Crossroads of Deceit

By Frederic Roux

Zulu billionaire George Sithayi, personal friend and benefactor of the president, is having dinner with a Ukrainian family in Sandton, the rich man’s suburb of Johannesburg, when they are murdered with an AK-47. By presidential order Rian Schröder is told to find the killers. Media speculation is that it was drugs and arms related. What puzzles Rian, who gave the killers access to this fortified property? While he is trying to establish who the target was, George or the Ukrainian, he receives little cooperation from some senior local police officers. Then the killers come gunning for him.
George is chairman of Uthlanga Mining, the biggest coal mining group in South Africa, most of which is exported to Japan, whereas the Ukrainian Alexander Klochko represents Ukrainska Coal, the biggest coal mining operation in the Ukraine that exports its coal to Russia. Ukrainska is located in the Donetsk province which is predominantly Russian-speaking.
Uthlanga Mining owns a stake in Ukrainska Coal which makes George the biggest individual in coal mining globally. His eldest son Mgwazeni is deputy CEO; daughter Mjanisi is P.R.O. but is also a shareholder of Swallow’s Nest, a chain of exclusive boutiques in some European cities; and youngest son Dingiswayo is a playboy who has a reputation for partying, promiscuity, speeding and drunken driving.
George’s P.A. tells Rian she was threatened by the police after she was unable to open his safe. The code to the safe is locked up in a puzzle, the words Magnificent Memories, but no-one can tell Rian what it means. He unravels it and discovers records of off-shore accounts of two billion U.S. dollars in cash. Also a proposal for George to buy a stake in a diamond mining venture in Zimbabwe being jointly developed by Ukrainska and Chinese. Mgwazeni has no knowledge of this. Was someone after the off-shore cash or did they want to subvert the diamond deal? The deposits thereof is rumoured to be bigger than the diamond mine De Beers is developing in Limpopo Province.
Local office manager for Ukrainska, Larisa Kovrizhkna refuses to cooperate. ‘non engleesh,’ she tells Rian but by using persuasive powers he discovers the real power behind Ukrainska is a South African-born Jew Gregory Volskenk who was also supposed to attend the dinner.
Delving deeper into Volskenk’s background a picture emerges of a man who controls an empire of drugs, arms and human trafficking, prostitution, money laundering, and blood diamonds across the globe. Senior Interpol Agent Benoit Decugis advises Rian that Interpol has had Ukrainska under investigation for some time.
After numerous attacks on him Rian wonders who is behind the attacks, the Ukraine syndicate, Russian Mafia or Chinese Triads? With China towns opening up in every city and town the Triads are not far behind. Evidence indicates that some police officers are in a cartel’s pocket.
Rian calls John Berrington, in charge of fraud & economic crime at Interpol, and discovers that Benoit had gone rogue. Who does she work for? She is not to be trusted and Rian decides to keep her close.
Wondering if Volskenk was perhaps the real target of the Sandton hit and seeking answers Rian and Benoit travel to the Ukraine. He meets the CEO of Ukrainska who tells him Volskenk is in London. He also meets Russians who tell him how opium that originates in Afghanistan is transported to Ukraine.
In London Rian is told to go to Towan Blistra, a famous race horse stud in East Anglia, and to come alone. This was the property of the late Richard Rushworth whose grandfather was a partner of Gregory Volskenk’s grandfather Grzegorz Volotzky in Johannesburg more than a century ago. An excited Rian is told two horses have been entered for the Darley July Cup Day races at Newmarket and that is where Volskenk will meet him.
A shoot-out at this famous race track provides Rian with some answers, enough to give him a final clue as to the solution of this case.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frederic Roux
• Release date: Sep 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310090943

Book preview

The grounds were large enough to accommodate a small township and the huge mansion stood well back from the street. From the main gate the house was blocked from view by a great variety of trees and shrubs. A high wall with an electric fence atop stretched the length of the street front – and in all likelihood surrounded the property, Rian speculated. Not that he was taking time to speculate about this for the young uniformed constable who stood inside the main gate held his attention.

Open the gate! Rian told the constable in no uncertain terms.

No sir. Captain Ntabeleng Ndabezitha told me I was to let no one in.

What is your name?

Jimmy sir, Jimmy Lekghetha, the constable replied with pride.

Jimmy, do you see these credentials? Rian held his credentials through the bars of the gate.

Yes sir.

What do you see?

Brigadier Rian … ah … He took a closer look. … Schröder, he finished with gusto.

I am Captain Ntabeleng’s senior, am I not?

Jimmy scratched his head. Brigadier? Ugh … yes sir, brigadier is more senior than captain.

Rian took Jenna-Wade’s credentials from her and held that through the bars too.

What do you see Jimmy?

Colonel … ugh … Jenna … Jenna-Wade … Knapton.

Very good Jimmy. Is a colonel more senior than a captain?

Yes sir.

Well Jimmy, if you don’t open this gate right now I am going to climb over and Colonel Knapton is going to cuff you to the gate and every time the gate opens and closes you will have to run up and down with the gate. Would you like that?

No sir.

So open the damn gate this minute, or that is exactly what is going to happen. And tomorrow every one of your colleagues is going to laugh at you for refusing to obey a superior officer and for being cuffed to the gate you were supposed to guard. Would you like that?

No sir, Jimmy whispered.

Then open the damn gate!

Ugh … yes sir.

Two big black eyes stared irresolutely at Rian as Jimmy fiddled timorously in a pocket until he eventually produced a remote. With trembling fingers he pointed the remote and opened the gate. Slipping through the opening Rian walked to the guard house. Behind him Jenna-Wade brought the car to a stop inside the gate.

