The Disappeared (39 page)

‘You’re
insane. You’re all insane,’ he managed to sputter through guttural rasping
wheezes.’

‘You tell us
your plan right now, Visser,’ Collie screamed, ‘or you’re gonna get more where
that came from.’

‘Okay. Okay.’
Robert John Visser gulped down greedy lungfuls of air until his breathing
stabilised. And gradually slowed. ‘Okay.’ He looked at Collie with resentment.
‘The facility ... Obsidian, has its own dedicated communications. Also
decontamination facilities. And Hazmat suits.’ He paused. ‘For what it’s worth.’

‘What makes
you think their communications aren’t also cut off,’ Duggan asked.

‘It wasn’t their
communications I was after.’ He inhaled slowly. ‘They’ve got about a dozen
service vehicles.’ He looked around. ‘Including several mini-buses.’

Of course. Coetzee
hadn’t even thought of it. Obsidian Technologies linked up directly with the
R45. Which meant they could by-pass the barricades. Until now their only other
option would have been to walk the twenty or so kilometres to the next
farmstead. And even that had been a long shot.

‘But Obsidian
is the source of the contamination,’ Duggan said. ‘Wouldn’t you be risking
exposure if you went there?

‘Maybe. Maybe
not. But I’m not going to sit around here forever. That’s for sure.’ There was
silence as Visser’s words sunk in. ‘Well, look here, you’re welcome to try it
yourself. There are more than enough vehicles.’ Several people exchanged
uncertain glances.

Unseen by
anyone, Piet Ryneke slipped out of the Abbot’s entrance. He wasn’t going to
wait for anyone to give
him
permission to flee. He managed a swift
walk-jog heading towards the southern borders of Bishop. He was hoping to cut
into the Joubert farm that bordered that part of Bishop. And then make his
escape.

Long before he
reached the fences of the Joubert farm, however, something happened. He was
never seen again.

Meanwhile in
the restaurant Coetzee looked around studying the faces of the loose clusters
of people. He was racked by doubt. He realised he was at a crossroads. And
right now he felt more unqualified to make a decision than ever before in his
life. He looked down at Duggan. ‘Anything else you need to know.’ Duggan shook
his head. Coetzee looked around, wordlessly addressing the same question to
those gathered in the restaurant. Everyone’s faces reflected the same tortured
indecision. He
had
to make a decision. Right now. And trust that the
decision was the right one. Any decision was better than nothing. Let it be.

Visser stood
up. ‘Well, if that’s all then ... please excuse me if I leave the party early.

‘Robert,’
Coetzee said carefully choosing each word, ‘I would really appreciate it if you
stayed with us.’

‘You’ve
already got my gun. I’ve told you everything I know. What more do you want?’

‘Robert, we
need you. I’m not sure we can do this on our own.’

A spark of
anger flickered in Visser’s eyes. ‘That’s not my problem. I’ve given you all
the help I could give.’ He shot a sullen look at Coetzee and the others. ‘I’m
leaving. Right now.’

Coetzee
stepped in front of him. ‘Please Robert, I’m going to have to ask you to stay.
I am sorry. I really am.’

Robert John
Visser’s anger flared volcanic. ‘You can’t do this. You have no FUCKING right
to detain me.’

Coetzee
motioned for Collie who stepped in and grabbed Visser. ‘Robert, I’m really
sorry. But I need your help. Without you all of these people could die.’

Visser
struggled against Collie’s iron grip. ‘Fuck you! That’s not my fucking problem,
you son of a bitch.’

Coetzee looked
over at Moira. ‘Does your office door lock?’ Wide-eyed and clutching both hands
to her breast, Moira nodded with terrified little jerks. Coetzee stepped in and
grabbed Visser from the front. ‘Robert, please understand, I don’t want to do
this. But I
have
to think of the well-being of everyone. Including you.’

‘Fuck you,
man! FUCK YOU.’

With Collie
pinning Visser’s arms to his body, Coetzee grabbed his legs. With chairs flying
and people scurrying to get out of the way they carried him to Moira’s office.
It was a small rectangular space with a tiny window – way too small for Visser
– high up on the opposite wall. Coetzee chose the space specifically because
the office had a security gate with thick iron bars. They dumped Visser inside,
locked the door then secured the gate. Inside Visser slammed the bars of the
security gate. Screaming and shouting. Banging with fists on the door, cursing.
‘You think this is going to solve anything? Do you think you’re going to make
it out of this alive? Huh? Do you? Well, you’re not.’

