Chapter 20

Meadowridge Coffee shop.

My blood ran cold as I parsed Jimmy’s last words. A kind of nausea churned in my gut — not fear, not entirely. Rage, maybe. Grief dressed as fury. How many more times would we have to bear this? As if the Israelis hadn’t already endured enough since the birth of their state. Decades of persecution — from pogroms to the Nazi death camps, where gas chambers replaced dialogue and silence echoed louder than bombs.

Six million souls, annihilated because they were deemed a blemish on Hitler’s dream of a master race — the Herrenrasse. That word still hisses in my ear like a curse. And the world swore: Never again. But “never again” turned out to be a wish, not a promise.

After Israel was founded — after the blood, the tears, the wars for survival — we thought the nightmare might finally end. But history doesn’t forgive easily, and hatred never sleeps. First came the constant threats, then wars: the Six-Day War, Yom Kippur, Intifadas, rockets, tunnels, terror. Now? Now Hamas dares to threaten Tel Aviv-Yafo with a nuclear device. A nuclear device.

It was insanity. Pure, rabid insanity.

I turned to Jimmy, still seated at the corner table of the café, pale under the late afternoon sun filtering through the window. His coffee had gone cold, untouched. He stared past me, into some place far darker than the here and now.

I leaned in. “Jimmy, come with me. The time has come for you to choose a side. Justice doesn’t wait.”

He didn’t move. Just whispered, barely audible, “What can you do, Reasor? There’s nothing even you could do...”

I straightened, felt the heat crawl up my spine. “You think so, Jimmy? Watch this space. And if you want out — I can make that happen.”

His gaze flickered toward me. “Are you sure, Reasor? Can you really make me disappear?”

“Yes,” I said, voice low, sharp as broken glass. “I can.”

There was a long silence. The café was quiet — too quiet. The Angels, scattered among the tables looking like bored housewives, watched us with wary eyes. They’d picked up on the shift in energy — trained instincts. My team never missed a beat.

Slowly, Jimmy stood. His legs shook slightly, but he stood. He gave me one last look — part fear, part resolve — and nodded. I turned on my heel and led him through the door, out into the Cape Town winter sunlit parking lot.

The afternoon cool air hit like a slap — sharp, dry, electric with tension. The sky over the Constantia Valley was hazy with dust and late-day light. A dry breeze swept the boulevard, lifting old papers, carrying the scent of gasoline, sun heated tar, and something more ancient ... like gunpowder on stone.

Ash waited in the car — matte black, unmarked, engine running. The passenger door swung open with a metallic groan as I gestured Jimmy in. He hesitated only for a second before climbing inside. I followed.

Ash glanced at us through the rear-view. His face was unreadable, carved from stone.

“Home, James,” I said, half a smirk pulling at my lips. “And don’t spare the horses.”

Ash didn’t respond. He threw the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot, tires whispering against the asphalt. The city lights hadn’t yet switched on, but the shadows were starting to stretch, long and hungry across the pine trees across the lot.

I looked at Jimmy. He was staring out the window, but his hands were clenched in his lap. I knew what he was feeling — the crushing weight of knowledge. The sense that something massive, something history-altering, was about to unravel.

I spoke, mostly to myself. “We have places to go. People to see. And I’m done being Mister Nice Guy.”

Jimmy turned to me, brows knit. “Who are you, really?”

I didn’t answer, but Ash did on my behalf: “The devil’s brother ... Only ten times worse than old Nick.”

The car hummed beneath us, carrying us toward the unknown. I was already thinking ten moves ahead. If Hamas detonated that bomb, the world would drown in fire and fury. But I wasn’t going to let it get that far.

Let the world play politics. I had my Angels. I had Ash. And now ... I had Jimmy.

The game had changed. And I was done playing defence.

V&A Hotel, Cape Town Waterfront.

The Victoria & Alfred Hotel in Cape Town is a distinguished boutique hotel situated in the heart of the vibrant V&A Waterfront. Housed in a meticulously restored 1904 warehouse, the hotel seamlessly blends historic charm with modern luxury, offering guests a unique and comfortable stay.

The hotel features 94 well-appointed rooms, categorised into Mountain Facing, Piazza Facing, and Loft Rooms. Each room is designed with contemporary elegance and equipped with amenities such as air conditioning, satellite TV, a mini-bar, tea and coffee facilities, and complimentary Wi-Fi. The Mountain Facing Rooms provide stunning views of Table Mountain and the Alfred Basin, while the Piazza Facing Rooms overlook the lively waterfront square, often animated by local performers. The Loft Rooms, located on the third floor, offer a cozy retreat with modern finishes and vibrant décor.

Nestled within the V&A Waterfront, the hotel is surrounded by a plethora of attractions and activities. Guests can explore over 450 shops, 80 eateries, and various entertainment options, all within walking distance. Nearby points of interest include the Two Oceans Aquarium, the Zeitz Museum of Contemporary Art Africa, and the departure point for Robben Island tours. The area also offers opportunities for boat excursions, cultural visits, and day tours, making it an ideal base for exploring Cape Town.