Close the gate Jimmy, Rian said over his shoulder, more kindly this time.

Yes sir. Jimmy hurriedly obeyed.

Jenna-Wade climbed out and joined Rian.

Bullet-proof glass, Rian said then turned to Jimmy. Jimmy, do you know, was the guard inside or outside the building when he was shot?

They found his body outside sir, Jimmy replied, where you are standing now.

He knew the person who shot him, Rian said. He let him in then came out to talk to him.

Sorry sir? Jimmy asked.

It’s all right Jimmy, I was just thinking aloud. Rian walked round the side of the building. Jimmy, do you have the key to this door?

No sir.

Rian peered through the window. In order to gain access to the guardhouse he had to get the guard out into the open. He pointed. That’s why … look, he said still peering through the window. Beside him Jenna-Wade too peered the window. Those monitors cover the property and the house. Once he had access to the guardhouse he could see where everybody was.

So this was not a case of a group of armed men storming the house as reported in the newspapers.

No. This was a carefully planned operation and orchestrated by the book. Rian turned around to survey the scene. From the house no one could see what was taking place here. Friday night. The owner and his family having dinner up at the main house. They have an important guest. Servants busy serving dinner. Everybody is relaxed because the property is secure. Electric fence and alarms that will call in armed response within minutes. Cameras feeding scenes to monitors where a watchful eye inside a secure building can see everything that is going on. And so the bodyguards are relaxed, perhaps eating something too. The dogs keep the bodyguards company, possibly feeding on snippets. A group of armed men enter the property and spread out. Not a soul is any the wiser.

The trick was to gain control of the guardhouse.

Exactly. And only someone who was well-known to the guard could do that.

Or the guard was bribed to let them in and was rewarded with a bullet.

Trust you to come up with a devious solution, Rian said with a grin then addressed Jimmy. Jimmy, is the house locked?

I don’t know sir.

Let’s go and see, Rian told Jenna-Wade. He walked round the car and climbed in.

She drove up and stopped some distance from the front door.

The driveway in front of the main door was covered with markers and circles drawn by the forensic officers to indicate where bodies had been found. They climbed out and Rian moved about slowly to study the markers and circles. The report said four armed guards. One at the gate, and it looks like two over here. They were probably standing by George Sithayi’s car. Most likely a driver and a bodyguard. But where is the fourth?

Inside the house?

I wonder what happened to Sithayi’s car.

Taken in for tests by forensic officers?

Could be. This spot must indicate where a dog was found, he said.

And that marker over there must be where a second dog was found, Jenna-Wade said indicating a marker towards the garden.

That dog probably went to investigate whoever was sneaking up through the shrubs. But where is the third dog?

I’ll check around this side, Jenna-Wade said.

Rian watched her walk away. He was stiff. His back ached and his arm was sore. On top of that he was tired. He did not need this. What he should be doing was to sit on his back stoep with a mug of coffee, enjoying the view of Table Mountain and Table Bay. Relaxing. Convalescing, that is what he should be doing. Four days ago the Kevlar vest that he wore may have stopped two 9mm bullets from snuffing out his life, but it did little to cushion their impact. Fired from close-up, that had been like a double sledgehammer striking his back. It had knocked him out cold.

According to the nurses at the hospital yesterday his back came close to resembling tenderised meat. Providentially, except for two small cracks that showed up on the X-rays, no ribs were broken. A lung could easily have been punctured. However, when the impact sent him reeling a third bullet had gone through the triceps bra chi muscle of his left arm causing damage to the fibres. Fortuitously the humerus bone of the upper arm was not damaged as this would have required long-term remodelling. He had woken up in hospital where the doctor told him to take it easy, given time the body would do its own remodelling of the damage that he had suffered. Still, he refused to wear the sling that he was given and walked with the thumb of his left hand hooked through his belt.

Consequently, even though he and Jenna-Wade had been the only passengers in the presidential plane last night, his injuries had caused too much discomfort for him to sleep. In fact, the two-hour flight from Cape Town to Lanseria Airport north of Johannesburg had felt more like the twelve hours it normally took to fly to Europe.

It was near midnight when they booked into their Sandton lodge. Jenna-Wade had insisted that he take a shower while she unpacked his bag. Brushing aside his protests and telling him he had nothing that she had not seen, she had joined him in the bathroom and replaced the bandage on his arm and rubbed ointment into his back that the medic at the hospital’s emergency department had provided.

She was right of course. When held captive at the farm near Ceres in the Boland region by Brigadeführer Achim Rolf Burgsmuller, the Nazi wanted for war crimes, they had seen each other in the nude. Achim had drugged them with hypnosganglion – a drug that induces one to obey whatever instructions you are given, and to remember everything when it wears off.

By stretching out on his stomach in the plane last night he had managed on-and-off to snatch some sleep.

Over here! Jenna-Wade called out. Rian saw her pointing towards the corner of the building. Then she turned back.

One thing is clear, Rian told her when she joined him, they were taken by complete surprise.

Rian slowly mounted the steps to the front door and tried it. The door opened. He gave Jenna-Wade a glance before he entered.

They were in a spacious entrance hall. There were doors to their immediate right and left, also in the middle of the opposite wall. Against both the left and right walls staircases led to the next level. Display cabinets contained a variety of porcelain items and large original paintings decorated the walls.

The dining room should be on ground level, Jenna-Wade said. She walked to the door facing them and opened it. This looks like a family room, she called over her shoulder.

Rian walked to the door on his left and opened it. Here we are, he called.

