Tony Park - Silent Predator

Christo ran forward and scooped up the knife.

Wessels turned his head at the sound behind him and looked up into the grim-set face of the small boy.

Sannie watched Wessels’s hand move, the squat black barrel of the pistol travelling towards her son’s face.

‘No!’ she screamed. Half rolling, she sank her teeth into his wrist and bit down as hard as she could. The gun discharged again, nearly deafening her, but she clamped her jaws tighter, not stopping even when she felt the first spurts of blood in her mouth.

She was aware of movement above her, and a momentary reflection of light on polished stainless steel as the knife came down in an arc, and into Henk Wessels’s right eye.

Tom heard a moan from inside the lodge.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Khan had stopped his crying — for good, he thought. Tom looked up over the raised deck of the verandah and heard the groaning again.

He’d tried three times to get a number for the Malawian police, first at Cape Maclear, and then at headquarters in Lilongwe, but each time he’d got one — from UK directory assistance who put him through to Malawi — the number was either wrong or simply rang off.

Janet Greeves had shown she was ready to kill, and he didn’t fancy going into a darkened building to flush her out. His strategy was to sit tight until daylight and try either to negotiate with her, then take her into custody, or keep trying until he made contact with the local police. The other unknown was Nick Roberts. He was supposedly en route, and Tom tightened his hand on the pistol grip of Khan’s AK 47 in anticipation of that showdown.

The satellite phone rang.

Tom looked at the screen and saw the caller identification had been blocked.

‘Hello,’ he said into the handset.

‘Khan?’

There was a noise behind the voice, like the whining of a motor. Tom turned the phone away from him slightly, to muffle his voice. ‘Yes.’

‘The sun will shine on those who stand.’

Shit, Tom thought. It was obviously a coded challenge, and Tom had no idea of what the reply was. ‘What did you say?’

‘Is that you, Furey?’

Tom said nothing.

Nick laughed on the other end of the crackly satellite connection. ‘I heard the gunfire. I wondered if it had all gone pear-shaped. If you’ve got Khan’s phone, then he’s dead. Have you met our Janet yet?’

‘It’s over, Nick.’

‘Yes, right, Mr Bruce Willis, sir. Next you’ll be telling me you’ve got me surrounded and a crack Malawian police weapons team are on their way.’ Nick laughed again.

Tom heard the motor die, then held the handset away from him. He was getting the noise in stereo. ‘You’re close, aren’t you,’ he said. ‘I can hear you.’

‘Well, if you’ve got the phone, you’ve probably got Khan’s AK as well, so I ain’t coming ashore. Is Janet still alive?’

Tom said nothing. He raised his head to look out over the lake and saw a darkened boat, betrayed by the glimmer of its wake, which hadn’t yet settled. It shone like a pathway leading back to the mainland. Tom moved at a crouch, to the trees between the lodge and the first bungalow, and followed the cover down towards the water.

‘If she isn’t dead, you should kill her. That way, those spoiled brats of hers will inherit their millions and think both their dear old mum and their sick-fuck old man were killed by the big bad terrorists. Everyone will be happy.’

Tom was near the shoreline. He could see Nick now, silhouetted against the sky, talking on his phone.

‘Where are you, Tom? She’s paying me a lot of money, matey. I could give you a share if you keep quiet. You want to know the rest of that password “the sun will shine on those who stand”? The rest of it is: “before it shines on those who kneel under them”. I’m still standing, Tom, and you’re still fucking kneeling. Come stand with me.’

Tom wanted to keep Nick standing, talking in the boat. ‘Why, Nick? Was it just the money? Was it Janet?’

‘Hah! Nice try. It was both — and neither.’

Tom paused. The way Nick had tailed off into silence made him think the man wanted to talk, to unburden himself.

‘The wife was desperate — horny as a fucking rabbit — and also determined to keep Greeves in politics. I didn’t say no to the sex, and I needed the money after my missus split. But there was more to it. Crossing the line. Knowing I could now get away with whatever the fuck I wanted to when on tour — booze, coke, women. More. And no one could hold me accountable. If Khan’s dead — or Greeves, or Janet, or all of them — then you know what I’m talking about when I say it’s a rush. It’s the fucking ultimate, isn’t it? The power to take life. I’ll tell you what, Tom… if you keep quiet about me I’ll give you a hundred grand. Pounds, not dollars.’

Tom stayed silent.

‘Of course, Thomas, if you shop me, I’ll find you. I’ll fucking do you, and I’ll rape that stuck-up cunt Van Rensburg in front of her children before I cut her throat. What’ll it be?’

‘Come into shore. Let’s talk about it,’ Tom said. He understood now — Nick was mad.

There was silence for a few seconds. ‘Nah. Tommy’s a good boy, aren’t you, Tommy? Wouldn’t be here other wise. The others would have offered you money, too. You’re the white knight, aren’t you, Tommy? Nope. I’m going to have to go to South Africa now and finish that bitch off myself.’

Tom heard the engine start. Nick would get back to the mainland before he could. If the Malawian police didn’t catch him, it was feasible that he could get back to South Africa — to Sannie and her children — before Tom could reach them.

Tom placed the phone down beside him and raised the assault rifle to his shoulder. He looked down the open sights and took a breath. It was a long shot, but not impossible. About two hundred metres, he reckoned. He’d put a bullet into the centre mass of a target at longer ranges. He took a breath and curled his finger around the trigger. Nick bent to reach for something, and Tom heard the boat’s engine roar to life.

As Nick stood straight again, Tom started to squeeze. Before he could fire the shot he was knocked forwards, as if a prize fighter had come up behind him and punched him square between the shoulderblades.

Janet Greeves shuffled along the verandah of Pervez Khan’s luxury lodge, the two-two silenced pistol hanging limply by her side. ‘Nick

…’ she croaked.

The nose of the speedboat lifted and the pitch of the engine escalated to a whine as it left a fantail of spray behind it.

Tom gasped for air, trying to refill his winded lungs. Each gulp brought a new stab of pain. He tried to reach up his back with his hand, to feel for blood. His fingertips touched a piece of still-hot metal, but there was no wetness.

From Christo van Rensburg Snr’s stash of security gear in the garage, Tom had also borrowed a slimline body armour vest, which he’d donned under his long-sleeve T-shirt. It couldn’t have stopped a shot from an AK 47, but the two-two round had done little more than wind and bruise him. Tom rolled painfully over onto his side and picked up his AK 47.

‘Put down your weapon, Janet,’ he called to her, the words causing him more pain.

She looked at him. ‘He’s gone.’ She coughed, and blood oozed from her mouth, down her chin.

Tom saw the soaking red stain on the right side of her blouse. He must have hit her with his first spray of fire from the AK, while he was wrestling with Khan. ‘Let me get you to a doctor, Janet. Put the gun down.’

She turned to him and dropped the pistol. Tom stood, his strength returning, and jogged across to her. When he was three steps short, she collapsed to her knees. She had an arm outstretched, towards the lake, and the disappearing boat.