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wondering if he should continue. Mike pressed the pistol into the gap between his eyebrows. ‘Tell me.’
    â€˜All right. Chill. Lose the psycho act.’
    â€˜You’ve got one minute to give me something useful or I’ll kill you.’
    The man sighed. ‘Yeah, well, you would have done that by now if you were going to.’
    Mike clenched his jaw then forced himself to breathe. ‘I’m handing you over to the cops whatever happens, and if you don’t give me something I can use then you’ll be the man who was responsible for Bandile going to prison as well.’
    â€˜You have to let us get away.’
    â€˜I what?’
    The man nodded his head vigorously. ‘Yes, I mean it. I didn’t want to be part of this deal.’
    â€˜What deal?’ Mike was losing his patience.
    â€˜There is a man coming here.’
    â€˜What man?’
    â€˜An umlungu .’
    â€˜So what?’ Mike said. ‘A white man. What does he want?’
    â€˜He wants to sell three rhino horns.’
    Mike whistled through his teeth. ‘Bandile’s trading rhino horn?’
    â€˜I did not say that,’ the man said. ‘Bandile Dlamini is an honest man. He fights for the rhino. He heard about this deal and he is setting up an operation to capture this criminal.’
    Mike scoffed. ‘Right. OK, I’ll play along.’
    â€˜It is no game.’
    â€˜Tell me what you know.’
    â€˜A man is bringing the rhino horns and Bandile will offer to pay him for it, then, when inspecting the horns, some police, from Durban, will arrest the man.’
    â€˜Where are these police now?’
    The man shrugged.
    The plan sounded too far-fetched. If Bandile Dlamini really was part of a sting operation then the police would have already been there, in position, undercover. Also, they would not have countenanced this man doing a deal with vulture heads on the side, nor Mike getting the jump on him. The man was doing his best to extricate his influential boss from an ambush. He probably figured that the loss of the rhino horn would be outweighed by none of them going to prison.
    â€˜Who’s the white man Dlamini’s meeting?’ Mike asked. ‘What’s his name?’
    Solly had darted between the neighbouring shacks until he could see up the road again to where Bandile Dlamini’s car was still parked. Mike looked away from his captive and saw a car flash past, driving fast up the street.
    â€˜Did you get the make of that car?’ Mike asked Solly.
    â€˜An Audi Q5. It’s pulling up near Dlamini’s BMW. A white man has just got out of the car and now the Audi is leaving.’
    â€˜Shit,’ said Mike.

Chapter 4
    Nia Carras had landed her helicopter at the quiet airstrip at Mtubatuba. After tracking the stolen vehicle earlier in the day and chasing the vultures off the carcass she had stopped to use the bathroom and get a Coke from the vending machine.
    She was heading back to Virginia Airport now, looking forward to a surf and a cool drink, when her phone rang. It was connected to the helicopter’s on-board communications system via bluetooth, and John Buttenshaw’s name showed.
    â€˜John, howzit? Everything OK?’
    â€˜Fine, well, not fine. The guy who hit my bakkie wasn’t insured. I’ve been chilling in the office all morning. Nia, we’ve got another call-out. There’s just been a hijacking on the N2 near Stanger and get this – there’s a baby on board.’
    Nia swore. ‘No way. OK, give me the details.’
    John read out the information the control room had taken from the vehicle’s owner, a woman who had called the Motor Track emergency line. Her vehicle was a white Toyota Fortuner, a very common vehicle and a popular target for thieves. Its engine and gearbox were a perfect match for a minibus taxi and unscrupulous taxi operators sometimes upgraded their vehicles with stolen parts.