Chapter 19

Don did not even stop to preflight the helicopter. We just got in and fired up the bird. I was frantically punching at my cell phone to get the tracker application started. Using mobile data was the least of my concerns. Getting the girls was a top priority.

Don lifted off and took a direct route to the Kolonnade Mall, to the East South-east of us. Better to start at the last known location. In the meantime, I got the tracker application running.

“Looking at the log now!” I said into the boom mike on my headset. “They stopped the bakkie at 09:23 and some seconds.”

“Good. Anything else?” Don asked.

“It looks like the bakkie started up and moved at 12:47,” I said. “Okay, here is the track. It stopped just outside of Kolonnade Mall at 12:58, and the engine was switched off.”

“Just outside Kolonnade?” Don asked. “Then where did it go?”

“I’m looking through the log. It looks like it moved off at 13:15, east along Sefako Makgatho street.”

“East! Away from Kolonnade?” Don asked.

“Yes, It stopped again near the shopping centre on Moloto road. Going north-east towards KwaMhlanga.”

“Good, I know where that shopping centre is. I’ll cut across North of Wonderboom.” Don said, calling FAWB tower and relaying his intentions.

“Well, it stopped near the shopping centre at 13:40, and did not move again,” I said.

“Don’t look like a hijacking,” Don said, “else the bakkie would be gone, and the girls would have contacted us. I’m afraid it looks like the girls have been abducted. Sorry, Dave.”

“Shit!” I said, looking out the helicopter window, trying to see the spot where the bakkie was dumped.

“We’re coming on to that spot now, give me a location,” Don said.

“About 500 metres in from the shopping centre. On the opposite side, along the railway track. On the north side,” I said.

“Got it,” Don said, banking the helicopter to the right, the pylons of the high-tension power lines, flashing beneath us. Don dropped to 300 feet over the Moloto road.

This was near “going home time,” and there were many cars, buses, and bakkies on the road. Moloto Road, being a provincial secondary road, leads from Pretoria to the towns and villages to the north-east, and ends up in Marble Hall, 190 kilometres away.

To the left, I could see Roodeplaat Dam. The olive-green shine on the water from the algae and hyacinth build-up was clear from this height. About six kilometres to the south, I saw the little shopping centre shining dull grey in the afternoon sun. I could make out the crossroads. The dirt roads led east and west from the entrance to the shopping centre, both intersecting with the Moloto road, just before the railway bridge.

“To the west, you say,” Don asked.

“Yes, from the shopping centre, about 500 metres west, along the dirt road,” I said.

“Got it. There, Dave, next to the road. Under the trees!” Don exclaimed.

“I see it. It looks like Lisa’s bakkie.”

“Okay. I’ll circle, see if there’s a place to land,” Don said. “Call Joe, tell him we located the bakkie.”

I called Joe, and he instructed us to not go near the bakkie or land near it. Landing the helicopter anywhere near the bakkie, in a 100-metre radius, could destroy vital footprint tracks. With the rotors spinning at nearly three hundred kilometres per hour, the downwash creates a downward and outward wind of one hundred kilometres per hour. Also, if we touched the bakkie, fingerprints left, could be destroyed.

We elected to land at the shopping centre. This is rural South Africa and there will be lots of space to land there. It’s not a big centre; only about six stores, with a huge open parking lot. We will wait there for the cavalry to arrive.

(Meanwhile at a farmhouse not far from Lisa’s bakkie.)

Daiki contemplated his next move. He’ll have to contact this John David Granger and make him come out where he and his companions can eliminate him. He must pay for the carnage he created in Botswana.

The girls are the bait and are now in the shed next to the garage. They will be secure there, locked up behind steel doors and concrete walls. No one will see them or hear them. The only windows are tiny ones at the top of the walls and are barred with thick solid metal rods that leave no means of escape to anyone locked inside.

Daiki thought that the one girl, the one with the red hair, looked familiar. He could not place her. She looked like the girl he saw in Gaborone. But that one looked a little taller. Also, this one’s face looks a little thiner, No, different girl. This one looks like a schoolgirl, not a pilot.

Daiki was lucky to find this place and rent it. The stupid owner was happy to rent the place to them. So, now he just needs to sit back and wait. He wondered if the girls were missed by this time. He needs to contact this John David Granger. Let him stew and fret a few more hours.

“There was a helicopter out there, circling over the car,” The look-out companion said to Daiki. “You better come and look.”

“What did the helicopter do, just circle?” Daiki asked.

“Yeah, circled, then left. But a few minutes later a police helicopter came and circled too. It’s still there, and it looks like more police cars are coming and stopping off at the car.”

