Chapter 1

Plettenberg Bay is a town on South Africa’s south coast. The town is a popular tourist and holiday destination for most South Africans as well as some international visitors. Throughout the year, you will hear people taking a break at “Plet,” as it became known by the locals. Plettenberg Bay is located approximately 420 kilometres east of Cape Town on the N2 Garden Route. Towns such as Knysna and George can be found to the west of Plettenberg Bay. Early Portuguese explorers named Plet “Bahia Formosa,” or “Beautiful Bay.”

Well, It did not go like that. The Portuguese Explorer, Bartolomeu Dias, (1451 – 1500) named Plettenberg Bay “Bahia das Alagoas,” (Bay of the Lagoons), Robberg he named “Cabo Talhado” (Sharp Cape), and the highest peak on the Outeniqua Mountains as “Pic Formosa” (Beautiful Peak.) Somehow history did not get this memo, and the name “Bahia Formosa” stuck to Plettenberg Bay! There’s even an English Medium (independent) School in Plett, named: Bahia Formosa School.

From Keurbooms River, just north of Plettenberg Bay, the Tsitsikamma Mountain Range stretches for eighty kilometres to the town of Kareedouw, ending at the Kareedouw Pass and the Eerste River. The Formosa peak is the highest point in the region and towers to 1675 metres.

The morning sunlight painted the mountain in a green sheen of colour. Fynbos, Protea and indigenous forests grow lushly on the slopes of Langkloof Mountain, part of the Tsitsikamma range and the link between the Outeniqua and Tsitsikamma. Sometimes, winter snow still adorns the highest peaks deep into summer.

Plettenberg Bay is nestled between the Tsitsikamma Mountain to the north and Cape Seal to the south-east. Between Plettenberg and Cape is the Robberg Peninsula, which boasts seven blue-flag beaches, the world-class Beacon Island Resort, and the world’s largest free-flight aviary called “Birds of Eden.”

Although the airports of Port Elizabeth and George are within an hour or two’s drive, CemAir operates commercial flights in and out of Plettenberg Bay Airport to Cape Town and Johannesburg.

I found myself sitting in a prefab office outside the main building of the Plettenberg Bay airport, surveying topographical maps of Plettenberg Bay, at a scale of 1:20000, on my laptop.

The breeze from the sea was blowing at about two knots, keeping the outside temperature of 31 degrees Celsius cool. It would become a hard blow later in the day, but it was still early. I could see some scattered puffy clouds in the sky that have not yet formed into any typical formation.

My study area is bounded by South 34 degrees, 5.80 minutes and East 23 degrees, 17.92 minutes. This is the proposed location for the delivery of various cargo components for the construction of a seawater desalination plant. I’ve learned about some of the technology involved in seawater desalination, a strange natural process used by nature to purify seawater for thousands and millions of years, but only recently “discovered” by man. Then, in the United States of America, some enterprising entrepreneur had the audacity to patent it. But there’ll be more on that later.

My name is Louis Du Preez, Louis to my friends and family. Sometimes I’m called by my call sign; “Cowboy,” not because I take risks in the air, but rather my tendency to favour a mix of hard rock and country music. I’m 34 years old, one point eight two meters tall, and weigh around 85 kilograms. Not skinny, but also not obese.

I’m single. I’ve never been married and only have a few friends and family, and as for girlfriends, well, girlfriends don’t last with all of my “on-the-road” assignments. I enjoy what I do: I am a commercial pilot and fly for anyone who requires my expertise and services.

Right now, I’m employed by Phoenix Air Charter Services. We have been contracted to pick up cargo and equipment and deliver it to the site where the purification plant is being built. Due to the topography of the area, the most cost-effective method is to fly it in by helicopter; either on board or by slinging it underneath the aircraft. We use an Eurocopter AS332LS Super Puma, now parked outside on Helipad One.

“Helipad One” is merely a designation. There will be no concrete or tar structures with a large red or white “H” sign painted on them. It’s just a patch of grass next to the apron, directly across from the refuelling station. Since there’s no lighting, night flying must be done with the FLIR (Forward Looking Infra-red) system. Oh, my goodness! Why, then, is everything I see grey? But there’re no complaints. The system works well, and I can see all the detail instead of just black and shades of black. It looks as if it were a sunny day, but only in greyscale. I can fly at night without lights as if it were daylight.

Yes, we have that equipment, and some other really cool gadgets that make flying the Puma so much fun. I still need to test the hover capability in the current wind conditions, but that will be done later.

“What ye up to?” Came from the door of my office.

“Hi there Jeff. Come in, Buddy”, I greeted Jeff Dawson, my co-pilot and sling operator, “Just looking at the site for the drops.”.

