Chapter 7

“Ash don’t play games with me!” Angie said.

“Sjuu. Roland is still awake. I heard him on the phone,” I said.

“But ... but what about my parents?” Angie’s eyes were big. “Come in. Tell me all you heard.”

“Well, I only heard half of it. Let’s go inside and sit down. I’ve got some startling news for you.” Angie turned and walked back into her room. I followed and closed the balcony door.

Damn but she looks sexy in those ‘Hello Kitty’ pyjamas. Who was it that said that covering up is not erotic? Never mind, let’s concentrate on the issues at hand.

She sat down on her bed, hands in her lap, and looked at me with green eyes darting over my face.

“I got thirsty and went in search of some of that juice of yours,” I said sitting down next to Angie.

“Yes, but get to the ‘Roland on the phone,’ part.”

“Okay, There I was...”

“ASH!”

“Quiet! You’ll wake the dead. Anyway, Roland was on the phone with, I can only assume, Max,” I said.

“Why do you think it was Max?”

“Because he, Roland, accused this other person of bungling your kidnapping, twice,” I said and let my words sink in. “He told the other party that he did not know I had a gun and that he, the other guy, should just wait until, as he put it: ‘Windsor flies the aircraft out.’ Now, what do you suppose he meant by that?”

“I don’t know.” Angie’s eyes were like saucers in her head. There was a concerned look on her face.

“Angie, they are going to try to kidnap you again. So, you have to get on that aircraft the moment I’m ready to take off.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for you. What else did Roland say?”

“Well, this is the interesting part. He said that he’s been to the house in Swakop, and there’s nothing in the safe.”

“What? Roland went to my house in Swakopmund and checked the safe? But how?”

“There are ways to crack a safe. But Angie, he got to the wrong safe. He doesn’t know about the other one. The one only you got the combination for.”

“Yes ... Yes, I did think about it. I think I have the combination. It’s easy,” Angie said and looked at me. “49, 18, 12, 5.”

“What?”

Giggle. “Tchaikovsky’s Opus 49, 1812 Obertura in E flat, with digitized cannon fire. ‘E’ is the fifth letter of the alphabet. So, 49 18 12 5.” And Angie smiled a 1000-watt smile.

“Or any combination of it,” I said.

“Nope. I know my mom. She was an accountant by trade, you’ll see.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

“Good, now get to the part about my parents still being alive.”

“Well, Roland said something along the lines of the diamonds and other stuff must still be on, or in, the aircraft. The journal was not in the safe and, ‘they’ did not say a word after three years. The ‘they’ he referred to could only be your mom and dad. That’s my belief,” I said.

Angie looked away. Then she astounded me. She placed her arm over my waist, leaning her head on my shoulder. “Ash, I hope you’re right. I pray that you are right.”

“I pray for it myself,” I said. We sat like that for a while, not speaking. Then:

“What other stuff is in the aircraft?” Angie asked.

“He didn’t say.”

“Damn! Oops. Another write-up for my spanking.” Giggle

“If we keep this up, I’ll just have to use a school cane for twelve of the best and get it over with. You’ll never stop saying ‘damn.’”

Giggle.

“Yeah, you know I’ll never do it. Spanking you, I mean.”

Giggle.

“Stop giggling and get into bed. It’s getting late and Uncle Rolly wants to leave at five.”

Giggle.

“Come on. Close and lock the door.”

“You’re not going to tuck me in?”

“Then who is going to close and lock the door?”

“I can give you a key. I have two...” And the green eyes were twinkling naughtily. I was tempted to take the key.

“Nope. You lock the door and tuck yourself in. Just now ... Angie stop it.”

Giggle.

I got up and went to the door, opened it, and stepped through.

“Good night Angie,” I said

“Good night Ash. Sleep well,” Angie said as she closed the door behind me. I heard her turn the key and lock the door. For a moment I stood there on the balcony, pondering about this little redhead girl. In software engineering, I’ll be writing a ‘what-if’ statement. What if ... No, Ashwin Windsor, let sleeping dogs lie.

I shook my head to clear it and went to my room. Tomorrow will bring its own bucket of shit.

The bucket of shit came sooner than the next day. Getting into my room I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket.

