Chapter 19

Newlands Estate, the next morning.

I didn’t expect to walk into a scene that looked straight out of a dream — or maybe a pageant stage. But there they were: the unofficial Miss World 2024, gathered around the long farmhouse breakfast table like some elegant council convening over eggs and bacon.

Fiona and I stepped into the warm dining room, the scent of fresh coffee and crisp toast wrapping around us like a welcome blanket. Sunlight poured in through the large bay windows, catching in the honey-gold tones of the wooden floor and reflecting off a dozen different shades of hair and eye colours.

Angie, always the composed hostess, stood up with a quick grin and beckoned us closer. “Roy, Fiona — come meet everyone.”

I recognized Darya and Roxy right away. I’d met them the day before yesterday — stunning, sure, but also sharp as razors. But now there were new faces in the mix.

Angie gestured with a casual sweep of her hand. “This, clockwise from left to right, is Mai-Loan, Nadia, Olivia, and Leah. Darya you met yesterday. They arrived late last night from Gauteng.”

We exchanged nods and hellos as we took our seats. Each of them gave off a different kind of energy — distinct, vivid, and impossible to ignore.

Mai-Loan sat straight-backed, her long jet-black hair cascading down her back like a river of ink. Her dark almond eyes watched everything with quiet curiosity. There was something familiar in her face — a graceful elegance that made me think of Lucy Liu in Kill Bill, poised but lethal beneath the calm surface.

Next to her, Nadia radiated warmth like a fireplace in winter. Flaming ginger red curls bounced as she talked, her expressive hands painting her sentences in the air. “It was such a bumpy flight,” she said in a melodic Polish accent, “but Don flies like a wizard. No complaints.”

Green eyes sparkled as she laughed, and I could already tell she was going to be the heartbeat of this group.

Leah had the look of someone who’d be more at home behind the wheel of a rally car than in a beauty contest. Her strong jawline, icy blue eyes, and long blond hair gave her an edge. She spoke with a mix of clipped German and that unmistakable rhythm of Afrikaans influence. “I didn’t sleep at all,” she said, deadpan. “Olivia snores like a chainsaw.”

“I do not,” Olivia drawled, drawing out the syllables like honey dripping off a spoon. Her southern Louisiana accent was thick as gumbo, and her laughter was unfiltered and contagious. “That sound was probably your stomach growling.”

Laughter erupted around the table.

“All these ladies are in peak condition,” Angie said, smiling with a mix of pride and mischief. “They’re not just pretty faces.”

“That much is obvious,” I said. “They’ve got a presence.”

“They flew in on the PC-24,” Ash added as he joined us, slumping into a chair with the ease of a man who’d been up before sunrise. “Don and Dave handled the flying. My sister Lorie is joining us later.”

“She’s flying in from Bredasdorp,” Angie added, biting into a slice of toast. “In Ash’s old Cessna 210.”

Ash shot her a sideways look and smirked. “My bird that she hijacked, you mean.”

“You’re rated in the 210?” I asked, intrigued.

“Yeah, but it’s been years since I flew any high-wings. A lifetime ago.”

There was something about the way he said it — nostalgic, maybe a little wistful.

“Lorie used to be an instructor pilot at AFB Hoedspruit,” he added, almost offhand. “Took Ronny through basic flight training back in the day when they both were still with the Air Force.”

“Retired the SAAF at thirty,” Angie chimed in. “She trained me on the Mirage III. Best teacher I ever had.”

I blinked. “No shit?”

Ash just grinned and sipped his coffee.

As the breakfast carried on, the room buzzed with laughter, inside jokes, and a strange kind of intimacy that only forms when people have shared something intense — something not everyone at the table might yet know the full story of.

Fiona, sitting beside me, had this radiant glow about her. Her eyes twinkled in the morning light, her half-smile delicate, like she was holding back a secret or simply savouring the moment. I caught Angie noticing, but she didn’t say a word. She just gave Fiona a knowing look, a soft smile, and returned her focus to her plate — piled high with scrambled eggs, sausages, grilled mushrooms, and fried tomatoes.

The conversation shifted easily, and Fiona was soon pulled in, drawn naturally by Angie’s quiet magnetism and Nadia’s lively chatter. I watched her relax into the rhythm of it all, blending effortlessly with these remarkable women.

For a moment, I just sat back, sipped my coffee, and let it all wash over me. I had no idea yet who these women really were beneath the polished appearances — what roles they played, what histories they carried — but I could feel the undercurrent. Ash would not have had them there if he did not have a good reason for them to be there.

There was more going on here than met the eye.

And I had the feeling that by the end of this day, I was going to find out just how deep that rabbit hole went.

