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‘It’s got a sunroof, Nia, and a half-length roof rack. Last seen heading north.’
    â€˜That’s good, John, thanks.’ The extra details about the sunroof and rack were a bonus, as they’d help her differentiate the stolen vehicle from the other Toyotas she was bound to fly over.
    â€˜OK, I’m on it. Where’s Banger?’ Nia brought the R44 around and pointed her nose down to pick up airspeed. Even while turning she was switching on the tracking device again. Any thoughts of a relaxing afternoon surf fled Nia’s mind.
    â€˜I’ve called him and sent him a WhatsApp. Just waiting to hear back from him.’
    â€˜OK. We found that car we went looking for this morning – abandoned and out of fuel. Banger and Sipho had fuel with them and Banger was going to drive it back to the owner. He should have been done by now.’ Banger and Sipho were good operators, but Nia knew that once a job was done they sometimes took their time heading back to Durban. They both had huge appetites so she wouldn’t be surprised if they’d found a Steers or a Wimpy somewhere for lunch. It would be irresponsible for them to stop somewhere with no phone signal, but Banger’s stomach, like another part of his body, sometimes overruled his brain.
    If John were with her he would be holding the antenna of his tracker, which looked like a small version of an old-fashioned television antenna, and swinging it left to right to try and pick up the radio signal from the tracking device hidden in the Toyota. Nia couldn’t do that while flying so, instead, she positioned the antenna on the co-pilot’s seat and turned the helicopter to the left and right, flying in an ‘S’ formation, to simulate John swinging the tracking device.
    Attached to the antenna was the tracker itself, and this was fed into her headphones. Next to the antenna was her iPad, onto which she had loaded a satellite navigation app. At first she heard only static, but as she headed east from Hluhluwe towards the N2, Nia started to pick up a scratchy tich, tich, tich signal in her headphones.
    She made a turn north, to the left, and the noise died out, then brought the Robinson around a hundred and eighty degrees. The signal returned and intensified to a clearer, stronger, repetitive tick .
    â€˜Yes!’
    Nia settled above the N2 at 1000 feet and reduced her speed. She checked her fuel. Hanging around the vultures had burned her supply, but the increasing volume and frequency of the signal in her headphones told her the Fortuner was coming towards her, so she could ease off and save fuel. Now all she needed was for Banger to get here, and he shouldn’t be far away.
    She keyed her radio. ‘Ground crew, ground crew, ground crew, this is chopper.’
    There was no answer. Normally once a call was received Nia would only stay in contact with Banger, or whoever was on duty as the ground crew. They, in turn, would receive updates from the Motor Track control room, thus freeing up her and John to fly and track. But today, clearly, was not a normal day. She tapped the screen of her iPad to mark her current position. The GPS coordinates flashed up.
    Nia picked up her cell phone and selected John’s number from the top of the recent calls list.
    â€˜Hi, Nia.’
    She dispensed with the civilities. ‘Any word from Banger? I can’t raise him on the radio.’
    â€˜He must be in a dead spot. I can’t reach him either.’
    â€˜Shit,’ Nia said. ‘I’m picking up a strong signal on the Fortuner. They’re heading north on the N2.’ Nia read out the GPS coordinates to John. ‘Give that to Banger when you get hold of him. Hey … wait a minute, I think I see it.’
    Below her Nia saw a white Fortuner, with half roof rack and sunroof, barrelling down the motorway, passing a line of traffic and just swinging back into the left-hand lane as a truck came towards it,