“Yes. It’s in that car.”
“It had better be all there,” Van Wartt said to Wahab.
“Take that matter up with Nabeel Asuty here.”
“If it’s not, I shall.”
Asuty threw his head back as if he’d regained his composure, but for the first time in Wahab’s memory, he stammered. “I … I believe we have all the money that was agreed upon.” Then appearing confident, stated, “It is urgent that this plan commence. Are you prepared to take us north to Bruin Karas?”
Van Wartt froze, then walked behind Asuty, pulled out a pistol, and rapped the back of his head. Asuty dropped down on his knees for a second, but immediately was back up. Wahab recognized in Asuty’s face the hate of a killer, but what surprised Wahab was that Van Wartt exhibited the same look. Truly, Van Wartt was no stranger to violence.
Wahab tried to speak, but Van Wartt raised his hand. “Abdul. Your man here needs lessons in manners.” Now he spoke in Asuty’s ear. “The South African authorities are searching for you, Nabeel Asuty. One doesn’t attempt to shoot American agents in Cape Town’s more respectable neighborhoods. In addition, you did a bad job disposing of the body of your comrade. It’s now lying on a slab at the city morgue. Your picture and the pictures of those three goons out there are on the evening television news.”
“What do you suggest we do, Mr. Van Wartt?” Wahab said. “We’re at your disposal. Are we not, Nabeel?” Out the window he saw two of Asuty’s men forced to the van and the other one shoved back into the white sedan.
Van Wartt moved close. “Abdul. We must act fast. My men will take Asuty and his thugs to the airport that is an hour’s drive from here. You will ride with me. Arrangements have been made for us to fly tonight to Namibia.”
The manner in which Van Wartt’s men whisked Asuty and the three others away impressed Wahab, who after watching the vehicles speed off, invited Van Wartt into his home. The two found Lady Beatrice standing in the living room.
She wasted no time. “Do you two have time for a drink before taking off?”
Van Wartt switched on his charm. “We must be going. An unexpected opportunity arose for an unusual safari. I do hope you don’t mind me taking Abdul away for a few days.”
Wahab suggested to his wife that Van Wartt might care for a drink while he went and packed some clothes. In his bedroom closet he found khaki shirts, trousers, and a pair of boots, which he threw in a travel bag. He headed for the door, then went back to his chest and traded his Colt for a new 9mm Beretta M9 pistol. He loaded it and slipped it in a shoulder holster. As he turned, placing two full magazines in his jacket pocket, he was startled to find his wife standing next to him.
Beatrice looked him up and down and sighed. She placed her hand on his jacket where it covered his automatic. “You are coming back, aren’t you?”
“I’m planning to.”
“When you return, you’ll cease this nonsense, won’t you?”
She surprised him by kissing him on the cheek and again on the lips.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The late afternoon crowd had gathered at the seaside hotel’s lounge. Sandra Harrington spotted Dirk Lange sitting at the far end of the bar, nursing a Castle beer. He was smoking a cigarette, something new. The entire time she had known him, she never even caught a whiff of tobacco on his clothes. She took a seat on the barstool next to him, blocking the view of a redhead in a tight green sweater a couple of seats away, who was leaning provocatively toward Lange.
“That’s a dirty habit, sport.”
“The lady over there glaring at you offered it to me.” With his eyes Lange indicated the redhead, who in a huff moved to the far end of the bar. “But it’s not a habit.”
“Cigarettes or redheads?”
Lange gave her the same boyish grin that she remembered from back in Freetown, Sierra Leone. In many ways, he reminded her of boys she knew in high school before they lost their virginity. However, Lange’s clothes sense betrayed a degree of sophistication not consistent with shy men.
“When you called, you said you had something important to tell me.” He looked around the bar filled with guests of the hotel and what appeared to be locals from the nearby seaside town. “You came alone?”
“Yes. Hayden is attending a function at my ambassador’s residence. I would have liked to have attended. Never been to one of your barbecues.” He grinned. “I said something funny?” she asked.
“Tonight our mate Hayden Stone, according to my sources, will have a big surprise.”
Sandra stiffened.
“No,” Lange said. “Nothing unpleasant. Just that an old friend from France flew down to see him.”
She let a few seconds go by, wondering what friend he was referring to. “You seem to know an awful lot about us.”
“You know my profession. You forget this is my country. My job is to know what’s going on.” He touched her fingers. “It’s almost sundown. Let’s move to that table I reserved. We can watch the sunset.”
“First I’d like to ask a question. Back in Freetown, we heard that you and a gal from our embassy were, shall we say, quite close.” She watched pain come to his eyes. “It ended badly?”
“Thanks to your people in Washington.” His voice held an edge. “The lady, her name was Marsha, decided she’d had enough of Africa, and so she’d departed Freetown, never to be seen again.” He looked away. “In the end she believed what they had told her. That I was merely recruiting her. Using her, that I didn’t love her.”
Sandra looked across the bar. “And both she and her superiors in Washington were wrong.”
“I’m sure our table is ready.”
Their table provided a view of the rough coastline with long, wide breakers coming in from the South Atlantic, the foam tinted red from the setting sun. Sharp angled mountains sat back inland looking down on homes scattered in both directions along the shore.
Although her companion ordered another beer and some chips, Sandra ordered a soft drink. For the foreseeable future she needed a clear head. It was her turn to surprise Mr. Lange.
“How would you like to come with Stone and me to Namibia?” she asked.
His eyes flickered. She waited.
“That’s a big country.” He looked at his beer but pushed it away. “Are we going on safari?”
“One could say that.” She was pleased that he had been caught off guard. “The three of us will go up to the Kalahari and find an abandoned railroad car sitting out in the desert.”
Lange came close, putting his elbows on the table. “I met with our Mossad friend Jacob this afternoon. He said that a …”
Sandra whispered, “A big explosive device.”
“Yes. Your old friend Abdul Wahab desires such a device. And Dawid van Wartt is the person furnishing it.” He turned and looked at the sunset. “For years, this, what you Yanks call an ‘urban legend,’ has been tossed about in our circles. The missing atomic bomb.” He tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “So that’s where it is. Not surprising. We should have realized that Van Wartt and his crowd had stolen it.”
“Did Jacob have anything else to say?”
“He wants to meet with Stone.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, but Stone’s boss, Colonel Frederick, will be in touch with him.” She spoke softly. “We want to get the bomb before it falls in the hands of those madmen. We don’t have much time. People we can’t identify have been snooping around the boxcar.”
“I’m not sure I can tell anyone at my home office about this. Things are a bit confused there nowadays.” Lange tapped her hand. “There are some people in the new government who would go befok to have this thing. For the prestige and power, if you understand what I mean.”