Reaper by A P Bateman

Author:A P Bateman [Bateman, A P]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-15T22:00:00+00:00

42

Franschhoek, South Africa

The house was a ranch-style, or bungalow. It was constructed of wooden white-washed slats and red wooden shingle tiles on the roof. There was a modern stainless-steel chimney, the type so often paired with a wood-burning stove inside. The nights in South Africa could be cold, even in the summer. It was a tidy property, and not out of the realms of a senior intelligence service officer’s finances. The house was sat square in half an acre of lawn with shrubs and trees and a gravelled driveway with a white BMW X5 taking up half of it. To the right, a larger property sat in an acre plot, the building being some seventy-metres distant. To the left; twenty metres of scrubland before a road that right-angled at a crossroads.

Rashid studied the property from across the road. The location of the house put the houses on this side of the road at sixty-metres distant. Considering what he had to do, it didn’t get much better, other than a deserted farm. He was certain nobody would hear the man shout or scream, and he was confident he would be able to contain the situation. He had read the cobbled-together details on the journey over. An attachment on Ryan Beard’s phone.

The man in question was an unmarried forty-year-old named Harvey Botha. He was an intelligence analyst and had been with the South African Secret Service for eleven years. His file hadn’t been clean. There had been an allegation of sexual harassment, which had later been retracted. No further action had been taken. And then four years ago, there had been an embezzlement investigation. Botha had sought representation, fought the case and won his tribunal. It hadn’t been cut and dried though, as the investigating team had taken shortcuts, not followed protocol and the case had been dropped. Botha had been side-lined for a promotion which should easily have been his, and his security clearance had been lowered. The man was on a short leash, and Ryan Beard’s enquiry had flagged up a warning in certain circles. Funds had been traced to Botha via poorly set-up offshore accounts. Ryan Beard had not held out much hope for the SASS, but he knew that forensic accountants working for MI5 would be able to get details of the account that the money had been sent from. Neil Ramsay knew this as well, and had tasked Marnie with sending the details to the department that had worked on uncovering the terrorist organisation Anarchy to Recreate Society.

“What do you reckon?” Beard asked.

Rashid shrugged. “We need information, see if what the man knows can tell us more about Helena Snell, or Milankovitch, or whatever the hell she’s calling herself.”

“I’m sure your forensic accountants will get something from the account number.”

“I hope so,” Rashid paused. “For Caroline’s sake.”

“What do you mean?” Beard asked.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“I thought that was why you contacted MI5?”

Beard shook his head. “What?”

“Caroline was abducted. Just over a month ago.”

“Shit…”

“Exactly right. King is working for Helena Milankovitch, just to buy some time.

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