Chapter 21

(Dave’s place near Onderstepoort, later that day.)

The late autumn day was just perfect: not a cloud in the sky. The trees had not all dropped their leaves, but if you look around you will notice some leaves scattered around the yard and the lawn. That was no bother to the ever-present birds floating down and foraging around. Even the old warthog that occasionally visited my yard was around, burrowing his nose into the ground looking for some tasty root or something. This time around, he brought a friend (or is it a girlfriend?).

There was no wind, not even a breeze. A lazy day you would say, but come on; there’s a lot to do. With three girls around whom don’t read, knit, or do other girlie stuff, you just know that there will be something going on besides swimming. With the little chill in the afternoon air, that would be uncomfortable. Not that I would mind seeing those perfect trim and firm bodies out and about.

Here with us, as maybe somewhere else in the world, if you want to celebrate you find a reason to celebrate. If you don’t find a reason, you celebrate anyway. There’s always a reason to light up a fire and break out some prime slabs of beef.

This was what was going down when Don and his crew drew up to my place. The fire was roaring away. The reason for the celebration was Lucy’s emancipation. Yes, the little rascal became an adult about two hours ago.

While the judge signed the documents and placed his big stamp on it, Lucy sat rigidly next to me; her blue eyes big and shiny. I don’t think she comprehended exactly what was happening. One moment a little teenage girl, the next an adult. She will still be sixteen but now in a big world full of pitfalls.

“You just know how to get me going!” Don said as he came up to me.

“Yeah, thought you would like a nice slab of beef,” I said, taking the offered hand and shaking it. I collected hugs and pecks on the cheek from the females of Don’s gang.

“Didn’t have a braai in a long time,” Don said.

“Yip, the last braai I can remember I was still known to them as Amerah...” Mai-Loan stated.

“The girl of many faces...” Tracy interjected, and I was looking around to see where Nadia was. I better be on my toes with the duo in close proximity.

“Where are your better personalities, Dave?” Laura asked.

“Fixing something that looks and smells so good, you could eat it,” I said, “They’re in the kitchen.” And Don’s female contingent buzzed off to find my girls.

“Boy! Ain’t that a beautiful sight,” Don said.

“What, the girls or the steak?” I asked, thinking nine women together will be a party on its own, not counting Battery Acid and Dynamite. Those two might deliver their own amusement.

“Both!” Don said as he reached into the cooler box for a beer. “Get you one out too?”

“Please,” I said.

Don retrieved two beers, popped the tops, and handed me one. “Well, I don’t want to talk shop, but looks like the Angels Express is a lift-off.”

“Ah, Houston, we have a problem...” I retorted.

“What problem?” Don asked.

“Do we charge them for the Herc, or let it slide...”

“Never thought of it that way,” Don said and took a swig of his beer. “Besides, what do we do if they want to pay with body receipts, or don’t that count?” Chuckle.

“Maybe as a down payment, but otherwise not a wise business decision,” I smirked.

“Yeah, but it seems like the Angels Express is taking over our business. I mean, what are we doing right now? I fly, you fly, and they were supposed to just do the bookings. Now it seems like they go about booking US fully, to fly for them,” Don said.

“So, let them take the heat. We’ll just sit back and relax. The Herc’s got sheep’s wool seat covers, soft on the behind,” I said.

“Did I ever tell you, you’re a genius?”

“Nope! A hopeless comedian, if I recall correctly,” I chuckled. At that moment a trio of girls came at a full gallop down the patio towards the thatch roofed entertainment and braai Lapa area; two redheads, led by a blond. This looks dangerous.

“DAVE!” Lucy shouted before she reached us. “I want to fly too!” She huffed as she reached us ahead of Battery Acid and Dynamite.

“Whoa! Sweetness. What’s up,” I asked.

“Laura, Tracy, and Mai-Loan have a ‘seserma,’ and even Tracy flies it!” Lucy said, eyes the size of saucers and her nostrils flaring. “AND, I’m sixteen. I can get a student license...” Here she ran out of breath.

“It’s a Cessna 172 Skyhawk, and you can get a student license, but you still need an instructor,” I said trying to calm her down.

“Mai-Loan’s an instructor,” Tracy interjected. “She taught Laura and me, though I’m too young for even a student license.” And the fourteen-year-old pouted her lips.

Nadia stood there with glimmering eyes. Like a kid in a candy store.

