Chapter 7

Ash brought his SUV to a screeching halt just outside the gate to Dusty’s house. His brain on automatic, he switched the vehicle off and considered the ten-foot brick wall with the electric fencing at the top. How the hell will he gain entrance to the property?

Smoke was billowing out above the wall. He called out to Dusty at the top of his voice but received no answer. Time was ticking, and he had no clue what awaited on the other side of the wall.

All around the once quiet street people stood outside of their houses on the sidewalks, and others were still coming to the street looking at the black smoke lifting into the sky beyond the wall. A guy in his late fifties came over and made for the gate. Ash stopped him.

“Who are you?” Ash questioned.

“Dusty’s neighbour. I heard his alarm deactivate, and then the loud bang.”

“Okay! Ashwin Windsor is the name, and I just dropped him off. I need to get into there and see how he is.”

“Well, let’s go! I can access the premises,” and he pressed a button on a remote control. A whirring sound came from the smaller side gate as the electronic lock released. “Johnnie is the name. Come, let’s go.”

Together Ash and Johnnie went through the gate and Ash saw the carnage beyond. The house seemed to be untouched, but the garage told another story. Glowing embers littered the inside of the garage, and the smoke billowing out was black, obscuring most of the garage interior.

“There he is!” Johnnie shouted. “By the big gate, half under that smoking rubble!”

Ash reached Dusty in a few strides with Johnnie on his heels. Dusty was stirring and trying to get up on his knees, but some of the rubble was pinning him down.

“Whoo there, buddy! Lay still. Let me first check you out. Where does it hurt?”

“My head...” Dusty croaked.

“There’s a cut on your head above your ear. Bleeding, but not too badly.”

Seeing that Dusty was alive and not hurt too bad, Johnnie left Ash and Dusty and went over to the garage to look at the damage.

A few minutes later Johnnie came back and reported to Ash: “The fire suppression system took care of most of the fire, but his truck is destroyed. How the hell did this happen?”

“Probably the gas cylinder he kept in the garage...” Ash avoided the truth. This could only have been a detonation of some commercial explosives, but he did not voice that.

“Help ... me ... up...” Dusty groaned.

“You just stay put! Right there. I first need you be checked out by the paramedics.”

“Dusty, seems you are in good hands now,” Johnnie said. “Let me hold on to your keys and go and soothe Martha. My wife always seems to think the worst. I’ll catch you later...”

“Thanks, Johnnie, I appreciate it,” Dusty replied.

The sound of sirens heralded the approach of emergency vehicles, and soon the flashing red and blue lights lit up the trees and white walls on the streets.

A team of fire-fighters followed the SAPS (South African Police Service) through the small gate. Paramedics seemed to appear out of thin air. Soon there was a hive of activity as the different departments did their jobs. The fire brigade took care of the smouldering wreck of the F250, and the inside of the garage; the paramedics attended to Dusty, and SAPS started their investigation.

Ash stood to one side, just taking in the scene and doing a mental analysis of what he visually saw: the dark burned shell of the garage before him with only the back part of the once silver Ford F250 sitting on melted metal wheel-rims.

This was clearly commercial explosives that were used. Time to call in the cavalry. Ash reached for his cell phone and spoke into the microphone: “Call Angie...”

Three rings:

“Hi, Piggy-wiggy. You miss me?” Dr Angelique Rothman answered.

“Yeah! Much, but we have a problem. A serious problem ... Who’s that guy at Interpol, Don Lambert’s friend?”

“Brigadier Franks, Joe Franks, why?”

“Someone tried to blow up Dusty with a serious amount of commercial kaploeffie.”

“Tried to?”

“Yeah, lucky for him he did not go into his house by way of the front door, but opened the garage to go in, and bang! If he went in to the house first, and then to the garage, he might have not been so lucky.”

“My gawd! Is he...”

“Nope, cut on his head and a few bruises. But I need to speak to Franks before the locals muck up the scene.”

“I’ll text you his number, or do you want Don to call him first?”

“Time, sweetie pie, time. Text me the number and then call Don or Dave. Tell them I need TC and the Angels here pronto.”

“Okay! Give me a few seconds. Bye, love you.”

