Chapter 8

November 12. 10:40 Overberg Base.

‘What disturbing news did Mai-Loan have?’, I thought as we followed her into the hangar. Outside, the ground crews were already swarming over the Mirages, casting a wary eye at “Bandit” sitting on the ramp next to the Mirage 2000 N. With her droopy nose and vivid paint scheme, she looked mean; a vicious beast ready to pounce on an unsuspecting prey. This morning she had three prey and managed to kill two.

“I take it that the exercise was successful?” The crew chief asked as we went by.

“Ask this redhead, Venter, she managed to bag herself two Mirages,” I shot back.

“No wonder she came in inverted over the runway and exited with a double victory roll!”, he laughed.

I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at Angie. “Angie! You did what?”

“Giggle. “Celebrated my success. You know, in real life, I’d be an ace now!” With a flick of those ginger red tresses and upturned nose, she turned and walked on into the hangar, swinging her postbox red helmet.

“Nope! You still need three notches to go! You need to score five kills to be an ace.

“So, sue me! Next time I’ll bag you as well,” Angie shot over her shoulder.

“I don’t think you’ll be so lucky next time. The team has marked you now,” I retorted.

“Never mind the team marking, that girlie has what it takes, Mister Windsor, Sir,” Crew Chief Venter interjected.

“Yeah, I know. Not only in flying combat aircraft, but in all walks of life. She’s rare. A once in a lifetime find,” I said, and looked at Angie. Twenty-five years old, walking into the hangar, looking like she’s on the verge of skipping like a fifteen-year-old.

“You are a lucky man, Mister Windsor. A real lucky man...” Staff Sergeant Venter said. “I have a daughter like her who has no idea where she wants to be in life. Wasted two years on university, and now works as a nail technician in a beauty parlour.”

“I don’t want to throw petrol on your fire, Chief, but you are looking at a twenty-five-year-old girl that not only just qualified on the Cheetah but is a doctor of archaeology in her everyday job, flies eight different aircraft and holds a commercial pilot’s license to boot.”

“Wow, and she doesn’t look a day older than nineteen. If you did not tell me she was twenty-five, I would not have believed it. A doctor you say, any chance that she may give my daughter some tips, and talk some sense into her?”

“I’ll ask her,” I said. “But no promises, that’s one lively filly there.”

“Better take your vitamins, Mister Windsor!” He laughed and strode away to tend to the crew at the Mirages.

I shook my head and walked into the hangar. The rest of the crew were already standing around or sitting down on some camping chairs.

“Nice of you to join us, Ash,” Mai-Loan said as I took up a seat to the right of the assembly, next to Darya. During briefings and debriefings, we tend to stick to crew configuration, thus Darya was my crew for the day, and I sat next to her. Angie, being the aggressor for the day, sat to the left. She looked at me and blew me a kiss, smiling sweetly.

“Okay! Pipe down everyone!” Mai-Loan said. “I take it we all learned something today, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, keep your eyes on the radar and don’t trust redheads!” Olivia said. Angie giggled with the rest of the Angels.

I kept my thoughts to myself. Never show any sign to a woman and just say: “Yes Dear,” if you need to say something.

“When I’ve downloaded all your mission data from the pods, I’ll discuss it with you. Now, the news I have: The boss phoned me just as we landed, and he was not a happy chappy.” Mai-Loan said, sitting down on a camping chair and sighed.

“Last night there was a break-in at a warehouse in Epping Industria, just south of the Cape Town harbour. High-end laptops and cell phones were taken.” She said.

“And how are we going to get involved with that?” Darya asked.

“That’s not all. This morning, at the Oshoek border post, a truck was searched, and a nice BMW X6 was found hidden in the freight of thatch grass on the truck. The BMW was stolen in Woodstock, late last night.” Mai-Loan said, then took a breath and continued. “Inside the BMW, fifty cell phones and fifty laptops were found. All traced back to the warehouse in Epping Industria.”

“Okay, that sounds like the SAPS has been doing their work for a change,” I said.

“Well, Ash, this is where we come in. Someone left a calling card in the BMW.”

“A calling card? How stupid! Leah said. “What calling card?”

“A fold-over match book from ‘The Lonely Traveller’, Rashaad William’s Club in Long Street.”

“It proves that Rashaad is involved,” Olivia said.

