CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Emmanuel slid from under the spread of blankets. The mountain air had a bite and he dressed quickly. Both sleep and dreams eluded him. Outside the night was a soft velvet curtain drawn over the land. A lonely moon hung in the sky amid an explosion of diamond-bright stars. The cold breeze carried the scent of dirt and river stones up from the depths of the valley. He could hear distant water running over rocks. He walked to the edge of the grass plateau and stared into the abyss.

Weak lights flickered on the crest of a hill. On the wind came the sound of an automobile engine labouring up a rise. Twin lights grew stronger. Headlights. Emmanuel checked the sky for signs of dawn but it was still too early. The lights descended into the valley and came to a stop at the junction. The car hesitated before turning left along the river. Emmanuel guessed it was the tradesman and his unseen accomplice from the rope storehouse. He felt their presence in his blood. They were headed for the clinic. Nicolai was right when he'd said that this hunt would continue until the prey was trapped or dead.

He cut across the grass flat to the building occupied by Shabalala and Lizzie and rapped on the window. The creak of bedsprings was followed by a sleepy groan.

'Shh ...' Shabalala made the universal sound of comfort and opened the door. He was puffy-eyed, a grey blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders.

'Visitors,' Emmanuel said.

'I will dress.' Shabalala went back inside and Emmanuel returned to the verge. The headlights flickered through the tall grass that pressed onto the dirt track. In half an hour the car would be at the circle of aloes. Shabalala ran to Emmanuel's side and gazed into the valley.

'What is it they seek?'

'They are here for the Russian.'

'This man can hardly keep one foot in front of the other. What value does he have? Is he a chief of something?'

'He was once a chief. The men in the car want to exchange him for one of their own.'

The interior lights in the Zweigman house came on and Natalya's primal groans travelled out into the night. The thump of footsteps was followed by a murmur of voices.

'The baby is come,' Shabalala said. 'I will fetch my wife. She knows what to do.'

'Get her,' Emmanuel said and studied the laborious movement of the car headlights on the narrow track. The tradesman and his partner were travelling into unknown territory. That would slow them but it would not stop them.

Shabalala emerged from the hut with Lizzie, who held a lantern high into the darkness. She skirted the vegetable garden and headed for the main house. The door opened and Lilliana Zweigman hurried her inside.

'I'll go,' Emmanuel said when Shabalala reappeared.

'I don't know that there is a way to stop them. But it is worth a try. At least I might be able to slow them down.'

'Until the young one comes into the world,' Shabalala said. 'Maybe that is all the time that is needed.'

'Yes, maybe.' Emmanuel blew into his cupped hands. In Durban, winter had a residue of subtropical heat but the mountains were icy, especially at night. 'I'll get a coat from the old man's suitcase and a torch from the storeroom.'

The storeroom door creaked open and Lana Rose stood in dim candlelight. She was fully dressed with a crocheted blanket wrapped around her. 'What's going on?' she asked.

'Natalya is about to have her baby and there's a car coming up from the valley,' Emmanuel said studying Lana's face. 'Any idea who's in the car and how they got directions to the clinic?'

She looked into his eyes. 'How would I know that?'

'Who did you call from Labrant's Halt?' he asked and shouldered his way into the storeroom. Two candles burned in the interior. 'Maybe you passed on directions to the clinic then.'

'I couldn't even find this place with a map,' she said, hands on her hips. 'Shabalala drove out here, remember?'

That was true.

'Who did you call?' he said and continued searching the shelves for a torch. There had to be one here somewhere.

'The major,' she said. 'I had to let him know where the next stop was after Labrant's.'

Emmanuel found a silver torch and pressed the switch. The beam was bright and narrow. Lana stepped into the light.

'You don't trust me,' she said.

'I don't know anything about you.'

'Did I imagine the night we spent together?'

'Okay. I don't know very much about you.'

She shook her head. 'You are the brightest and the thickest man I've ever met. We've done more than just fuck, Emmanuel. I don't hotwire cars and steal from Indian gangsters every day of the week, you know.'

'No. But you have done those things before,' he said. 'And now you're the girlfriend of a major in the police service. That's a big jump.'

'You want to know why?' Lana stepped closer. 'My father was a gambler and a thief and not much good at either.' She spoke clearly and quickly. 'He used the rope storehouse on Signal Road to hide stuff he lifted from the freight yard. I helped him pack and sell whatever he'd stolen. Sometimes I helped him steal the things myself. Mr Khan bought a lot of it. Khan also hired me to serve drinks at private parties. He likes white girls to work the bar. I let him touch me but I never fucked him because Khan only respects what he can't have. You know what it takes to get out of that kind of life, don't you Emmanuel?'

He nodded. Even now, decades later, he was still amazed that he'd escaped Sophiatown and a life interrupted by regular jail time.

'And the major?' he said.

'He pays my bills. When I've got enough money I'm going to move to Cape Town where nobody knows me and I'm going to start over again. There. Do I have your trust now?'

He was stopped dead by the deluge of information but he had no doubt that Lana would have it all. . . down to the very last wish.