“Ash,” I said.

“Thought you were sleeping. You take damn long to answer,” Came the grumpy old voice.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

“I said I’ll phone. Besides, I don’t go to sleep before one or two in the morning.”

“Well, I do.”

“If you sleep eight hours each night, by the time you’re thirty, you have slept for ten years. Besides, think of all the things I could have missed out on by sleeping for twenty years.”

“You didn’t call me to talk about my sleeping patterns. What’s up.”

“Maximilian Schneider. Forty-eight years of age, brown hair, brown eyes. Owns the Schneider Marine Diamond Company. Took over the business from his father. While his father had the company, it did not do so well. After Max took over business boomed, doing the same concessions his father did, Max just maximized his profits.” Chuckle. “See what I did there: Max maximized his profits. I think I must take up writing or editing. Much more fun.”

“And?”

“Daddy was not that prominent in society, but granddaddy was. One Franz Abromeit. He escaped Germany as World War II in Europe came to an end, and he was believed to have gone somewhere in Africa. In 1964, he was declared dead. He must have changed his name somewhere along the line.”

“So, how reliable is this information?”

“This information is verified. Abromeit escaped Nazi Germany together with one Walter Oscar Wache. Oscar served in the SS Division Das Reich, and post-war was reported to have settled in the Republic of South Africa.”

“How does that tie in with Schneider, other than his grandfather was a known SS officer?”

“They both escaped on the German submarine U-398 on her second patrol, which ended abruptly after just four days in April 1945. She vanished without a trace in either the North Sea or possibly the Arctic Ocean. The cause for her disappearance remains unknown, until today. Seeing that both Abromeit and Wache survived, it can be assumed that U-398 ended up somewhere in Africa. Where the sub is located, no one knows, but it is curious. Oh, and by the way, there are rumours, that there was a fortune in gold, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds on the sub.”

“Yes, curious. Very curious. I was about to ask you to find out about the sub-U-398.”

“Why?”

“Because Little Miss Muffet went to the bank and got all her finances sorted out. There was a letter addressed to her from her mother, and it referenced U-398 and something that everybody wants.”

“Now that is curious.”

“Also, it came to my attention that Roland could be hand-on-the-bladder with Max Schneider. Max tried to kidnap Little Miss Muffet again today.”

“What! You say he tried again?”

“Yeah, forgot to mention it to you, but the night we departed Port Owen they tried to kidnap her. We thought it was only some drunk sailors that wanted to ... you know what but failed due to her fast reaction.”

“So, how did this Max try to kidnap her today?

“He came to the house, walked in, and tried to take her. Only I was here. There might be a hospital case about some bullet hole in someone’s shoulder. Not any of us, though.”

“You shot someone! Max?”

“No, not Max! I shot one of his asshole cronies. Don’t mess with ladies where I am.”

Chuckle. “You’re in for it now.”

“I can handle myself.”

“So, how are Max and Roland tied together?”

“The walls of this castle are paper thin. I heard him speak on the phone with someone who knew about the failed kidnappings, and it can only be Max.”

“Curious.”

“Stop saying ‘curious’ and get me something solid. What am I looking for, salted diamond concessions or long-lost Nazi treasure?”

“Both!”

“Okay, both. And what about the Angola connection,” I sighed.

“That’s the origin of the conflict diamonds that find their way to the concessions. A lucrative arrangement, don’t you think?”

“And I am to piece together the chain of evidence, get the different ends of the equation to match up?”

“Yes, a+b=a times b squared.”

“No, a+b=c. Not a times b squared. If you insist on the answer to be a times b squared, then the real answer would be a= -b divided by 1-b squared. And the answer to a+b=c would be, a= -b+c. Choose your weapons, you’re better off taking on writing fiction than playing with algebra.”

“Thanks, you just gave me the answer I was looking for in chapter two of my novel.” Chuckle. “I was just testing you. When will I have the pleasure to hear your voice again?”

“I’m a pilot. Algebra is part of who I am. We go in tomorrow. It will take at least two days to get there. Then, say two days to get the aircraft out.”

“Two plus two equals four. Okay, I’ll wait,” Grumpy teased.