“Nope!” Nadia interjected. “It only proves that someone who stole the BMW is a smoker.”

“True, Nadia, it is not conclusive that the matchbook provides proof of Rashaad’s involvement. It could have been left by anyone who visited the club.”

“Or, that it was planted,” Angie offered.

“Security video footage from the warehouse shows five heavily tattoo-sporting Asian looking guys taking the electronic goods from the warehouse. They made no move to hide their presence or their looks. It seems like they were unaware of the security cameras.”

“Can we see the video footage?” I asked.

“Yes, I can get it for you, Ash”

“I have a theory. We know that Rashaad and his gang, the Hard Livings, are involved in peddling stolen goods. Cars, computers, cell phones and such. Anything that can make them a profit. But the tattooed guys of Asian origin in the warehouse don’t make sense.” I said.

“So, what’s your theory, Ash?” Olivia asked.

“Rashaad’s guys took the BMW and transported it across the border. Someone else took the electronic stuff and placed it in the car together with a matchbook that would incriminate the Hard Livings and Rashaad. How did the border police get to search the truck in the first place, anyway?”

“They were tipped off anonymously,” Mai-Loan said.

“Ah-ha! Get us that video tape, Mai. I think I know who took the electronic stuff and tried to put the blame on the Hard Livings. I don’t even want to believe that the car was taken by Rashaad and his cronies. What if Rashaad and the Hard Livings were framed in this instance?”

Everyone looked at me.

“But why frame the Hard Livings? Better yet, WHO wanted to frame the Hard Livings, and why? And how did they get to Oshoek in eleven hours? Unless of course, the theft was earlier than reported.” Mai-Loan pondered.

“Asian guys? Tattooed Asian guys? Daiki and the Yakuza? Why? Because Rashaad pulled out of abducting Mai-Loan!” I said and got up. “Any juice around here? Anything cold?”

“In the refrigerator. Apple and cranberry juice,” Darya said, looking across at Angie.

“Cranberry juice! I want some.” Angie exclaimed, and I remembered her addiction to cranberry juice.

“Get us that video footage, Mai. I would like to see it and discuss it with Grumpy Charley,” I said as I handed Angie an ice-cold cranberry juice in a plastic bottle.

“You call him Grumpy Charley, I call him the boss, and Angie calls him uncle sweetheart. Why don’t we just standardize and call him Boss?” Mai-Loan suggested.

“Nope! Grumpy Charley he is and will stay!” I said, taking a swallow of the cold cranberry juice.

“And we?” Nadia ventured.

“You call him the same. You’re Grumpy Charley’s Angels. Better than the TV show. Much better,” I said and drained the bottle of juice.

“Oh, and there I thought for a moment we’re Ash’s Angels,” Darya said and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Behave yourself, Daughter!” Angie admonished. The girls all erupted in laughter, and it echoed in the hollow hangar.

“Grumpy’s Angels you will be!” I said.

“Yes Archangel Ash, Sir. We will abide by the word of your holiness,” Mai-Loan teased.

“Yes Dear...” I sighed.

“How did you do that, Mai-Loan?” Angie asked.

“The first rule of women: Always get the last say!”

“Or he did not pay attention, and just made a noise to fool you into believing he heard ya!” Darya said. “Men are like that, Angie. If they say ‘Yes Dear,’ it means they did not pay attention and are dismissing you.”

Then Angie got up and came and stood right in front of me, all five feet three inches of her. “Will you not pay attention to me and dismiss me?” She asked, head tilted to one side, lips pouting and her eyes flashing green fire.

“Yes dear,” brave me replied and got swatted on my left arm. “Ouch!”

“Watch it, Bonehead. Don’t mess with me!” Angie said to the laughter of the girls. Lorie laughed the loudest. Then Angie placed her arms around my waist and hugged me, her head on my chest. “But I love you, Bonehead...”

“Ah, gee...” Darya said. “Don’t I get a hug too ... Dad?” Giggle.

The laughter in the hangar was thunderous. One can’t believe the noise this lot of girls can make.

November 12. 15:23 Overberg Base.

The Cape Southeaster blew in from the Indian Ocean, bringing foggy cooler air with it and dropping the temperature by ten degrees. It had been around twenty-six degrees this morning but dropped and was now sixteen degrees and windy.

