The Fallen (28 page)

‘Great. I’ll leave as soon as we’re finished, then.’ Jade heard the distinctive sound of a zipper opening.

‘Thanks. Hey, man, thank you.’ Kobus was clearly impressed by what he saw. ‘So—you going to give me the gun, then?’

‘What?’

‘The gun. Your silenced weapon. I told you, man, I’d do this job. I’d sort out these workers for you. I know you don’t like killing, but I’m
OK
with it.’

‘Kobus, I know that. And I tried.’ Bradley sounded unexpectedly sad.

‘What?’

‘I tried for you. I really did. I wanted to give you another chance after you killed the wrong girl at the chalet.’

‘What girl? What are you talking about?’ Jade heard panic in his voice now.

‘The stabbing. Look, boet, I’m sorry. You messed up then, big time. There was no need to do that. It was the dumbest move you could have made, and it could have jeopardised the whole operation. It nearly got me fired, and it alerted the police.’

‘The stabbing? What are you talking about? Wait, buddy, remember back in jail we promised …’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just so sorry.’ Bradley sounded as if he was about to cry.

‘Shit! Don’t …’

The air was split by the muted bang of a silenced weapon. Twice in quick succession. Thwack … thwack.

Looking round the drums again, she saw Bradley train the torch onto Kobus’s prone body. He sniffed and made a sound that Jade could only guess was a sob.

She hunkered down. Didn’t even breathe.

Then Bradley bent down and picked up a brick, hefting it the same way Jade had done. He was going to use it to knock back the rusty bolt on the door, and then he was going to murder the occupants of that room in exactly the same way he’d just killed his old cellmate. Except most likely he wouldn’t be crying while he did it.

The bolt moved back with a screech.

Bradley swung the door open.

Beyond it, Jade saw the steel bars of a sturdy security gate. Christ, the men were being kept in a cage.

This was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. He could get to every one of the occupants of that room. They had nowhere to hide and no means of retaliating. She could see their hunched forms and frightened faces as they cowered away from the light of the torch. The beam flickered over clothes and skin stained pitch black with oil.

What should she do now?

She could let this happen and simply stay where she was. There was a good chance he would make a hasty exit after the shooting, and an even better chance that he’d be out of ammo.

Or she could try and stop him before he started shooting.

As Bradley raised his gun, Jade took a deep breath and threw the brick she was holding with all her might.

Craig stabbed the disconnect button on his cellphone. Moving over to the window, he stared outside. It was completely dark—there was a new moon—but he could hear the sounds of the sea. Reassuring sounds that had, in various places and at various distances, soothed his mind for most of his life.

He still couldn’t believe that this could be the last night that this estuary would remain an unspoilt natural paradise.

Craig kicked out at the sofa in frustration. He’d done all he could. First, he’d contacted Inspector Pillay, who had promised he would notify his superiors and the Green Scorpions straight away, and get a team down to the harbour as soon as possible. Pillay had also said he would do his best to get a clean-up crew on standby, but that this could be tricky as it was usually organised after a catastrophe had taken place.

Craig had made sure he’d given Pillay Jade’s specific instructions. Don’t go down to the harbour, Jade had said. Go straight to the old station on the corner of Plantation and West streets. Go there with another police officer and have your weapon ready. If you hurry, you’ll be in time to save lives.

Craig had then phoned a mate of his who worked in the National Sea Rescue Institute in Richards Bay and asked if he’d be able to help. The buddy had said he doubted he’d be able to do anything at such short notice, but he would try.

And then he’d called another friend, a marine ecologist who owned a boat that was currently moored at one of the resorts in St Lucia. The ecologist hadn’t picked up, but Craig had left him an urgent message on his voicemail.

What more could he do? What more?

He’d spent the last ten minutes pacing the room, each time stopping when he reached the window.

Outside, he could hear the waves rushing to shore. The spring tide was coming in, marking the beginning of the end for the estuary and its incredible, unique ecosystem.

