They were four tense, hectic days. Sarah did her best to dissuade him from rushing the planning, but McQuade would hear none of it: the Bonanza was back in port, 435 was about to happen, and his blood and nerve was up. ‘If I wait another week I’ll get stage-fright.’
He instructed the Kid to drive up from Walvis Bay to the guest farm on Tuesday to be briefed, since he did not dare do so on the telephone. He sent Sarah to Otjiwarongo that day to buy spray-painting gear, emulsion paint, brushes, sponges, buckets, turpentine, adhesive tape, rope, a large roll of brown paper, hypodermic syringes, chloroform, an aluminium step-ladder and bolt-cutters. They needed these things for the job, but he wanted to get her out of the way because he did not want to add the Kid’s anxieties to her own; nor was there any need for her to know yet all the details he had to discuss with the Kid. As instructed, the Kid brought an admiralty chart of Walvis Bay, showing the lagoon, and the long sand spit that stretches out to remote Pelican Point, forming the outer perimeter of the natural harbour. He instructed the Kid to move the Bonanza from her normal berth at the Kuiseb jetty, as if putting to sea, and to anchor near the far edge of the lagoon, out of sight of the harbour and town,
‘Then you and Tucker drive up to Etosha and meet us there in the rest camp on Thursday afternoon for the final briefing. Meanwhile Pottie waits aboard the Bonanza with Elsie. On Friday evening he meets Nathan and Julie Wonderful in the Atlantic Hotel and takes them out to the Bonanza to await our arrival – I’ve already phoned Nathan. We snatch Muller on Saturday morning and arrive in Walvis Bay that evening. Pottie is waiting for us with the dinghy on the sandspit. We load Muller in and speed back to the Bonanza and put to sea,’ McQuade picked up one of the walkie-talkie radios he had bought in Johannesburg. ‘Give this to Pottie. He’s got to listen to it all the time. If there’re any snags or changes of plan I’ll warn him to get his arse home to his telephone so I can tell him without using radio-waves. I’ll simply say “Go home, Pottie”.’
The Kid mused unhappily: ‘This is going to worry Tucker sick. And dressing up as a cop? He’s already worried sick about what 435 is going to do to his housekeeping.’
‘Tell Tucker to dry his eyes! Tell him we can’t afford to mess about getting somebody else because the country will soon be swarming with United Nations personnel so he’ll lose the submarine and his housekeeping! Tell him to be bloody grateful you’re diving down with me on that submarine and not him! You can’t be the other cop because you can’t speak Afrikaans and you sound like a bloody Pommie. Just kick Tucker’s tearful arse, and he’s not to breathe a word of this to Rosie. He tells Rosie he’s going back to sea as usual tomorrow. And you give the Coloured crew a week’s leave. Okay? Any more questions?’
‘Why are we meeting at Etosha?’ the Kid asked. ‘Why not here?’
‘Because I want to do a disappearing trick. We’re conspicuous in this small hotel, and it’s too close to the scene of the crime. Etosha is ideal because the gate closes at sunset and Mossad can’t get in without a reservation. Which I’ve made for us. Not even Sarah knows we’re meeting you in Etosha; not because I don’t trust her but because there’s no need for her to know yet, in case Mossad catches up with her.’
‘Mossad …’ The Kid didn’t want to have anything to do with Mossad.
‘They’re the good guys. It’s Muller’s bunch we have to worry about.’
‘I thought we were the good guys. Where exactly is Muller’s place?’
‘No need for you to know yet. Tell you on Thursday. Now, we’ll go through the plan one more time, then you get your arse back to Walvis Bay and brief Tucker …’
McQuade and Sarah spent another two nights at the guest farm. On Wednesday he checked out the Muller ranch again. He learned that there was no other gate in the fence surrounding the schloss. On this reconnaissance he saw Heidi and Muller go horse-riding, and it was clear that Heidi was not just the house-keeper. Muller was very attentive and gallant; he showed off, galloping furiously and jumping obstacles. His horse was a huge fiery animal and Muller dominated it with zest. He appeared extraordinarily fit and agile for a man of his age: he could have been in his fifties. While McQuade was doing this, Sarah drove towards the Skeleton Coast to look for a suitable place to pull off the road after snatching Muller in order to spray-paint the vehicles different colours. She found an excellent place, down a lonely farm track, off behind a hillock. Early on Thursday morning McQuade went with her to check it out. It was ideal, and Sarah seemed less anxious about him rushing the job now. They drove back to the guest farm and McQuade surprised her by loading their bags and checking out. ‘Where are we sleeping tonight?’ she demanded.
