When the Cobra Strikes

By Sebati Mafate

An international roller coaster tale of friendship, romance, betrayal, the seduction of fame and fortune, and the dark secret world of the martial arts. Sizwe Ryan Biko is an American educated South African, and a two-time all Africa karate champion, who comes back to the United States to finalize what appears to be a simple transaction that involves a contraband that has to be smuggled through the airport amidst tight security. Sizwe is double-crossed, and amidst the unfolding of events, which among other things includes being caught up in a bizarre love triangle; Sizwe has to face and overcome an opponent far more lethal and deadlier than he has ever met in the ring or on the streets-blindness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jun 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475931372

Sebati Mafate

Sebati Edward Mafate lives with his wife Vivian Lorena, and their four children in Pasadena California. Aside from his writings, Sebati is also an independent film producer. When The Cobra Strikes is his second novel after the critically acclaimed Kahuru: The Making Of An African Legend. Visit his website at www.sebatiedwardmafate.com

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

Acknowledgements

Special thanks go to my friend and partner Gladys Quiso, whose tireless dedication and insight tightened the story. Mimi Ladner, Floyd ‘Blue’ Gilmore, and Traci Murase three fine people and wonderful actors who helped breathe life into some of the characters in this story. My wife and cherished companion Vivian Lorena whose support has been priceless, Ryan Gonzalez, Jessica Keet, Sherwin Watson—a type of friend that comes once, okay maybe twice in a lifetime, and not to forget Emmanuel Ammisah the one true great African artist who once again helped bring some of the characters to life. And to all those who I might have not mentioned, but played a major role in this project, I am wholeheartedly indebted to you.

Author’s Note

This is entirely a work of fiction; none of the characters bear any resemblance whatsoever to persons living or dead, and any similarity is unintended and coincidental. The same applies to the names of persons, places of residence and so forth, except of course for obvious historic facts, places, and names. Visit the website at www.sebatiedwardmafate.com.

PROLOGUE

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The beautiful hiking trail at the foot of Mount Wilson in northern Altadena is always a haven for the athletic and nature enthusiast. Especially during the summer months, when on a sunny, smog-free day, the foothills, when viewed through the window of any home in Altadena, and nearby Pasadena, look like a picture straight out of Paradise.

On that particular day the scene was a typical early summer Saturday morning. There were young men and women either hiking the trails or jogging, old couples walking their dogs, people from the nearby cities admiring the scenario and breathing in the fresh mountain air, and other such things, which indicated that everything was normal—everything except for the presence of a tall, athletically-built black man.

Drenched in sweat, he wore a pair of black Adidas sweatpants with white stripes on the sides, a sleeveless t-shirt, and dark sunglasses. One could say his features and figure were very distinct and attractive, especially if that observer was a woman. His heavy breathing, and the way he negotiated the sometimes tricky terrain revealed that this was his normal Spartan routine.

This particular area of the foothills was once part of a long deceased early 20th century Hollywood star’s estate, and the land had since been donated to the county of Los Angeles, and become part of the greater Angeles National Forest. This Meant that when the jogger reached the entrance, which from his viewpoint was now the exit, he came to Lake Avenue. As always, he paused for a moment to appreciate the view before turning left.

Even though he had seen it many times before, it never ceased to be breathtaking. Lake Avenue is one of the busiest and most well-known streets in Pasadena.

It runs north to south over 10 miles, beginning at the outskirts of San Marino, an upscale neighborhood south of Pasadena, and stretches all the way to the Mount Wilson foothills. The 210 freeway divides the street into North and South; the South part is known as South Lake and the North, North Lake.

Heading north toward Mount Wilson, Lake Avenue elevates steadily, reaching its peak at the entrance of the Angeles National Forest. Not really a forest as one would expect, but a desert land of mostly shrubs, bushes, trees, and cactus. It was from here that the jogger feasted on the view once more. From where he was, he could see the beautiful city that was Pasadena; the jewel of Southern California well known for its rich and well preserved history.

The swaying palm trees, the high-rise buildings of downtown Pasadena, and the view of the yonder horizon, which on this clear day met the ocean, always had the desired effect. These were the details he observed as he trotted downhill toward Farnsworth Park, hardly a tenth of a mile away. Farnsworth Park is like any other, but is well maintained. What separates it from the rest is the partially secluded outdoor theater complete with benches for the audience. A scene from the hit movie American Pie 2 was also shot here.

It was on the grass stage that he appeared dramatically. He was not alone, and by the looks of things this meeting seemed prearranged. Flexing his muscles and torso was a muscular mid-height young man who looked to be in his early twenties. With a face which, when looked at closely, was the unmistakable face of a fighter; a pugilist to be more exact. The two eyed each other for a few seconds before the pugilist pointed at a gym bag lying on the grass. The jogger picked it up and removed a pair of sparring gloves. These he put on and tossed the bag toward the other man who did the same. Soon afterward the two men circled one another waiting for the moment to arrive.

