Hyena Dawn (24 page)

‘
Fuck me. Come fuck me. I don’t give a fuck. Johnny, fuck me. Come on, Sidney, and how about you, Jay? I like it, give it to me.’

Then she collapsed on the floor, crying with despair. She flung the vibrator away from her and clutched at her sides, her face a hideous mask.

Then she rose and staggered towards the bathroom door - and as she turned he caught his breath, because now he could see her back was a mass of terrible red scars.

Deon let himself down from the balcony and onto the lower roof of the block of flats. He waited for his breathing to return to normal. What was he going to do? What he really wanted to do was to get his riot shotgun from his car and exact his revenge on the man guarding the doorway then and there.

There was a noise beneath him and he froze. Someone was banging on the door of the flat. He pulled himself to the edge of the roof and looked over. Frustratingly, he could see the top of the door but not the person banging on it.

The door was opened, obviously by Helen, and her visitor went inside. Deon edged across to the square opening that looked down to the windows of the bathroom, toilets and kitchen of each flat. The voices from inside Helen’s flat echoed up to him.

‘
Can’t you leave me alone, Johnny?’

‘
You can’t have enough of it, can you, you bitch.’

‘
No, Johnny . . .’

Deon could hear her struggling, and then quite clearly the sound of a whip.

‘
Johnny, please . . .’

Then there was silence and he wondered if the bastard had killed her. Eventually he heard Johnny’s voice again.

‘
You’d better bloody learn quick, Helen. The boss has been good to you. With what you know, you’re lucky to be alive. You listen good. You behave yourself and you’ll get better. Cooperate, and we’ll make sure you’re well looked after.’

‘
I’m sorry, Johnny.’

‘
Yeah, Helen, I think we’re going to have a lot of good times, you and I.’

Johnny’s laugh echoed up and down the hollow ventilation shaft. In the dark the whites of Deon’s knuckles stood out like small moons against the black surface of the roof.

Johnny moved casually down the street in the darkness. He’d parked some four blocks away, just to make sure that no one followed him to and from the flat. That was what Mr Aschaar had said he must do. Sidney had come to relieve him at nine o’clock. He actually wished he could have spent the night with Helen, but orders were orders. He knew better than to disobey Mr Aschaar’s commands.

God, but she had an amazing body. He could feel himself getting hard just thinking about it. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so rough with her, but she made him lose control.

He knew that Mr Aschaar wouldn’t be seeing much of her now; he might even sell her to some Arab. Hell, she was pumped so full of drugs it was a wonder she could string a sentence together.

Now he was getting jumpy - he must be imagining things. Who would be following him down the road in Rosebank? It wasn’t the sort of area where people followed you, far too posh.

He dropped back into a hedgerow instinctively and slid the knuckle-duster onto his left hand. Have to teach this jerk a lesson, he thought to himself. The man’s shadow fell across the hedge and Johnny braced himself to deliver the first blow.

His fist sailed upwards, but was expertly deflected, and he felt himself being lifted upwards.

‘
Sorry mate, didn’t see you.’ He blurted out the words, trying to assess the stature of his attacker. He didn’t have a chance: he was forced bodily through the hedge and into an area on the other side filled with garbage bins. A leather-gloved hand gripped

his left wrist and then the other one came up under his left elbow. The joint cracked and he screamed.

Johnny’s face was forced into a garbage can and he felt his mouth fill up with a foul-smelling liquid as he gasped for air. For a moment he thought his attacker had finished with him. Then he received a blow to his groin that travelled up as far as his stomach.

He staggered backwards. Another blow hit him on the side, breaking some of his ribs. Then his jacket was torn upwards and he was thrown face-first into the dirt.

‘
Please, I don’t deserve this . . .’

He could see the long hair of the woman in his bedroom through the open door of his study ... He would sort out this person who was playing games on his private line. Again there was a clicking sound in the receiver when he answered the phone. Then there was another click and the line became clear. He could hear a man breathing deeply on the other end of the line.

‘
Who’s that?’

‘
Johnny.’

‘
God, you’re going to be sorry you phoned me here.’

‘
Mr Aschaar, I’m gonna die. Someone followed me from Helen’s flat. I’ve got to see a fucking doctor, for God’s sake help me.’

‘
Where are you?’

He slammed the phone down. The man was supposed to be a pro and he’d got himself hurt. Bernard had no respect for incompetence. He picked up the phone and quickly dialled another number.

‘
Goliath Collections.’

‘
Jake, this is your uncle. Comer next to Rosebank library, a phone booth. The victim - Johnny - should be nearby. Find out his story, then phone me back.’

‘
Is the victim to be preserved?’

‘
No.’

‘
Understood, sir.’

Bernard put the phone down and walked back into the bedroom.

‘
Business, Bernard darling?’

‘
Just a minor irritation.’

‘
Oh Bernard, forget about that and come over here. Mmm, you’ve got such strong hands. I hope your little irritation hasn’t upset you?’

‘
No, not at all. I’ve just decided to scratch it. Always makes me feel better.’

