wind howl around the corners of the old stone walls. The breeze had shifted to the north-west, and I could feel the sharp bite of colder air creeping in. Dark, heavy clouds loomed on the horizon, painting a grim picture against the misty sky. I knew a cold front would roll in before nightfall.

Fiona dropped onto the sofa, kicking off her shoes with a relieved sigh. I watched her stretch out, one arm draped over the backrest, her fingers idly tapping the fabric.

“We should start to think of something for a late lunch. That deli sandwich I had at UCT at 10:00 has now faded,” she said.

I leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. “Eat out or eat in? We could always run over to the Village?”

Fiona pulled a face. “Eat in! You saw what happened when we went out to eat last night.”

“Okay,” I chuckled. “Let me make a phone call. We could stay home and eat out.”

She arched an eyebrow, giving me a playful smirk. “Now, genius, how do you suppose we do that?”

“Walk over to the main house and bug Ella for an afternoon snack.”

Fiona giggled. “Hmm ... You sure you’re not a twin? You’re way too smart for just one person!”

Her laughter was cut short by the sharp trill of her phone. Fiona glanced at the screen, and her smile faded. A shadow crossed her face as she muttered, “Anderson.”

I gestured for the phone, my jaw tightening. Fiona handed it over without a word.

“Yes, Anderson, what can I do for you?”

“Call off your dogs.”

“My dogs? I don’t have dogs.”

“These standing here with big guns, demanding to accompany me to my place in Johannesburg, so I can retrieve and hand over the deed you want,” Anderson snapped, sounding rattled.

I frowned. “That’s news to me. I didn’t send anyone.”

“Oh, come on, Reasor! I know you work with the Cape Flats gangs.”

“And what has that got to do with the price of eggs?” I shot back.

He hesitated, then lowered his tone, attempting to sound reasonable. “Reasor ... I have a proposal. You help Doctor Reid get the artefact, hand it over to me in exchange for the deed, and I’ll stay out of your way — and hers.”

I wasn’t buying it. “I don’t trust you, Anderson.”

A hint of desperation seeped into his voice. “If I get on that aircraft now to go fetch the deed, I’ll miss my 18:00 report to the police. They’ll arrest me, detain me, and my bail will be forfeited to the State.”

I could almost picture him pacing, sweat prickling his forehead. “Let’s compromise,” I said. “Let those nice gentlemen stay with you until after your check-in with SAPS. Then file an IFR flight plan, go fetch the paperwork, and hand it to them. You can return before 07:00 tomorrow to keep to your morning appointment with the SAPS. In the meantime, I’ll keep helping Doctor Reid, and you stay the hell away from us.”

He huffed. “Only when you hand me the artefact will I give you the deed.”

“No deal,” I replied, cutting the call.

Thirty seconds later, Fiona’s phone buzzed again. She raised an eyebrow at me before I answered.

“What?” I replied. Irritation sounding in my voice.

Anderson’s voice came through, subdued. “Okay ... but how do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You have to trust me, Anderson. You know I do keep my word.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Tomorrow, you’ll have the deed.”

“I’ll hold you to that. And Anderson — if I see you or your sidekicks anywhere near Doctor Reid, you’ll regret it.”

“Understood,” he replied, finally sounding defeated.

I ended the call and handed the phone back to Fiona. She looked at me, arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin line. “What was that about?”

I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I’ll tell you tomorrow. You just have to trust me. I have a plan.”

“What plan?”

“A plan to put a smile on your face and get Anderson out of your life for good.”

Her expression softened, but doubt lingered in her eyes. “And do you really think I’ll ever be rid of Anderson?”

“Yes, you will.”

Fiona sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I want to believe you, Roy. I really do ... I’ll wait and see. But in the meantime — when do we eat?”

I grinned, took her hand and pulled her towards the kitchen. “Let’s see what’s in the fridge to tide us over until supper. It’s windy outside, but the sun’s shining — I might be tempted to start a fire.”

“A fire? What kind of fire?”

“A braai fire!” I laughed. “You up for a nice T-bone steak over the coals?”

“Yum! I’ll rustle up something for a side dish,” Fiona declared, her eyes lighting up. She licked her lips as if already tasting the steak.

I opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Beyerskloof Pinotage. “How about this to go with the steak? Or would you prefer Diemersdal Sauvignon Blanc?”

Fiona smirked. “The Pinotage. White wine’s for fish. Red wine is for steak.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “One ox-blood to go with the meat.”

I thought: Nice choice, Professor of old things. She really knows her wine pairings.

Both Fiona and I were busy in the kitchen. Fiona was working her magic with a lightly steamed mixed veggie dish, adding a touch of Thousand Island salad dressing to give it a zesty finish. I was focused on preparing the T-bone steaks, carefully rubbing them with a blend of spices and marinade when Fiona’s phone rang. She glanced at the display and smiled.

“Hello, Doctor Rothman. Didn’t I just leave you a little while ago?” she chuckled.

There was a pause as Fiona listened, her expression softening.

“Oh! Well, here is his royal highness. Hold the line...” Fiona handed me the phone, and I quickly wiped my hands on a kitchen cloth before taking it.

“Good day, Doctor Rothman,” I greeted, only to be surprised by a familiar voice on the other end.

“Not Doctor Rothman, mate. It’s me, Ash.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “How are you, Ash?”

“Fine, for now. But listen, what are you doing this evening?”

“Well ... Fiona and I are putting together a braai. She’s almost done with the side dishes, and I’m just finishing the marinade,” I replied.

“Damn! I wanted to invite you two over for a braai at our place. You think you could bring it along, and we’ll do it on the fire here?”