“Love you too, chilli-pepper-pip!” And Ash disconnected.

There was chaos in my front yard. Firemen, Police, Paramedics and some guys in suits looking serious and walking around with pens and little black or green books.

“Well, you look like you are going to make it. The cut on your head doesn’t need to be sutured ... stitched, I mean.” The guy in a red overall next to me said. “But I do advise that we take you in for observation. Concussion, you know? It can have a delayed reaction and only surface in a few hours.”

“No problem, but can I get some confirmation on the damage here?”

“Sure! But don’t go wandering around all on your own. I don’t mind coming along with you...”

“It’s fine. Just a quick run-down and have my friend over there lock up and safeguard everything.”

“It’s all in order Mister De Lange,” The paramedic replied. I saw on his nameplate that his name was Peter.

“Thanks, Peter. Oh, here comes my friend now.”

“Did Arno just call you Peter?” Ash asked the paramedic as Ash came up to us.

“Yeah, my name’s Peter.”

“Can I ask you a favour, Peter?”

“Why sure, Sir.”

“Give us a few minutes alone, would you?”

“Sure, Sir. Mister De Lange seems okay for the moment, but I am going to monitor from over there, and I’ll be here in an instant if there’s an issue.” Peter explained and got up, walked a distance away, then crouched on his haunches and watched.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Buddy, I hate to say this, but you are dead!”

“What do you mean, I am dead? If this is heaven, it sure looks just like home!”

“Just what I said. You seem fine now, but on arrival at the hospital you will be DOA. Dead on Arrival! Trust me. I just spoke to Brigadier Joe Franks of Interpol. He’s taking over the investigation of the bombing. You, my friend, will be whisked away from the hospital in a little square van, before we take you somewhere out of sight.”

“So, I must play dead?”

“Yeah, obituary in the paper, memorial service in the chapel, cremation of the body ... everything!”

“Will you video it?”

“Video what?”

“My funeral. So I at least can cry for the dear departed me.”

“Funny!”

Chuckle.

“Where do you keep your Last Will and Testament?”

“In my study, why?”

“I just need the last page. The page with your signature on.”

“It seems funny, but how come only the last page?”

“Because the game has now changed. Miss Louw is our first priority, and to have her get her farm back, she needs to ‘inherit’ from a dear departed friend who owns the rights to that farm.”

“Shit!”

“Am I a little fast for you here?”

“No, I get your drift.”

“Good.”

“Now where are you taking my, ah ... body?” Chuckle.

“Your ashes, you will be cremated, remember?”

“Are you serious? If I did not know you so well, Ash, I would have thought you are trying to get rid of me.”

Chuckle. “Your ashes will be strewn at your grandfather’s old farm, Nooitgedacht. Pictures will be taken and published in the media. But the live you will be out of sight somewhere near.

“Okay. Who all will know that I’m still alive?”

“Me, Angie, and Brigadier Franks. Besides, this was his idea!”

“And Andrea?”

“She will ‘inherit’ your controlling interest in Q5. Go in there and fire the board. Trash the place, as you intended.”

“She won’t make it...”

“She will. I promise you she will. The Angels will be at her side.”

“Who the hell are these angels you and Bushy keep talking about?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Tell, me for gawd sake!”

“Okay, okay. Relax. They are a bunch of girls; deadly soldiers; the best of the bunch; the cream of the crop; something like the Selous Scouts, SAS, and SEAL rolled into one.”

“An all-woman hit team?”

“You said it, buddy.”

Chuckle. “Do I get to meet them.”

“You already met two of them.”

“Two of them? What two?”

“Roxy and Angie.”

“Shit! And I thought the only wings Angie got was her pilot wings.”

“She’s a red head. So is Nadia. You don’t want to mess with Nadia.

“Who is Nadia?”

Chuckle, “You’ll meet them all. Mai-Loan, Darya, Nadia, Leah, Olivia, and the new addition, Lorie. But be careful, they are deadly, and spoken for. Except maybe, Leah and Olivia...”

“Oh, brother ... get me out of here...” I sighed.

Peter, the paramedic, came back. He had a grin on his face and sat down next to me.