After breakfast, the women, including Fiona, drifted off together. There was an ease in their movements, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was brooding beneath all that laughter and warm camaraderie. Fiona looked over her shoulder as they left, gave me a half-smile — soft, unreadable — and then she was gone with the others.

I stood there for a moment, watching them vanish down the corridor. The air still carried the scent of coffee, toast, and perfume. But under all that, I felt the static of something else — something coming.

Ash must have sensed it too, because he wordlessly nodded toward the patio. A minute later, we were both outside, steaming mugs in hand. The early sun had climbed just enough to warm the flagstones beneath our feet. Birdsong floated through the air, but even that felt distant — like the world was holding its breath.

We sat down on weathered teak chairs, facing the fynbos slopes of Constantia Mountain. I took a sip from my mug. Strong coffee. Three sugars, and a cat-spit of milk. Just the way I liked it. Ash didn’t say anything right away. He just stared ahead, the muscles in his jaw working slowly, as if chewing on something far heavier than breakfast.

Then finally, he said, “Okay, Roy. You’ve met the Angels. What do you think?”

I chuckled, trying to ease the mood. “They’re gorgeous and lively. A pretty bunch, that’s for sure. I suppose with that redhead Nadia in the mix, they could party for days.”

Ash gave a sharp laugh, glanced at me with something between amusement and warning. “They are party animals, yeah ... but not the kind of party you’re thinking about.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers interlaced around his mug.

“Let me explain,” he said. “You need to know who’s really in your corner of the ring.”

I sat up straighter.

“First off — Mai-Loan. Sweet, soft-spoken, looks like she could front a K-pop band. But she’s a trained insurgent. Knows her way around everything from handguns to shoulder-fired missiles. Flew fighter jets like the Mirage III, Mirage 2000, F-16, F/A-18, even a MIG-30 at one point. She’s a certified aerial bad-ass. She, Leah, and Olivia also fly rotor wings — Hueys, Blackhawks, even the Bell AH-1 Cobra. They’ve trained in combat, aerial and otherwise. And don’t let those flirty smiles fool you — those three can flutter their lashes right through a covert op and come out the other side with the target neutralized and a drink in hand.”

I blinked. My mind was still trying to reconcile the image of Mai-Loan’s delicate smile with the thought of her at the stick of a MIG, armed to the teeth.

Ash continued, voice even but serious now.

“Nadia — the redhead. Demolitions expert. Close range eliminator. She can mix up explosive cocktails from stuff you’d find under your kitchen sink and detonate them with enough precision to blow a hole in a safe without waking the guy sleeping upstairs. Carries a 44 Magnum Desert Eagle like it’s an accessory.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“She’s the firecracker,” Ash said. “No filter, no fear, and absolutely no hesitation when things go hot.”

I whistled low and shook my head.

“Then there’s Darya. Our long-range specialist. Sniper. She once took out a moving target at two thousand four hundred and sixty yards.”

“Damn,” I breathed. “What does she use?”

Ash’s eyes glinted with pride. “Barrett MRAD chambered in 338 Norma Magnum. And sometimes the M82 50 calibre, when a job calls for it. She used to carry an AWM chambered in 338 Lapua Magnum, gifted by my predecessor, but the brass casings don’t interchange well with the Norma loads. So she handed it over to her boyfriend, Ronny.”

“Smart woman,” I said, with a nod of respect. “I should stick close to her. Sounds like she’s the one you want watching your six.”

Ash gave a short laugh. “She’s had my back plenty of times. Be careful though — she hardly ever misses.”

I let that sink in. My gaze drifted to the trail of footprints left in the dew where the women had walked off earlier. Angels. That’s what Angie had called them. I understood now, though not in the way I expected.

“So ... they’re the Angels I heard about,” I said slowly.

Ash leaned back and took a sip of coffee. “Not the ones you’re picturing. They look like angels, sure. But they’re the kind with flaming swords and deadly stings. Guardians. Warriors. And sometimes ... executioners.”

I sat quietly for a moment, turning it all over in my head. The pieces began to align.

“And they work for the Foundation?”

“When required,” Ash said. “Most of the time, they live normal lives. They have cover identities, day jobs. Mai-Loan raises cattle. Olivia, Leah, and Lorie have interest in an airfreight operation. Nadia has her own blasting company. AND ... they are all millionaires. They don’t have to work but if you look at their personalities, they need to keep busy – out of mischief. So, when the call goes out...”

“They show up.”

He nodded. “Locked, loaded, and lethal.”

I looked back at the house, trying to imagine the women inside — laughing over toast and jam — now with this new perspective. They weren’t just stunning. They were steel in silk.

“But, Ash,” I said slowly, “why are they here now?”

