CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Sometime later that evening Night sat in the foyer of the Westcliff Hotel waiting to meet his General for dinner at the La Belle Terrasse – one of Johannesburg’s most exclusive and sought after restaurants. It was usually impossible to get into without a booking months in advance but the General had called in a favour from one of his many influential friends and phoned Night only a couple of hours earlier inviting him to dinner. No doubt to talk about their upcoming endeavour Night had thought.
The General arrived wearing an immaculate tailored cream coloured suit and matching tie, his shoes were fine Italian loafers. Tony, his loyal bodyguard and driver was with him as well as two other armed and menacing escorts.
“This is a bit heavy handed, is it not General?” asked Night.
“It is necessary my friend. Until we have mission success I will be a hunted man. And there are other considerations that I must cogitate. Alas Michael this is what we are here to discuss. You are looking good my friend. Like an African movie star” said the General, smiling.
Night was dressed in his best suit, made bespoke by the General’s personal tailor for him. Black in colour, no tie, white shirt, open collar. Night’s personal Heckler and Koch USP 9MM sitting in a quick release Fobus holster expertly hidden from view by the suit’s jacket. No bulge. Even a trained eye could not detect the weapon. A special request from Night to the suit maker.
The hotel manager waited for the General himself and greeted the men, leading the two to the restaurant. The General stopped the manager en route and informed him that they would sit at the bar first and take drinks while his men carried out an inspection of the area surrounding the dinner table where the meeting would take place.
The two men sat at the bar and ordered their drinks. Double Johnny Walker Blue Labels – the General insisted.
“The breakfast of champions Mike!” saluted General Arosi.
“Indeed. But it’s dinner I’m after… Cheers.”
They sipped their drinks quietly for a moment enjoying the silk, smooth and distinctly malty flavour.
“TCSM in the restaurant?” inquired Night.
“Yes. But I doubt it’s necessary. I only got us a table here a few hours ago. And any enemy would also have had to have secured a booking, which is near impossible. But you can’t be too careful and Tony insists.”
“Nearly impossible but not for you, General. I like Tony, he is a pro. A fine bodyguard.”
“I am glad you like him Mike for he will be joining us on our little adventure.”
“So you got the green light then, from the suits?”
“Well let’s call it an amber light. Not quite yes and not quite no. Yes if we succeed and no if we fail.”
“I understand. Then we must succeed.”
“And gaining successes as a must is a new development? Yes we must and we will. Now let’s stop this talk of business for the moment and enjoy the fine scotch and the splendid view” said General Arosi.
The Westcliff hotel is set on a cliffside in a garden estate in one of Johannesburg’s most expensive and exclusive suburbs. Home to millionaires. The hotel looks out over zoological gardens where animals can be spotted during the day and the glittering lights of Johannesburg by night.
One of the men in the security detail walked over and whispered something into the ear of Tony who was standing at the entrance to the bar. Tony walked over to the General and let him know that the table was ready and the area was sterile.
“Fantastic, I am famished” said the weighty General.
“You shouldn’t be” said Night.
“Be kind Michael, I am an old man. You too will become a fat bastard one day. All that muscle will deteriorate and turn to lard. It is the curse of a strong man. Besides, my young wives prefer me to be more meaty.”
The Police General and Sergeant ate good food and drank fine wine for the next couple of hours. Talking about notable books and distant countries where the General had travelled. Not once talking about their work or of violence. Until after dessert. That was the unspoken rule. It does not do well to speak of negative and harmful things while devouring expertly prepared and crafted food the General had once told Night many years before when they had first dined together.
The meal was finished and it was time for business.
“When do we move, General?” asked Night.
“Soon. In the next couple of days. My informant with uSathane tells me that the Colonel will be ready to move within 72 hours. They have sourced the heavy earth moving equipment they needed and the Colonel’s platoon is on the move from Zim.”
“Are we ready to move?”
“Now that is the question, are you ready to move Mike?”
“Yes General. I am unmarried and without children. Unburdened and willing.”
“What about Lisa and the Force?”
“They will still be there when we are successful… won’t they?”
“Perhaps if successful – that is part of what I wanted to speak to you about. But if we fail we will be dead. For now though we will only talk of success…”
“Go on…”
“This is a big move Mike. And to a degree a gamble. If we fail I will lose everything and so will you and all the men under my command. But if we succeed the rewards and life changing consequences for us all shall be massive. The commission from successfully tracking and returning the Libyan gold will provide our operation with a healthy injection Mike. It will allow us to set up shop in Europe. Finally.”
“Operation… World Net?”
The General refrained from answering his Sergeant’s question while a waiter came over to their table and produced two Cuban cigars on a silver plate and presented them to the General.
“As usual my General. Montecristo Millennium Reserve Robusto” said Alfred the waiter.
“Thank you Alfred.” The General leaned over and discreetly pushed a R100 note into the waiter’s top breast pocket.
The waiter left and Night and General Arosi carefully cut their cigars and made them fire.