Bernard Aschaar had one ambition: to gain control of the Goldcorp Group. There was only one problem - he was not Max Golden’s son. Consequently, one of Bernard’s main occupations was boosting Jay Golden’s ego, while quietly building up enough evidence to destroy the young Golden completely when the time was ripe.

The next stage in Bernard’s master plan to control Goldcorp centred around the forthcoming meeting of the Central Merchandising Consortium. Max Golden had promised Jay that he would hand over the company once Jay became president of the CMC. Bernard knew the incumbent president, Tony Rudd, was about to stand down. In fact, Bernard had arranged to buy Rudd’s entire mining group for Goldcorp and thus further strengthen the company’s domination of the South African mining industry.

There were three characteristics that chiefly distinguished the Central Merchandising Consortium: exclusivity, secrecy, and influence. Though its members were not permitted to enter certain countries with strong anti-monopoly legislation, such as the United States, sooner or later every government that counted dealt with them - openly or otherwise. Admission to the London headquarters of the CMC was a complicated affair, especially for non-members. They would generally be referred to another building further down the road, their photograph having been taken without their knowledge. A man could truly be said to have made it in the mining industry when he could walk up the steps of the CMC and pass through the doors without being stopped by one of the discreet but firm security guards. And he only retained his membership as long as he held strictly to the Consortium’s unwritten rules. Discretion and secrecy were paramount. Many of the members were sworn enemies, but the Central Mining Consortium, with its incredible powers, held them together.

It was known that all the members met twice every year, once in London and once in Kimberley. These meetings were rumoured to dictate the price of gold and world interest rates. To these men, the situation in South Africa was of more than passing importance; a revolution at the right time could create incredible fortunes; at the wrong time it would result in terrifying losses. Several members of the CMC were said to have more power than the South African Prime Minister . . .

The big doors with the gold metal surrounds swung open as Bernard Aschaar walked up the steps toward the entrance of the

CMC. Slightly behind him followed Jay Golden, heir to one of the world’s greatest fortunes and a gold mining empire. Jay had been admitted to the CMC two years before and had already proved that he had inherited the family flair for business. Only a handful of members realised that it was not Jay but Bernard Aschaar, Max Golden’s trusted friend, who was the new genius at Goldcorp.

What everyone did know, however, was that over the past few years the influence of the Goldcorp empire in the CMC had been increasing, and that by buying out more and more of the smaller, privately-owned gold mines across the world, they had strengthened their position. If the Goldcorp Group continued its dynamic growth over the next few years, there was no doubt in the minds of many that Jay Golden would become the first man ever to have total control over the CMC.

The meeting that would take place today would show just how close Goldcorp was to assuming that control. It would also show whether Jay Golden had sufficient capital to buy out the other mining companies he needed to gain over fifty per cent voting control of the CMC.

However, unbeknown to both Jay and Bernard, a special meeting had been urgently called a day before. Several members of the CMC were terrified of what might happen if Goldcorp did gain control. Moves had been made to prevent Goldcorp buying up stock in any more mining houses, but the issue was complicated by the divisions that existed between the other members. Tony Rudd, who owned one of the older mining companies, was intent on getting out of the business and wanted to sell. Unfortunately none of the other members at the meeting had sufficient funds to buy him out - but they all knew that Goldcorp did.

After an hour of wrangling, Sonja Seyton-Waugh, head of the Waugh Mining Company, took the floor. She was the only woman in the room and ten years younger than any of the men - but not one of them was in any doubt about her formidable business skills, especially when it came to the mining industry. She addressed Tony Rudd, a squat bulldog of a man, over sixty years old.

‘
I don’t know why you’re doing this, Tony. Your grandfather, Jason Rudd, arrived on the goldfields without a cent in his pocket. He wheeled and dealed like the rest of us - he went bankrupt three times. Jason Rudd believed in free enterprise. He was a founder member of the CMC and he foresaw what is happening today. You sell out to Goldcorp, Tony, and you betray everything your grandfather stood for.’

Sonja saw that Tony was going red in the face and decided that she had said enough. At last she had had the courage to do what she had wanted to do for year. Deon had given her the confidence to fly in the face of Aschaar’s blackmail tactics.

Tony stood up to address the table.

‘
Goddamit, Sonja, you with your fancy words, you make me sound like a hardened criminal. You know my problems; my one son was killed in a university rugby match, the other’s a bloody drug addict. There’s no one to take over my mines when I go, and I want some peace in my old age. I’m not handing over control, I’m selling. Goldcorp has offered me fifty per cent above the market value of my mines.’

Sonja Seyton-Waugh turned pale. She knew that they’d stepped up their offer, but by fifty per cent, that was crazy! Their capital reserves must be terrifying. She turned and looked up at the oil painting of Jason Rudd that hung on the wall - a handsome man, bearing hardly any resemblance to his mean-looking grandson.

‘
You’ve had a very good life, Tony. We’re all very sorry about what happened to Tom, but it was a long time ago. As for Robard, he could still come right. Everyone knows he’s a renegade. Self-pity doesn’t sit easily on you, Tony; feel lucky your son didn’t turn out to be like Jay Golden.’