“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“I’ve just arrived in Johannesburg from JFK. I need a bodyguard for the weekend. I booked someone before I left, but he didn’t meet me at the airport.”
“I’m sorry. No guards are available.” As he spoke, thunder crashed overhead.
“What was that? I didn’t hear you. This connection is terrible.”
“I said we don’t have a qualified guard at this time.” He shouted the words, but they were obliterated by the clatter of hail on the roof.
Clearly, the elements were conspiring against him.
“You’re on the top of my list,” Isobel replied. “Private, I mean. I have other options, but you’re my first choice. So if you could... I’d really appreciate it.”
Joey was about to repeat his refusal, but he hesitated. There was something in her voice that was making him uneasy.
“Please, I’m short of time,” she added, and Joey heard a tone in her voice he recognized all too well.
Isobel Collins was badly scared.
Perhaps she was frightened of traveling alone in a country with such a high crime rate. Most visitors were paranoid about safety in South Africa, even though there were always the few who tried to climb out of their safari vehicles to hand-feed the lions.
Suddenly Joey thought: why shouldn’t he take the job himself? Although he didn’t have practical experience in the field, he’d completed a close-protection course and a self-defense seminar during his first month with Private. Shepherding a tourist around the city would be an easy job, and it would fill the empty weekend ahead that he’d been dreading.
“I’ll do it,” he promised.
“Thank you,” Isobel replied, in a voice filled with relief. “I really appreciate it... it’s my first time here, and I feel out of my depth. The city’s different than I thought it would be... Way bigger, for one thing. And busier.”
“Are you still at the airport?”
“No, I’ve left already. I’m driving to my lodgings.”
“Give me the address and I’ll meet you there.” He assumed she’d be heading to the Central Business District, where most tourists stayed — although travelers usually came for business, rather than leisure.
Founded in the 1880s as a gold-rush city, Johannesburg had always attracted people looking to make fast money. Today the thriving CBD, in the suburb of Sandton, was filled with an aggressive, contagious energy. Beyond it, in every direction, the city grew and sprawled.
Although Joey found Johannesburg’s history and culture fascinating, he had to acknowledge that for the majority of tourists, the place was merely a stop-off point for the more scenic towns and game reserves nearby. But even so, it was where the wealthy people of South Africa lived. It was the country’s business hub, where the money flowed and deals were done.
The Sandton CBD was accessible by high-speed train from the airport, and he wished he’d had a chance to tell Isobel, because it was far easier to take the train than fight through Johannesburg’s notoriously congested roads.
But, as it happened, Joey had guessed her destination completely wrong.
“I’m staying in Kya Langa,” she said.
“You’re staying where?” He hadn’t misheard, but he was hoping she’d gotten the place name wrong.
“Number three Foundry Road, Kya Langa. It’s in eastern Johannesburg.”
“Yes, I know where it is, I used to do work in the area, but...”
Adrenaline flooded through him. Miss Collins was on her way to one of the most dangerous places in the city, where slum housing had sprung up around an abandoned metalworks factory, causing the lower-income neighborhood to decline drastically. That was just one of the reasons why crime in that part of Johannesburg had spiraled out of control. There were others, even more serious.
Why was she heading there? He wished he knew, but he supposed that as a bodyguard, it wasn’t his place to ask. In any case, questions would only waste valuable time.
“I’ll get to you as fast as I can,” he promised.
Chapter 2
No time to lose... Isobel Collins would be in danger from the minute she left the highway. Hurriedly, Joey lifted the filing cabinet into the truck. It was empty; it had been broken into and ransacked during the burglary.
There was only one more piece to move — Khosi’s desk — but it was the heaviest item of all. Joey remembered joking with Khosi when they moved in, as the two of them had struggled with the solid mahogany table, that it weighed more than any piece of furniture had a right to do. Khosi had laughed, and said it was a lucky desk; the man at the second-hand shop had told him so.
Khosi had always been that way. Joking, lighthearted, optimistic. Grasping one side of the table while the removal-truck driver took the other, Joey was struck again by the tragedy of his business partner’s suicide.
Private Johannesburg had signed contracts for a major, and potentially very lucrative, investigation into the problem of illegal mining in eastern Johannesburg. He and Khosi had put together a full-service solution for the mines. In addition to the investigation side, they had provided round-the-clock private security services to guard various entrances. They’d made a huge investment in the project, hiring the highest caliber of guards they could source. With the deals signed, they’d believed the funds were well spent and that nothing could go wrong. But a change in government policy had killed the project, and wiped out the investment they’d made.
In the weeks after the deals were canceled, Khosi had been out of the office for long stretches. He hadn’t told Joey the details of what he was busy with, only that he hadn’t given up on the project, and that Joey must not lose hope. Joey himself had been occupied full time with cost-cutting, laying off staff, and trying to source other work to keep them afloat. He’d planned to sit down with Khosi and discuss the matter properly, try to convince him that he was wasting his time chasing after the mining deals, and that he should accept defeat and move on.
Perhaps it just got too much for Khosi to handle. If Joey had known — if he’d been able to have that talk with him — he could have intervened. Now, of course, it was too late. He hoisted his rucksack over one shoulder, turned off the light, and closed the front door behind him for the last time.
He stepped into a maelstrom. Rain was sluicing down, drowning out the sound of the traffic. Hailstones pummeled him, ricocheting off the desk’s surface. Lightning bathed the street in brilliance, and a heartbeat later, thunder crashed overhead.
A torrent of water was rushing down the side of the road. Well, no way around it, they’d have to get their feet wet to reach the truck — since Joey was already soaked from head to ankles, the thought didn’t bother him too much. Just a few more steps and they’d be home and dry.
Suddenly, from behind, somebody shoved him viciously hard. He stumbled forward, losing his grasp on the desk, which thudded down onto the sidewalk. He splashed into the road, arms pinwheeling. Water fountained over him as a passing car swerved violently. Behind him, he heard the truck driver shouting angrily. But before Joey could recover his balance, his rucksack was ripped from his shoulder. A skinny youngster in a black jacket had grabbed it, and was racing away.
Chapter 3
The youngster was fast, but Joey’s swift reflexes helped him recover instantly. Picking himself up, he used the momentum to fling himself forward. With his muscular, broad-shouldered build, he had won rowing championships at college; sprinting had never been his forte, but now his anger lent him wings.
He’d had everything else taken from him in the past few days and he was damned if some crazy mugger was going to get away with this.