It came in an instant as the two immediately engaged in a fierce though well coordinated sparring match. Of the two fighters, the pugilist seemed to have the upper hand, revealing the fact that he was indeed a professional boxer. His constant jabs seemed to find their target almost at will. So much so that in time the jogger tossed his sunglasses aside in exasperation, bobbing and weaving his head from side to side. With his eyes exposed, his face assumed the mask of someone intent on inflicting serious harm on his opponent.

He seemed to have thrown caution to the wind, because the moment he charged into the boxer he was met by a quick left and right combination crowned by a vicious left hook to the ribs that knocked the wind out of his lungs. It was what in boxing is called a body shot. The result sent him sprawling to the ground. The pugilist bounced up and down expecting his opponent to get up in an instant. When that did not happen he stopped bouncing and took a closer look at the fallen figure.

Come on, Sizwe, get up. I know you are tougher than that. Get up!

Sizwe sighed and lay flat on his back, shielding his eyes from the midmorning sun.

Hey, Sizwe man come on! The boxer called out almost in rebuke.

At that moment Sizwe flipped to his feet like a tiger. Within a blink of an eye he was on the immediate offensive. Pounding the pugilist with rapid one two left and right combinations, giving him no chance to breathe, let alone counterattack. A vicious uppercut to the chin sent him to the seat of his pants. He quickly stood up and held Sizwe by the arms smiling.

Whoa…whoa…Sizwe! I see your hand speed is greatly improved.

Sizwe paused and looked at the other man for a while. He was winded, but nonetheless satisfied with his performance.

Thanks, Jerry, he managed to say amid rapid pants.

He had an accent—a South African accent. The accent was the first thing about Sizwe that revealed that he was a foreigner.

Now you have all it takes to be fully prepared within a month, Jerry said as he nodded his head approvingly.

A month is an eternity, Jerry, now is the time.

I hear you, man. So what you gonna do? Jerry asked.

I have devised a plan that will work perfectly, Sizwe answered, removing his gloves and putting them back in the gym bag.

How about your vision, man? Is it still 20-20?

For a while Sizwe looked at the other man. He had asked him a sensitive question, but Jerry was entitled to a truthful answer. For the plan to work to perfection his sight had to be flawless like before.

Yes.

Satisfied, Jerry nodded once again before saying:

Well, I guess the morning workout, our last one, is over. Will I ever see you again, man? there was pain mixed with concern in Jerry’s eyes. The two had grown quite close over the past two months.

Sizwe walked up to his friend, arms outstretched. Their palms met in midair at about face level.

Definitely, he said with conviction, as he looked straight in the other man’s eyes.

Good, but promise me one thing, Sizwe.

Yeah, what’s that, Jerry?

Promise me that you will watch your back and come out of this alive. There was that pain in his eyes once again that Sizwe did not fail to notice.

I will try very hard, my friend.

Because if you don’t I will be really pissed at you. Under normal circumstances this remark would have been funny, but both men knew that Sizwe’s promise might be very hard to fulfill. Without another word the two went their separate ways. With his back turned, Jerry wiped the tears that had rapidly welled in his eyes. It was going to be very tough to lose a friend like Sizwe, of whom he had grown very fond. It was just a pity he could not get involved in his fight.

CHAPTER 1

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Three Months Earlier

Sandton—An exclusive suburb in Northern Johannesburg,

South Africa.

Sizwe was not sure he should reveal the great family secret to his girlfriend, Kiki, just yet. However, he knew he had to tell her something for now just to appease her mind. The two had been dating for almost two years and were just recently engaged. Sizwe had met her at a party arranged by some friends upon his arrival from the United States. He had left South Africa for the States just as the walls of Apartheid were beginning to collapse. And when he came back eight years later he found a new South Africa waiting. Known now as the ‘rainbow nation.’

Raised as an only child in Orlando East, Soweto, a predominantly black township at the time, and a symbol for generations of resistance to white minority rule during the dark years, Sizwe was one of the very few who were fortunate enough to win the prestigious ‘South Africans of Tomorrow’ scholarship that sent him to the United States. The journey had been a long and tough one. The Apartheid government had set aside two standards of education for its people. One for whites and the other for blacks. The latter was known as the Bantu education. This was geared toward training blacks to be nothing more than teachers or clerical workers. University acceptance was very hard under this system. Very few managed to graduate from high school and proceed to University.