“Shit. How did they find the car so quickly?” Daiki asked. “Did you look to see if it had an anti-theft device in?”

“No. These backward countries don’t have shit like that. Have they?”

“Of course, they have it, you fool,” Daiki screamed. “I hope you took the girls’ cell phones and did not leave them with the bitches.”

“We did. They’re switched off, and in the van.”

(Inside the shed.)

Lisa sat down on the dirty concrete floor of the shed, her knees drawn up to her chest. She rested her chin on her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. She lost one shoe. Dried-out tear streaks are visible down her cheeks. Her bakkie was stolen, and now they are kidnapped by some Asian men, Japanese? Will she ever see Dave again? Will she ever be safe and warm in his arms?

Lisa, devastated by what has happened, could not understand what it was these Japanese guys wanted. Screaming and shouting didn’t work. They just picked her up like a little girl and dropped her into the shed together with Nadia and Lucy. Trying to break free and run only got her punched with a fist in the midriff and had the wind knocked out of her.

Lucy sat quietly. She did not understand what was happening. She heard from Tracy that when young girls get abducted, they are taken away to far off lands, to be exploited as slaves and domestic workers, sometimes as sex slaves. She was terrified of being a sex slave. She was so happy to be rescued by Dave. Where is Dave? She needs Dave! Loving, caring Dave!

Nadia, a little rattled but not affected as much as Lisa and Lucy, stood in the middle of the shed. Her eyes were roaming over the interior of the shed. More of an old storeroom or an old garage, solidly built of bricks and cement. Nadia has been in situations like this before, and she needs to be strong for Lisa’s and Lucy’s sake.

She knew it will not help to scream and shout at their abductors, look what had happened to Lisa. No, she has to assess the situation, look at the weaknesses in the plot; and see what she can use to their advantage; find a way to escape.

In the weakening light of early dusk, the light inside the shed was vanishing. Nadia saw a light switch and wondered if it worked. She went over to the light switch and flicked it on. A light went on and brightened the inside of the shed. Eureka! At least the light in the shed worked. Nadia flicked the light switch off and on again. Then she repeated it in quick succession. She smiled and left the light on.

Nadia saw various items strewn around the shed: oil cans, plastic buckets, and bottles - glass bottles. There were some hand tools and a half-jerry can of something. A quick sniff determined it was diesel fuel. Then she saw in the corner of the shed, something that looked like plastic bags. She read the big yellow letters on the green background of the top bag. Slowly a smile formed on her lips.

Nadia went over to the two frightened girls, huddled on the floor of the shed. She knelt next to them, placed her arms around them, and giggled: “Okay girls, let’s get out of here!”

Lisa and Lucy just gawked at Nadia, not knowing why she giggled or how on earth they are going to get out of this locked up cold and dirty storeroom.

(Crime scene. West of the R573, Moloto road.)

I stood about fifty metres away from the beehive of activity centred around Lisa’s bakkie. Police officers in blue plastic coveralls swarmed over the bakkie looking for vital pieces of evidence: fingerprints, DNA, anything that could point to who had taken the bakkie and why. Others crawled over the surrounding ground looking for footprints and discarded material like cigarette butts or other items. Still, others searched for tire tracks and evidence of a transfer.

But where are the girls?

Don stood next to me, smoking his pipe with his seriously concerned expression on his face. He had been pulling on his pipe for the last fifteen minutes, not realizing the pipe went dead.

“Would you like a cigarette?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

I left it at that.

“The girls are somewhere close,” Don eventually said, scuffing with his left shoe point in the red dust of the dirt road. Little plumes of red dust swirled up and drifted away in the light breeze.

“Close?” I asked, looking around and trying to visualize the houses, and buildings, sitting far apart, on all the surrounding smallholdings.

“Yes,” was all he said.

“Okay.” I sighed, feeling the distress of losing the girls overcoming me. Where are they? What happened? Why were they taken?

Just then Joe came walking over to us. He held up a transparent plastic evidence bag with a small piece of colourful crumpled paper inside.

“Looks like we were right about the Japanese,” Joe said. “Look here, a wrapper from a Japanese sweet. Looks like whoever drove the bakkie was chewing sweets manufactured in Japan, not locally available.”

“So they drove the bakkie here and dumped it. Where would they have taken the girls then?” I asked.

“Maybe, somewhere far from here. Just to throw us off track,” Joe said.

“I feel the girls are close, really close by,” Don repeated, getting a far-off look in his eyes and putting the dead pipe back between his lips.

“There you go again. Dave, if Donovan Lambert says something, you must be careful, be very careful, this guy is psychic,” Joe said.

“I’ve told you before, Joe. I feel it in my bones. I also think we are being watched,” Don said. “I have this creepy feeling down my back.”

