Bongani and Crys were taken to the hospital under guard. Bongani had only suffered bruises, so he returned to the police station before her. But Crys was there a while.
The doctor gave her a local anaesthetic, put her dislocated finger back into place, and strapped it up. At last there was some relief from the pain. She felt her body relax, exhausted from the tension. He checked her shoulder and pronounced that it would heal in due course. After that a constable escorted her back to the police station.
She had a sinking feeling at the thought of returning to her cell.
She was pretty sure now that Mabula wasn’t working with Pockface, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t after the money for himself. She needed to tread very carefully.
But they didn’t take her to a cell; she was taken straight to Mabula’s office.
‘Sit!’ He pointed to a chair without looking at her, focusing on something he was writing.
He made her wait then finally looked up. ‘You’re lucky to be here – a fortunate mix of technology and stupidity. You’re lucky our technical people in Pretoria were able to trace you so quickly.’
She nodded.
‘Now tell me what happened.’
For the next half hour, she related the exact sequence of events, from the time Pockface had grabbed her to when Mabula’s men had burst into the room where they were being held. At the end of it, he checked his notes.
‘You say they were speaking Portuguese?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘But one of them spoke English on the phone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you hear what the person he was talking to was saying?’
‘I tried to hear, but no.’
‘Tell me again what the man said on the phone in English.’
She repeated what she remembered.
‘What do you think it means?’
She shook her head. ‘I would guess they’re planning something in two weeks. It sounds as though there may be ten of them.’
‘Did they say anything else to suggest what it could be about?’
‘No, but Ho was Vietnamese. From my research, I know that Vietnam illegally imports a lot of elephant ivory and rhino horns. So, it could be one of those they were discussing.’
‘With ten men?’
‘Maybe to shoot a herd of elephants,’ she suggested. ‘That would take a few men, I’d think.’
‘Or a lot of rhinos?’
‘I don’t think so. Rhinos don’t usually move about in herds and they’re much harder to find than elephants. I think they’re planning something that will happen all at once.’
‘But all this is just you speculating, Ms Nguyen. No one actually mentioned rhinos or elephants or anything else? Please think about it carefully.’
She took a few moments to think through everything again. Eventually, she shook her head.
Mabula stared at her for a few moments. ‘I don’t know what you are up to, but everywhere you go, something bad happens.’
Crys started to respond, but he held up his hand. ‘And then there’s the situation with Constable Ngane. You assaulted a policeman and broke out of jail.’
Her heart sank. This was what she’d been dreading. She could almost hear the cell door slamming behind her. ‘But—’
‘Do you deny it?’
‘No. But I was scared for my life. I’d seen Pockface in the building, and I knew he was after me. And you didn’t believe me. I had to get out of here. And I was proved right, because your Constable Ngane had set me up. Pockface had bribed him to let me out right into his arms. It’s Ngane you should be arresting, not me.’
‘I’ll certainly be dealing with him. And when I get to the bottom of what happened, you may find yourself back in your cell.’
She felt a ray of hope. That sounded like she wasn’t going back to the cell – at least not right away.
And then he asked her the last thing she had expected.
‘Do you know a man called Michael Davidson?’ he said.
‘The reporter from the New York Times?’ Crys replied, unable to conceal the surprise in her voice.
He nodded.
‘Yes … yes. I know him very well. He also came out here for National Geographic to write about the rhino poaching and horn smuggling, and then…’
Crys’s voice tapered off as her brain kicked in. Why was he asking her this? Could he be behind Michael’s disappearance? Did he want to find out if she’d discovered anything?
She had to be so careful now.
‘…Then he went missing. No one’s heard from him for more than a month.’
Mabula nodded. ‘When was the last time you had contact with him?’
‘I had an email from him about a month or so ago – he said he was at Tshukudu Game Reserve.’
‘Well, he left there and after a couple of days went into Mozambique for just over a week. The police there think he was talking to rhinohorn smugglers in Maputo – he was seen with a group of Vietnamese men at a local restaurant they use. Our guess is that he was getting information for his story. Then he came back to South Africa, and after that he disappeared. No trace of him.’
At first Crys felt it was safest not to show too much interest, but now, faced with an opportunity to find out more – perhaps finally to discover something important – she simply couldn’t resist.
‘I thought the Phalaborwa police were looking into it? They told National Geographic that they hadn’t found out anything. So how come you’re asking me?’
Mabula held her gaze for a while; she wondered what he was thinking. Then he opened a file on his desk and passed her what looked like the top of a cereal box.
A shock went through Crys’s whole body. She couldn’t stop herself gasping.
There was a message written on the cardboard, and she immediately recognised Michael’s distinctive handwriting. It said: ‘Been held prisoner here for weeks. Help me! This boy will show you where I am. Michael Davidson. National Geographic.’
He was alive! He was being held prisoner, but he was alive!
Crys realised her face had broken into a broad smile.
Mabula was watching her quizzically.
‘He’s alive,’ she said. ‘We’d just about given up hope.’