He entered the room and looked about. Markers indicated where the bodies had lain. Chairs lay scattered and the once neatly laid long table was a mess as sudden unreasoning terror had made hands grab at whatever was available, seeking respite. The wall on his immediate right, pockmarked with bullet holes, resembled a twenty first century surrealistic art scene. Rian studied it with a grim smile.

The kitchen must be through the door opposite this wall, Rian said pointing to the far wall when Jenna-Wade joined him, and that’s the way they came in. This is the only wall that has bullet holes.

I’ll check, Jenna-Wade said and she walked over to the partly open door and stepping through disappeared from view. She returned a moment later. You’re right. They took the kitchen staff out first and seemed to be firing indiscriminately when they stormed in here.

Does it look as if anyone tried to get away before he or she was shot?

Carefully studying the scene Jenna-Wade slowly circled the room. She stopped near the head of the table and mentally measured the distance of the chair from the table.

Find anything? Rian asked.

This chair was definitely pushed back, she replied, it is much further back than it should be.

That would be where the host sat, Rian said. Alexander Klochko.

Do you suspect that he may have anticipated that something was going to happen?

He may have heard something. Was the door open or shut? The position of the kitchen staff could perhaps tell us that.

I’ll go and see if I can make any sense of that.

She left him to carry on using the same techniques in a crime scene investigation that Sherlock Holmes did 120 years ago, taking his time to work his way around the room and studying everything carefully. Rian was also a disciple of Edmond Locard who avowed that no criminal can leave a crime scene without leaving behind some incriminating evidence. In 1910 Locard established the very first police crime laboratory in Lyon, France.

Markers, positions of chairs, and blood, told their own story. Tatyana, the hostess, with the two children sitting on her left had their backs to the kitchen. They took the first salvo as a killer burst through the door. In all likelihood they did not look around and never knew what hit them. Either the auditory effect, or perhaps the sight of his family being tossed about like matchwood in a tornado induced Alexander to rise and in the process push back his chair. He was looking into the eyes of the killer when he took the first bullets in his chest. Knocked backwards by the impact of the bullets he fell against the chair bumping it further back. Their guest, George Ndlela Sithayi, who was sitting on Alexander’s right too took a salvo in his chest. The impact of the bullets knocked him backwards, head-over-heels, chair and all.

What did the killer or killers do then? Any threat, if at all, would come from either Alexander or George, so Rian carefully studied the spot where Alexander had lain. Yes, the killer did walk up to Alexander where he lay and deliberately put a bullet through his skull. Blood splatter and bone splinters were visible on the floor. Rian found the same signs on the floor where George’s body had most likely been. That took care of the two men. Were more bullets wasted on the wife and children? Rian moved round the table and checked. The wife yes. Not the children. In other words, the killer had to make doubly sure that the three grown-ups were terminated. There had to be no chance of them being brought back to life.

Why was it so important that there should be no chance of them being brought back to life? Was it important? Or did the killer want to send a message?

Rian walked to the kitchen door, stopped, turned round, and surveyed the scene. In his mind’s eye he saw the killer charge in from the kitchen – firing! The wife and children go down. Movement. A man starting to rise. Swing that way. Fire! Alexander is staggering backwards. George is incapable of movement. Shock? Disbelief? The barrel swings his way. Fire! George is knocked backwards. He tumbles head-over-heels. Check on Alexander. Walk up to him. Make sure. Fire! Brains splatter on the floor. Terminated. Guaranteed. Check on George. Walk up to him. Fire! More brains splatter on floor. Terminated. Guaranteed. The wife! Walk back. Fire! More splatter. Terminated. Guaranteed. Check children. No need to waste more bullets. Hit perfectly executed. Guaranteed.

What next? Search their pockets? Did the killer do that? Check with the forensic officers whether the killer had done that.

Rian surveyed the room. Bullet marks against opposite wall. The sideboard showed no sign of a search having taken place. Any signs of a search elsewhere in the house? Terminate and get out? That’s what the news reports said. Check to establish if that is correct. Ask the investigating detective and the forensic unit.

When Jenna-Wade returned Rian stood aside and glanced at her.

The fourth guard and both catering staff were back there, she said. He was sitting on a chair. Took a bullet in the back of the head.

Suppressors, Rian said.

Suppressors?

Silencers. So it was not the auditory effect but the sight of his family being mowed down that made Alexander get up. George was frozen to his chair by incredulity. Shock or disbelief?

Why?

Not why … who?

What do you mean?

This was an organised hit, a contract hit that required a guaranteed termination of all three grown-ups. I have a feeling that you’ll find nothing else in the house was disturbed. We must establish that with the investigating detective and the forensic unit. To come back to your question, find who, and you’ll have the why.

An inside job?

In order to open the gate for the killers to gain access, someone had to draw the guard at the gate out of his bullet-proof box. As I said, either he knew the person well enough to come out and greet him, or the bait was a worthwhile cash offer. My money is on the guard knowing the person who drew him out of the guard house.

You gut feel? Working with Rian for some years had taught Jenna-Wade that you could put your money on his ‘gut feel’. He was one of those people gifted with an uncanny anschauung and was seldom wrong.

My gut feel. Thoughtfully Rian looked about. Everybody was downstairs or outside. Let’s just take a quick look at what’s upstairs before the others arrive.

***

Chapter 2

They returned to the entrance hall and climbed the stairs.

Jenna-Wade could see he was climbing with difficulty. You okay?

I’m fine, he replied.

At the top of the stairs they looked both ways. A long passage cut the floor in two, with doors leading to rooms. Probably bedrooms and bathrooms. At one end was a window and at the other end was what looked like a staircase going down.

