Legacy of War Page 28

  ‘That sounds fine,’ Saffron said. ‘But what are your contingency plans, in case you do not capture the targets?’

  Joshua smiled. ‘I was coming to that.’

  He rolled the plan back up and returned it to the tube, so that the map was visible again.

  ‘First scenario,’ Joshua said. ‘We get into the house, the von Meerbachs are there, but they fight it out to the end, or take the Adolf and Eva way out. In that case, if they die, we take photographs establishing their identities and deaths, then we leave exactly as before. This time, however, we will fire two flares in quick succession. We go back to the ship, you two drive to the hotel. Everything proceeds as before.

  ‘But there is another possibility . . .’ Joshua looked at the faces watching him. ‘What if, by some chance, the von Meerbachs attempt to escape by land, rather than sea. Either they somehow get wind that we are coming, before we arrive, or they manage to evade us after we have entered their property. Konrad von Meerbach is a wealthy man. He may have made modifications to his property that do not appear on the official plans. He can certainly afford to do so.

  ‘Let us suppose he somehow gets wind of our approach before we arrive. Our cars will be in radio contact with one another and with the boat team. If we’re lucky, the boat boys will already be on site when the von Meerbachs break out. They will hear the noise of a car leaving the property and alert us. But they may not be there, so from the moment we get on the coast road, we have to be alert to any traffic on the road. There should be very little. Von Meerbach drives a black Mercedes, whose performance has been significantly upgraded. We do not want to get into a chase with it. Therefore, we will use our vehicles to block the road if possible. If not, Gerhard, we will be counting on you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. The day my brother drives faster than me will be the day I hand in my licence.’

  ‘Why even worry about Konrad’s Mercedes?’ Saffron asked. ‘Can’t you just disable it, so he can’t go anywhere?’

  ‘I thought about that,’ Joshua replied. ‘But the car is in the garage, behind a locked door. The only way to get past that lock, from the outside of the building, would be to shoot it.’

  ‘And that would wake up Konrad . . .’

  ‘Exactly. But by the same token, that locked door makes it harder for Konrad to escape. Even if he has the key, it takes several seconds to unlock it before he can get in his car and start driving.’

  Saffron nodded. ‘That all makes sense.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Joshua said, getting a chuckle from a couple of his men. ‘But still, it’s a risk. God knows how, but von Meerbach and his wife may just get to the car, and open the door, and get out, in which case, Gerhard, you have to catch him quickly, because the longer he stays away from us, the more choices he has. Let me show you on the map.’

  Picking up his pointer again, he said, ‘Coming out of his property, von Meerbach only has two options – right, or left. If he goes right, that takes him north to the city, via the coastal towns of Simon’s Town and Fish Hoek, here, and the vineyards of Constantia, here. If he turns left, it’s the scenic route. See how the road goes south along the coast to . . . ah . . .’ Joshua peered at a name on the map and then said, ‘Smitswinkel Bay, then turns back on itself, here.’

  They followed Joshua’s directions as the road took a hard right turn and continued across the tip of the peninsula, following the boundary of the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve and on up the Atlantic coast towards Cape Town.

  ‘But remember,’ Joshua concluded, ‘it doesn’t matter which route von Meerbach takes. The sooner we can get him, the better. We cannot let him get to the city. If he does, we’ve lost.’

  ‘Message received and understood,’ said Gerhard.

  ‘Good . . . Okay everyone, make sure to eat and rest well over the remainder of the day. You won’t be sleeping or eating tonight, that’s for sure.’

  As everyone went their separate ways, Saffron tapped Joshua’s arm.

  ‘Can I have a quick word?’

  ‘Sure . . . Is there a problem?’

  She shrugged, ‘No . . . not yet. Your plan is fine. You’ve thought it through and dealt with every conceivable contingency. But one thing I learned in those years you were talking about – things always happen that no one had ever imagined.’

  He frowned. ‘Are you saying we should think of something better?’

