Night (Night Series Book 1) Page 10

  Night stopped reading.

  That was the boy’s original statement taken the day after his father was shot, the boy was still in the early stages of shock Night thought, still in denial. The detective had since taken further statements from Andrew in front of the family’s lawyers. Night didn’t bother reading these statements as he knew that the attorneys would have scripted Andrew’s words. Any doubt Night or anybody else had about the guilt of Gift Lembede quickly dissipated as he read on about what had happened that night. According to the Investigating officer’s notes the suspect then ran out of the Bergman’s property and off the farm onto the main road where he hijacked an unsuspecting motorist of his vehicle, a Toyota Hilux, took the victim out of the car and executed him at the side of the road.

  Coincidentally an off duty SAPF border police officer based out of Lanseria Airport was driving home and saw what had just happened and called for backup while he followed the hijacked vehicle in his own unmarked car. A Highway Patrol vehicle responded to the call and was behind the stolen vehicle within a few minutes. They pulled the double cab over and arrested Gift Lembede without a shot being fired. Apparently Gift didn’t like shooting at highly trained armed officers, only unarmed civilians. They recovered a .22 calibre pistol and through ballistics testing matched it to the weapon that was used to kill Peter Bergman. The recovered .22 had its serial number filed off and was a Walther P22 and was probably taken from a house robbery. Unusually it was pink in colour suggesting that its original, licenced, owner was a female, perhaps a sports shooter. Without the serial number though, the gun was near impossible to trace to the original owner, who may not have even reported the weapon missing. Although the investigating officer noted that he had performed a search at the South African Police Force National Firearms Registration Centre for any purchased Pink Walther P22s, thinking that the unusual colour would narrow down the search, unfortunately the exploration produced zero results, probably because the weapon was painted pink after its original purchase. Andrew’s statement that the weapon looked like a toy now made sense as the slick looking pink Walther could easily have been mistaken for a child’s toy or water pistol. Furthermore, due to the tiny size of the weapon, the P22 weighs in at less than 435 grams, the suspect, Gift Lembede could easily have concealed the weapon in his shorts.

  Reading the rest of the case docket Night realised that Andrew Bergman’s statement and testimony would have little effect on the outcome of the case. Hence the reason why Andrew was not called to provide his version of events in court over the next couple of days, his written statement was adequate, it seemed. Besides there was enough evidence to convict Gift Lembede of the murders just based on the ballistics proof and the statement of the off duty border police officer who witnessed the second murder take place.

  Given the facts of the case Night had just uncovered he found it very unlikely the suspect or the suspect’s brother or friends were attempting to kill Andrew or his mother. There would be no point and the suspect would have been advised as such by his lawyer – who was a legal aid attorney provided free by the government.

  Night’s conclusion that a hit was very improbable was in direct confrontation with the intelligence report that Annabel’s private investigator and consultant, Hendrik Van Tonder had given her and which Night now read.

  In the hand written A4 documents that lay before him Hendrik Van Tonder went on in remarkable detail to explain that he had an agent living in the same informal settlement as the brother and friends of Gift Lembede. Apparently his unnamed and unknown man had been inserted to gather intelligence six months earlier and was now firmly entrenched with the brother and friends. Night quickly scanned through the lines of hand written information and stopped to read a paragraph that had been highlighted by Van Tonder in yellow. The paragraph reported that Van Tonder’s agent whom he referred to as Agent X, accompanied Victor Lembede to the edge of the Bergman’s farm, just one week previously. Apparently they had spoken to a couple of the farm workers about Andrew and his mother, asked if they still stayed on the homestead and when was the next time they were due back. The intelligence reports went into great depth, even detailing what shoes and socks Victor Lembede was wearing.

  Night had seen similar intelligence reports before but never with such minutely detailed information that contained times, dates and headed inserts such as: 1712 Conversation took place at Bergman Farm... It seemed too neat to Night and too convenient for Van Tonder.

  Night was sure his client was being handled by the former apartheid spy and was certain Van Tonder’s involvement created a greater risk than the purported would be assassins.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sergeant Night approached the next few days cautiously and professionally. On the mornings of the court case Night would arrive at 0600 sharp and first perform a recce of the area surrounding Annabel’s Sandown home, checking for any unfamiliar vehicles parked in the street or surrounding roads and marking them off a list he had compiled on his first visit. He would open the automated security gate with the remote Control he had been given and pull his vehicle into the driveway and reverse Annabel’s BMW X5 out of the garage. During the contract, Annabel insisted, they must use her vehicle. Night agreed since the X5 had been fitted with bullet proof windows and doors, although he pointed out the obvious risk of the vehicle being easily identifiable as hers.

  A little while later each morning Stanislov would arrive in his little blue Volkswagen Golf and would promptly swap it for Night’s Lumina SS. Stanislov knew on day one that when he had asked Night if he could use the SS he could hardly refuse as he would want the client to be in a better vehicle. Night allowed Stanislov to use his car for the very reason Stanislov thought he would, but promised him instant death if so much as a scratch appeared on his pride and joy.