That probably leads to the service entrance, Jenna-Wade said.

And the garage.

Most likely.

You’ll probably find a dumbwaiter down that end too.

Curiously she studied his face when he stopped.

What? she asked.

Do you know what this scenario reminds me of …

What?

… In March 1998 … I think it was March … masked gunmen entered a house similar to this one here in Sandton …

If I remember rightly it was the suburb Sandhurst.

That’s right. The owner, Viktor Bout, a Russian, was reputed to have made his billions trafficking redundant Russian arms illegally to rebels in a number of African and South American States. His property had walls higher this this one, and he had his own paramilitary team with machine guns and dogs patrolling the perimeter. Somehow the masked men gained entry to the premises, knocked a Russian house help unconsciousness, and stole a few million in cash. Nothing else, just the cash. No shots were fired, possibly because no one was at home. You can well ask, where were his paramilitary guards? A few days later masked gunmen took a shot at Viktor in broad daylight while he was driving along the De Villiers Graaff freeway.

"What happened to him?

Bout? She nodded. He fled, left the country and moved back to Russia.

Was he ever caught?

Yes. In a sting operation the American DEA, the drugs and arms enforcement agency, caught him in Columbia … or was it Bolivia … anyhow, it was one of those South American countries … while he tried to sell arms to the rebels. It was probably Columbia.

Do you think the same people may be involved?

Impossible to say. That was fifteen years ago. Let’s check these rooms.

They moved down the passage and checked a few rooms and found that every room had an en suite bathroom. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

Does this come up from the kitchen? Jenna-Wade asked pointing to the dumbwaiter near the stairs.

It should. Hang on, I hear a vehicle.

Probably in the roa…?

Rian held up his hand. It’s coming up the drive.

He entered the nearest door and walked to the window where he cautiously peered out through the blinds.

From this height he could see the roof of a vehicle half-way up from the gate. It appeared stationery. Then he saw heads moving. He counted three heads that were making attempts to duck behind shrubs. When one came into view he saw that the person was wearing a balaclava. He also caught sight of a rifle barrel.

Quickly Rian moved back to the passage. We’ve got visitors. They’re armed and are wearing balaclavas. He pointed. Go and lie down at the top of the stairs and watch that door. If you see a barrel shoot through the door. Shoot waist high. Don’t wait for them to fire first. Whatever you do, don’t show yourself.

Where are you going?

I’ll do the same with the front door.

Shouldn’t we both …?

No. You watch the back door. Hurry.

He saw Jenna-Wade take her police issue Beretta out of her handbag, then he hurried back along the passage to where he could see the front door. Doing a quick check over his shoulder he saw that Jenna-Wade was flat on her stomach. He was more concerned for her safety than for himself. She had two beautiful children. Hopefully all three will come to the front door and not to the back door, he thought.

Retrieving his Walther PPK from his ankle holster Rian wondered who had tipped them off. With some effort he lay down on his stomach. If anyone looked up from the door they might see his head below the railings, but he was not going to give them that chance. His back was painful.

Taking out his Samsung smartphone Rian dialled the police emergency number. When someone answered he whispered the street number of this address, gave his police ID number, and requested urgent back-up. He put his smartphone down on the floor and left it on. A voice kept asking, ‘Hello! Hello! Are you there?’

Watching the door down below Jenna-Wade could not remember when last she had been this tense. She had never been in a situation like this before. Furthermore, the instructions that Rian had given her, shoot when you see the barrel of a weapon, was against police regulations. You don’t shoot first, unless your life is in danger. But Rian had said shoot waist high. To shoot waist high is not to kill, she speculated. Even so, is it right?

At first Rian thought he was seeing double, but then realized it was the front door opening inwards ever so slowly. He aimed waist high. When he saw what looked like a barrel of a weapon appear in the gap he could not decide what it was. Assuming that it was an AK-47 and shifting his aim to an estimated 30 centimetres behind the tip of the barrel he slowly compressed the trigger.

The sound of his shot reverberated through the room and was terribly loud. He saw the wood of the door splinter. There was a clattering sound and a loud shout of anguish. Rian assumed the clatter came from a rifle falling on the floor.

Then the front door was kicked open and a second weapon started spraying the entrance hall with bullets. The sounds of shattering glass, pottery, wood and cement was considerably louder than the phut-phut sounds from the weapon itself. One thing was clear to Rian, the shooter had no idea where his bullet had come from. He spotted a rifle on the ground.

Behind him he heard three quick shots. This was followed by the same sounds of bullets ripping up wood and tearing cement off walls. He wanted to look around and prayed that Jenna-Wade was all right. But whereas he was facing two shooters, she was only facing one. One may have lost his rifle, Rian mused, but he could still have a pistol.

Earlier Rian had noticed that the stoep in front of the main entrance was made of cut stone, so now he took careful aim and pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off the stone and he heard loud curses. Shifting his aim ever so slightly he quickly repeated the ricochet shot and the second rifle stopped firing. More curses. Once more he shifted his aim and fired again.

In the meantime he heard Jenna-Wade fire off three more shots. But there was no response from her attacker.

Rian waited. Everything was suddenly unnaturally quiet. What were they doing? Were they conferring? Going round to the back? Thinking of breaking a window? Or were they planning some other tactics? Because of the suppressors fitted to their rifles their shots could not be heard far, but neighbours and people in the street must have heard his and Jenna-Wade’s shots. Still he waited.

When he heard the engine of a vehicle start up, he pushed himself up to his feet. He winced from the pain in his back and had to pause and take a deep breath. Entering the nearest bedroom he hurried to the window. Looking out he caught glimpses of the roof of a vehicle through the shrubs on its way to the gate.