The sun flickered in and out of the puffy foggy clouds, adding to the impression that it was cold, despite the fact that it was still quite pleasant. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and multi-pocket cargo shorts. My outfit was finished off with athletic running shoes and those little hide-away socks on my feet. Angie looked stunning in shorts, a T-shirt, and barefoot, with her hair pulled back in two mischievous schoolgirl ponytails.

We were all gathered in the Angel Headquarters’ living room, waiting for Mai-Loan to insert the USB stick into the TV and begin the playback. I took a seat in the center of the couch, with Angie to my right and Darya to my left. Darya was pressing up against me, and Angie had crossed her leg over mine. We three appeared to be a happy family, with the exception of Angie, who could have been mistaken for the daughter, and Darya as ... But that’s all right. Let’s get on with the story.

“Well, here’s that footage Ash wanted to see,” Mai-Loan said as she pressed a button on the remote control, and a grey image appeared on the TV screen. Typical greyscale image of an infra-red camera shot.

As with all security camera shots, the images appeared clear, but raggedy, like the silent movies of yesteryear, a century or so ago. Five figures were seen grabbing stacks of boxes and running off-screen.

A second camera shot showed the action from another angle, this time showing closer images of the suspects.

“Freeze the frame,” I said, and Mai-Loan pressed a remote-control button. A man who appeared to be Japanese, stood directly in front of the camera, holding three boxes of laptop computers. He’s exposed his arms, revealing tattoos from his hands all the way up to where his arms disappeared into the sleeves of his shirt. The same ink images appeared through the open “V” in the front of his shirt. He resembled a child’s colouring book.

“Okay, go,” I said, and Mai-Loan pressed a button. The video started to roll again, and several shots of similarly dressed men, and their impressive tattoos moved across the screen, transporting boxes to an off-camera position.

The video lasted six minutes and fourteen seconds. They knew just how long to stay on site. It takes the personnel responding to an alarm situation between seven and eighteen minutes to get on site. These guys were in and gone in six minutes. Mai-Loan killed the TV and looked over at me.

“Any ideas, Ash?”

“Yeah, they look like Yakuza members.”

“Yakuza?”

“Yes, Yakuza; Japanese street gangs and crime syndicate members.”

“But how? It’s the first time I heard of or have seen them here in South Africa,” Olivia said. “I know they are active mostly in Japan and in places like Hawaii and western USA.”

“Mai-Loan, get Grumpy to find out if any Japanese ships came into Cape Town in the last few days,” I asked.

“I’ll call him,” she said and got up and walked to the kitchen while punching at her cell phone. “Anyone for plastic coffee? I’m switching on the kettle,” She called over her shoulder, and pressed the cell to her ear.

“I’ll make it,” Olivia said and followed her to the kitchen.

November 12. 15:30 The Lonely Traveller, Long Street, Cape Town.

The city was shrouded in clouds, and the southeasterly wind howled. Discarded plastic bags were flung about, milling around in the narrow alleyway as Roxy made her way to The Lonely Traveller’s back entrance. Her fake cashmere coat was buttoned up, her waist belt buckled, and her long black hair was tucked beneath the coat. The city bowl was getting dark, with little pinpoints of light appearing everywhere.

There’s already rain falling, and an umbrella would have been worthless in this wind. She pushed her coat hoodie closer to her head, shielding her bag and dreaded the rain on her face, which would cause her makeup to run.

Roxy would work the afternoon and early evening shifts at the club, tending the bar. She noticed Rashaad’s white BMW parked in the far corner of the yard, across the alley, as she knocked on the back door. A clear plastic sheet was used to cover the back window. Rashaad, she reasoned, might be in.

A big dude in jeans, and a wife beater shirt opened the back door. Roxy smiled as she walked through the door, greeting the man by name. Being friendly with the guards benefited her.

Even though it had been open since 13:00, the club was relatively empty, and few customers were present at this early hour before the evening rush.

“Hi Jabo, how’s things.” Roxy greeted the current bartender.

“Ahweh Lollipop. The boss said to eyeball him before you start.” Jabo returned the greeting.

“He upstairs?”

“In his office.”

“Oh.”

“Better move your sweet skinny ass. He seems in a mood.”

“Okay, going. Keep the counter-top clean and serve the customers. I’ll be back soon,” Roxy said, and a little cloud drew over her eyes. If Rashaad was in a mood, it couldn’t spell anything good. Well, for her it will be no problem. Rashaad may just need a little pampering.

