Good Hope

Malcolm Kohll

Description

A world summit. A cell of Muslim insurgents intent on bringing it down. And two officers caught up in the middle of it all. 

When the European location for the World G8 Summit on AIDS is compromised, Cape Town is hurriedly chosen to host. But Scimitar, an impenetrable militant Islamic cell based on the tip of Africa, has other plans. Led by Sayeed Dhatri, a Cape Town-born Muslim, and advised by Tariq Dar, the key strategist and quartermaster of the global terror war against the West, the cell plots to raze the grand hotel where the world’s leaders are scheduled to gather for their final press conference. Alerted by the CIA, the National Intelligence Agency assigns its best officers, Tau Molepe and Gerry Viljoen – an African and an Afrikaner, and staunch friends and colleagues – to neutralize the threat. The two must delve into the dangerous underground world of international terror, navigating complex schemes and dedicated Muslim insurgents in an attempt to keep the leaders of the Free World safe. But no matter what they do, Tau and Gerry always find themselves one step behind their target and time is running out fast.

Sujets

• Musulmán
• Musulman
• Legal thriller
• Politics
• Crime
• Thriller
• Fiction
• Islam

Informations

• Publié par: Anthem Press
• Date de parution: 30 juin 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783081912
• Langue: English

Extrait

GOOD HOPE
GOOD HOPE
MALCOLM KOHLL
Good Hope
THAMES RIVER PRESS An imprint of Wimbledon Publishing Company Limited (WPC) Another imprint of WPC is Anthem Press ( www.anthempress.com ) First published in the United Kingdom in 2014 by THAMES RIVER PRESS 75–76 Blackfriars Road London SE1 8HA
www.thamesriverpress.com
© Malcolm Kohll 2014
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher.
The moral rights of the author have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters and events described in this novel are imaginary and any similarity with real people or events is purely coincidental.
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-78308-203-2
This title is also available as an eBook
To Rafaela and Harlan My Alpha and Omega
Prologue
‘ T he problem with 9/11 was that that the day after, the very next day, they started cleaning up. After we are finished the land will be poisoned for a thousand years. Nobody will come near the place – we will have made a wasteland for the infidel like they have made for us.’ Sayeed Dhatri looked at the three faces around the table. His hooded blue eyes contrasted starkly with his coffee skin and shock of black hair. The others nodded as he rolled out a large scale map onto the oilskin tablecloth. ‘There will be two attacks – one from the sea, and one from the land. Once we have penetrated the reactor core then the pressurised water vessel will explode and blow the roof off!’
The stocky man raised a hand. ‘I’ve been to the plant and the outer walls must be two metres thick, reinforced concrete. How do we breach that?’
Sayeed smiled and pointed to the map. ‘See here – this dotted line. A narrow gauge railway line - it’s where they bring the fuel into the reactor.’
‘But it must have security doors?’
‘It has. Two sets of steel blast doors. But we will be driving a small diesel engine loaded with a ton of explosive straight into the doors. We will knock – Allah will open for us!’
They all laughed.
‘And from the sea?’
‘A Zodiac with RPG may not get right through the walls but will weaken them so that when the water container blows, the whole side will shear off. Cape Town will become uninhabitable.’
Chapter 1
O bservatory, Cape Town. A mixed suburb near the University of Cape Town, consisting of small Victorian houses let out to students, artists and those of modest income. Like policemen. Which is why Gerry Viljoen and, until very recently, his girlfriend Aletta lived there.
But after the fight, he had just let her go. She slammed the door and he heard her footsteps clicking on the slasto stoep then crunching the gravel in the driveway. He tracked her footfalls past the loquat tree where the mouse birds lived, then the screech of the iron gate and the loud clang as it relocked itself. The car door slammed and finally her Yaris started and she drove off into the night. ‘Bitch,’ muttered Gerry as he poured himself a stiff brandy and stared at the ashes of his life. ‘Bitch!’ he yelled into the darkness.
It had all started innocently enough. Aletta had said that she had bumped into her ex-fiancé, Louis Eskteen, and gone for coffee with him.
‘Where? Where’d you bump into him?’ demanded Gerry. His tone caused her to frown. ‘In Greenpoint. He’s got a flat nearby.’
‘Nice place, is it?’
‘What? Christ Gerry, I don’t know. We went for coffee. To Café Neo. Louis made me an intriguing offer…’
‘I’ll bet,’ muttered Gerry.
‘Excuse me?’ said Aletta, her cheeks burning. ‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No, you meant something. Come on! What?’
‘It’s fine. You go have coffee with your ex.’
‘Gerry! I can’t believe you’re saying this! He made me a job offer! Partner in a new pharmacy in George.’