Jeff has been with the firm since it first began operations about seven years ago, with only an ancient Bell Jet Ranger and a solid old DC-3. The DC-3 is now relegated to gate guard duty at the Johannesburg headquarters, proudly displaying the company logo. Jeff is approaching the age of sixty, but there’re no visible signs of his age. His blond hair has remained, well, blond. There’s no grey streaking through.

As an ex-SAAF member, he exercises frequently. He runs ten kilometres every morning when he feels up to it, goes to the gym twice a week, and consumes only nutritious foods. This irritates me because every time I devour a slab of chocolate, he lectures me on the dangers of sugar. I’ve always maintained that chocolate comes from the coco bean, and a coco bean is a vegetable, and as my Mom used to say, “Eat your vegetables!”

Jeff enjoys black (or red) “Rooibos” tea without sugar. “Rooibos” tea is a distinctive South African herbal tea grown and produced primarily in the Namaqualand region. I, however, consume litres of dark roast Arabic coffee every day, which irritates Jeff. Aside from that, the two of us keep it under wraps and are the best of friends.

Jeff is a professional commercial pilot with over sixteen thousand rotor wing hours on his logbook and forty years of flying experience. In a pinch, having Jeff as your wingman is a great idea.

“So what does the paper say?” he asked, referring to my maps as he plopped down in one of the armchairs in my office.

“Looks good. The terrain is mostly flat out there, but the sheer cliff on the seaside worries me a bit,” I grumbled.

“You worried about wind shear or updraughts?”

“Mostly. I am trying to look at the most effective way of getting in there.”

“Louis, I think we need to fly a route or two. Just to get ourselves orientated before the fun starts.”

“Well Jeff, we can plan something for tomorrow. Spend some time checking out the layout of the crime scene and devise some entry and exit points. You want some coffee?”

“Nah. You and your coffee. I actually came over to drag you to that lunch shop over the runway end for some internal fortification,” and he shifted his one point nine meter frame in the chair.

“You paying?” I questioned with a grin on my face.

“As long as it is something in line with salad!”

“Well, Jeff, in this heat I think something like a Salem and Feta or a Greek salad washed down with a cappuccino will be good,” and I pushed back from my desk and closed my laptop.

“Only you can spoil a good meal with coffee.” He sighed and got up. “We’ll use my wheels.”

I locked up the office and stepped outside into the sunshine. Jeff walked over to his office and did the same. Although airport security is paramount on the site, one never knows what lurks around when you are gone. I knew that the Puma was locked, but while Jeff secured his office I walked over to the helicopter and checked all hatches. By the time I finished with the chopper, Jeff pulled up with his 4×4, and I climbed in the passenger side.

“Flaps down. Release brakes. Full throttle, GO!” I said, as I buckled in, and off we went in search of lunch. Actually brunch, as it was around 10 AM.

Jeff and I enjoyed a relatively good brunch. I devoured a contradictory Greek salad and coffee that got a smirk from Jeff, while he had his normal health salad and rooibos tea.

“If you hit my age your liver and heart will be probably turned to stone!” Jeff commented as I drained the last of my second mug of coffee and sat back.

“Are you fly boys?” The waitress asked, checking out our flight suits as she cleared the table and handed Jeff the bill.

“Nah,” Jeff grinned, “We only dress like this to impress the girls.”

“I’ve seen plenty of you guys dressed like you out here. And you’re new. Haven’t seen your faces before,” she reasoned as Jeff handed her some plastic to transact the meal.

“Yip, we’re new, here for a couple of months ‘til the finish of the water plant.” I clarified. She looked over to me and smiled, while going through the motions of swiping Jeff’s card. I just smiled back and got up. She looked like she was stuck in the sixties: her make-up applied with a trowel; post-box red the only colour for lips and nails; blond hair in a shoulder-length, sort of cloud around her face with a fringe; too much hairspray; and not too thin, nor fat. She looked too old to be a struggling student.

“Name’s Sue, and I am the “Barmaid” at O’ Hallie’s on Marine Street. Please come visit. We like to see you guys there,” She called out while we left.

“Sure, we will.” Jeff muttered as he closed the door behind us.

“She got the hots for you Buddy.” I chuckled as we got into the 4×4, and he drove us out to the airfield.

“Why not you?” Jeff questioned as he looked straight ahead.

“Come on Jeff. She is as old as my mother!”

He looked over at me, “Shall we endeavour to explore the advertised establishment on Marine Street and the treasures it might behold?” He followed that with a smirk.

“Yip. We do. But not right away. Day or two. Don’t have to look too over eager.” I smirked back.