Night took a deep, long, drag and held the smoke in his lungs for a while and then exhaled smoothly. “Ah, divine. Smoke of the Gods!”
“You are not supposed to inhale Mike.”
“I know. That’s why I do. Actually it’s because it gives me a nice head rush. Like the ones I used to get in school when I smoked in the bathroom during break time.” Night took another long drag of the fine cigar.
The two men sat in silence while enjoying themselves and the Cubans’ company, after moving outside and onto the terrace to relish their taboo delight. Night noted the General’s escorts. One stood by the door to the restaurant, to the trained eye his Vector Z88 clearly visible under his too large suit jacket. The other bodyguard stood at the edge of the balcony looking out; Night noted the South African issue Uzi under his left arm under his jacket. Tony sat within view of his principal at a table still inside the restaurant drinking some coffee. Cool as ever.
“World Net is but a name. For over two decades we, I, have been attempting to increase African power and influence internationally. And now the opportunity presents itself to bring you in, Mike.”
“Bring me in? Into what, General?”
“An organisation that I am the head of. Operationally at least. We represent the entire African continent and report to the A.U. To one person at the head of the A.U. The real head of the administration.”
“Muscle? The organisation is the A.U.’s force I take it?”
“No. More than that. The surgical blade of the Dark Continent – increasing African interest through the pen and the sword. And we are gaining traction, at last.”
“Anything I would know of…”
“BRICS.”
“Ah, interesting. And how would I be brought in. I am sure I have already unwittingly been a part of the action, over the years, under your employ, anyway…”
“No Mike. Never. I have always been open and honest with you abou
t the contracts with me for. I hate spies, as do you, so none of that cloak and dagger bullshit here. You will always be aware of why you are doing what you are doing if you choose to join me. Are you interested?”
“I am interested General, what do you have planned for me?”
“Good. To head our representation in Europe. Based in London. You will take temporary leave from the Force and move to England. We will set you up with a bank account, cash, weapons, gear and a place to live. We will also insert you under the employ of a security company based in the English Capital.”
“One of our security companies?”
“No. It’s is a pageant of a company, a side show. High profile celebrity protection stuff. Run by a failed artist turned bouncer who has little idea. But people like him, they see him as harmless and he gets the contracts.”
“It can’t be that successful then, can it? Not great longevity in the cover then, I would imagine.”
“The company will provide you with great cover. It is highly successful because its success is based on providing its clients with, and I quote the company’s own marketing material here, ‘good looking’ security personnel.”
“It sounds more like a modelling agency.”
“Perhaps. But whatever it is the company is successful and involved in all the right circles - billionaires, politicians and policy makers as well as the celebrities, all attend the high profile events they protect. They guard their homes and they provide them with drivers and bodyguards. It is perfect cover for our intentions.”
“I get it – look high profile to accomplish being low profile. How can you guarantee I will get hired by them and what exactly are our intentions?”
“First we will get you trained and licenced as a CP operative by their SIA (Security Industry Authority) similar to our PSIRA (Private Security Industry Authority). You will train with friends of ours, former SAS operatives in the North of England, you will have to in order to attain the required Close Protection licence. Besides you may learn something from them. The British SAS basically invented modern day discreet bodyguarding techniques. Distinct from the high profile American SS doctrine mind you. We have certain techniques to ensure your employment with them, although our influence will hardly be needed given your experience and background, eventually you will completely take over the running of all their close protection contracts.”
“Sounds fun.”
“I thought you may think so. I know you have yearned to travel and experience the world. This will provide you with that opportunity. Your British passport helps. And your annoying good looks, they can actually come in handy over there!”
“Ah thank you General, I didn’t realise you thought I was good looking.”
“It’s not a compliment. Only an honest observation my friend” said the General smiling. “And I will finally do something about your rank. You know it looks mighty suspicious for a General to constantly be seen with and have a Sergeant as a staunch comrade and friend.”
“Staunch comrade and friend. Tonight is proving flattering indeed.”
“I think Captain sounds better. Captain Night. It’s long since due to you anyway.”
“How will you do it?”
“Ah, there now lies the rub. You will have to leave Norwood. And the life of a patrolman and first responder – a job I know you love. You will be appointed as a Communications and Field Operations Officer at National HQ, reporting directly to the National Commissioner himself and my office of course. A position has just opened up and you will find the job shall be yours, if you want it. Tonight if you accept, a verbal appointment. Officially, the paper work will take some time but it will be done.”
“What about my men, Stani and Zulu.”
“We will find them positions with you. Your driver and assistant perhaps or your deputies. We will see. Maybe we will form a special Rapid Response type unit based out of HQ. We could basically just rename November Whisky 50 and perhaps even give you more men and vehicles under your command. Zulu and Stani could run the unit while you are overseas.”
“Surely it can’t be that easy. I am, after all, white in colour don’t forget General.”