“Okay, Mister de Lange, you might not feel any pain now, but I’m going to give you something for when the shock sets in,” He said and took a little vial of something out of his backpack, prepared the injection and looked at me. “Just a little prick, you’ll hardly feel it...” Then he inserted the needle into my arm. Why did I not believe him? If these guys say, ‘just a little prick’, then it is usually something major.

“What is that?”

“A sedative...”

“But a sedative ... would ... not ... hel...” Sigh.

“Is he...?” Ash asked Peter.

“Out for the count! He looks dead, but I can assure you his breathing is shallow but good,” Peter returned. “And watch what you say around him ... He can still hear you! Vets use this stuff to incapacitate wild animals before treatment. Usually they administer it with a dart-gun.”

“How long will he be out?”

“About an hour,”

“Cover him. The van is waiting.” Ash said and looked down at Dusty. “Let the games ... begin...” Ash sighed. “Dusty, my old friend, we are going to have some fun!”

Peter covered Dusty with a plastic sheet, and tucked it in around his head, feet and sides. Then Peter strapped three retainer straps over the body on the gurney.

“There! This will look good for those flashing cameras out there...” Peter remarked.

“Let’s go,” Ash instructed.

Just after 21:00 and way after the time Andrea expected a call from Dusty, Bushy’s cell phone rang.

“Hi Boss! What’s up?”

“Is Andrea near you?”

“Yes. We are all watching TV.”

“Get away from her. There has been a development, and I need to speak to you and only you.”

“Okay...”, and he got up from the couch and walked out to the bedroom he shared with Roxy. Both Roxy and Andrea watched him go with a question clouding their faces.

He closed the bedroom door and sat down on the bed.

“Okay, shoot!”

“There has been a terrible accident. Dusty is dead.”

“WHAT!”

“Not so loud. Keep Miss Louw and Roxy in the dark. I want you all three back here. Tonight still. There’s a PC-24 jet on its way to Margate. It will be there around ten, or ten past ten. Flying time from Northwest Province to Margate is just over 50 minutes. So, you need to move.”

“Jeez! That thing motors!”

“Around 435 knots, 805 kilometres an hour, or Mach point six eight in a cruise.

“Don and Dave?”

“Don and five of the Seven Spanish Angels. Lorie and Roxy will join them here.”

“Shit! Are you calling in the cavalry?”

“Yes. Major TC, and some of your other Ranger buddies are en-route on the Hercules as we speak.”

“Dammit, dammit! What happened, Boss?”

“Dusty opened his garage door, and BOOM.”

“No way! Quad Five?”

“Who else?”

“Dammit! Who’s going to tell Andrea?”

“Was there something brewing between Miss Louw and Dusty?”

“Maybe ... The two were dancing around one another ... I think it was just a matter of time...”

“Shit! I thought it was just client/lawyer relationship.”

“No, Boss. They seem to have been working things out. Looks like each felt attracted to the other, but neither one was making the first move.”

“And Roxy did not have anything to do with it?”

“She tried, but I stopped her.”

“Good. Get back here. Come to Newlands. You know the place. Bring Miss Louw here. I ... or Angie will break the news to her.”

“Thanks, Boss. See you soon...”

“Yeah, around midnight or two in the morning. Flying time for the PC-24 from Margate to Cape Town is around one hour and twenty-eight minutes. Way faster than South African Airways.”

“You say it was a ... device...”

“Boomer had a look at it. It was commercial explosives, PE4 or C4, whatever. Boomer says it was a sloppy job, not professional. They rigged it under the F250 truck. It was supposed to go off as he opened the garage door while he was in the truck ... They linked the detonator to the frequency of the garage door remote control.”

“Dammit! But how did they get the frequency?”

“Dusty had about five or six of those remote things lying around the house, they just swiped one and figured out the frequency!”

“Shit, Boss ... What now?”

“Just get back here. Tonight still.”

“Okay, we’re on our way.”

“Good ... Now go!” Ash said and disconnected.

Bushy sat on the bed for a few long moments. Then he sighed and got up. He opened the bedroom door and went out.

“The Boss wants us back in Cape Town. Pack up, there’s a jet on the way to take us.”