“And I suppose you want to learn to fly too?” I asked Nadia. Vigorous head nodding, red hair tossing around her shoulders, with a mile-wide smile on her lips. Then she clasped her hands neatly in front of her, head slightly tilted; striking a shy schoolgirl pose.

I was melting. “Well, what does Mai-Loan say?”

“She’ll do it, only if you say it’s okay...” Lucy said.

“Yet, another monster’s born. Two monsters.” Don interjected, grinning, then to the girls: “But you get to fly the other aircraft only after your comms and at least 500 hours on type!”

“But how can I get 500 hours on type If I can’t fly it?” Lucy asked.

“There are ways to do it. You fly with a qualified pilot until he or she is certain you have what it takes, then get with an instructor and get certified,” Don replied.

“Wait here. I’ll be back.” I directed and walked off to the house. I think I have something to give the two girls. I went into my study, opened a cabinet, rummaged around, and came out with a book. A thick book. Seven hundred and something odd pages. I walked back to the lapa.

“Here you go. Start here,” I said as I handed the book to the two blank staring faces. “‘Principles of Flight: A Student’s Guide’. Study it; it’s called GROUND SCHOOL.”

Don burst out laughing. Tracy gawked at the book.

“Why did I not get one like this?” Tracy asked.

“Because you can’t fly yet, legally that is,” Don replied. “I know you can handle the Cessna, but rules are rules. Once you are of legal age, we’ll put you through ground school.”

“Yeah, you need to wait awhile,” I agreed, looking at Tracy.

“It’s been a while, ain’t it Dave?” Don asked.

In the meantime, the rest of the gang joined us.

“You know, I want to learn too. It would be fun to fly MY own helicopter on game counting and such...” Lisa said.

“Oh, bother! Another monster.” Don sighed. “Dave, find the nest that holds the eggs, and destroy it!”

“Nah, I’m going to see this through to the end. At least, they will understand if I say; ‘Not tonight darling, I’ve got a headache!’” I retorted and got hysterical laughter for the comment.

(In a hotel room in Johannesburg.)

Daiki sat in an easy chair, the phone to his ear. This conversation was not to be on speakerphone. He was dreading this call, but he has to go through with it. His father was exceedingly unhappy with the report.

“I told you to not make hasty decisions. Look at what it brought you. Now we have problems with the police.” Haruki said.

“But Father, I just wanted to help,” Daiki said.

“Help? Help whom? I send you to Africa to find out what is going on and you went and started a war. Acted on your own. Not taking the bigger picture into account.”

“Father I...” Daiki started.

“You’ll have to mend the situation. In business, you have a target production rate, then there’s the real production that you can get. The discrepancy between the target and the real output achieved is the problem you must solve. That is where you must concentrate your efforts. Now, what is the production rate?”

“I don’t understand, Father. We need to get the merchandise to our clients. We don’t make it.” Daiki said.

“Ah! That’s where you are half right and half wrong. Yes, we need to get the merchandise to the clients. We need to fill the order. Are we filling the order?”

“If you put it like that, no. We aren’t filling the order.”

“Good! Now you start to see. So, why aren’t we filling the order?”

“Because some nitwits had destroyed the facility AND the merchandise.”

“YES! So do you see that the difference between the order and the merchandise on hand is where the problem lies?”

“Yes Father, I see it. So what can we do?” Daiki asked.

“You will get across the border. Come back here, now. I will send someone to you to help you to begin your back journey. You just stay where you are and don’t make a move. You understand?”

“Yes Father,” Daiki answered.

“So you know where our ‘problem’ resides? The address?” Haruki asked.

“Yes Father, I know where they are. I just have not been there, and don’t know the layout of the land.”

No problem there. I have resources in South Africa. I’ll use them.” Haruki said.

“So what do I do in the meantime?”

“Nothing. You just listen to me, and I’ll get your butt out of this mess.”

“Thank you, Father,” Daiki said.

“Good. Now listen to what I propose...” And Haruki started to outline a plan for Daiki. Daiki sat listening to his father without saying a word. He knew that now was not the time to argue with his father.

(In a red, brick-like building, somewhere in the eastern outskirts of Pretoria mid-city.)

It was one of those autumn afternoons where the golden glow of the sun, low in the west, cast a sort of warm glow inside the office. Joe stood up from his chair behind his desk and went over to the large window. Through the window he could see a view of part of the city’s skyscrapers. His office was just far enough out of the city centre so that the huge bulk of the ABSA Bank’s thirty-seven-story building did not spoil his view of the far-off Magaliesberg Mountains.