Now he could also hear the sirens of police vehicles.

He saw the roof of the car as it exited the property. Minutes later the first blue lights pulled up at the gate. He walked back to the passage, picked up his smartphone and clicked it off. You okay? he shouted.

Jenna-Wade was standing but was still watching the stairs. I’m fine. Some splinters in my hair, that’s all. They gone?

Looks like it. Let’s go downstairs.

Together they descended the stairs only to come to a halt in the entrance hall. It was a mess. Shards and chips of glass, pottery wood and cement littered the floor. An AK-47 lay in the open door. Fitted to the tip of the barrel was a long bulbous tube that was slightly larger than the barrel.

I’ve never seen anything like this before, Rian said.

Neither have I. Is that an AK-47?

Rian inspected it closely. A Chicom.

Chicom? What’s that?

A Chinese Communist copy of the Russian Kalashnikov rifle. In other words a Chinese AK-47 with a short barrel. And it has a professionally produced suppressor screwed onto the muzzle.

They went out onto the front stoep. It was littered with cartridges.

The first set of blue lights stopped some distance from the house. Rian held up both arms. In one hand he held open his police ID.

Two armed uniformed officers climbed out and cautiously approached them.

Brigadier Schröder? one shouted.

Yes. I put in the call. The shooters have gone.

I’m Captain Malesela Lerutla.

You’re a welcome sight captain.

What happened here?

We were attacked by three men armed with AK-47 rifles.

The constable at the gate is dead.

I’m sorry to hear that.

Who were these men?

I don’t know. They wore balaclavas.

Malesela gave Jenna-Wade a glance. You okay?

Yes, we’re fine.

He turned back to Rian. How did you fight them off?

Colonel Knapton has a Beretta and I carry a Walther PPK.

Malesela shook his head. Against three AK-47s?

Colonel Knapton waited at the top of the back staircase and I watched the front door. They left an AK-47 in the door. Rian pointed behind him.

Now I know why those soldiers in Potchefstroom didn’t stand a chance, Malesela said with a grin.

We weren’t just two then and I did not walk away scot-free. I took two in the back and one in the arm.

You live a charmed life. Malesela approached the front door.

Do tell.

AK-47. Far too many of these floating around nowadays, Malesela said as he looked down at the AK-47. What’s that on the barrel?

A suppressor.

I’ve never seen one like this before.

That is a professional job.

Then they must be hired killers.

Malesela’s colleague had meanwhile fetched their vehicle and parked it in front of the house. Now two more vehicles, both unmarked cars, pulled up. The doors swung open. The man who climbed out of the front car was in a hurry, but the man from the second car climbed out more slowly.

The first man charged up the steps. He was a heavy-set man. His face was contorted in fury. He headed straight for Rian.

What in the fuckin’ hell are you doing here! he shouted in Rian’s face.

The second man came up the steps at a more leisurely pace, looking casually from Rian to Jenna-Wade and back.

Who gave you the right to come in here! the first man carried on, thumping Rian’s chest with his fist.

Rian cringed.

Rian’s eyes did not leave the man’s face but a loud click made the other three men spin around to look at Jenna-Wade. Her Beretta was pointed directly at the man in front of Rian and it was cocked.

Touch him again and I’ll shoot you, she said, her voice cold.

Captain Malesela Lerutla and his colleague looked at each other in wry amusement.

I am Brigadier Schröder, Rian said.

I know who’n the fuckin’ hell you are! the man shouted. You have no right to be here.

I am here on the minister’s orders.

Bullshit! You think because you shot up those soldiers in Potchefstroom you can do the same thing here. Get your arse out of here. Fuck off.

Read this, Jenna-Wade said holding out a letter. Her pistol did not waver a millimetre and remained pointed at the man.

Both newcomers looked at the paper in her hand. The second one came closer and took it from her. He read it. He gave Jenna-Wade an unconvincing look then glanced at the letter once more. Giving Rian a glance he then walked over to the man standing in front of Rian and handed him the letter.

The man grabbed and read the letter. He crumbled it up and tossed it aside. This is bullshit! Fuckin’ bullshit!

With that he turned and stomped down the steps, climbed into his car and drove off. Glancing back a few times the second man followed at a more leisurely pace.

Malesela meanwhile picked up the letter, smoothed it out, and read it. He looked up at Rian. Presidential order?

Rian nodded. He was watching another car coming up the driveway. They all turned to watch it come to a halt. A thickset man climbed out and they recognized the police commissioner for Gauteng Province, General Mpumelelo Nondwangu. The two officers in uniform stood to attention and saluted.

General Nondwangu slowly ascended the steps. Brigadier Schröder, what are you doing here?

I was instructed by the minister to take over the investigation.

I know nothing about that, the general said, Captain Ntabeleng Ndabezitha is the investigating officer. You will leave now. And take your colleague with you.

I will do nothing of the kind.

Sir, Malesela said as he stepped forward holding out the letter.

General Nondwangu glanced at it. He glanced up at Malesela. About to turn away something in Malesela’s face made him take the letter from him. He read it twice before he looked up. His face was red. He was furious. Why do I know nothing of this?

Excuse me general, Jenna-Wade said, I was with the minister when his secretary faxed a copy of this letter to your office. As a result of the presidential order the minister was unable to go through normal channels. In order not to waste time, by presidential order Brigadier Schröder who is still on the invalid list was flown up in the president’s plane last night.

I am sorry general, Rian said, his voice nevertheless firm, that letter signed by the minister puts me in charge of this investigation. Captain Ntabeleng will report to me.