The hotel’s communal spaces are designed for relaxation and socialising. Guests can unwind in stylish lounges furnished with sumptuous sofas and armchairs, creating a welcoming atmosphere. The Ginja Restaurant, located on-site, offers a diverse menu of local and international dishes, complemented by beautiful waterfront and mountain views. For a more casual setting, the Native coffee kiosk provides a selection of pastries and beverages in a cozy courtyard.

Additionally, guests have access to facilities at the nearby Dock House Boutique Hotel, including a well-equipped gym, a luxurious spa, and an inviting swimming pool surrounded by sun loungers. These amenities provide ample opportunities for relaxation and rejuvenation during your stay.

Overall, the Victoria & Alfred Hotel offers a perfect blend of historical elegance, modern comfort, and a prime location, making it an excellent choice for travellers seeking to experience the best of Cape Town.

Alan Anderson, dressed casually in slacks and a vibrant coloured shirt, sat on one of the many sumptuous armchairs nursing a cup of coffee, next to a window overlooking the busy square. He had the overall look of a tourist and not that of high-flying billionaire that he usually portrays.

Alf strolled in and sat down with a grunt in the armchair to the side. He had a worried look on his face.

“Well, did you find Jimmy?” Anderson shot at Alf.

“No, Boss. He’s been gone now for more than three hours. Also the car is not in the parking,” Alf reported.

“Did he say anything to you before he went out?”

“Nope! Not in so many words,” Alf replied. “He just got up and walked out the door, saying something about going to look what the shops around here have to offer. Then he was gone.”

“And you say the car is gone too?”

“Yes, Boss.”

“Maybe he just went to catch-up with one of his many floozies he has. Don’t worry too much, Alf,” Anderson replied and picked up his newspaper. “He’ll be back before you know it.”

“Sure, Boss,” Alf sighed. “You need anything from me?”

“No, Alf. Just go and relax. I might need you later tonight. But let’s wait for Jimmy to come back.”

“Right, Boss. Thanks, Boss,” Alf replied and got up.

Walking out of the lounge Alf thought that this was the first time he had a discussion with Anderson that lasted more than five minutes, and Anderson called him by his name. That’s an improvement.

Safe House – Camps Bay Foothills, Late afternoon.

The house was modern, discreet, and perched on the edge of the mountain slope like it didn’t want to be found — which made it perfect. No obvious address, no visible neighbours — just steel, glass, and the smell of rock dust and salt air.

Ash pulled the car into the driveway and killed the lights. No lights showed from the road. One motion sensor flickered to life as we eased in under the overhang.

Jimmy stepped out slowly, eyes darting around. The silence unnerved him. Good, let it settle in his bones.

“This it?” he asked.

“This is where you get to live a little longer,” I said.

Ash didn’t bother with reassurances. He unlocked the reinforced door and gestured Jimmy inside with a jerk of the chin.

Jimmy didn’t reply.

Inside, the place was clean and cold. Sparse furniture, polished concrete floors, bulletproof glass with one-way film. No skyline views. Just the soft whirr of HVAC and the hum of electronics. A screen on the wall rolled through external security feeds — front gate, rear slope, perimeter sensors.

Jimmy hovered by the couch, not quite sitting.

“You’ll stay here,” I told him. “We’ll bring you meals. You don’t leave. You don’t talk to anyone but us. Furthermore, you breathe, sleep, stay quiet — and this doesn’t have to feel like punishment. There are books to read, TV with 200 international channels plus all the local channels. I think you will find it in order.”

“Sure feels like one,” he muttered.

Ash walked past him and laid a burner phone on the table. “One number saved. It rings me.”

Jimmy glanced at it, then at me. “What if I need to talk to you, Reasor?”

“You won’t,” I said. “You’ve already said what mattered. The rest is action now.”

He finally sat down, elbows on his knees. I could see the weight of it settling in. He looked older than he had an hour ago — like the truth had scraped something raw inside him.

“You gave us Nadir,” I said. “That buys you some time. If we pull this off, maybe a little redemption too.”

“And if you don’t?”

I gave him a slow, unreadable smile. “If you didn’t, you’d be in a shallow hole outside Worcester right now. But so far you’ve been a good boy. You stay here, stay quiet, and we’ll bring you back something worth your loyalty. Else, this house burns down with you in it.”

He swallowed, but didn’t flinch. Credit where it’s due.

I took a step closer, looked him dead in the eye.

“You think this is a cage. It’s not. This is a reprieve. The cage is coming — for the men who brought that bomb south. You just gave us the key.”

“You’ve got seven minutes before the patrol drone comes online. After that, this place gets real unfriendly to anything moving outside without a green tag,” Ash told Jimmy with a smirk. Then turning towards the door, checking his side arm. I followed.

“You did the right thing, Jimmy. Just make sure that’s still true tomorrow,” I cast over my shoulder.

As we stepped outside, the door hissed shut behind us, magnetics locking it like a vault. Cold air bit at my neck. Far below, the lights of Cape Town shimmered against the dark sea like a city too busy to know there was mayhem afoot.