  ‘No. I’m saying that it doesn’t matter what you think of, things will always go wrong. That’s normal . . . and it needn’t be the end of the world.’

  Joshua nodded, thoughtfully. ‘Thank you. You’ve told me the whole operation is likely to blow up in my face, and yet I somehow find that oddly reassuring.’

  ‘Good. Now let’s get some rest.’

  Gerhard and Saffron were tired from their flight. They each got around three hours of deep sleep, enough to keep them awake and alert through the night. Joshua woke them shortly after seven in the evening. He seemed tense.

  ‘Anything the matter?’ Saffron asked.

  ‘I’ll let you know in an hour,’ he replied.

  Saffron had brought a small haversack containing all she’d need for the night’s mission. She removed the clothes she’d worn as the tourist Marlize Doll and put on garments more suited to an undercover operation on a South African winter’s night: a lightweight merino vest under a slim-fitting black polo neck jumper. Her trousers, also black, were made for a man. They possessed long legs so that her ankles were not bare, and pockets in which she could store essential items, rather than the useless, postage-stamp-sized excuses for pockets deemed sufficient for women’s needs.

  Her hair was pinned back and held in place by a black silk scarf. Her Beretta fitted neatly into one of the trouser pockets. Her black kidskin gloves were so fine that they did not impede her trigger finger. Gerhard was very similarly dressed, with the addition of a black woollen bomber jacket over his jumper.

  ‘I’m getting old,’ he’d grinned when they’d packed for the trip. ‘I feel the cold more than I used to.’

  Chaim whistled softly as Saffron and Gerhard joined the others for a light meal.

  ‘Now why don’t our Defence Force girls look that good?’ he sighed.

  Saffron smiled, taking the compliment. But her eyes were taking a good look at the men with whom she was about to go to work. They were all plainly in excellent physical condition, without a scrap of excess flesh on any of them. They were keyed up, as was only natural before the start of an operation, but she was pleased to see that the nerves were of the positive kind that heightens the competence of well-trained operatives, rather than the fear that induces panic and loss of discipline.

  But, oh, they’re all just boys, Saffron thought, for Joshua’s men looked, if anything, even younger than him. But then she reminded herself that she had barely reached her twenties when she saw her first wartime action. They’re all old enough to have fought in the war against the Arabs, she told herself. Their commanders think they’re competent to do the job. So let them do it.

  Joshua himself was doing his best to radiate an air of confidence and control, but Saffron could detect an undercurrent of restlessness and anxiety. Something was not going to plan. But what?

  The phone in the property, fixed to the wall of the entrance hall, rang. He dashed to answer it. By the time he returned to the main room, no more than two minutes later, Joshua was a changed man.

  ‘We’re cleared to go,’ he said. ‘That was the guys watching the von Meerbach property. Shortly before five this afternoon, the count and his wife left the house and drove north on the Simon’s Town road to Cape Town. That’s why I’ve been jumpy. I thought they’d made a run for it and we’d missed them. But they’re back on site. And we’re going to get them.’

  Von Meerbach had initially refused to let Francesca get any treatment for the jaw he’d broken. Sure, he’d say it was an accident and she would back him up. But it would only take one do-goo
ding doctor to call the police and God only knew what might happen after that, particularly now that De La Rey didn’t have his back. Eventually, however, the swelling, bleeding and pain had become so severe that there was no alternative. Konrad called a fellow National Party member, who ran his own dental practice, promising him a new car if he treated Francesca out of hours and in complete secrecy.

  ‘She fell and hit her head as she was stepping off our boat,’ Konrad explained.

  It was plainly a lie, and both men knew it, but it gave the dentist an excuse not to ask any more questions. He took an X-ray of her jaw and declared she had a single, clean break.

  ‘It should heal itself,’ the dentist said. ‘I’ll wire the jaw shut, so that the bone is not disturbed, and give you a prescription for some liquid codeine to sort out the acute pain, but you don’t want to take it for more than three days. After that you can make do with paracetamol, taken either in liquid form or . . . ah . . . up the back passage.

  ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to eat solid food for at least a month, Mrs Schultz. I would say a liquid diet will be very good for your figure, but you look delightful as you are. The good news for you, Mr Schultz, is that you can look forward to a period of peace and quiet. A wife who can’t talk is every man’s dream woman, a-ha-ha-ha!’

  Francesca had returned home, dosed herself with codeine and taken to bed. But sleep would not come. Despite the painkiller, her jaw hurt if she lay in any position other than flat on her back. The inability to open her mouth was not just a discomfort; it made her feel nervous, even panicky. The dentist had advised her to keep a pair of small, sharp scissors in reach at all times, in case her nose became blocked and she had to open her mouth to breathe. And there were other bruises all over her body, constantly reminding her of Konrad’s brutality.

  Konrad had come up to bed at about midnight and amused himself by telling Francesca what a frigid, unattractive, stupid bitch she was, revelling in the fact that she could not answer back. He had then fallen fast asleep, leaving Francesca staring at the ceiling.

  She started hearing noises. There was a ship out at sea. She looked at her bedside clock, which told her it was half-past two. Twenty minutes later there was a banging down by the jetty. As she was finally drifting off to sleep, there came a rattling at the gate.

  It was three o’clock.

  Francesca shook Konrad’s shoulder and tried to express her alarm.

  He growled, ‘Shut your face, woman, or I’ll break your nose.’ He rolled over.

  And then all hell broke loose.

  The front door wasn’t bolted. Joshua had no trouble forcing the lock. He stepped into the hallway. Suddenly his head was filled with the high-pitched ringing of an alarm bell, loud enough to wake the dead, let alone two people sleeping upstairs.

  ‘Move! Move!’ he shouted to his men as they raced into the living room. Chaim and his team arrived at the same time, coming in from the kitchen.

  ‘Secure the ground floor!’ Joshua shouted over the din of the alarm. ‘We’re going upstairs!’

  Joshua didn’t have a second to waste. He hurtled up the steps, two at a time. He reached the top, looked around to get his bearings and relate what he could make out in the near darkness to what he had seen on the plans.

  The bedroom door was at the end of the corridor spread across the width of the house, taking full advantage of the sea view. Joshua ran down the corridor. He stopped at the door, long enough for his two men to catch up. He kicked open the door and charged in.

  The room was empty, but the bed had been slept in. Joshua reached his hand under the blankets and could feel residual warmth. Someone had been sleeping there, only minutes, perhaps even seconds earlier.

  But where have they gone?

  ‘Check the wardrobes!’ Joshua ordered his men.

  He went to look in the en suite bathroom.

  There was no one there. The wardrobes were clear.

  ‘Check the other rooms,’ Joshua said, leading his men into the corridor.

  There were two more bedrooms and a large bathroom. Joshua took the nearest bedroom and directed one of his men to each of the other two rooms.

  ‘Clear!’ he shouted.

  ‘Clear! . . . Clear!’ came the other men’s voices.

  Joshua led his men downstairs. Chaim was standing in the middle of the living room.

  ‘Any sign of them?’ he asked his boss.

  ‘They were here,’ Joshua said. ‘The bed was warm. But they weren’t upstairs when we got there. Dammit! The bastard’s vanished into thin air!’

  Joshua slammed his fist into his palm in frustration. Somewhere close by an engine started up with a growl of raw power, the brake was loosed and Konrad von Meerbach’s Mercedes went roaring into the night.

  *

  Gerhard had been right about his brother. The same hidden staircase that ran downstairs from the living room to the cellar ran upstairs to the bedroom as well. Just as the door from the living room was concealed behind a bookcase, the one from the bedroom lay behind one of the wardrobes.

  Konrad had time to get through it, dragging Francesca along, closing the wardrobe and stairway doors as he went. He wrapped one arm around Francesca’s slender frame and carried her down the stairs to his dungeon.