“You’re making me nervous,” Joe said.

I, too, was nervous. If it was true what Don said, then we are in danger. Real danger.

“They are going to take the bakkie away on a roll-back, back to the labs for more spectral analysis to be done. We’ll have everything in an hour or two,” Joe said.

“So? What now?” I demanded, irritated, feeling lost and helpless.

“Now, we wait. If they want something, they’ll contact us. Contact you, or whoever. But they will make contact,” Joe said.

“It’s been five hours since the bakkie was dumped. Shouldn’t they have made contact by now?” I asked.

“Sometimes they wait a full day,” Joe said. “Psychological warfare. Wait until you are most vulnerable, then hit. I don’t want to add to your stress, but did you ever hear of the Yakuza?”

“No. What’s that?” I asked. Don just looked at Joe with a blank stare.

“The Yakuza is a Japanese crime syndicate. Got hands in every crime pie you can think of.” Joe said. “They are into all sorts of legal and illegal businesses. Sometimes doing good deeds to win the respect and admiration of the public, but mostly doing dark dirty deeds to raise funds.”

“How are they involved here?” I asked.

“I won’t speculate, but a good guess is that the guys, those Japanese that were trying to locate the Impala, or you and the Impala, are mixed-up in this,” Joe said.

“But they only operate in Japan,” Don stated, this time lighting his pipe for real.

“Also United States, Korea, China, Philippines, you name it. Anywhere there are Japanese people and an illegal buck to be made, there you’ll find them. They even have pacts and agreements with the local Chinese Triads.” Joe said.

“But they can’t be interested in us!” Don said. “The Japanese only go after investments and the proceeds of those investments,” Don said.

“True. But some of that investments are ivory. You destroyed a shipment worth millions of yen. Wouldn’t you also try to get something back if it was YOUR investment?” Joe asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I get your point,” I said, feeling now utterly, completely helpless to find the girls. Shit, I’m going to rip that son of a bitch to pieces with my bare hands, if I can lay my hands on him. I’m not the violent type, but don’t cross me. That guy will regret the day he was born. And his cronies too.

The daylight was going fast, and night was rolling in. There was just a dull grey colouring of the western sky. All above us the stars were twinkling their night-time sparkle. I felt as if the world has now come to an end; the nighttime crickets croaking their monotonous song all around us, the three girls I love somewhere being held captive. Alone, cold, and lonely. Terrified and hungry. Yes, they would be hungry by this time.

“Okay, Dave. Let’s go. It would not help to stand here and mope. Let’s get home. The wait now begins,” Don said, but I could see in his eyes, that he did not believe himself. He looked like he doesn’t want to leave here either.

“Come, I’ll give you a ride to the helicopter,” Joe said, and we followed him over to his bakkie, parked a few metres away.

Then a thought struck me. Why did I not think of it before? Yes, I need to try it, but let’s wait till we get to the helicopter.

(Inside the shed.)

Nadia, to some extent, has managed to get Lisa and Lucy to calm down and respond to her. This proved a good thing. When two of the captors came to bring them some dry bread and water, Lisa and Lucy were quiet and did not respond to their actions at all.

Nadia was glad about the water. There were about ten bottles of water, at least five litres, more than what she would need. A plan was forming in her mind, but she did not let on her intentions to Lisa and Lucy.

Lisa and Lucy munched on the dry slices of bread. Nadia kept them going and urged them to eat as much as they can.

“You need to keep your energy levels up. So keep on eating. Hydrate yourself and drink that water. At least it’s bottled water and sealed, so, no tampering with it,” she said.

“Why would they tamper with it?” Lucy asked.

“Well, if the bottles are open, they could have put some drugs in them. This way, there’s just good old H2O in there.” Nadia said. “Grab yourself two bottles each. Leave the rest for later, but leave me at least three bottles.”

“Why do you get more than us?” Lisa asked, looking straight at Nadia, a frown between her eyes.

Nadia sighed, realizing she had to let the other two in on her plan.

“Doctor Lisa, look around you. What do you see?”

“I see crap and dirt. A locked door and barred windows,” Lisa said.

“Did you do physics and chemistry during your studies?” Nadia asked.

“Yes ... Yes, I did. But what has that got to do with us now?” Lisa asked while Lucy was a little more attentive now.

“Dear sister Lisa, look around you. We have water. Plenty of water. Over by that bench, there’s a jerry can of diesel fuel. Look in the other corner, bags of lawn-growing fertilizer. There, on the workbench, a car battery. On the shelf on top of the workbench, steel wool and hand tools, and electric flex wire. And look here, what do I have in my hand?” Nadia said, smiling.