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

and helped to lift the lid. They revealed a neat pile of Milkor M32 lightweight grenade launchers. Hendrik reached to pick one up, but as he did so a call from behind us stopped him. Colonel Colchester and Piet van Rensburg were bearing down upon us. Piet’s large mid-section had burst through his linen jacket and his tie looked like a tomato sauce spill down the front of his shirt. His cigar was lit and his big face was being split open by a huge smile. Beside him the colonel was billowing smoke and looking like the casting director had decided to go with contrast. Where Piet was a circle, the colonel was a line. The colonel’s clothing was impeccable, but Piet’s looked as if he might need a costume change before dinner. As they approached us, a few dark patches appeared on the colonel’s jacket, and a roll of thunder announced the arrival of the storm. Piet’s attention was drawn by the sight of the open cage and the form of the lion in the shadows.

“What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed before they were adequately within earshot.

Roelof turned and looked uncertainly from Piet to Hendrik to Kenneth. Piet hadn’t made it clear which of them was doing something to offend him, or whether it was simply his enthusiasm for the moment that had him shouting. But I was not worrying about that, I had noticed the two headlights appearing from the thin sliver of road that ran beside the warehouse. They were approaching us unhurriedly. The lights gave Piet and the colonel a silver lining, and the smoke from their cigars flashed a warning briefly before being snatched away by the wind. Chandler noticed the light and turned as he walked. Piet only had eyes for the lion, and perhaps for the open box of grenade launchers. Chandler turned back, and I saw the lines of tension in the way his strides quickened. He reached Billy Mabele and his girlfriend and ushered them forwards. They had also seen the headlights. The rain started to fall heavily, and the warehouse disappeared behind a brightly lit curtain of water.

“Better close that box up,” I said to Roelof, and moved to swing the open flap back into place.

“What the fuck?” said Hendrik. “We want to check those guns.”

“Better do that later,” I said. “We’ve got company.”

Kenneth had seen the lights. He closed the box.

“Magnificent,” said Piet as he and the colonel arrived. “Keep that open for us Freddy, I’d like to see for myself.”

“Best to close it for now,” said the colonel, and as Piet turned to protest, there was the sudden blast of a siren from the car behind them, and a blue light started swinging across the wall of crates.

I slid the box under the cage as quickly as I could and turned back to face the lights. The others were all frozen to the spot and stood like shop mannequins silhouetted against the white screen of falling water provided by the vehicle’s lights. The blue light was spreading a sense of fear which deepened with each sweep. Roelof was closest to me.

“Get Piet, Hendrik and Kenneth,” I said. “Go behind the crates.”

Roelof glanced at me with wide eyes. He looked back towards the lights; the sound of two doors opening reached us. A moment later, two silhouetted figures stepped in front of the lights. Despite the gloom, the heavy rain and the backlight, their black military uniforms identified them as members of Breytenbach’s private army. The Van Rensburg clan would probably not realise that, but nobody missed the Vektor R5s they both carried.

“Now,” I hissed urgently at Roelof. “Take them back now. We’ll deal with this.”

I reached out to Hendrik, grabbed his arm and pulled. But Hendrik shook me off angrily.

“What the fuck?” he said. “I’m carrying.” He opened his jacket and pulled his Beretta out from its holster. “You’re not,” he said. “Step aside, Freddy.” I should have told him it wasn’t true I was not armed, but he didn’t hang around to discuss it. He pointed his Beretta at the silhouettes. Roelof ushered Piet and Kenneth back into the shadows.

“Where is it?” called one of the men.

“Where is what?” Chandler replied. He tossed his cigar away and held his hands out so they could see them. “Is there a problem?”

“We’re here to take it back,” said the man. “It belongs to us.”

“Nothing here is yours,” said Chandler. “Just a couple of wild animals.”

The man stepped closer and glanced anxiously at the lion which had started pacing back and forth, disturbed no doubt by the tension in the air.

“We tracked the vehicle,” said the man.

“The vehicle?”

“The jeep you stole. We tracked it.”

Chandler hesitated. We had only one jeep, and it was a black one that matched the vehicles of Breytenbach’s army. We hadn’t stolen it, except for the number plates.

“The two of you tracked it?” he asked. “Just the two of you?”

“There are more of us,” said the man, shifting his R5 in our direction. But his voice betrayed him. They were alone. Two men from a private South African security outfit in a foreign country. The lion gave a sudden angry snort, and the man glanced at it again.

That was when Hendrik stepped forward and pointed his Beretta at the man’s face. He had clearly not understood what these men wanted. The man turned back from the lion and looked at Hendrik in surprise. He raised his Vektor R5 and pointed it at Hendrik. The second man took a step back and raised his own R5.

“You’re not fucking taking my guns,” shouted Hendrik in a voice that was too loud.

“We’re here to take it back.”

“No, you fucking won’t,” screamed Hendrik.

The man opened his mouth to say something, but Hendrik didn’t give him the chance. Hendrik’s face had turned a dark red and his breathing was coming fast, as if he had been running. A rage had come from nowhere and was overwhelming him. He looked