  Francesca punched and kicked out, but her blows bounced off her husband or hit the rough concrete walls, adding to her injuries.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Konrad hissed, when they reached the bottom. ‘You have a choice. Either you come with me, no fuss, no complaints. Or I leave you here and you starve to death because no one will ever know this place exists and they’ll never find you.’

  Francesca was tempted. Death seemed preferable to one more minute with Konrad. But not starving to death, alone in this concrete dungeon.

  ‘Get dressed,’ Konrad said.

  He had thought of everything. Years earlier, anticipating that they might one day have to get out at night, straight from their beds, he had told Francesca to put out two sets of clothes in zipped plastic bags: a pair of slip-on loafers, trousers and a pullover for each of them. There were also two getaway bags. One was a small, light holdall containing washkits and underwear. The other was a briefcase, heavy with gold coins hidden in its base, which also contained two more sets of passports, a bag of uncut diamonds, five thousand dollars in cash and bearer bonds to the value of a further half-million dollars. They could get anywhere in the world and live in comfort for the rest of their lives.

  Konrad had made them practise their quick-change routines. They could do it in seconds. Francesca put on her clothes, wincing as she pulled the sweater down over her battered face. She took the light holdall. Konrad held on to the money bag. He retrieved a loaded Browning Hi-Power pistol, and four more of its 13-round clips. Those extra bullets allowed the Hi-Power to keep firing after an opponent wielding almost any other pistol had stopped to reload. And there was nothing Konrad liked better in a fight than an unfair advantage.

  He ran to the end of the cellar, past his cabinets of memorabilia and the instruments whose capacity to hurt Francesca had brought him so much pleasure. And her, Konrad thought as he left them behind. She’d wanted it too.

  He reached up towards the ceiling and pulled down an extendable metal ladder.

  ‘Climb!’ he told Francesca, pointing the way up the ladder with his gun.

  This, too, had been rehearsed on countless occasions. Francesca dropped the bag and went up the ladder. There was a hatch at the top. She opened it.

  Konrad had sent her first because if anyone was up there when the hatch opened, Francesca would be the one who got shot.

  The hatch was a simple piece of wood that fitted into the escape hole. A hinged door would have been much easier to move. But it would also be easier to slam back down, and Konrad had not wanted that temptation in Francesca’s way.

  He was glad of his foresight as he passed the two bags to her, for she would have shut him in if she could have done so. He race
d up the ladder, carrying the money bag, and ran for the car.

  Heedless of her discomfort, Konrad shoved Francesca into the passenger seat and slammed the door. He ran to the other side of the car, got in and retrieved the set of keys he kept attached to a magnet on the side of the driver’s footwell. He turned the ignition. The engine started up first time, as always. He let off the handbrake, engaged the gear, flattened the accelerator and sent the Mercedes roaring straight at the door of the garage.

  The reinforced radiator smashed into what appeared to be solid wood, but was actually just a sheet of ply, fitted to a pine frame. As the Mercedes went through it like a cannonball, von Meerbach’s face split into a triumphant grin. Once again, his world had fallen apart around him. And once again he’d escaped.

  ‘Damn!’ Saffron had muttered as the six Israelis made their way through the gate towards the house. ‘Joshua’s made a mistake. I should have spotted it from the start.’

  ‘How so?’ Gerhard asked.

  ‘He’s not left anyone covering the gate.’

  ‘Isn’t that why we’re here?’

  ‘Yes, but there should be at least two more men on the ground, to stop an escape before Konrad and Francesca even leave the property.’

  ‘I thought they had every exit covered.’

  ‘Yes, every exit they know about. But what if there are others?’

  ‘Well, in that case, let’s do something about that,’ Gerhard said.

  He drove the Jaguar across the road so that it covered the gate, with the passenger seat closest to the house.

  ‘Now you can fire at them if they try to get out this way,’ he told Saffron.

  ‘Yes, and they’ll run straight into me.’

  ‘Then I’ll get out of the way. I do know about evasive manoeuvres.’