The general stared hard at Rian for a moment then handed the letter to Malesela, spun around and walked away. He climbed into his car and they watched him drive off.

Malesela handed Jenna-Wade the letter and said, Now I’ve seen everything.

Read Minister Charles Tshetsha’s latest bestseller, How To Make Friends in Five Minutes, Rians said wrily.

The faxes or emails are probably waiting in their offices and everybody had the weekend off, Jenna-Wade said.

Some poor bastard is going to have his balls chewed off, Malesela said.

I take it the big mouth was Ntabeleng? Rian asked Malesela.

Yes. He is the senior detective at the Sandton station.

Who is the other man?

I don’t know him.

Is the forensic unit on its way?

I called them.

***

Chapter 3

Something bothers me, Rian said to Jenna-Wade. Let’s go back inside. He looked at Malesela. Excuse us.

What’s bothering you? Jenna-Wade asked when they were back in the dining room.

Look at the table again.

Jenna-Wade walked around the table. The host sat here, at the end of the table, she said, pointing, with the guest on his right, facing the kitchen. She walked to the other side. The wife and two children sat here with their backs to the kitchen. What’s wrong?

The table is laid for seven people.

Jenna-Wade opened her mouth but for a second no sound came out. Then her face brightened. You’re right. Three places laid on one side, the mother and children, two on the other side where the guest sat, and one at each end. If you entertain one guest you lay one place. They were expecting two more guests.

Could the two missing guests be the ones who let the killers in? Or were they in fact the killers?

We must ask detective Ntabeleng Ndabezitha if he knows anything about that.

If he’ll talk to us, Rian said dryly.

I wonder who the other man was.

Ntabeleng’s side-kick?

Could be.

No. He did not look at Ntabeleng once, he was weighing up the situation.

Wouldn’t Ntabeleng’s side-kick have done that?

Ntabeleng’s side-kick would have been watching for a sign from his senior, to either kick my balls in or to throw me out.

Do you think that is what I would do as your side-kick?

He grinned at her. Won’t you?

She snorted. Okay, so you think it is a strong possibility that the guests who did not turn up had something to do with the murders?

Don’t you?

The fact that the cutlery was not removed seems to indicate that this was a last minute development, them not turning up.

Food was served and they started to eat, so your surmise is correct.

In that case you could be right, those two did have something to do with the murders.

So all we have to do is find out who the other guests were.

They looked towards the door when a woman entered the room. She was dressed in uniform. Captain Malesela followed her.

Brigadier Schröder, she said putting out a hand, I am Brigadier Mpepuwa Rutlokoane, commander of the Sandton police station.

Rian met her and took her hand. Pleased to meet you brigadier. Please call me Rian.

I am Mpepuwa.

This is Colonel Jenna-Wade, my right hand.

Jenna-Wade, your reputation precedes you, Mpepuwa said as they shook hands. I hear you’ve had a stormy welcome to Gauteng, she said with a grin looking back at Rian.

Rian smiled. We have not made friends, that’s for sure.

Jenna-Wade held out the letter. Malesela told me, Mpepuwa said when she took and read it. She handed it back. Well I promise you my full cooperation.

Thank you. I appreciate that, Rian said.

Do you want Ntabeleng to join you?

Of course. Ask him to be here at nine tomorrow morning.

I’ll do that.

Who was the other man?

I think he is Israel Thanjekwa. He is from organised crime.

They looked at the door as a number of people entered the room. Rian introduced his team who had flown up from Cape Town that morning. Brigadier Mpepuwa, he said, this is Paresh Govender from Natal, Breyton Petersen is from Pretoria, Jacob Phakati from Sea Point, Mologadi Lentswe from Pretoria, Leshibane Mokoena from Soweto and Niren Bindra from Pietermaritzburg. Robbie Keating, Debra McKay and Fidelia Mageman had to stay behind in Cape Town to complete the reports on the murder of Deputy Minister Gugo Tsetsana and her lackey Inus Krynauw in Sea Point, as well as the shooting of their murderers Ena Groenewoud, Henk Visser and Danie Bester in Potchefstroom.

Jenna-Wade quickly put the team into the picture and they were shocked to hear about the attack on Rian and Jenna-Wade.

How did the killers know you were here? Breyton asked.

Someone must have informed them, Paresh said, but who?

A more interesting question, Rian said, were they after us or something that they forgot or missed on Friday’s visit?

If they forgot or missed something, why not come back last night? Why today? Mpepuwa asked.

Good point, Rian said. That means they were after us. Why us? Surely your people have been in and out of here most of yesterday?

I will arrange for a heavily armed guard for these premises, she said.

Good. We are going to be busy here and we don’t want another surprise visit. He paused. What is organised crime’s interest in these murders?

They suspect that Alexander Klochko was involved in drug smuggling, arms trafficking, and human trafficking.

That is a lot of involvement. Personally or through corporations?

Through a group called Ukrainska Coal S.A., which is a front for Yuzovka, a crime syndicate from the Ukraine.

Interesting. Colonel Jenna-Wade will liaise with you to find suitable offices for my team. The minister’s office contacted the car pool in Pretoria yesterday and this morning eight cars were delivered to our lodge. So we should have transport.

You don’t waste time.

Can’t afford to. In the meantime, until you find us suitable offices, we will meet here in this house. It is big enough to accommodate us for the time being. At the same time I would like Paresh to look at the recording that the camera made at the gate.

Fine. If you will excuse me, I want to tell the forensic officers to report to you. They watched Mpepuwa leave the room.

Rian turned to his team. Now, I want you to take a good look at the scene at this table. I have some ideas and I want your opinion.