“Did you want that answer in HEX, octal or binary? I have more info. It seems the missing persons ain’t dead. They are being held somewhere.”

“I’m not going to ask how you know.”

“Wait for me. I’ll give you full feedback as soon as I’m out of the desert. Sit tight.”

“So, what’s the answer in binary?”

“It is one-zero-zero, or 1×22 + 0×21 + 0×20 = 4+0+0 = 4. That means the ultimate answer is four. The answer is more exotic in HEX, and will be 4×160 = 4.”

“Take the batteries out of your calculator and go sleep. You’re keeping me from completing chapter two of my novel.”

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t even own a typewriter. Cheers,” I said and disconnected.

I smiled. If someone eavesdropped on us, they would think I spoke to my maths professor. Grumpy always likes to start me up, like he gets a kick out of it. But no one can ask for a nicer boss to work with. He knows his shit, and people too. Grumpy writing a novel? Well, I’ll be damned. Or is he pulling my chain again?

The grey light of dawn filtered through the window curtains. It was still dark outside, but with more than enough light to see around oneself. The stars were losing the battle against the new light of day, and the moon was dipping towards the distant horizon, slowly dimming out.

And so the journey began. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. My single step was to roll out of bed and start to fire like an old radial engine: one cylinder at a time until all nine cylinders ran like a symphony. It was 04:00, and Roland wanted to leave at 05:00. I had plenty of time, but with less than five hours of sleep waking up was a slow and painful process.

I recalled last night’s revelation about Roland. What is he up to? Are Roland and Max flocking together? This will then mean that everyone is a suspect. Looks like the only unfortunate souls in this congregation are Angie and me. I’ll have to watch my step, and not only my step, but Angie’s step as well.

Angie. Angelique Rothman. I wondered where I stood with the little redhead? One moment a roaring thunderstorm, shooting lightning bolts, then the soft and scared little girl. At twenty, she still maintained the innocence of a teenager. Volatile and violent, yet soft and scared. Contrasting emotions and character, an enigma in itself. Am I falling for this creature? Nah, she’s the sort of person that one tends to like for the enigma she is. Besides, I’m too old to be thinking of her that way.

By the time I was thinking these thoughts I was ready to go face the day. With one last look around the room, I shouldered my kitbag, flight bag in hand, and went down to the hall. In the hall I placed my luggage on the floor next to the door. I went in search of Cookie and coffee — the nectar of the gods.

Cookie was enjoying a mug of coffee and a buttered croissant when I came into the dining room.

“Good morning, Sir. Did you sleep well?”

“Don’t ask me before I have coffee. I don’t know yet.” I said. “Good morning to you too, Anton.”

“Ah, not an early riser then?”

“Yeah, I get can get up any time, just not without enough sleep.”

“You were up late then?” Cookie asked, raising an eyebrow at me with a smirk on his face. “Did you catch any tigers?”

“Reviewing the technical issues of the aircraft. I did not consider the time,” I fibbed.

“I know the feeling, Sir. Let me get you some coffee and a croissant.”

“Never mind, Anton, I can do it. Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Thank you, Sir. Mister Roland is outside speaking to the guys going along. Will Miss Angelique be driving with you, Sir?”

“I don’t know the seating arrangements as yet, Anton. I’ll take it as it comes,” I said.

“You’ll be driving the second Land Rover. I’ll be your co-pilot,” Giggle, Angie said as she came into the dining room. She was dressed in a tan coloured blouse and matching cargo pants. Her ginger red hair was in a French braid hanging partly across her left shoulder and down her chest. Desert-grade boots adorned her tiny feet.

“Good morning, Miss Angelique. Thanks for volunteering to be my co-pilot, but I did not think Roland would let me drive one of his vehicles.”

“Nope. I just told him that it would be a good way for you to experience the desert,” she said and fixed herself a croissant and a mug of coffee. “I had also seen to it that we have some refreshments stashed in the cab.” Giggle.

And so the banter kept up until Roland bellowed from inside the hall to: “Mount up! All aboard that’s going aboard!”

“The sea captain on dry land,” she smirked.

“Lets me think of the words of ‘Two Piña Coladas,’” I said. “Two piña coladas, one for each hand. Let’s set sail with Captain Morgan, and never leave dry land!”

