Free Ivory by Tony Park Page B

problem in South Africa. It’s all standard risk assessment stuff for when we take over the head office in Johannesburg.’
    Jane twirled a strand of blonde hair in her fingers. ‘Harvey’s already done the OH and S and security report for Jo’burg, George. I’ve seen it.’
    Penfold coughed. ‘Well, I’ve asked for another one. Also, there’s the offshore crime element to contend with . . . I mean, assess.’
    She’d rarely, in all the time she’d worked for George Penfold, heard him stumble over a word or sentence. ‘By offshore crime, I take it you mean piracy?’
    â€˜I don’t like that term. It trivialises what is actually theft, assault, kidnap, ransom and murder on the high seas.’
    â€˜You said “contend with”, George. Are these men a bunch of suits who’ll be assessing traffic accident statistics and burglary rates in downtown Johannesburg, or are they bodyguards?’
    â€˜Security consultants.’
    â€˜Why aren’t they flying to Johannesburg, then?’ She felt a tightness in her chest, a sure symptom of rising anger. ‘I hope you’re not sending out a bunch of thugs to protect me, George.’
    â€˜Protect you? Of course not. This is business, Jane. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll try and call later.’
    Jane ended the call and put the phone down on her bedside table. She stripped off her exercise clothes, walked into the ensuite bathroom and turned on the shower taps. She had the distinct impression that George wasn’t telling her everything about these strange men who would soon be joining her on the ship.
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    George Penfold’s intercom buzzed. ‘Yes Gillian?’
    â€˜Harvey and a Mister Van Zyl, to see you.’
    â€˜Show them in.’ It was no coincidence that the leader of the men who would be joining Jane on board the
Penfold Son
had been waiting in his anteroom while he had been talking to her. He had wanted to gauge her reaction to the arrival of the men on the ship, and see if she could guess the real reason for their imminent arrival. She had.
    â€˜Mister Van Zyl,’ George said, rising and extending a hand. ‘Take a seat.’
    â€˜Call me Piet, please.’
    â€˜Really, not the “grim reaper”? Isn’t that what your men called you when you served with the South African Recce Commandos in Angola?’
    Penfold watched the man’s face for a reaction. There was none. The pale blue eyes bored into him. With his snow-white crew cut and expensive suit he could have passed for a rock star, but George knew Piet van Zyl’s fame – or infamy – was limited to a closed circle.
    â€˜You’ve done your research, I see,’ the South African said.
    Harvey Reynolds had known who his employer was talking about as soon as George had mentioned the recent incident in the Niger Delta which had featured in the International Maritime Bureau’s weeklypiracy report. Reynolds was ex-SAS and had worked as a mercenary officer in Sierra Leone and in a management role for a security firm in Iraq, prior to being recruited to head Penfold’s security arm. While the oil company in Nigeria was keeping the names of those involved a secret, despite threats of legal action from the Hague, word had already spread informally amongst those in the know. Harvey had crossed paths, though fortunately not swords, with Piet van Zyl in Iraq. He’d briefed George on why the South African had had to leave the Middle East in a hurry. George wanted to hear it from the man himself, so he asked him: ‘Tell me what went wrong in Baghdad.’
    â€˜Nothing.’
    â€˜But you and your men were deported, and the security firm for which you worked, Corporate Solutions, lost all its contracts and had to leave the country.’
    â€˜Our work was finished there. We did what we had to do.’
    â€˜Which was?’
    Van Zyl shrugged and fixed