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

ravenous from the shock and emotion, not to mention exertion from her ordeal that morning, as well as having missed breakfast, and soon finished them off with her coffee.

Her first call had been to Simon Mereweather, who following standard operating procedure (SOP), did not answer, but had listened to her message and called her straight back. He had listened to what she had to say and ordered her to get Badenhorst’s information at any cost while he set about putting a deal in motion. Caroline knew what the MI5 liaison officer had meant, but having witnessed Vigus Badenhorst’s desperation and near-breakdown, she was not about to lie and promise the man the earth with no intent to make good on her side of the bargain. She knew he deserved her trust, could see just how desperate he was. The man was on the edge, had suffered terribly. She reflected that he would no doubt merely be one of a number. Pollsmoor was indeed, a living hell.

After her conversation with Simon Mereweather, Caroline had then called her Interpol contact to get a deal brokered at their end. It couldn’t hurt to play two hands. Interpol was a large agency, perhaps they would have more luck with the South African government than MI5 would with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, who would then set out to broker a deal with Pretoria. The FCO were not renowned for the speed with which their diplomats did their work. By contrast, Interpol would already have South African law enforcement personnel in their offices and contacts within the government. It seemed like a logical step, and one with which to circumvent a protracted deal.

Bérénice Duval was the senior investigator and leader of the Terrorism Incident Response Team. Her remit was to liaise with police forces from around the world and enable the smooth running of joint investigations where Interpol facilitated a brokerage between law enforcement agencies. Interpol were to act as a go-between in any investigation into the group known as Anarchy to Recreate Society. Caroline had met the forty-five-year-old woman and former counter terrorism officer with the Préfecture de Police de Paris, along with other representatives from law enforcement agencies of the nations of the five richest people in the world on the kill list. Also present had been representatives from countries of the next five people, but the dramatic shedding of wealth had changed the line-up daily. Caroline had liked the woman, had spoken enough with her at the group dinner and in subsequent meetings to have built up a rapport. It couldn’t hurt throwing out a deal with the South Africans while MI5 did what they could with Whitehall.

Bérénice Duval had been pleased to talk to Caroline. She had listened intently and when she heard that the deal could mean as little as striking a year from Bordenhorst’s sentence, she had seemed confident in obtaining a result. She called back within twenty-minutes, just as Caroline could hear Governor Preet Boesak return, his thick, guttural tone barely contained by the outer office.

She glanced down at her phone, saw Duval’s number.

“Bérénice, that was quick,” she answered. “Good news or bad?”

“Good,” she replied. “For us, but I think he will buy it. It doesn’t sound like the man has choices.”

“You could say that. What’s the deal?”

“The South African government will grant him freedom in the form of a suspended sentence with gratuity. One wrong move and he’s back inside Pollsmoor Prison, but this time for four years. He will have to cooperate with our investigation, give us a result which leads to further positive intelligence. They wanted his information to lead to the capture or conviction or of the people we are after, but I didn’t think Badenhorst would go for it. There has to be some carrot as well as stick.”

Caroline marvelled at the woman’s fluent English and turn of phrase. “Sounds fair,” she said, feeling excitement, a rush of adrenalin. Not only could she close the gap in the investigation, get a step closer to finding the terrorists, but she would help the man out of his nightmare. She knew he had broken the law, avoided paying taxes, but she had read the file on him, seen that his older brother had been the brains behind the venture. He had been running the operation while his younger brother was still in junior school. Vigus Badenhorst wasn’t a killer, a rapist or a thief. He didn’t deserve the living hell of being locked up with South Africa’s gang members, men who did what they did to the vulnerable.

“Well, there is also a stipulation,” Duval paused. “But he’ll go for it, given the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“The government will be working with the four leading organisations for the prevention of the ivory trade to set up a task force. Organisations like TUSK and the WWF. This has been underway for some time, but with this new development, Badenhorst will have to give his cooperation, selling out the chain he and his brother used to off-load their illegal ivory.”

“I think he will agree to anything,” she said. She hadn’t told Duval the extent of Badenhorst’s reasons for commuting his sentence, but the woman was an experienced police officer, she knew the score.

She gave Duval the prison’s fax number so that Interpol could send notification to set the ball rolling, and was told the notification of Badenhorst’s release would be both faxed and emailed within the hour from the South African Judiciary.

Caroline replaced the telephone as Governor Boesak entered, his fax machine rolling. She was seated behind the man’s desk in his leather swivel chair. She beckoned the man to take a visitor’s seat and glanced at the whirling fax machine. “Don’t see many of those these days,” she said. “But I think you will find what it says rather interesting. Kindly prepare prisoner Vigus Badenhorst for immediate release into my custody, Governor Boesak.