Craig had seen the devastation wreaked by oil spills. He’d walked over the sticky, stinking sand and seen the corpses of fish floating white-bellied in the dark and oily shallows. He’d seen birds desperately trying to preen the oil from their saturated feathers, in the process ingesting enough of the toxic substance to kill them. Some died fast, some more slowly. Many starved to death, flapping in blackened, pathetic little heaps on the dirty sand.

He thought of St Lucia’s beautiful pink flamingos … how many would survive, he wondered?

The worst of it was that, until now, nobody in the world had ever had to deal with a tanker disaster in such a fragile ecosystem involving massive quantities of used oil. Predicting the full effect all the added toxins and the
PAHS
would have was impossible.

‘Are you managing with your phone calls?’

Elsabe’s soft voice floated across the room. He turned and saw her standing near her bedroom door, watching him. He never could quite read her expression. Once again, he wondered why she was with him now. She’d made it clear that romantic involvement was out of the question right now. He’d thought she needed time to heal, to recover from her loss, just as he had done. But how much time was enough?

Perhaps she saw him as a sort of big brother—somebody to lean on.

‘I’m fine. I just wish there was something I could do.’

Elsabe shrugged. ‘You’ve done all you can. You’ve made the calls.’ She moved over to the fridge, opened it and poured herself a glass of water from the plastic jug inside.

‘I have. But standing here isn’t going to save the damn estuary.’

‘They also serve who only stand and wait,’ Elsabe said quietly, and it took Craig a moment to remember the title of the sonnet
she was quoting from. It was ‘On his Blindness’—they’d studied it in Matric and he’d practically learnt it by heart.

Then she continued, as if she’d thought perhaps he hadn’t understood what she was saying, ‘You can’t always go out there and save the world yourself. Sometimes you have to leave that job to other people.’

‘Other people who aren’t going to be able to get the damn job done,’ Craig muttered.

He wished he could be out there now, fighting the battles himself, defending the coastline he loved. Like Jade was doing. Jade and her cop friend, David. She had said there were irresolvable complications in their relationship, but he thought the two of them were well suited. They were both people who were accustomed to acting, not waiting. To getting out there and doing what needed to be done.

What was he?

Things weren’t going to work out with Elsabe. He knew that for a fact. Perhaps he’d known it instinctively the very first time he’d met her, when they had both been standing at the edge of the tarmac and gazing in horror at the wreckage strewn in front of them.

But would he … could he be strong enough for Jade?

He had a feeling that her tastes ran towards short-haired, muscular men. Men of action, tough and unsmiling. Men who were familiar with firearms and close-quarter combat.

How on earth could a long-haired, bearded environmentalist compete? He didn’t know, but perhaps … perhaps he could try.

Elsabe cleared her throat, tearing Craig away from his thoughts.

‘I’m going back to Johannesburg tomorrow.’

‘Oh. You are?’

She nodded. ‘I want you to come and visit me. Soon, because I’m flying to Namibia on Monday morning. Come and stay with me for a night or two. If you’re not busy, I’d love you to travel with me as well.’

Craig was stunned. ‘You’d like that?’

‘I would.’ She smiled at him and, for the first time, he thought
she was really looking at him. At Craig, the person. Not simply staring out from her own tormented thoughts.

‘I’d love to. That would be great. Of course, it depends on what happens here. I might be busy sorting out this disaster. But if I’m not … then yes, I’d love to come and stay.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Elsabe moved closer and touched his arm. It felt electric. ‘You’ve been so patient. You’ve given me what I needed most. Time. Time to heal. To get over what happened. Craig, I think I’m nearly ready.’

Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips against his. Then she turned and walked back to her bedroom, leaving Craig rooted to the spot, in a state of disbelief at what had just happened.

Jade didn’t throw the heavy brick at Bradley. That would have been pointless. Even if she’d managed to hit him, which was unlikely given the distance and the dim light, it wouldn’t have slowed him down for more than a moment.