Down below, in the streets, homeward bound traffic streamed out of the city. Only a few cars headed west were about in Pretorius Street. The heaviest traffic was eastbound because most people lived in that direction. Even so, westbound traffic was still heavier than average.

Nearly all the state departments had offices in Pretoria. That meant that many government officials worked in the city.

Joe closed the window curtains and returned to his desk to go through the latest statements received from his team. His usual routine was to wait until the traffic calmed down after six, then leave for home.

It seemed like the four Japanese suspects caught yesterday were giving full statements as to what transpired with the kidnapping of Dave’s girls. It looked like a certain Daiki Nakamura was the leader of the group, and that he gave all the instructions.

Still, there was no mention of ivory. The suspects alleged that Daiki had a vendetta against Dave for interfering with Daiki’s father’s business, according to the information in the statements before Joe. The four being detained have given away much information. Do they want to strike a bargain with the police, thinking they would not be prosecuted?

Joe knew Daiki’s father Haruki was somehow involved with ivory smuggling. Haruki had a big influence with the Japanese mafia, the Yakuza, or the ninkyō dantai, as they call themselves. Maybe Haruki Nakamura would pan out to be one of the main leaders in the syndicate.

The ninkyō dantai think of themselves as a chivalrous organization doing good to the public, a Robin Hood mentality. But they are involved in criminal activities and see crime as a means to a goal; sometimes even violent crime. One of the characteristics of a Yakuza member is the body tattoos decorating their bodies.

The highest concentration of Yakuza members is in south Japan, on the island of Kyushu. This is where Haruki Nakamura resides, where his headquarters are, and where the ship had been heading before being diverted to China. The city of Kagoshima, across the bay from the volcano Sakurajima.

Joe sat back in his chair. He has to play this right. The connection between the kidnapping and Daiki is a small piece of the puzzle to connect Daiki and Haruki with ivory smuggling. But he has the kidnapping to prosecute; the rest will be up to his international colleagues. Joe just needs to provide the connection, proof that the Yakuza’s involved with the smuggling.

Joe closed the file. He got up and opened his safe, placed the file inside the safe, then closed and locked it. Dave said something about a braai. Don and his crew will be there too. Time to go and collect his wife; she needs to meet the Angels.

As Joe locked his office, he thought of one of his female captains going off to Lyon in France on an exchange contract for Interpol. She’ll be gone for three years. Joe sighed. He’s losing a good officer for the time being. Maybe he should think about recruiting one of the Angels. Olivia, the American, or Leah the German girl. The Tajikistan girl seems a good one too, she with the long dark-brown hair and piercing dark eyes.

Joe knew that the Angels were somehow involved in the taking of that camp in Botswana. He had no evidence, but he knew. Mai-Loan and Nadia were in the strike, inside the aircraft, so the other three would not have been far away. Where did the missiles come from and how did they end up on the two strike aircraft?

What was in the truck? Their equipment? And how did it get to be in Botswana? Joe will never know; he did not want to know. Some things are better left alone. Never disturb a hornets’ nest. Plausible deniability. Place yourself on the scene, but never admit you saw anything.

(Dave’s place. Near Onderstepoort, North of Pretoria.)

With the sun touching the western horizon, and the fire going strong, the chatter among the women was going at a hundred kilometres an hour. Everyone was talking at the same time, yet all knew what was being said and the context thereof.

“How do they do it? Don asked.

“Don’t ask me, I don’t know the answer. Maybe it’s some woman thing. Multi-tasking or something,” I retorted.

“Never mind,” Don said. “I’ve got better things to do. Besides, I’ll never understand how they function. It’s best left alone.”

So you say we can have the Herc by Friday?”

“Yeah. It’s halfway done. The paint job, I mean,” Don answered.

“Good. I wanted to go up to Levubu, see the old folks,” I said. “But maybe postpone it till next week.”

“Next week you’re going to be eyeball deep in flying stuff around. I heard through the grapevine that the first flight for the Herc’s scheduled for Tuesday. Some stuff to go to Upington,” Don countered.

“Okay, what grapevine is that? This one’s not even operational as yet,” I said.

“There’s cargo at Global Logistics. They need some electrical gear and panels, and other stuff to go to Upington. Not near twenty-one tonnes, but good payment. Some American engineering company out of Auburn, Alabama needs it delivered pronto. It’s huge and there’s no other aircraft available to transport it,” Don said.