Coetzee turned
around and faced Robert John Visser. ‘What do you mean, Visser?’

‘I lied. When
I said I don’t know what they’re planning. I lied.’ He laughed maniacally. ‘Do
you honestly think they would go to all this effort and not make contingency
plans? Huh? Do you?’ Coetzee slowly approached the gate. ‘What we’re doing up
there is highly illegal. According to international law, we’re all criminals.’
He laughed again. An eerie cackle that sat like snot on the silence of the
restaurant. ‘We’re fucking worse than Nazis I tell you. Worse than Nazis.’

‘What do you
mean, Visser?’ Coetzee asked with quiet menace.

‘I lied. There
is a protocol for something like this. It’s called Protocol Thirteen.’ He
looked at Coetzee with triumph. ‘I don’t know what it’s about. But I can tell
you this. It doesn’t have a happy ending. I guarantee you that.’ He leered at
Coetzee. ‘Do you think your lives mean anything when it comes to Obsidian, huh?
Well it doesn’t.’ Visser chuckled. An ugly grimace spreading across his face.
‘They’re coming for you. They’re coming for all of you. And you’re going to
die.’ Through the bars of the gate, he waved his arm, sweeping across the interior
of the restaurant. ‘Every single one of you is going to die.’

Coetzee turned
and stared with grim determination at the terrified faces around him.

Peter Gibson
Jones who was never short of good ideas just had another one.

And this one
was truly a whopper. This time however he needed help. Specifically the help of
Max Theron.

Across the
room the madman from Obsidian was still banging on the door shouting. Maybe he
would realise the futility soon. It was all getting to be a bit much. But his
threats had finally made up Jones’s mind. He wasn’t going to die like an animal
in a trap. Hell no!

Jones leaned
forward and motioned for Max to do the same. Max complied.

‘I don’t know
how you feel, Max,’ Jones whispered conspiratorially, ‘but if we’re serious
about getting out of here ... about survival, we’re going to have to do it
ourselves.’ Max nodded in incomprehension. ‘I mean, we can’t exactly rely on
this circus side show, now can we?’ Max looked over at Coetzee. He nodded
uncertainly. ‘Absolutely, man.’ Jones continued. ‘I mean, old Coetzee’s not a
bad chap and all. But I don’t think he’s ... up to the task.’

‘No.’ Max
sounded as uncertain as he looked.

‘You know what
I mean?’ Jones gave Max a smile designed to bring him into his confidence. It
was the have-I-got-a-deal-for-you smile he would pull on dozens of potential
property buyers every single month. ‘And in all truth, I didn’t exactly make
him my leader? Or what am I saying? Hey Max?’ Max smiled dumbly. ‘You know what
we need right now, Max. You know who we need?’ Max nodded. Then shook his head.
No. He didn’t know who they needed. Jones leaned in. ‘Someone like your father.
That’s who we need right now.’

Max sat up
immediately emboldened. Properly enthused. ‘Damn right.’ He nodded vigorously.

‘Your father
would have taken charge here, Max. He would have sorted this whole thing out in
no time. Hell. We would have been sipping cocktails in the Rosebank Hyatt by
now.’

‘Yes, the
Hyatt.’ Max went on nodding like a little toy dog, bobbing its head dumbly in
the back of some car.

Jones looked
at Max with veiled disgust. In all truth he didn’t have much time for the
little Theron brat. If it wasn’t for his father he wouldn’t have associated
with him at all. Max was nothing like Friedrich Theron. Strong. Commanding.
Charismatic. A family of self-starters, the two brothers – Friedrich and André
– had built their kingdoms independently of each other. Oh no. Max was nothing
like his father ... or his uncle, for that matter. In the opinion of Jones – and
most of Bishop – Max Theron was a weak and snivelling little creature who
completely overestimated his value and importance in the world around him. But
right now Max Theron was the most important person in the world to Gibson
Jones. Because right now little Max was his ticket out of this place.

‘Damn, I wish
I could get hold of my uncle,’ Max said in snot-dripping despair.

Jones placed
his hand on Max’s arm. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried, son. It’s no good.’ There was
no doubt. Jones was roping the little bastard in. Jones looked over at the bar
counter. ‘You want something to drink?’ Jones began to rise.

‘No, don’t
worry,’ Max said looking around. ‘I’ll get Karen to bring it for us.’ He
located her with his eyes.

‘Ah,’ said
Jones with a wink, ‘a man just like your father.’