Later Paresh returned and reported, The constable did not open the gate. You could see the gate open up and as the car carrying men wearing balaclavas drove in shots were fired from the car and the constable went down. The number plate was quite clear and Mpepuwa has put out a call for that car.

It’s probably stolen, Jacob said.

This means the killers have a remote, Rian said.

They probably took it when they carried out the hit, Jenna-Wade said.

They only got back to the lodge after dark. Rian was exhausted. Jenna-Wade made him take a bath and then came and put a fresh bandage on his arm and rubbed ointment into his back.

Rian, what worries me, Jenna-Wade said they were having dinner in his room, how did the killers know we were there?

The question you should ask is this … why does someone want to take us out.

That too.

It is clear that someone does not want us to scratch too much or too deeply.

It reminds me of our investigation into the deputy minister’s murder. You do have a reputation for scratching in the wrong places, she said with a grin.

Exactly. Why does someone not wants us to scratch to deeply?

Who? Someone close to the deceased?

Someone either close to Alexander Klochko or to George Sithayi. Obviously. He chewed for a moment. And this is exactly what we are going to do, we will scratch in all the wrong places until something pops out. They ate in silence for a moment. Another question, he said, why did Ntabeleng react so vehemently?

You are going to steal his limelight. I mean, this case is worth a lot of publicity.

I think it goes deeper than that.

As they carried on eating Rian thought back to his sudden departure from Cape Town the previous night. As they were they boarding the plane he managed to get in touch with his sister to tell her that he would not be coming to lunch today. And he asked her to also tell his parents.

Birke Behrens, who taught music at the University of Cape Town, was coming over to his house last night after playing at a function at some embassy, and he prayed that the uniformed constable at his house had given her his hastily scribbled note. He tried to call her but had been unable to get hold of her. Either her band was still playing, she was taking them home, or she was en route to him. He had looked forward to her spending the night and felt bad about dropping her like that.

Who else should he have informed? But he was too exhausted to think. The tension of that AK-47 spraying the entrance hall with bullets, and worrying about Jenna-Wade’s safety, on top of everything else had been just too much. Thank God there had only been three of them – not ten as the newspapers claimed.

***

Chapter 4

Rian felt a little more rested the next morning. At fifteen minutes to nine, the members of the National Operational Unit of the police, of which Rian was the leader, were gathered in the living room of the Klochko house.

At breakfast this morning Jenna-Wade pointed to a small paragraph in today’s paper that the detective who solved the deputy minister’s murder and who was involved in a shooting in Potchefstroom last week is now in charge of this case. His appointment seems to have ruffled a few feathers. That is unfortunate. But we have to live with that. Concerning yesterday’s shooting, how did the killers know we were here? Secondly, did they intend to kill, or were they merely issuing a warning?

You think it may be scare tactics? Niren asked.

I’m sorry, those weren’t scare tactics, Jenna-Wade said, they were playing for keeps. Why did they want to do that?

There can only be one answer to that, Paresh said, to stop Rian from taking over this investigation.

Exactly, Jenna-Wade said.

Who knew you were here? Mologadi asked.

Four people that I know of, plus the in-betweeners, Rian replied. Jimmy Lekghetha the guard at the gate. Detective Ntabeleng Ndabezitha from the Sandton police station who was in charge of the case. Israel Thanjekwa from organised crime. General Mpumelelo Nondwangu, police commissioner for Gauteng Province. And whosoever were the in-between contacts. In other words, Jimmy called somebody. Who would he have called? Would he have Ntabeleng’s number? Unlikely. So he probably called the Sandton police station and asked them to notify Ntabeleng. And why did the commissioner personally turn up? His office is in Pretoria. Did Jimmy ask them to call the commissioner? Or did they have instructions to call him? If so, why? I must talk to Mpepuwa, the station commander.

Who called organised crime? Niren asked.

Ntabeleng probably did. They arrived and left together.

Why?

Mpepuwa told me organised crime was investigating Alexander Klochko, so obviously when they heard he was murdered they sent Israel Thanjekwa to see if anything worthwhile may turn up. Yesterday when Ntabeleng was told that there were strangers on the crime scene he may have summoned Israel. He looked up. Here comes Ntabeleng now. We can ask him.

Everybody looked at Ntabeleng when he entered the room.

You’re late, Rian said.

Ntabeleng gave Rian a murderous glare then sat down. Traffic.

In future make allowances for that. Who called you yesterday?

The station.

Did you call Israel?

Yes.

Who called the commissioner?

I did.

Why?

Ntabeleng gave the others a quick glance. Jimmy told me it was a very senior police officer. I thought perhaps the commissioner had sent him.

Fair enough. Why did you call Israel?

They suspect …

They? Rian asked and Ntabeleng frowned. Who are they?

Organised crime. They suspect that this man …

Alexander Klochko?

Yes … that he was head of a crime syndicate.

What is this crime syndicate involved in?

Drugs, weapons, prostitution, money laundering.

Have any of his men ever been arrested?

No.

Why not?

Lack of evidence.

If Klochko was a syndicate boss, who would want to kill him?

We don’t know.

Doesn’t Israel or his bosses have any idea?

He did not say anything.

All right. Now, you and the forensic officers were here on Friday night and I should imagine most of Saturday, tell us what you found.

When the security company came to check …

What security company?

Umsuka security services sends a patrol to periodically check with the man at the gate that everything is in order. On Friday night at nine the van stopped at the gate. They tried to make contact but were unable to do so. When they climbed out and looked through the gate they saw a body lying outside the guardhouse. The gate was shut. They tried to call the guard but got no response so they called the police emergency number. I arrived shortly after ten that night.