Ash looked at me.

“TC’s waiting on the plan.”

“Then let’s write him one,” I said. “Time to dance.”

Because now ... the real work begins.

Newlands Safe House.

The room was brightly lit — too brightly, almost clinical. Shadows had no place here, and maybe that was the point. This wasn’t a mission born in the murk; this was a sanctioned operation. Above board. Official. The kind of room built for decisions with consequences — clean lines, glass walls, brushed steel fixtures. The faint hum of air conditioning mixed with the static whisper of the big monitor. Even the conference table gleamed with polish, every surface immaculate, sterile. No clutter. No margin for error.

Faces around the long, polished table were focused, serious. Not tense — these weren’t green recruits. These were professionals. Operators. The best in their class. Angels and Rangers, six and three respectively, plus Ash and myself. Then there were the two suits — Lt-Colonel Anton Smalberger and the Brigadier I’d seen at the so-called assassination of Fiona.

Anton had nodded at me when we locked eyes, just enough to acknowledge me, but nothing more. No hint that we’d known each other far longer, and far deeper, than anyone in the room could guess. We were playing roles now. Pretending not to remember certain nights, certain missions. Fine by me.

Still, I felt the old ghosts stirring. The weight of the past pressing in at the edge of the room, just out of reach. The last time I’d been in a briefing like this ... It hadn’t ended cleanly. And now we were gearing up again, and I wasn’t sure what part of me would come out the other side.

This wasn’t the kind of briefing I’d grown used to in the old days. Back then, someone barked orders and you moved. No questions, no real input — you didn’t need to know the why, just the how. But this? This was something else entirely. Collaborative. Structured chaos. A hive of tactical minds sharpening the plan like a whetstone to steel. It was ... Impressive. Even unsettling.

Roxy stood near the massive flat-panel screen mounted to the wall, running a full-colour, three-dimensional render of the target building — a farmhouse compound nestled somewhere remote, cold, and quietly dangerous. The rotating schematic highlighted entry points in sharp red, window layouts in ghostly blue, and structural weaknesses in soft yellow. The detail was stunning, like something out of a movie. But this was real. Too real.

“This is the north face,” Roxy said, laser pointer in hand. “Primary entry points are here, here, and here. The structure’s dated, mostly stone and timber. Thermal readings show weak insulation in the upper floors — could be leveraged to our advantage.”

Next, Mai-Loan stepped in. If Roxy was the technical brain, Mai-Loan was the watchful eye. Her intel came courtesy of a high-altitude drone that had been circling the site for hours.

“We’ve got five static guards,” she said, her voice crisp. “Two-man patrols rotating every forty minutes. They move clockwise, sticking close to the inner perimeter. Four heat signatures inside the main house. One of them barely moves — that’s our guy, Nadir Khassoun.”

She tapped the monitor and zoomed in on a floor-plan overlay. “Target’s quarters are here. North-east wing, second floor. He doesn’t stray far. Based on pattern analysis, he’ll be there between 01:00 and 05:00.”

“Which is why we hit them at 03:00,” Ash interjected. “That’s the window where we’ll have maximum advantage. They’ll be sluggish, unfocused. Roxy, you’ll confirm Khassoun’s location in real time before we breach.”

“Got it,” Roxy replied. “I’ll be plugged in the whole time.”

The Brigadier cleared his throat and turned to TC. “Major, I have the warrant for Khassoun’s arrest. I’ll hand it over once we’re done here.”

“And authorisation to carry it out?” TC asked.

“Fully sanctioned. Interpol authorities are aware. You’ll take him into custody and transfer him to SAPS custody pending extradition to the UK.”

So this was bigger than it seemed. International warrant. High-value target. But no one blinked. Not here. They all knew who Khassoun was and what he’d helped finance. The word nuclear still hung unspoken in the room, heavy as lead. I thought of Jimmy’s breakdown, his hands shaking, the panic in his eyes. This mission wasn’t just tactical — it was surgical. Preventative. Necessary.

“What about the cargo?” I asked.

Ash’s face darkened for a second. “That’s being handled separately. You won’t need to concern yourselves with it during this op.”

“Drone support?” someone asked.

Roxy spoke again. “Yes. One orbiting drone with thermal and optical feeds, plus armament. If anyone bolts, the drone will engage. So make damn sure your green tags are active.”

No one needed her to spell it out. If the drone didn’t get a friendly IFF ping, it wasn’t going to ask questions. Those point 223 rounds didn’t care about uniforms.

Ash took back control. “Mai-Loan, your team breaches and clears the main structure. You’ll receive your detailed orders now.” He handed her a sealed envelope, standard A4 size. “TC, your Rangers clear the perimeter and support the Angels inside.”

“The Angels always get the fun part,” TC muttered with a grin, accepting his envelope. “But hey, no complaints. Let the games begin.”

Then Ash turned to me.

“Roy,” he said, and the whole room turned with him. “You won’t be going in.”

I blinked. Part of me expected it — hoped for it, maybe. But another part? That part twitched, angry and restless.

“Oh?” I said.