‘You damn well
better believe it, man.’ Max said with a huge self-assured grin bolstered by
the hype Jones was creating.

‘Yes, it
definitely runs in the family,’ Jones said with open (and completely
counterfeit) admiration.

Max puffed out
his little chest and motioned for Karen. ‘Oh, Karen. Won’t you please come
here?’ With a slow truculence that obviously evaded Max’s limited perception,
Karen rose from her table and walked over. She stopped by Max’s side. Jaw set.
Arms crossed. Jones leaned back. All the better to view the unfolding
spectacle. He could see trouble brewing here. ‘Oh, Karen,’ Max said winking at
Jones, ‘please get Mr Jones and I a coke each please. And uh, please make sure
you don’t put in too much ice this time, okay?’ Jones smiled at Max. Max
grinned at Jones. Karen glared at Max.

‘What was
that?’ Karen’s voice was cool. Too cool.

Max looked up
at Karen. ‘I said –’

Karen leaned
into his face. ‘I tell you what. Why don’t you get it yourself, you little
weak, limp-dick excuse for a man.’ People were beginning to stare. Max blanched
instantly. ‘You are a pointless and insipid little creature that can’t do a
single thing in the world without your little
daddy
. And let me tell
you, you’ll never be half the man he was.

Max’s lower
lip was shaking. ‘Excuse me –’ he began in absolute futility.

‘Yes,
Max
.
You are an excuse for a man, you little dribbling fool. Please do the world a
favour and don’t breed.’ Karen twirled around and strutted towards the door.
The whole restaurant was shocked into silence. Max was red-faced eyes wide. Out
of sight, beneath the counter, Moira applauded softly. After a few paces Karen
turned around. She was livid. ‘Oh by the way, your dad bought your university
exemption. Did you know that?’

(For the past
few years, Max had been especially proud that he had managed to gain entrance
to Rhodes University on his own merit. It was a matter of some pride for the
spoilt rich man’s son. Well, not any more.)

‘And guess
what, Max, I fucked him. Yes, that’s right. I fucked him hard. Right under your
mother’s nose. For five years. Did you know
that
?’ She stared a thousand
flying daggers at him.

‘I ... I ...
how dare –’

‘Oh, shut the
fuck up, you little wimp.’ She walked out. Everybody in the restaurant was
staring at Max.

‘Erm, excuse
me for a moment.’ Jones rose from the table. Ostensibly to go to the bathroom.
But in reality he just wanted to get some temporary distance between himself
and the blushing boy. Absolutely no reason to involve himself in this spectacle
unnecessarily. Jones walked calmly towards the broken bathroom door. If he didn’t
stop himself he would even have whistled a tune. He stepped past the dislodged
door and entered the men’s restrooms. He unzipped himself in front of the
bathroom’s only urinal and took his time waiting for the commotion outside to
blow over. No use being a part of the freak show. What an idiot, Jones thought
to himself
.
Max’s dad would never have allowed any woman to speak to him
like that. Not only did the apple fall
very
far from the tree. It wasn’t
even an apple at all. Jones chuckled to himself as he zipped up and washed his
hands.

Inside the
restaurant things had died down somewhat. Joyce Mohapi was at the bar counter
sipping a Coke and talking quietly with Moira. Jones didn’t have to guess what
they were talking about. Other groupings – mostly women – were also discussing
the confrontation in whispered tones. Coetzee, Collie, Duggan, Mr Sacks and Fred
Young were grouped around Thabo Mohapi’s table, deliberating quietly. Stoffel
van Vuuren was wisely passed out at the bar. Jones walked over to the lone and
still furiously blushing Max Theron and sat down opposite him. Max looked
relieved to see him. ‘Mr Jones, how dare she talk to me like that?’

‘Don’t worry
son,’ Jones said soothingly, ‘she’s from the lower classes. You can’t expect
anything more from them.’

‘I know, but
how dare she insult me like that. Who does she think she is?’ Max looked back
over his shoulder at the Abbot’s entrance. Indignant. ‘I wish I could phone my
uncle. He would –’

Jones had
enough. He banged his fist down on the table. ‘Focus, dammit Max.’ Max was
startled, looking at Jones with wide eyes. ‘We can’t rely on anyone else to
damn well help us. Do you understand that?’ Max nodded meekly. Jones softened
his tone. ‘Look here, if we stick together, we’ll make it. We don’t need anyone
else. Trust me, Max. Okay?’