‘Surprise. You’ll like it.’
‘Good thinking,’ she said. Though I wish you’d take me into your confidence. I’m in this too.’
They drove to Otjiwarongo and found Rietman and Sons, Funeral Directors. The funeral parlour was a squat building on an overgrown plot on the outskirts of town, with a cow grazing in the yard. The parlour had mournful olive-green carpet, with numerous stains, plaster doves and crucifixes on the wall. There was nobody manning the desk. McQuade rang the bell. Nothing happened. ‘Hullo?’
A fat middle-aged man appeared, wearing braces. He had flour up to his wrists and was perspiring and smiling. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said in Afrikaans. ‘I’m making bread.’
I’d like to buy a coffin, please. For my aunt.’
The undertaker was pleased. ‘Sir, we’ll take care of all the arrangements for your auntie.’
‘She hasn’t died yet, but we expect her to go any day. We’d like to bury her ourselves, it’s her wish. On her farm.’
The undertaker looked very solemn. ‘Sir, you can’t jus’ bury your auntie just like that, hey. You’ve got to have a proper Burial Order, an’ you’ve got to bury her in an Authorized Burial Ground. But I’ll take care of all that for you.’
‘She wants to be buried in the family burial ground on her farm in the south—’
‘Sir,’ the undertaker said, ‘you can’t jus’ drive your dead auntie around the country without proper documents, hey. You’ve got to have a Removal Burial Order from the Magistrate’s Court, hey, an’ first you’ve got to have a Death Certificate signed by the doctor – like this.’ He produced a book of blank forms. ‘Then you’ve got to register her death with the magistrate on a form B17 – like this.’ He produced more forms. ‘Then, you ask for your Removal Burial Order. So, I can take care of all this complicated business for you, an’ it’s no problem for me to drive your auntie anywhere she wants, sir.’
‘Thank you, but it’s her express wish that we do it ourselves, so can I just choose a coffin for her, please? There’s nothing illegal in that, is there?’
‘No,’ the undertaker said regretfully. ‘Follow me, hey.’
They went into a back room. On one side was a washing machine and an old wood-burning stove. A large basin of half-kneaded dough stood on the sink. On the other side, coffins lined the wall. There was a stone mortuary slab with a drain, a tap and piece of garden hose. ‘Now here’s a nice coffin, sir. And,’ he opened the lid, ‘lined in nice satin.’
‘How much?’
‘This one, sir,’ the undertaker said brightly, ‘this one is five hundred rand.’
‘What’s cheaper?’
‘For your auntie, sir? Well, this one is four hundred. Also nice, but cheaper handles.’
‘And that one?’ McQuade pointed.
‘That one,’ the undertaker said sadly, ‘has no satin, sir. I’m sure Auntie would like some nice satin.’
‘How much?’
‘That one? Well, that one is only three hundred and twenty. The cheapest,’ he added.
‘I’ll take it,’ McQuade said.
‘Okay, sir,’ the undertaker said, saddened at the parsimony of his fellow man. ‘But what about a nice headstone?’
‘She wants no frills, and she’s paying. Can I have a blank Death Certificate form for her doctor and the other one, B17?’
He bought a drill and bored a row of small breathing holes in the sides of the coffin. The lid also had a smaller, hinged lid that could be opened over the face of the deceased.
Late that afternoon they got back to Outjo, the coffin in the back of the Landrover, covered in cardboard cartons and a blanket. When he took the road to Etosha, Sarah said, ‘Aha. What a pity we’re not going to have time to enjoy it.’
‘When this is over,’ McQuade promised her, ‘I’ll buy you your own game park.’
Shortly before sunset they reached the gate. Nobody was on the road behind them. They checked through, and the gate closed for the night.