The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

reading list,” King smiled. “Maybe if it had pictures.”

“Ian turned a blind eye to my extra, needs.”

King shook his head. “No, I don’t think he did.”

“Prove it,” she said. “Are you done here?”

King shook his head. “Not by a long chalk.” She frowned at the expression. He added, “No, I’m not. Now open up the patio doors for me.”

24

 

Tokai

South Africa

It was a fourteen-mile drive from Cape Town to Tokai and the notorious Pollsmoor prison. The traffic was reasonably light, and Tokai had good roads and a decent one-way system that meant they avoided hold-ups and made swift progress. The car was another white Toyota Land Cruiser, standard government issue in these parts, and Kruger drove expertly, keeping at the high-end of the speed limit and seeing obstructions well in advance. Caroline suspected he was trained in evasive driving. There was an automatic rifle in the rear foot well. Kruger had told her it was loaded, cocked, but the safety was applied. The fact that it was there made her tense, and she was relieved she carried the 9mm pistol that Ryan Beard had given her. South Africa was a dangerous place. A country where tourists could fall foul at the merest of wrong turns. The fact that Kruger had told her about the rifle made her relax about both his identity and her ability to trust him, if not for the risk of violent car-jacking that was so rife in South Africa.

Pollsmoor Maximum Security Prison was the place where Nelson Mandela said he did his hardest time. It was built to hold four-thousand-four-hundred prisoners in four separate mediums, but recent figures from the judiciary department showed there were in fact seven-thousand-two-hundred inmates incarcerated. It was desperately over-crowded and only getting more so.

The prisoner Caroline was there to see had been unlucky. Even after the bulk of the blame had been directed towards his deceased brother for the tax evasion, and his defence proving he was ancillary to defrauding the state, Vigus Badenhorst had been sentenced to two years. His defence had lodged an appeal, but it had been overruled.

A year meant everything in Pollsmoor. The difference between hell and purgatory. Sentences over a year meant that you were in a completely different lock-up, with completely different prisoners.

Your life would never be the same again. For many, it would be over.

“Sign here,” the captain said. He held out his hand for Caroline’s bag. She had secreted the Sig under her seat as they had got out of the vehicle. The captain took the handbag and dropped it into a clear, plastic self-sealing bag. He sealed it and handed it to a guard. Both men were black and built like front row rugby players.

Kruger signed his name also and checked in his pistol. It had been agreed that he would be present during the interview as part of Interpol’s liaison with the South African intelligence service.

A white man with an ample stomach and fair hair walked through the inner door. He walked up to Kruger, held out his hand. “Preet Boesak, I’m the governor here at Pollsmoor,” he said. He nodded a brief acknowledgement to Caroline, then turned his attention back to Kruger. “I will help in any way I can,” he said. “What is it you wish to know?”

“I wish to talk to your prisoner Vigus Badenhorst, as arranged through Interpol and the South African government,” Caroline paused. “And I’m over here, Governor Boesak.”

Boesak smiled. “Sorry, my dear,” he said in a thick, guttural drawl. “Naturally, I thought you were Agent Kruger’s assistant.” The two black guards sniggered, then carried on checking in the security bags.

Caroline yawned. “Governor Boesak,” she paused. “Bigger, better and far more influential men than yourself have tried and failed to belittle me in the past. What makes you think your petty and infantile attempts at male chauvinism is going to lose me a second’s sleep? I hunt terrorists for a living.”

“Listen, little lady…” He glared.

Caroline interrupted him. “Use non-gender specific referencing, if you please. You will address me as Ms Darby. I have been asked to file a full and detailed report on Pollsmoor’s assistance with this enquiry by the South African judicial department. I’m guessing when they say Pollsmoor, they actually mean you?”

Kruger smiled as he intervened. “Thank you Governor Boesak, we just need somebody to take us to him.” He was calm and polite, and it was evident he had only spoke to diffuse the situation.

Boesak nodded, but his eyes were still on Caroline. He looked over slowly to Kruger. “Of course,” he said. He nodded to the taller of the two black men. “The captain will take you down. Enjoy the walk, Ms Darby.”

Caroline nodded. “Thank you, Governor Boesak,” she said, but she figured she knew what he had meant. She had never been inside a prison before, and Pollsmoor’s reputation was unrivalled.

The captain waited for the door to open electronically then led the way down the corridor. The walls were whitewashed and smooth. At the end of the corridor, approximately fifty-metres further down, there was a clear Perspex door, behind which, Caroline could see steel bars. The captain hesitated at the door and turned to Caroline. “They’s not seen a woman in a while, missy,” he said. “Your boy is in Medium B Prison. He’s not a hard man, maybe because, well, you know. So, he’s a woman now.”

Kruger drew near to Caroline. “Young offenders go to A-Prison, and prisoners sentenced for up to a year or due for parole go to C-Prison. B is renowned for gang members and in here, the gang members rule.”

“But what did he mean by he’s a woman now?”

Kruger pulled a face. “It’s rough in here,” he said. “There’s men in here with multiple life sentences. You’ve heard of prison gay, haven’t you? Well