‘Well, he was alive when he wrote the note. But if they didn’t kill him immediately, they probably need him for something – whoever they are. So, yes, I think this means there’s a good chance he’s still alive.’
‘When did you get this? Who is this boy? Can he tell you where Michael is? I—’
Mabula held up a hand to stop the flood of questions. ‘We received it a day ago. But it wasn’t brought to us by a boy. A lady found it on a bench in Makosha – that’s a suburb north of here – and fortunately decided it might be important, and took it to the police there. They recognised the name from our missing-persons’ list.’
‘It’s genuine. I recognise the handwriting. You must do something…’
Mabula nodded. ‘We’re working on the assumption that Davidson’s alive, and that he’s somewhere in this area. We’re trying to use our contacts to find out more.’
‘Colonel, I’m sure I know who has him. It has to be Pockface! Michael was trying to trace those people. He must’ve found them, and now they’ve grabbed him. You should search the house—’
‘There’s no one at the house,’ Mabula interrupted. ‘The Portuguese haven’t returned yet, but when we have them, we’ll certainly interrogate them about your friend. And a lot of other stuff.’ He paused and stared at her. ‘How do you know he was looking for the Portuguese gang?’
Crys realised she’d painted herself into a corner. She couldn’t lie about this – it was too important. But she also couldn’t betray Bongani’s trust. She had to speak to him first. She decided it was best to stretch the truth one more time.
‘Someone at Tshukudu mentioned that he was talking about it.’
Mabula gave her a long stare, and she felt her face flush.
After a few moments, he opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a large envelope.
‘I don’t know what’s going on. The plane crash looks to me like a smuggling operation gone wrong, but we couldn’t find any goods being smuggled, and we couldn’t find any money to pay for goods. So, I think someone stole whatever was on that plane.’
He paused. Crys kept quiet and still, wondering if that was an accusation. ‘Normally, we’d pick up rumours on the street about a big project, but it’s been dead quiet. It’s all very strange…’ He paused again, looking at her suspiciously. ‘Now we have the Davidson situation. I’d be amazed if they weren’t connected somehow. Are you sure you don’t have anything else to tell me? It could help us find your friend.’
Once again she’d underestimated Mabula. Maybe she’d been totally wrong about him. But the money wouldn’t help him find Michael, and she still had to get out of here…
As if he’d heard her thoughts, Mabula slid the envelope over to her. ‘Here’s your driver’s licence and your cell phone. I can’t hold you any longer, but I don’t want you to leave the country until we’ve sorted out what’s happening. You’re to call me every morning to tell me where you are. Understood? I believe you still have work to do for your article, so that shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it?’
She picked up the envelope, weak with relief. But her mind raced. Was he really letting her go, or was it another trick? Maybe he’d be watching her, hoping she’d lead him to the money.
Now she needed to decide what to do. If Pockface was still at large, Crys was sure he’d be looking for her, and he’d guess that she’d return to Tshukudu – in the Tshukudu Land Rover. She had to have a different plan.
‘Could I please use your phone?’ she asked. ‘And do you have the number for Tshukudu?’
A few moments later she was talking to Johannes.
‘Crys!’ he cried. ‘At last. Where are you? Are you all right? We’ve been so worried.’
‘I’m okay now … I’m at the police station in Giyani, but I’m being released. I need you to do me a favour, please. I can’t come back to Tshukudu. Can you meet me in Phalaborwa in three hours? I’ll explain everything when I see you. Can you suggest a good hotel there? And can you please bring all my stuff from the chalet? I hope that’s okay.’
‘The Bushveld Hotel is fine. I’ll make a booking, and I’ll stay over too. It’s too far to go there and back today. And I need to make sure you’re safe.’
Crys smiled at his concern as she rang off.
She turned back to Mabula. ‘So, you’ll have heard – I can’t go back to Tshukudu or use their vehicle. The Portuguese know I was staying there, so that’s the first place they’ll look, if you don’t catch them. Is there a car rental in town?’
Mabula took a scrap of paper and wrote down a name and location. ‘Where will you go?’
Crys hadn’t thought that far. She just wanted to get away from Pockface and Mabula. ‘As you said, I have my story to write. Maybe I’ll head back to Pretoria. I still need to talk to the minister.’
Mabula nodded. ‘Chikosi has the keys to the Land Rover. He can take it back.’
‘And me? Can I really go?’ Crys asked. She could hardly believe it.
‘Yes. But don’t forget to contact me – every day. I will find out what really happened out there, and if you’re involved…’ He widened his eyes and leaned back. Then, with a flick of his hand dismissed her.
Crys stood up. ‘Please let me know if you learn anything about Michael.’
He nodded without a word.
She left his office, wondering what had caused his change of attitude. He’d been abrupt, but almost friendly. Could it be the connection with Michael? It was all so complicated.
Changes like that made her nervous.
As she walked out of the police station, she saw the Land Rover parked on the opposite side of the street. Bongani was leaning against the side, waiting for her. He looked as exhausted as she felt.
‘Crys,’ he said, spotting her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, the doctor fixed my finger. It was dislocated, not broken, and he’s given me painkillers. And you?’