He just looked at me and then back to the road. He said nothing, but I saw the look that crossed his face. I looked out the side window to hide my smile. I thought by myself, ‘Yes Buddy, it’s time you put that messy divorce behind you, ’ but I kept silent.

I was happy for him. He did look interested in the waitress. Although Sue was way older than me, she looked about fifteen years younger than Jeff and might just be what the doctor ordered for my buddy. But let’s not put the cart before the horse, going to town.

Back at the airport, I went about the tasks in running a remote station for Phoenix Air Charter Services. Tedious, but needing to be done. No job’s done ‘til the paperwork’s complete.

At one stage I felt the need to stretch my cramping body, so I went out and walked over to the Puma, then walked around the machine and just fiddled here and there. I opened the cabin side sliding door on both sides to ventilate the interior a bit. The sunshades were up, covering the windshield and side panels in the cockpit, but the sun does heat up the interior on the high side.

I walked off to one side and lit up my pipe. Yes, the one vice I have: smoking my pipe. It was then that I saw her, standing with arms folded and leaning on the door frame of the admin prefab, a small figure dressed in a knee-length green skirt and white blouse, with no shoes or socks on her tiny feet. Something struck me as odd. A red ponytail cascaded down her back to about her mid waist. When I say red, I mean red as in a cross between cherry and ginger. I’ve never seen hair that shade of red. It was glowing in the sunlight. I waved in greeting, and she returned with a shy smile and little wave. She looked like a schoolgirl, as her attire reminded me of the local school uniform.

I continued smoking my pipe and casually walked around the helicopter. When I finished my smoke break, I closed the sliding doors and walked over to my office. I glanced over to the admin prefab, but the little red-haired apparition had disappeared.

I began to doubt myself, wondering if I had seen a ghost. Ghosts don’t appear in daylight though, do they?

It was about a quarter to two when I saw through the office window a green coloured golf cart approaching. Oh-oh. Here comes trouble! I busied myself with charts and seriously looking thick books and files. The Golf cart stopped, its electric motor whining to a stop. Seconds later a brown coloured head popped in my door.

“You busy?” the husky voice asked.

“No. Never. I just sit here and relax and await my next pay cheque. Wondering how I will be able to spend it in time before the next one deposits.” No sarcasm. Just teasing in my voice as I smiled up at Jenny, our Admin Officer, come-do-everything-filing-clerk. Jenny is about my age, but a little on the plus side, or as they say “a unique physique.” About as broad as she is long. Dynamite does come in small packets.

“Oh well. I can think of a few ways...” she retorted, and her eyes flashed a smile that touched her mouth as she approached my desk holding a pile of files and loose papers. “Here are some files that need your signature as well as invoices you need to check out before I ship them off to HQ. That’s, if you find them OK.”

“Good. I will go through them and advise you if anything is not kosher.”

“You plan on flying soon?” she changed the subject.

“Yes. Tomorrow. Jeff and I will check out the terrain to the west and east of the water purification site, just so that we do not find ourselves in a tight spot while hauling five tons of sling load, and the wind decides to throw us a curve ball. The prevailing winds here are south to south-west, but sometimes veers to west.”

“Good. I’ll make arrangements to fuel up the heli.” she replied as she went over to an armchair and sat down.

“Nah, it still has about 80% fuel on board. Jeff had her refuelled when we came in. You might just organize a trickle charge on the batteries until we can get a GPU (ground power unit) of our own in. I suspect that delivery will be next week when the C-130 drops in. If I have time I will have run her up to keep the blood flowing in her veins, otherwise it’ll be Jeff.”

“OK. I will see to the trickle charging of the batteries. By the way what is going on with Jeff?”

“Why?” I put on my innocent look.

“I mean, he has like a spring in his step and was humming as he worked at his desk.”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the nice sea breeze or sea air around here.” Still, my innocent self.

“Hmm. Usually it’s a woman that makes a man do things like that...”

“Like what?” I kept up my very innocence.

“Oh, come on Louis! I see things. Well, I hope it is good for him. You know who she is?” Jenny fired her question hoping to extract something from me.

“Nope. Don’t know. But if there’s one around, and if I meet HER, I will sure gossip with you dear Jenny.” I smiled and winked at her.

“You devious devil. You know something!” she looked hurt and got up, making to leave.

“Me! I’m never devious!” I feigned innocence.

Just as she was about to exit the door, she looked over her shoulder and said. “Wonder if it is a local girl. I really hope it works out for him.”

“Jenny! Stop it. We know nothing yet.” I instructed as she left, then looked down on my desk at the files she left. In the reflection in the window, I saw her giving me a long look, smiling deviously, then turning to disappear out to the golf cart. I heard the whine of the golf cart starting up and floating away. I picked up my office phone and dialled the internal number for Jeff.