“Ooh, you like Captain Morgan rum as well! We’ll make a great team then,” Cookie said.

“Come, let’s go before we get keel-hauled by the fearsome captain of the ship outside,” she said. We all scampered out of the dining room and to the vehicles. I grabbed my luggage on the way out. Apparently, Angie’s was loaded already.

Outside, Roland came up to me and handed me a mobile two-way radio.

“For communication with everybody. You’ll be Victor two. I’m Victor one, and so it goes down to Victor five,” Roland instructed. “Frequency is set, and it transmits five kilometres in line of sight, so don’t get lost or lag behind.”

Angie smirked. I looked around and saw the guys from the ship, now all in desert-grade clothing and sporting AR-15 firearms getting into the vehicles. This is some operation. Now, where on earth did Roland lay his dirty hands on AR-15 rifles? But okay, this is Africa; anything is possible.

Getting into the Land Rover, Angie turned in her seat and brought out an AK-47 rifle.

“Just for in case we get ambushed.” She said and worked the charging handle, then she placed the rifle into a gun rack next to her.

“Don’t I get to play with those toys too?” I asked.

Angie giggled, reached behind her seat and brought out a second AK-47.

“Here you go!” She said with a thousand-watt smile. “We can go play now. Ours are automatic!” I just took the rifle and placed it in the gun rack next to me. What other surprises will still be in store for me?

“Avtomat Kalashnikova devyatnadtsat’ sorok sem’.” (Automatic Kalashnikov 1947.) I said in Russian.

“Ty govorish’ po-russki, Ash?” (You speak Russian, Ash?) she asked astounded, her mouth open, and eyes flashing sparkles.

“YA starayus’, kak mogu. YA ne govoryu na etom yazyke mnogo let.” I answered in Russian. (I try my best. Have not spoken the language in many years.)

“Well, that’s a surprise!” Angie said and looked out the windshield.

“Where did you learn to speak Russian?” I asked.

“First year at university. The boy that gave me the two AK rifles. I think he had an eye on me too. More like he thought of buying his way into my pants than anything else.” Giggle. “But I kept him wondering...”

“He was Russian?”

“Yeah, a leftover of the bush war. His dad was some sort of advisor to Sam Nujoma, former State President of Namibia, and leader of SWAPO.” (SWAPO = South West Africa People’s Organization.)

“So you speak four languages. German, English, Afrikaans, and Russian. You could travel the world and not have a problem communicating,” I said.

“Neither can you. I heard you speak German with Roland,” she replied. So you speak the same four languages.

“Du hast mich durchschaut, kleines Mädchen. Wie gesagt: Sie sollten Zwillinge sein,” I said in German. (You have seen through me, little girl. As I said: you should be twins.) Angie burst out laughing, a sweet ringing of bells in the confines of the Land Rover cabin. “And you speak better German than English. Is that the Afrikaans influence shining through?”

“Must be. I only use English for self-defense,” I said. “Just to get in and out of airports.”

Giggle. “If we speak Russian to each other, Roland won’t understand us,” Giggle.

“Yes, but he’ll also know something is cooking!”

“True, he’ll suspect us of foul play. So, where did you learn to speak Russian?”

“Long story. The short version is, I sponsored a friend her tuition fees. She lived in Arbuzynka in the Ukraine. She taught me Russian just for kicks.”

“A friend, such as in, girlfriend?”

“No, no girlfriend, just a friend. She was fifteen.”

“You still do it?”

“No. She disagreed with something someone else drank.”

“Disagreed with something someone else drank? Explain.”

“About two years ago when she was walking home from school, a drunk driver hit her. She died on impact. She was seventeen.”

“Sorry Ash, I did not mean to open old wounds.”

“No problem, Angie. I met her in person only twice, we normally communicated by Skype or Facetime.”

“Ukraine, don’t they speak Ukrainian there?”

“Yes, but a few speak Russian. Her father died in a landmine blast in Afghanistan. Her mother could not go back to Russia and stayed in the Ukraine. Money was tight and I came to know about them when I flew for a humanitarian organazation delivering goods to Bosnia and other ex-Russian Federation states.”