  Stanislov’s side of the contract went off without a hitch. He would collect Andrew from his home each day and deliver him to the King David High School he attended in Victory Park. He was happy to find that the school was very well protected and he introduced himself to the school’s head of security who he found out was a former Israeli Defence Force soldier, Jonathan Shlugman. They got on well. Stanislov would drop Andrew off and wait for him in the school car park or while chatting to his new friend Jonathan in the school’s security Control room which housed banks of monitors linked to its impressive network of CCTV cameras. He would collect him after he had finished the school day and any extramural activities and transport him home, always using a different predetermined route. Stanislov would report each day to Night and they would keep in contact via mobile phone and a radio network the General had set up.

  Night’s side of things went smoothly as well. He too used a different predetermined route to and from the court each day. The journey to and from the High Court was always going to be when an attempt would be made as once at the court no weapons were allowed in and the building was protected by armed guards and police officers and metal detectors. Night’s appointment certificate identifying him as a police Sergeant allowed him access to the court while still carrying his 9MM. Johannesburg traffic had also been taken into account and the chance of a random act of criminality happening to the X5 was also kept in mind.

  Night employed all of the tactics he had been taught by the South African Police Force’s VIP Protection Unit. He had passed the intensive six month course five years previously.

  During this contract he wore a level III Chinese made, silk, bullet proof vest under his discreet civilian clothing and carried his privately licenced Heckler and Koch USP 9MM Compact and five extra magazines of ammunition and kept his grab-bag with medical and survival equipment in the car’s boot. He never wore an over-the-top suit or Ray Ban sunglasses.

  Nothing of considerable note happened during the days in court, and Night was thankful for that. The suspect was found guilty of two counts of murder and was sentenced to life in prison although Night knew that in all likelihood the now convicted murderer Gift Lembede w
ould be out of jail and a free man on parole in about 15 years. For now though he was where he belonged, behind bars and soon to be the “wife” of a 26’s or 28’s gang lord in one of South Africa’s most notorious penitentiaries, the Johannesburg Prison, more sardonically known as Sun City.

  On the final day of the contract Night and Stanislov both accompanied their principal, just Annabel Bergman, as Andrew had decided not to join his mother, to their family farm. Stanislov travelled ahead, this time in his VW Golf, as there was no way Night was going to allow him to drive on non-concreted streets on rural farm land in his prized SS. Annabel travelled with Night in the X5 and Stanislov acted as the Security Advance Party (SAP), providing Night with updated Intelligence reports about the road to the farm and once on location, always travelling five to ten minutes ahead, scouting for any potential trouble or an ambush. None came.

  The contract was going smoothly and Night foresaw no problems. Then, while at the farm’s pay office, standing with Annabel he noticed a black male in his mid-thirties in white sneakers, blue jeans and a black t-shirt brandishing a firearm while sitting under a tree. Next to him about 50 farm workers were in an orderly line leading into the office, waiting to be paid.

  “And who the hell is that?” Night asked Annabel Bergman who was sitting at a desk dividing the R80 000.00 cash spread across it into separate pay packets, placing them into named envelopes.

  “Ah that’s only Swarty, one of Hendrik’s men. He thought it would be good for him to be here for extra security. He thought it would be better with the black workers to have him around, he is apparently ex Koevoet or something.” She seemed oblivious to the fact that Night or Stanislov could easily have engaged the “extra security”, mistaking him for a would be assassin or armed robber.

  Night never took his eyes off Swarty and now heard Stanislov speak in his ear over their private radio network. He had taken up a firing position on top of the main farm factory’s roof with his Remington 30.06 hunting rifle. Although Stanislov never used it to hunt beasts as he didn’t see the fun in killing defenceless animals, it did however come in handy as a high powered sniper rifle in situations like this.

  From Stanislov’s position he had a perfect view over the farm’s pay office and most of the surrounding landscape including the only dirt road into the African ranch.

  “Mike November, I have a Bravo Mike in my sights, white shoes, blue jeans and black shirt, .45 in his right hand, about to engage or can you identify?”

  “Yeah Roger that, do not engage, he is one of Van Tonder’s people, extra security for today, apparently.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Mike November, I was about to kill the man!”

  “I just told you and I didn’t tell you earlier because I didn’t know either until about a minute ago, that is when I asked our client who the hell he was.” Night paused, now full of anger.

  “And why the fuck didn’t you see him earlier November Sierra?”

  Stanislov didn’t answer. Both operators had had just about enough of this contract and the involvement of a BOSS spy.

  Night turned his attention to his principal: “Seriously Annabel you have got to tell me things like this, we could have killed that man and his blood would have been on your hands if we did. You should have told us before we even set foot on this farm that extra security had been brought in for the day, specially a bloody ex Koevoet policeman.”

  Night was correct in being cautious about having a former Koevoet officer in their midst. Every other ex Koevoet cop that Night had ever met was well and truly bosbefok, the Afrikaans term used widely in the South African Armed Forces to describe an operator who has spent too long in the bush fighting a border war or counter insurgency or a police officer who has spent too long on the streets of SA fighting criminals; it means Bush Fucked! And is more commonly known as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or PTSD in more advanced societies around the world.