Ash turned his head, looked me dead in the eyes. “You,” he said quietly, “are going to need them.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty — it was charged. Like the air before a storm.

And suddenly, breakfast felt like the last quiet moment before everything changed.

It was still early; the kind of Cape Town winter morning that made you pause for a moment and appreciate the quiet. The sun was up, casting a golden light over the fynbos-covered slopes surrounding the Newlands Estate. A soft breeze teased the edges of the day — a whisper of the Southeaster that would surely stiffen its back come lunchtime. The air was neither warm nor cold, but somewhere in between, touched with that unmistakable clarity only winter seems to bring.

I was nursing my cup of coffee, leaning against the patio railing, watching shadows stretch across the manicured lawn when I heard the soft patter of bare feet on the wooden deck behind me.

Roxy.

She moved lightly, a flash of indigo and copper in the corner of my eye, her long black hair caught by the sun, glowing almost ethereal. She came to a stop beside Ash, her tablet tucked under one arm.

“Ash, Jimmy is moving,” she said briskly, planting herself just beside him.

Ash turned his head slightly, one brow raised. “Are you tracking him, Rox?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, already flicking her fingers over the screen. “He left the Waterfront, passed through the City Bowl, and took the M3 out towards Muizenberg, but along the way he got off at Ottery Road — just before the golf course. He followed Ottery Road straight through, turned off at Varkens Vlei, then hopped onto Olieboom Road, heading south. He stopped at a small farm in Philippi, about two hundred metres before the Boundary Road intersection.”

Ash gave a low whistle, eyes narrowing. “Interesting spot.”

“Yeah. Remote enough not to raise eyebrows,” Roxy added, scanning her screen again. “But close enough to the Flats if he needs to disappear fast.”

“Great. Get the drone in the air and see what you can get,” Ash said as he stood, brushing invisible lint from his jeans. There was a certain-coiled readiness about him now, like a bloodhound catching scent.

“Okay, Boss. On it!” Roxy chirped. She spun on her heel and darted back inside, her quick, soft footsteps fading into the manor.

Ash looked at me then — no words, just that familiar glint in his eye. I knew that look. Game on.

“Come, Roy,” he said, already moving. “Let’s go see what Jimmy’s up to.”

I followed without a word, draining the last mouthful of coffee as we stepped off the patio into the sunlit courtyard. The flagstone path was already warming underfoot, the scent of damp earth mingling with rosemary from a nearby herb bed. Cape Town winter days could be deceptive — soft light, cool shadows, and that brittle clarity in the air that made everything feel just a little more intense. The day was shifting already, the whispering breeze brushing past my ear like a warning.

Ash led the way inside, moving with that easy, loose-hipped confidence of someone who always knew what was coming next. We passed through the high-ceilinged lounge, sunlight slanting in through tall sash windows, catching on the polished wood floors and scattering light across heavy old furniture and Persian rugs. I caught a faint smell of leather, coffee, and gun oil — Ash’s usual signature.

He took a sharp turn down a narrow corridor panelled in dark cherry wood, lined with framed photographs and certificates I didn’t stop to study. The hallway led to a door that swung open into what at first looked like a duplicate of his study at the Wolvenkopft Manor — same bookshelves, same carved desk, same leather wing back chair off to the side. Familiar, lived-in, slightly dusty.

But Ash didn’t sit.

He moved around the desk and knelt, opening a discreet little door on the side of the oak behemoth. His fingers brushed over something inside — I heard a faint click — and then the entire wood-panelled wall to the right of the room shifted. Not with a clunk or dramatic hiss, but with a smooth, mechanical hum, like something out of a science fiction movie.

What had been an ordinary study now opened into something that absolutely wasn’t.

The room beyond was bigger than I expected — windowless, humming quietly, and glowing in the dim light like a spaceship command deck. My jaw may have literally dropped. Rows of sleek desks were arranged in a gentle arc facing forward. Each station bristled with gear: dual monitors, ergonomic chairs, touch screens, keypads, and sleek black headsets resting in little docks. Fibre-optic lighting ran in neat lines overhead, giving everything a faint blue sheen. It was all cool metal and matte-black surfaces, punctuated by blinking indicator lights and the faint whir of processing fans.

Dominating the far wall was a massive LED display — easily the biggest TV screen I’ve ever seen. It curved slightly at the edges, ultra-high-definition, the kind of resolution that made your eyes forget it wasn’t a window. On the screen: a wide-angle overhead view of rolling farmland stitched together from multiple drone feeds. Dirt roads, green fields, a small dam. An inset image zoomed in on a farmhouse and outbuildings, all baked in sunlight. Near the main building, a silver SUV stood parked and gleaming.