'Yes,' he said. 'You do.'

'Good. What do I need to know?'

'The men in the car are coming for the Russians. I'm going to try to stop them. Stay with Nicolai and keep an eye on Lilliana. She panics easily.'

'Okay.' They moved in tandem across the grass to the stoep of the main house and Lana went inside.

Shabalala wrestled the Russians' suitcase onto the stairs. The intervals between Natalya's groans had shortened and the sound of them had deepened.

'Beautiful.' Zweigman's voice was calm amid the vocal work of childbirth. 'You are doing beautifully, my dear. We will move to the clinic and by morning there will be a baby.'

Shabalala opened the case and threw Emmanuel a thick wool coat with a fur collar. A pair of leather gloves followed.

'We must move,' he said, selecting a long scarf, which he double-looped around his neck and then tucked into the lapels of his police-issue winter jacket. 'Ready, Sergeant Cooper?' For a fleeting second the operation felt real. The detective branch ID and Shabalala by his side. That was where the fantasy ended.

'There are things to be done here at the clinic. Important work,' Emmanuel said. Despite the very real props, this was not an official investigation in which a native constable was obliged to follow the orders of a ranking officer. 'You don't have to come with me.'

'It is women's business and doctor's business.' The Zulu constable removed a home-made slingshot from his pocket and stretched the rubber band till it snapped back with a twang. 'We must go. Our business is elsewhere.'

'Yebo,' Emmanuel said and they set off at a run towards the circle of mountain aloes. Flashlight played over the stone walls of the clinic and the circle of dirt that led to the approach road. They would move downwards to meet the car.

'Carry on,' Shabalala said and stopped to collect a handful of pebbles, which he dropped into his coat pocket - ammunition for the slingshot. Emmanuel waited. They set off again and ran hard to put the lights of the Zweigmans' house behind them. The thump of their feet on the dirt track was the only sound.

Small circles of light from the stone houses grew dim and were soon eaten by the darkness. The clinic disappeared into the bushland. Emmanuel slowed and swung the beam of the flashlight along the sides of the road, on the hunt for an obstacle to place in the tradesman's way. A fiery-necked nightjar swooped low over the ground and caught a white moth in its beak before ascending into an acacia tree.

The throttle of the car engine grew louder.

'There.' Emmanuel steadied the beam on a broken tree branch with spreading limbs. 'We'll block the road with that.'

They heaved and pulled. The branch was unwieldy and clung to the underbrush. Headlights appeared through the grass.

'Together.' Shabalala counted in Zulu: 'Kanye, kabili, kathathu ...'

Muscles strained and lungs burned with the effort required to break the tree limb free of its bush mooring. Wood creaked and the branch shot forwards into the road. Emmanuel stumbled but Shabalala grabbed him by the coat sleeve. The lights rounded a bend.

'Quick,' Emmanuel said. 'Hide.'

They cleared the road and crouched in the long grass. A car appeared on the straight. Twin shafts illuminated the tree branch, which lay to the left of centre. Not so much of an obstacle as an annoyance. It would not stop the tradesman for long.

'We have to get them out of the car. Distract them.' Emmanuel glanced around for ideas and came up empty.

Shabalala pulled the slingshot from his pocket and said calmly, 'This I can do.'

The black Dodge slowed to a stop and the tradesman got out of the passenger side door. The breeze tugged at straw-coloured hair and whipped it across his bloodless face.

'Cold out here,' he said to the driver then pointed to the tree branch. 'This is the reason I hate the fucking country. Go slow. I'll guide you around.' He stepped forward and tried to push the branch out of the way. His hand shot into the air and he jumped back with a yelp. 'Shit!' He examined the red indentation on his skin. 'Something just hit me.'

Seconds later the windscreen of the Dodge crackled under a rain of stones and the silver grille pinged like a giant xylophone. The tradesman skipped and twirled under the barrage; a drunk performing for loose change in a bush bar. Emmanuel smiled at the impromptu tap dance. The half albino was not calling the tune this time.

'Get down!' the driver yelled from the safety of the Dodge. 'Get down.'

The tradesman threw himself to the ground and crawled behind the tree branch for cover.

'One stone left,' Shabalala whispered.

'Wait till he stands up,' Emmanuel said. After that, the plan ran out of steam.

'I'm coming after you, Cooper,' the prone figure yelled. 'You'd better be bulletproof.'

'Wait,' Emmanuel said. 'Wait.'

The tradesman stood, Colt revolver in hand. Shabalala's last shot hit him square between the eyes. He reeled back and fell against the hood of the Dodge. The car engine died and the driver's door opened. The tradesman came upright by force of will. Lazarus with a six-gun.

'Now I've got something for you.'

The Colt was aimed directly at the patch of grass where Emmanuel and Shabalala crouched. A bullet shredded leaves from the shrubs to their right. Far too close for comfort.

The tradesman walked forwards and squeezed out a bullet for every step. He undid his coat buttons. Two gun handles poked out from his trouser waistband.

'Get out of the car.' The order was given calmly. 'Bring the torches.'

'Run!' Emmanuel said to Shabalala.