Jack was silent for a moment, and Joey was sure he heard a seagull calling in the background.
“As a professional, your job is to assess the risks and threats effectively,” Jack said eventually. “Ask all the questions you need to in order to do that, and continually assess your surroundings. Circumstances can change very quickly in those situations, so keep your eyes open.”
“I will,” Joey promised.
“And remember, whatever she’s there for, your role as a close-protection officer isn’t to get in her way or try to stop her, it’s to keep her safe while she does it.”
“Thanks, Jack. Appreciate the help.”
“All the best with it, and call me if you need anything else.”
“I will.” Putting his phone down, Joey accelerated through a gap in the traffic, heading to his assignment with a renewed sense of purpose.
Chapter 6
“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Isobel Collins muttered to herself. Frowning through the downpour, she inched her rental car down the road, which was studded with potholes. Hopefully she would spot a house number at some stage. The people living here didn’t seem to be into numbering their homes. Or repairing their crumbling walls, or replacing broken window glass.
She’d been driving for what felt like hours through torrential rain. She was already feeling seriously out of her depth, and not just because the roads were starting to flood.
The person sitting next to her on the plane had been a friendly fashion designer who’d raved about Johannesburg’s buzz and energy. He’d told her about the inner city’s upliftment project, the thriving markets, the music scene and the arts and crafts venues. Then he’d written out a list of trendy bars and restaurants that she simply had to visit during her stay.
But while she’d been waiting at baggage reclaim, she’d spoken to a grim-faced woman heading back to see her elderly parents. She’d been shocked to hear Isobel was traveling alone. She warned her that the country was going to the dogs, crime was out of control in Johannesburg, and that her father had recently been robbed at gunpoint while walking across the road to the grocery store.
Which one of them to believe?
On arrival at O.R. Tambo International Airport, she’d been reassured by how modern, pristine, and efficient it was, bustling with a diversity of visitors. However, her confidence had evaporated as she’d left the airport and driven into the bleak outskirts of Johannesburg, with views of heavy machinery and mine dumps dimly visible from the highway. Now, the area where she was heading was far more run-down than she’d expected. The housing ranged from dilapidated dwellings to tin-roofed shacks; the metal rattling and banging in the wind.
Isobel reached a building with a high precast concrete wall that she assumed to be her lodgings. It was the only place she’d been able to find in the area, and now she could see why travelers’ accommodations were so scarce.
Fear simmered deep within her and she tried to subdue it by humming to herself as she parked outside, pretending that everything was OK. That she was used to traveling alone in strange countries where violent crime was rife. That she hadn’t made a huge error of judgment in coming here at all, which was confirmed by the fact that she’d not realized she was overnighting in a slum.
The front door wobbled on its hinges; its battered surface made her think someone had once tried to kick their way in. After she knocked, it was opened by an elderly woman in a gray smock.
“Power’s out,” the woman muttered. Before Isobel could gather her thoughts, she’d handed her the key, opened her umbrella, and set off down the road.
“Well, I’ll bring my own bags in,” Isobel shouted after her, angrily brushing water from her short blond hair. Her annoyance at this rudeness did little to budge the coldness that had settled in her stomach. She was completely alone here. Apart from Joey Montague, only one person knew exactly where she was staying — her friend Samantha, back in the States, who had helped her organize this secret mission.
Once inside, between the crashes of thunder, she heard a persistent tapping sound. She discovered it was water, dripping down onto the tiled floor from a leak in the roof.
Her smart crimson luggage looked out of place when she set the bags down in the gloomy hallway. She locked the front door before taking them to the bedroom. Closing the bedroom door made the room even darker, but seemed like the safer option, even though it didn’t have a lock.
The place smelled dusty and disused, and she found her toes reflexively curling as she looked at the narrow single bed, with its dented mattress, gray pillowcase, and threadbare coverlet.
You are just a spoiled princess who’s forgotten how most of the world lives, she chided herself. Since she’d met her husband five years ago, she’d only traveled in luxury, because Dave was a wealthy man. She’d become used to palatial accommodations, crisp white sheets, five-star service.
We won’t be able to afford those hotels for much longer, unless I can work out what the hell’s going on here, Isobel told herself.
She unzipped the compartment of her bag and took out the notebook where she’d written the findings of her investigation. In the very front of it, she’d noted down the coordinates she needed. They were nearby — this was why she’d chosen these lodgings — and she took a deep, shaky breath at the thought that she was finally so close.
She didn’t need to look in her book, because she’d memorized the coordinates: 26 degrees, 14 minutes, 48 seconds south; 28 degrees, 13 minutes, 18 seconds east.
She checked the time on her cell phone, and compared it again with the calculations she had made in her notebook. Nervousness clenched her stomach as she realized she’d need to be at this location in two hours. After weeks of waiting, it suddenly seemed like a very tight deadline, and she hoped that Mr. Montague would arrive before she had to leave, because if he didn’t, she had no idea what she’d do.
You’ll have to go on your own, she thought. Can’t be worse than staying here, can it?
Well, actually, she wasn’t convinced about that, because she would be venturing into the unknown. The only certainty was the place marked by the coordinates... she had no idea what she would find there.
“Twenty-six degrees south,” she said out loud, wishing she felt braver.
And then another crash from outside the bedroom made her jump.
That wasn’t thunder. It sounded different, and closer... much closer. Isobel eased open the bedroom door and peered out.
Chapter 7
The storm had made the Friday afternoon traffic worse. Much worse. From personal experience, Joey knew Johannesburg drivers fell into two categories. Some of them believed a storm meant they should drive at top speed to try and outrun the rain. The others believed they should stop dead in their tracks at the first sign of a storm, and wait the weather out.
The problems occurred when the two categories of driver collided.
It took Joey twenty minutes to struggle past numerous bumper-bashings onto the highway, only to discover that an earlier accident had caused a massive tailback. The blare of horns provided a continuous soundtrack to the frustrating conditions.
Waiting in an immobile queue of cars, Joey tried to call Isobel to reassure her he’d be there soon, but he couldn’t connect to her number. Perhaps she’d turned her phone off, but he thought it was more likely the storm had wiped out cell signals in that area. Whatever the reason, it meant he had no way of getting hold of her at all.