Sizwe was one of the privileged few; perhaps the thing that gave him an edge over many deserving prospects, other than his outstanding academic prowess, was his distinct ability in the martial arts. Being an only child Sizwe was often easy prey for the neighborhood bullies. To be able to fight it out on the dusty streets of Soweto his father enrolled him at a local Karate school (dojo). He excelled at this discipline and in time became one of the most feared kids in the neighborhood, earning himself the nickname ‘cobra’ because of his ability to take on bigger kids than himself with sheer wit and speed. By the age of 12 he had become the dojo’s youngest black belt prodigy.

At 13 he was Soweto’s junior champion. A year later he was crowned Johannesburg’s elite; this in spite of the fact that the tournament organizers tried in every possible way to deny him the crown, because he went up against and defeated white combatants. Some of who were much older than him. He went on to win major tournaments in Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, Durban, Bloemfon-tein, and Pretoria. It was at one of these tournaments a few years later that he was spotted by a recruit from the renowned University of the Witwatersrand; known to many in South Africa and the world over as Wits.

So after graduating from high school (matric) at Orlando High, Sizwe enrolled at Wits on a full scholarship. He did not stay at Wits long, because three months later he was awarded the ‘South Africans of Tomorrow’ scholarship, which sent him to the University of California in San Diego (UCSD); there he majored in Computer Science.

In his second year he received the shocking and tragic news that both his parents had been killed in a car accident. It was when he went back home for the funeral that the great family secret was finally revealed to him for the first time. The secret was over one hundred and fifty years old, and had been passed on from one generation to the next. His grandmother then handed it over to him since he was the only child and sole heir to the secret. The secret was to be exploited if and only if he hit hard times in his life and not before. Failing which, his ancestors, including his departed parents, would frown on him, and thus he would forever be cursed. Warnings like this one are never taken lightly in African culture and Sizwe knew this only too well. And he was made to swear over the sacrifice of a slaughtered goat used in the ceremony never to reveal the identity of the secret to anyone; not even his closest friends or fiancée. That was a promise every generation had to make and keep to their long departed ancestor who was the originator of it.

On his return to San Diego Sizwe met Nicholas Dean; a native Californian from Bakersfield who like Sizwe was a martial artist. The two became instant friends, and when Sizwe opened a Karate school on campus, Nicholas, being his most senior student, helped him run it.

Nicholas came from a middle class family and his burning ambition in life was to become a big Hollywood action star. He had the support of both his parents who were forth generation Scots. The one condition they set was that he had to get a degree first before going all out to capture Hollywood glory. This was more than enough incentive to make him work hard in high school and obtain good grades. He wanted to enroll at the University Of Southern California School Of Dramatic Arts. Its alumni boasted such big names as Levar Burton, Michael Douglas, George Lucas, and John Singleton, just to mention a few. Unfortunately he was not accepted and opted instead for UCSD. His first plan was to work on his acting skills so that he would star first in dramatic roles that were Oscar worthy, and later make the transition to action movies. He was following in the footsteps of his idol Nicolas Cage.

However, in an industry that is exclusive, and conspires to keep outsiders out, where competition is fierce, and the lore of ‘take no prisoners’ is all too real; Nicholas Dean knew it would take more than his good looks and charm to walk through the doors of Hollywood. He had to find a way to get noticed first. That was when an idea hit him. The annual US Martial Arts Open was coming up in November, and if he participated and perhaps reached the finals of this event maybe just maybe that would give him the publicity he needed to break into the world of cinema. After all that was exactly how the great Bruce Lee was noticed. It was at a 1967 tournament in Long Beach, California that a TV producer thought he was good enough to reprise an upcoming role he had in mind. And thus The Green Hornet was born, in which the late superstar played the role of Kato—the Green Hornet’s sidekick, and Bruce Lee got his first taste of international stardom, and subsequently had the world at his feet.

This was a plan he discussed with Sizwe. After all if there were someone who would help him realize this dream it would be none other than his South African friend. They had six months in which to prepare for the tournament. Sizwe came up with a strenuous schedule for his friend, supervising almost 90% of his workouts, which included among others weightlifting, running, and sparring. With the summer heat of California reaching triple digits by early afternoon this workout was most gruesome, and at times Nicholas would feel like discarding the whole idea about partaking in the US Open. Why put oneself through all this torture if you are not guaranteed to win?

Granted, training and all this practice will not guarantee you the championship, but without it you do not stand a chance, Sizwe said to him one day when Nicholas was at the brink of calling the whole thing off just two months into his training.

That one statement seemed to have sparked its desired effect, because soon after that Nicholas trained like a man possessed. By the forth month Nicholas was ready, and in November they traveled to Las Vegas, Nevada. There were fighters from all over the country and the