‘Just a few bruises. I’ll be okay.’
‘Bongani, Mabula has a note from Michael. It says he’s being held prisoner, but they have no idea where. They need to follow his trail. You need to tell them what you told me about the connection with the white men and the white pickup. His life’s at stake now.’
Bongani’s eyes widened. He shook his head and for a moment he didn’t reply. ‘I can’t do that, Crys. It will get back to the poachers that I identified them to the police. They’ll go after my family. And they can link me to the plane. And the money. I’ll never get away from Mabula…’
Crys was shaking her head. ‘I’ve worked it all out, Bongani. Instead of telling Mabula that you got the information for Michael, just tell Mabula that Michael told you that he was trying to trace the men and that he had a contact in your village. Say that he asked you if you knew the man and you told him you didn’t. Then you’re in the clear but the police have the information they have to have.’
Bongani’s face fell. ‘It won’t work, Crys. They’ll know the information came from me…’
‘Tell Mabula to be careful nothing about you comes out. He can protect you then.’
‘Protect me? You’re mad. He’s a skelm, that one. Don’t trust him. He knows there must be money and wants it for himself. He’ll force me to tell—’
‘Maybe we’re wrong about Mabula. Maybe he is honest. After all, he’s let us go. Maybe now we should just tell him about the money and get it all over with.’
Bongani shook his head firmly. ‘No. I know the police here. None of them are honest.’
Crys thought for a moment. The money was one thing, but Michael’s life was quite another.
‘I’m sorry Bongani. These men will kill Michael. I know it. We must find him first. If you won’t tell Mabula, I have to. But it will look much better if you do it.’
Bongani frowned; his mouth was set. Suddenly Crys remembered him manhandling Ho and their argument about the money. She took a step back from him.
But when he spoke, he sounded resigned, not aggressive. ‘All right. I’ll do what you said. Will you wait for me here? Then we can get back to Tshukudu and tell the Malans what happened.’
Crys shook her head. ‘I don’t think either of us should go back there right now. The police haven’t caught the Portuguese thugs yet, and they know we’re from there. Take the Land Rover and park it somewhere out of sight, and then lay low for a few days. I’m going to meet Johannes in Phalaborwa, and I’ll explain to him why you’re not going back yet.’
He lowered his voice. ‘What about the money?’
She watched his face carefully as she said, ‘I’ll tell the Malans about it. Then it’s not our problem anymore.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe that’s best.’ Again, he sounded resigned.
Was he giving in too easily?
Crys dug around in a trouser pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, balling it in her hand so prying eyes wouldn’t see. ‘Take this,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘I don’t have much left and will need the rest – I’ll have to rent a car and pay for a hotel.’
Bongani nodded, and quickly put it in his own pocket. Then he looked at her with a sad smile. ‘Well, goodbye, Crys. I hope they find your friend.’
‘Goodbye, Bongani … We’ve shared a lot, haven’t we?’
‘We have, Crys, yes.’ He turned away and headed back into the police station, his shoulders slumped.
Crys hoped they would meet again. He’d become a friend.
‘You again,’ Mabula said, looking up from his desk as Bongani was brought into his office. ‘What do you want now?’
‘Crys told me you need information on Davidson. I have something.’
Mabula’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. This was a new development. Chikosi actually volunteering information. He bit back a sarcastic response to that effect and waited.
‘He spoke to me at Tshukudu. He said he was trying to get in contact with some white men involved in the rhino-horn smuggling. He said they drove a white bakkie. He wanted to meet them.’ He paused. ‘And when the Portuguese men grabbed us last night, they were driving a white bakkie. Maybe it’s the same men… Mr Davidson asked me if I knew anything about them.’
So, it was Chikosi who was the person Nguyen had heard this from. No doubt she’d told him to come back with this story. ‘And did you?’
Bongani hesitated. ‘No, I know nothing. I told him he must be very careful with people like that.’ His eyes dropped from Mabula to his desk.
Mabula slammed his hand on his desk, making Bongani start. One of his untidy piles of folders collapsed. ‘I’m sick of being lied to, Chikosi! I know all about you. I know you help the poachers. I know you took the money from the plane. You told Davidson how to contact these people, didn’t you? You have the contacts to find them, don’t you?’
‘I know nothing…’
‘DON’T LIE TO ME! Who told you about the white men? About the bakkie?’
‘It was Davidson…’
Mabula was sure that wasn’t true. Chikosi knew more. Probably Nguyen knew more. And he was sure both of them knew where the money for the smuggling was. He felt it all slipping through his fingers. Time was running out. Not only for Davidson.
‘Let me tell you something, Chikosi. If Davidson dies and you have information you haven’t given me, you’re an accomplice to his murder. We’ll add that to your list of crimes. You’ll never get out of jail. Your family will starve. Think about it.’
‘Can I go now?’
‘Get out!’
When he’d left, Mabula carefully restacked his files, hands shaking with anger. Two of his men were dead. It looked like the Portuguese had got wind of what had happened at the house – they should have been back by now. The money was still missing. And everyone lied to him.
He slammed the desk again.