“How could I forget that, you bloody pommy!” said the General good-humouredly. “But that’s the whole point. They want a white Communications Officer, to placate the white minority, to make the Force look more… rainbowy shall we say. And we could coincide that announcement with a proclamation of a new Rapid Reaction Force… to strengthen the Force in the war on crime and all that jazz…”
“Rainbowy? Is that even a word? Rapid Reaction Force. RRF? Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. Although I have always envisaged a Speed and Tactics unit. SAT One. And I am African, General, please do not forget that.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I know your blood runs green and gold! And we can discuss the formation of a new crime combating unit in more depth once you are settled in your new office at HQ.”
“Thank you General. And I am interested. I have felt it is time for a while now. But how will I move to the UK and be promoted to Captain.”
“The official role of Communications Officer will be nominal - more of a name and a face part than anything else. You will find the higher the rank of an officer in Africa the less work he actually does. Sad but true. The Commissioner’s office will issue statements and put your name on them. You can proof read everything via email when you are out of the country. And when you are international for extended periods of time we will put you on official leave. We will plan your leave cycles carefully. In any event do not worry, your rank and position will be safe.”
Night fell silent as his thoughts went to Lisa.
“You are thinking about Lisa, aren’t you.”
“Yes. I will tell her tomorrow, over dinner.”
“Will you break it off.”
“Probably not, although that would probably be best. But we aren’t really going out, officially, anyway. But I will tell her the truth and let her decide. I love her and she knows I have been thinking about travelling globally. The day was coming.”
“Why don’t you take her with you Mike. Marry her and live in England. Happily ever after…”
“Why, should I?” Night was surprised by the tone of the General’s probe.
“The future for whites in this country is not yet guaranteed Mike, as I am sure you know.”
“Why, what have you heard?”
“Nothing concrete but there are certain elements within the ruling party and the powerful trade unions that want the whites out or at least their land back, as they say.”
“I did not expect to hear this from you, I have not heard anything like this from you before General, should I worry?”
“You worry, no. I didn’t think that a possibility. Not for yourself anyway, men like you will be fine irrespective of what happens I am sure, but Lisa, she doesn’t have a British passport does she? Anyway enough of this talk. You will deal with your own personal issues. As for the larger concerns there are people fighting on both sides of the spectrum – for the whites and against them.”
The two men spoke about the possible future South Africa may hold for all of its citizens and the possibility of a bloody civil war if drastic action was ever taken. They talked about planning and preparation for the upcoming operation. The General had secured the services of four South African Police Special Task Force operators with the blessing, and appointment, of their powerful commander, a personal friend of General Arosi. Six men from the private firm Mike Romeo – led by the company founder himself, Eco Bravo. He had no choppers though and no heavily armoured vehicles. They would have to go in on foot and by thin skinned 4x4!
“So much for the two Casspirs and a helicopter hey General! T.I.A.”
“This. Is. Africa. Indeed Captain Night.”
The two men sat and finished their Cuban cigars and departed from the five star hotel some time later both pondering the future. The General’s thoughts were fixed on
finally establishing a foothold in the English Capital – gateway to Europe. He had tried before to install a representative but he was killed. Too weak and inexperienced. But with Michael Night looking after the organisation’s interests in London, the world was opening her heart and arteries to the African influence he sought to exert. Michael Night’s thoughts were of Lisa, he loved her dearly, so much so that he had to protect his love for her because of who he was - a warrior destined to die by the bullet. He intuitively felt that she knew this and that she had also protected herself from him. Lisa was a powerful woman and Night hardly worried about her for he knew there were a score of men who would willingly lay down their lives to be with her, to protect her. Lisa had that typical Afrikaans strength that he had come to love and admire. He hated to admit it, only ever to himself, but he felt safe with her. Safe in the knowledge that she didn’t fundamentally rely on him for anything and that the love they shared was based on a mutual, enduring, desire for each other and freedom of choice and not on need, weakness or ownership. Love-Ownership is how Night saw modern day man’s concept of marriage. During conversation Lisa had agreed – it seemed to them that most people’s relationship and love for each other was based on proprietorship, you are mine and I am yours – then they could be happy and love each other. While Michael and Lisa believed, and often told each other, be with me while you still desire to be with me and while the flame of love still burns brightly in your heart.
Lisa often said to Michael after he told her that he loved her, which he said prudently anyway, “Don’t say that to me unless you fully realise those words and experience the sensation of love while you say them. I will not have any man tell me he loves me cheaply Mr Michael Night!”
The first time she said those words, he was stunned by the retort, from a woman? Telling him not to say “I love you” too often or without considered thought. He was dumbfounded at the time and lost for words. But those words sealed his love for her and made his love for her stronger every time she said them because he knew that this woman obviously understood love. A love that needs to be loved. “Love needs to be loved Michael! And taken care of and nurtured” she had once told him.
Perhaps they didn’t have to break up or even cool it off. A long distance relationship with lots of travelling in between. It wouldn’t be as clean cut as Night would have liked but Lisa van der Westhuizen was a very special woman after all.