Instead, she threw it diagonally away from him. She launched the brick at the tallest pile of oil drums she could see. It smashed into them with a deafening clang, and then thudded to the floor, bouncing off a couple more drums on its way. Her aim was true, and the impact rocked the topmost drum sideways. It teetered and fell, banging and bouncing down the pile before clattering to the ground.

The noise was thunderous. Discordant sound filled the covered railway siding, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Bradley’s reaction was swift. He spun away from the locked door, weapon in one hand, torch in the other. Its beam of light danced over the drums and Jade flattened her body against her makeshift cover, smearing herself with oil in the process. Her heart was banging so fast and loud she almost thought he might hear it.

She hadn’t saved the men inside the doors. Not yet, anyway. All she had given them was a stay of execution. But she had sent Bradley a message, loud and clear, that there was somebody else in the building.

What was he going to do now?

Jade strained her ears, which were still ringing from the cacophony of the falling drums, but she could hear nothing.

Was he standing and listening too?

What was he doing, dammit?

The silence stretched to breaking point.

And then, suddenly, Jade heard a soft footfall. She couldn’t make out the direction from which it was coming, but it sounded close. Too close.

And then the torch beam shone onto the wall above her.

Bradley was checking every possible hiding place, quickly, quietly and methodically. It was just a pity that the drums Jade had chosen to hide behind were the ones nearest the makeshift prison, which was the first place that Bradley would logically look.

The beam’s arc grew smaller and brighter as he drew closer.

Jade took a deep breath. Talking wouldn’t get her far, but it was her only option now. She didn’t know what she should say. Babbling nonsense was probably the best bet. Something unexpected that would surprise him, make him hesitate, if only for a couple of vital seconds. Because, thanks to the example that Kobus had just given her, she knew that begging for her life wasn’t going to work.

And then, from the doorway, she saw a second flashlight beam appear and the thick silence in front of her was then broken by a male voice—one she recognised, although it sounded as if its owner had recently inhaled some helium.

‘Police! Who’s inside there? Come out with your hands in the air!’

It was Inspector Pillay.

Bradley’s torch swung away from her hiding place and she heard his sharp intake of breath. Now she knew exactly where he was. He was right opposite her, on the other side of the wall of drums, and now he must be aiming his gun at the approaching detective.

Jade did the only thing she could. She kicked out at the nearest drum and sent it, and the one above it, toppling down and away from her.

Please let it hit him or at least throw him off balance, and give Pillay the chance he needed, she prayed.

Then, even above the clanging of bouncing metal, Jade heard
only too clearly the sound she’d heard three times too many on this holiday so far—the shattering report of a gun being fired.

Chetty had captained a tugboat many times in the past. Sitting in the control-room chair with his hands on the two joystick-like controls in front of him, the sight he saw when he lifted his eyes from the brightly glowing gauges and computer screens to stare up and out of the window was all too familiar. He saw only miles and miles of blackness. Waves lit only by the faintest glimmer of the lights that came from the tugboat itself.

New moon and the harbour was blanketed in darkness.

Zulu was standing at the back of the control room and Chetty heard him catch his breath as he stared out of the rear window at the sight behind them.

A sight that was the polar opposite of usual. Something that Chetty knew he’d never see again.

High above the tugboat towered the steel mass of the ruined tanker, blackened and cancerous with rust. They were anchored right in front of it to allow the two men who were temporarily manning the tanker to winch up a narrow line. This in turn would pull up the towrope—a gigantic braid of Kevlar almost twelve inches in diameter and with a breaking strength of half a million kilograms, which was twice what the loaded tanker weighed.

Once the rope was securely fastened in place, nothing could stop them. Nothing at all.

The
Amandla
, the tug that they were using, was the most powerful of the harbour’s fleet. She was one of the new generation of tugboats, a successor to the most famous pair of South African tug legends, the
Wolraad Woltemade
and the
John Ross
.

The
Amandla
was more than capable of handling the heaviest and largest super-tanker all on her own. Towing the smaller
Karachi
thirty-five nautical miles to the St Lucia estuary would take well under an hour.