“Why?” Roxy asked.

“He did not say, just that he wants us all three there, tonight still.”

“Where’s Dusty? Andrea asked, “Why did he not phone?”

“I really don’t know...” Bushy sighed.

“Something happened! Something happened to Dusty!”

“Now, now, Andrea, don’t jump to conclusions. He might be busy. You never know.”

“I know something has happened to Dusty. I feel it ... And...” Andrea burst out crying. Sobbing bitterly.

Roxy turned to Andrea and wrapped her up in her arms.

“Sjuu ... Andie. We don’t know if anything happened.”

“I know it... (Sob.) But ... what... (sob) something did happen, and I did ... not get a chance... (breathe) to tell him ... I love him...”

Roxy looked up at Bushy, a silent question in her eyes. Bushy just sighed and turned away. This Andrea Louw girl is clever. They need to be on their toes around her.

Right. Right ... My schedule was cleared for two weeks. Why does my alarm go off at four in the morning? I don’t need to be anywhere. I’m ... right where am I. In a room. But not a familiar room. AND that bloody alarm! Where is it? I need to switch the thing off. That irritating “beep ... beep ... beep...” is driving me crazy.

Oh, there it is. Hey! It’s not an alarm. It’s ... It’s an App-e-lert monitor, the kind they use in hospitals. Hospitals? Oh, yeah ... now I remember. I’m in hospital ... Why is it so dark in here?

“Ah, you’re awake, Mister De Lange ... Welcome here with us,” a voice said, and I turned my head. A guy in a white coat was standing next to me, stethoscope draped around his neck. He must be a vet.

“Where am I?

“You’re in a private facility...” He began and was cut short by Ash.

Ash?!

“ ... Hello, Dusty. Welcome back. I take it you feel okay?”

“I don’t know yet. Let me get a Glenlivet first and then I’ll tell you...”

Chuckle. “Nope, he’s okay. If the comedian comes out, he is fine.”

“I need to just make sure,” White-coat guy said.

“In a moment. Dusty, let me introduce you to doctor Frankenstein and over on the far side nurse Igor...” Ash quipped, and the three chuckled.

“My name is Gustav and the fair maiden over there’s nursing sister Louise. Ever since we had the unfortunate honour to treat Ash, he gave us the names Frankenstein and Igor!”

“You must have really upset him.”

“Just a little misunderstanding, but we’ve come to be good friends since Nam.”

“Nam? Have you three been in the Vietnamese war?”

“No, Doofus! Namibia, AKA Nam by the people who find that country near to their hearts,” Ash elaborated.

“Oh, I just re-evaluated your ages to be in the seventies or eighties. Must say, nurse Igor did age quiet well!” I replied and got a lopsided smile from the nurse in return.

“Can we have a little more light in here?” Ash asked.

“Not before I check him out, Ash. His eyes might be light sensitive if he has any brain injury.” Gustav replied.

“Okay then. Let me leave you to it. If he can move, bring him up top for some coffee and refreshments.”

“We’ll see how he responds. Now, Ash, get out and leave Dusty in our good hands.”

I chuckled. Their good hands better be warm; not cold.

Out of the dark sky, blinding landing lights morphed into a sleek business jet. The Pilatus PC-24 SVJ (Super Versatile Jet) came in with hardly a sound from its engines. Flashing white in the moonlight, it picked its nose up in a slight landing flare, and the main wheels reached out towards the ground, resembling a bird of prey landing, or a fish eagle extending its talons to grab its prey.

Moments later a short barely audible screech announced the landing as the main wheels touched the runway surface, followed instantly by a second squeal as the nose gear touched. On the wings the spoilers activated and struck up to break the airflow over the wings.

Andrea watched in awe as the jet did not even use a quarter of the runway. She expected the rising crescendo of the engines going into beta mode, but it was silent. She did not know that this jet did not have reverse thrust, but relied only on the braking system and the huge spoilers on the wings to slow it to a crawl. Magnificent!

The jet came to a halt with a slight dipping of its nose as the brakes were set. The engines still whined for a few moments and then just died, winding down to a stop with just a long-drawn-out sigh.