  Koevoet, meaning Crowbar in Afrikaans, was officially known as the "South West Africa Police Counter-Insurgency Unit" (SWAPOL-COIN). It was deployed to South West Africa, now Namibia, during the 1970s and 1980s and was the most effective paramilitary unit launched against SWAPO fighters during the Namibian War of Independence. It was particularly known for its indiscriminate brutality and use of torture during that conflict.

  “I thought Hendrik would have told you Mike, I’m sorry, I thought you already knew.”

  Night made the decision that day to end the contract with his client as agreed and completely break off contact after that. While Van Tonder had her wrapped around his finger the risks were just too great to get involved with her. And Night was well aware of the fact that Van Tonder could quite possibly make a move against him while he held the contract to provide her with close protection.

  What sealed Night’s decision was when Swarty, the ex Koevoet man, started walking up and down the pay line, mock pistol-whipping the farm workers with his Colt .45. Bosbefok guaranteed!

  The day drew on and one by one the farm workers entered the small pay office and received their salary envelopes. Most seemed happy enough and smiled at Annabel and thanked her and wished her well but there was an underlying anxiety amongst the labourers. They seemed to view the farmer’s widow with suspicion, not quite knowing what her intentions with the farm were or if she even knew what she was doing. It seemed to be a joint consensus between them, or so Night sensed from them. Traditionally in South Africa farming was an Afrikaner’s job, not a Jewish family’s occupation and certainly not a single-parent, Jewish widow’s, line of work. That was what Night believed it was - doubt in her ability to farm the land.

  Only half a dozen people were still waiting to collect their wages now. There was hardly any chit-chat among the workers, they were silent and avoiding eye contact as much as possible with their boss. Night put this down to them being tired and having to wait all day in the sun to collect their hard earned money but he felt uneasy, his police sixth sense was spiking. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was and it didn’t add up for him to be feeling uneasy at this time of the operation from the perspective of an armed robbery taking place; almost all of the money had been paid out, it wouldn’t be worth it to hit the pay office now but he knew to take this feeling seriously, any veteran police operator acknowledges this sensation and takes note.

  A young girl, probably not yet 18, had just walked in. Her fledgling age angered Night and he was going to have a word with Annabel for hiring such young employees for farm labour.

  Stanislov had been giving Situation Reports (Sitreps) from his over-watch position observing the farm every 15 minutes on Night’s instruction. Night called for another one.

  “All in order Mike November. The majority of the workers have left the farm or have gone to their billets. The Koevoet has just stood up. He has been sleeping under his tree for the last hour with his head resting on his .45 like a pillow” Stanislov reported while viewing Swarty through his scope with the cross hairs on Swarty’s skull.

  “Roger that. Just keep an eye on him, something feels off.”

  “Roger that. He’s moving toward the last person in the line. Stand by.”

  Night made to move toward the only office window so he could get eyes-on Swarty but his feet disobeyed his command. Night had stationed himself just in front of Annabel’s pay desk and to her left. This way he blocked anybody from getting around to her as he had specifically moved the counter flush against the right wall for this reason. The only way to physically get to Annabel would be to lean over the desk, which Night could defend from the position he was now in. Night noted that the only other person in the pay office was the young girl, dressed in green overalls, blue gumboots and a hair net – the farm workers’ uniform while at work. Why was she in full uniform Night thought to himself.

  Night heard a clamour just outside the office.

  “Mike November. November Sierra. Urgent.”

  “Send.”

  “Koevoet has just taken one
of the workers by the hair and dragged him to his tree. Stand by.” A few seconds pass. “He has him on the floor now, gun in his mouth. Shall I engage?”

  “Negative only if Koevoet pulls the trigger, then squeeze yours, only disable him though, shoot the weapon then we will deal with him.”

  Night hadn’t taken his eyes off the young girl as he communicated with his partner. She seemed nervous, she seemed confused.

  “Mike November. Something is happening, the Koevoet is just standing there with his gun in the guy’s mouth looking at the office…in your direction…”

  Gunshot! Deep and hollow .45.

  In his ear Night’s radio crackled into life once more, he turned his head toward the door but the young lady caught his attention. Stanislov’s voice faded into an incoherent soft mumble somewhere in the back of his mind. The young girl bent down and took something from the inside of her right gumboot, it flashed brightly. Time slowed, Night’s vision collapsed into a channel focused only on the girl. He noticed every detail on the teenager’s face, scared eyes, dry lips, chapped skin and a scar running across her neck from left to right – a gang initiation scar perhaps. She lunged toward Annabel throwing herself over the table, a farmer’s hefty carving blade in her right hand swinging over her head. Annabel, or Anne as she preferred to be called, was frozen, eyes closed, her hands up. The young girl was going to kill Annabel, the knife targeted Anne’s heart. Night moved, skilfully in total Control. His left hand caught the right hand of the young woman, his right hand coming up and under the young girl’s body and grabbed her neck, thrusting her backward against the opposite wall. Night pulled the knife from her grip, tripped her with his right leg forcing her face first flat against the ground, he placed her hands behind her back and prepared to cable tie them together.