She took the flight of stairs up to Rashaad’s office, knocked softly, and at the word “Come!” from inside, opened the door and stepped inside.

Rashaad sat on the couch next to his desk, a glass of whisky in his hand and a nearly empty bottle of Glen Grant stood on the coffee table at his side. He had obviously been drinking the duration of the afternoon, yet he looked sober but troubled.

“Hey, Boss, what’s up?” Roxy greeted and dropped her handbag on the empty chair across from Rashaad. She unbuckled the belt around her waist and then unbuttoned the coat.

“Roxy, my girl! Good to see you. I missed you today.”

“It was my day off, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah. No problem. Just I missed you,” Rashaad said, as she removed her coat, revealing her night-time uniform, a low-cut blouse and a plaid chequered mini skirt with black stockings covering her shapely legs. Her look was completed by black high heel stiletto shoes.

“So, why is there a rain cloud over your head?” Roxy asked.

“Nah, nothing to worry about. Rashaad will prevail. You want a shot before you go down to the bar?”

“You have been hitting the whisky hard, maybe I should help you finish the bottle,” she suggested as she lifted the bottle of Glen Grant up to eye the level remaining.

“It was not a full bottle. More than half empty. This is only my second.”

“Second glass or second bottle?” she laughed.

“Second glass.”

“Good, I know you’re not a heavy drinker. Okay, let me get myself a glass.”

“Nah, you sit down and relax a bit. I need to talk to you and thank you for the other night when you called the flat feet.”

“It was my job. But as usual they were too late, and those bastards took you out before we could react. Even the bouncers were blackballed.”

“Never mind. You did what you had to. At least you tried,” Rashaad said as he handed Roxy a glass of whisky.

“Maybe it was not enough. I told you to let me have a gun. I could have taken that redhead six love.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, she had her back to me. They all had their backs to me,” she reflected and took a sip of her whisky.

“No, Rocks. I don’t want you getting in on any action and have the fuzz starting to put eyes on you.”

“Thank you, but you know I’ll back you, always.”

“Thanks, Rocks. But I want to keep you out of any shit.”

“Those slit-eyes have not come here. Are you still going to deal with them?”

“Maybe. It could be profitable. They can bring in big consignments of merchandise from the East.”

“Just be careful, Rashaad. Be very careful. I don’t trust those slit-eyes.”

“Maybe I should use that whitey from up country to hit the Japanese. I must devise a plan to get the up-country whitey to clean up the Japanese; erase them.”

“Why the whitey?”

“It looks like he’s got more muscle than the slit-eyes,” Rashaad said and drained his whisky.

“A bunch of women?”

“Did you see those women in action? I won’t mess with them!” Rashaad said. “Twice they surprised me. Anyway, who would suspect women to do what those women did?”

“Sounds like you are scared of little skinny wimpy girls? They are just the local scout troop, grown up a bit, and know the sharp end from the blunt end of a gun,” Roxy teased, smiling sweetly at Rashaad.

At that moment his cell phone rang.”Yes?” He barked into the phone.

“Good afternoon, Mister Williams. I trust you are well?”

Roxy took it as a business call and got up to leave for her shift. Rashaad motioned to her to stay seated.

“Yes, very well, Mister Smith. And to what do I owe this unexpected call?”

“Ah, Mister Williams. I thought that we could get to know one another better. Seeing we are to do business together, what do you say to a nice business supper, and discuss some mutual agreements?”

“That sounds like it could be fun. When would you like to, ah, get together?”

“Nothing like the present time, Mister Williams. I will have a car waiting for you outside your club in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh, that is a bit fast, Mister Smith. You don’t let grass grow under your feet, do you?”

“No, I don’t, Mister Williams. I do have some very interesting information for you. I think you will be quite taken with it.”

“I would? What would that be, Mister Smith?”

“I would like to show you and tell you in person. Fifteen minutes, Mister Williams. And Mister Williams, do bring a female companion with you. Supper can be so boring without female companionship to share it with.”

Rashaad still wanted to say something, but the line went silent. Stunned, he turned to Roxy.

“Get your coat, Rock, we are going out to supper.”

Roxy smiled sweetly and got up, took her coat from beside her on the chair, and started to dress in it.

“Where are you taking me, Rashaad?”