‘George? That’s fucking great! So you want to go and live in George now?’
‘For Christ’s sake stop being so ridiculous! I wanted to discuss it with you!’
‘I can’t live in George!’ Yelled Gerry. ‘You want to go and be with your old flame, fine!’
‘I can’t believe you!’ said Aletta, tears in her eyes as she grabbed her handbag and stamped out.
Gerry squinted at his watch. It was past midnight and a full hour and four fingers of Klipdrift brandy since Aletta had left and since then, silence. Gerry had spent his time ruminating, and eventually what started out as a dim and slightly crazy notion had coalesced into something ineffable in his woozy brain. One way or the other, he had to know.
He climbed into his blue Impreza and blipped the throttle a couple of times before pulling a tight U-turn and zig-zagging through the quiet back streets of Observatory towards the highway leading to the City bowl, then out to Mouille Point. There was virtually no traffic at that time of night and Gerry flew along De Waal Drive, flanking the Mountain, feeling a shove in his back as the turbo kicked in. Then down through the gears as he swooped off the flyover back to street level. He buzzed through the robot on amber and swung right towards Sea Point, hitting nearly 160KPH as he stormed towards Greenpoint Stadium.
He knew that Eksteen lived in a three bedroom flat on the beachfront, within spitting distance of Café Neo, where the rich and beautiful would congregate for skinny lattes after jogging to the lighthouse or walking their Schnauzers. The café was shut, and Gerry was cruising slowly along the line of cars parked against the curb in Beach Road. He suddenly slowed – there was Aletta’s Yaris, within five hundred metres of the porticoed entrance of Mirabelle, the five storey block of Art Deco flats, recently renovated in cream and burnished chrome. Gerry found a parking space around the corner and was immediately accosted by a Cameroonian with a pock-marked face in a fluorescent vest who guided him into the opening and promised to keep his car safe. Gerry scowled at him and crossed the road, the better to observe the flats from the nubby salt grass verges leading up to the sea wall. A mist had risen off the steely South Atlantic swell, frosting his eyelashes as he looked up at the top floor to the only lit flat. As he watched, the lights went out.
‘Fuck!’ said Gerry and glared at the dark block, then turned and walked back to his car. Moments later the Cameroonian emerged from the darkness with his hand outstretched ‘Sharp-sharp, boss.’ Gerry was about to argue but slapped two Rands into the man’s hand and shut the car door. His hands were trembling slightly as he opened the cubby hole and took out a matchbox. Inside was a white and gold wafer the size of his thumbnail. He slid open the back of his phone and inserted the new SIM card and dialled.
‘There’s gunshots and screams coming from a flat…Mouille Point, Beach Road. The block is called Mirabelle…You spell it like it sounds, Jissis … Top floor, number 513.’
Gerry rung off and replaced the SIM with the original one, slid the untraceable one back into its matchbox and pulled away from the curb, chuckling to himself. ‘Coitus interruptus, my friend. Big time.’
Heading back towards De Waal Drive he passed two Police cars driving fast the opposite way, sirens keening and lights flashing.
By the time Gerry got home the effects of the Klipdrift had largely worn off. While taking a handful of Advil he glanced in bathroom mirror and saw a man in his mid 30’s, rings around his eyes, stubble on his chin and a stain on his shirt staring out at him. ‘Arsehole,’ he said, shaking his head. He fell onto his bed and waited for insensibility to overwhelm his hurt.
Six thirty in the morning isn’t a time, it’s an insult. And Gerry felt truly disrespected when the doorbell jangled his fried neurons and he staggered to the front door in his underpants and yanked it open, hoping to see a contrite Aletta standing there. Instead he saw a tall muscular black man in combat trousers and a tight olive vest, New Balance running shoes on his feet. He pushed past Gerry into the small bungalow.
‘You were supposed to be ready! Six thirty – ding-dong! It’s gonna be hot today and we’re going up the long way.’
Gerry groaned. The idea of climbing Table Mountain with an elephantine hangover and awash in self-pity and remorse made no sense. Having his colleague and friend Tau Molepe in boundless good humour and enthusiasm only made matters worse.
‘Letta not here?’ asked Tau.
‘No,’ said Gerry. ‘Put on some coffee, I need a shower.’
‘Really? That rank sweat is kinda fetching,’ said Tau wrinkling his nose. ‘I thought you guys were in last night?’
‘We were, but she’s not here now, okay? Just get the coffee on!’
Gerry went up the short passage to the bathroom and entered the shower cubicle. It smelled of Aletta’s soap and shampoo. Gerry muttered darkly and turned on the hot tap. He stood out of the stream until the water was steaming, then plunged, feeling the heat scalding his skin. Then he fl