If the gate was shut how did they get in?

When the police turned up one of them climbed over the gate. He checked on the body, told the others waiting outside that the man was dead, that he’d been shot, and then opened the gate from inside the guard house.

Okay, so once the gate was open the police moved in.

The police called the station commander, who called me. The security patrol stayed at the gate while the police went to check on the house. The forensic unit arrived more or less at the same time as I did. I checked on the body at the gate and then went up to the house. It was quite clear that the killers had gained access to the gate …

How?

I don’t know.

How did they lure the security guard out of the guard house?

Ntabeleng at Rian. How must I know? he replied impatiently.

Carry on.

At the main house I found Sithayi’s driver and a guard next to one of the cars. They had been shot. A dog was lying close by and it too had been shot. Another dog was found near the bushes and the third dog was around the corner of the house. In the dining room the bodies lay as they were found, Alexander, his wife, the two children and George Sithayi. They had all been shot. In the kitchen I saw a guard and two kitchen help who had all been shot. That’s the story.

Was there any sign that anyone, a guard, Alexander or George had tried to put up a fight?

Nothing. No sign at all. They were all shot where they sat. Except for the guards and Sithayi’s driver outside who were shot where they were standing.

So everybody was taken by complete surprise?

It looks that way.

Didn’t you think it strange that no one … a guard or a maid … had an inkling that something untoward was happening?

If they used silencers no one would have heard anything.

The dogs must have barked?

Ntabeleng thought for a moment. It did look as if one dog was heading towards the bushes. He may have heard something.

Did you notice anything unusual in the dining room or kitchen?

No. Why?

Nothing unusual?

No.

The main table was laid for dinner, right?

Of course. They were having dinner when they were shot.

Five people.

Yes.

Yet the table was laid for seven?

Ntabeleng frowned and thought for a moment. So?

If you invite a guest do you lay two extra places?

No.

So why are there two extra places laid?

Maybe there are always extra places laid.

This is the smaller dining room and the table seats eight. If it is tradition to lay all the places, why were only seven places laid, not eight?

How must I know?

I don’t expect you to know. But that is one of the questions that we must ask.

Ntabeleng shrugged his shoulders. I don’t see that it is relevant.

We don’t know how the killers gained access. But if two more guests were expected and the guard at the gate knew them well, would he not have gone out to greet them?

Ugh … that’s possible.

Those two extra guests could be your killers. From there they could have gone up to the main house. Since the guards at the house also knew them they could have taken both guard, Sithayi’s driver and the dogs out without anybody being any the wiser.

We found signs that there were more than two people.

Others could have moved in after they took the two men at the car out. Also the dogs.

That is possible.

What weapons did they use?

AK47’s, Ntabeleng answered.

Chinese Kalashnikovs. Same as yesterday. With suppressors.

Same weapons, similar cartridges found on the grounds.

Who was the target? Alexander Klochko or George Sithayi?

I don’t know.

Hazard a guess.

Alexander Klochko. He’s the gangster.

So your guess is that George Sithayi was just unfortunate to be present at the time?

Yes.

You know why I was ordered to bring to justice to George Sithayi’s murderer?

Yes. The president wants his friend avenged.

Can I tell the president that his friend was just unfortunate to be at the wrong place at the wrong time?

Ntabeleng looked down. No, he mumbled.

I don’t think so either. So we’ll have to do better than that. Were the deceased searched?

Not that I know of.

What did forensics say?

They didn’t say anything.

There is no sign of the dining room being searched, Rian asked, was any other room searched?

Not that I know of.

Rian gave his team a meaningful glance. One more question before we decide who is going to do what, do you know of any other incident in Gauteng where AK-47 rifles with silencers were used?

AK-47 rifles are commonplace, especially when large numbers of robbers storm a shopping mall or a casino, or when a cash-in-transit heist occurs, but there has never been an incident where AK-47 rifles with silencers were used.

That means this was a professional hit. It means we cannot hazard a guess, we have to establish who was the target? Was it Alexander Klochko or George Sithayi? We must catch the person who initiated the hit … not the ten or whatever number of shooters, nor the middle man or middle men who hired the professional hit team, but the person who actually paid for the hit … the man or woman who wanted either Alexander Klochko or George Sithayi or both dead.

***

Chapter 5

Please call Israel Thanjekwa, Rian told Ntabeleng. Tell him I want to see him.

Ntabeleng got up, walked to one side, took out his mobile phone and made the call. He spoke for a moment then came back.

He says he can’t come, Ntabeleng said.

Why not?

Orders.

‘Whose orders?"

His boss.

Rian stared at Ntabeleng until he became uncomfortable. Then he turned to Jenna-Wade. Get me General Mpumelelo Nondwangu on the line.

Jenna-Wade immediately made the call on her mobile phone then held it out to Rian. The general’s office.

Rina took the phone from her. Put the general on the line. Tell him it is Brigadier Schröder. He waited a moment. General. At my request Captain Ntabeleng called Israel Thanjekwa and told him that I want to see him but he says his boss refuses that he talk to me. He listened briefly before speaking, General … excuse me general … Then sharply. … listen to me … I want Israel Thanjekwa here at the crime scene tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. That is not negotiable. With that Rian cut the call and handed the phone back to Jenna-Wade.

Everybody noticed his eyes were a darker shade of blue when he turned back to Ntabeleng who was watching him with big eyes. Did you look at the video at the gate?

Yes.

And?

It was wiped clean. There was nothing.

"If what is on the hard disk has been deleted, experts can still find what’s on the disk. We’ll have to get the experts to see