Murderous David Hickson (best thriller novels of all time TXT) 📖

Now we were back in the bush again, reunited with the gold, and the only way to get the vehicle and its load out of here was back through the Breytenbach complex.

The beady eye of a camera watched us approach the gate between the game area and the complex. The gate opened automatically, and a few minutes later we rolled up the dusty road towards the front entrance of the complex. We drew no attention because we were approaching from inside the gates. Chandler chose a stubby thorn tree about fifty metres short of the gates to pull up beside. He popped the hood, and I climbed out to peer into the engine as if I knew what was going on. It was odd to be back here, and witness again the disturbing silence of the place. It was teeming with armed guards on their training camp, but they marched in disciplined blocks of six with the determined silence of automatons. Our vehicle attracted sidelong glances, but not one of them dared to break the rhythm of their pace to enquire into our right to be there.

“What did I tell you?” said Chandler smugly when I tired of looking into the engine and went to stand at the door as if I was reporting my findings. “When you’re inside the fence no one gives a damn.”

“Eventually someone will give a damn,” I said.

“Not long now,” said Chandler, and he consulted his wristwatch. “The perimeter patrol will be back any minute.”

He was correct. Within ten minutes another growling black vehicle appeared on the other side of the entrance gates and they rolled open. The vehicle crept through like an angry dog looking for a fight. The engine was cut, two doors slammed, and I left our vehicle and walked towards the security building at the entrance where the two guards would fill in the details of their vehicle and file their report.

The silence of the morning was oppressive. I felt the sweat running down my back as the heavy black uniform and extra layer of overalls took their toll. I walked around the back of the newly parked vehicle and tripped as I passed the driver’s door. I looked down, then stooped as if I’d noticed that I had a loose shoelace. Under cover of the vehicle, I dropped onto my back and slid under the engine just behind the knobbly front tyre. I found the fuse box and unlatched it but wasn’t prepared for the heat of the engine, which singed my fingers as I touched the latch. I dropped the spare fuse I was holding and bit my tongue to block the cry of pain. Over the heavy smell of hot oil, came the smell of my burnt flesh. I found the fuel injection fuse and pulled it out. I scrabbled around for the dropped fuse with my good hand and found it just as I heard the door to the security room slam closed. I pushed the fuse in roughly and snapped the cover back in place. My legs were sticking out from under the vehicle, I could hear the crunching of the boots on the gravel and felt the panic rise in my chest.

Then I heard Chandler’s voice calling and the two pairs of boots stopped and swivelled in the dust. I twisted and slid out, then stood up to face the two guards, but they had their backs to me and were watching Chandler approach with his hand held up in greeting, and the expression on his face I knew he thought was a friendly one. I went up to the reflective doors of the security room and pushed on them. There was a buzzing noise followed by a click and I stepped inside.

The security room had undergone an upgrade since my previous visit. They had added additional screens to the wall of high-resolution images from cameras positioned all about the complex. Before them on chrome seats with wheels and levers that allowed their occupants to lean back and not worry about falling over, were four of the permanent staff, gazing up at the screens and nursing cups of coffee as if they were waiting for the main show to start. I realised that Chandler and I needn’t have worried about our descent being observed. Screens are all very well but get too many of them together and stare at them for too long, particularly at night, and I guessed we could have come down with the glow tubes without being spotted. In any case, the cameras were focused on the complex. What happened out on the game farm was not something they were interested in. The man who opened the door regarded me with irritation. My overalls were greasy and dusty from my stint under the vehicle.

“That the patrol vehicle giving the trouble?” I asked the man.

“Don’t know nothing about no trouble,” he replied.

“They’ve had trouble starting it,” I said.

The man shook his head. He’d run out of ‘no’s’.

“I’ll take a look at it,” I said. “The boss probably got it wrong. When is it scheduled to go out again?”

The man drew a large breath and released it all in one go. He reached for the roster and moved a large finger down the list.

“Ten,” he said, and lifted his coffee cup to his mouth to demonstrate that our conversation was ended.

The vehicle had not moved when I emerged into the morning sun, but the driver was doing his best. The engine started with a roar, but then settled to an idle, and stalled as soon as he tried to accelerate. I ignored them and wandered back to our vehicle, where Chandler was standing at the open engine and broadcasting irritation through his back. As I approached him, the driver of the vehicle that was having the trouble called out to me.

“You a grease monkey?” he asked.

I didn’t deny it.

“What’s the fucking problem then?” he demanded. “Keeps stalling.”

“Sounds like the fuel injection’s blocked,” I said