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Chapter 1 [James Butternox, Monday, 16 February
2015, 12:00]
I am screaming at the top of my lungs,
but nobody hears me. There is nobody to save me. I am falling and falling,
deeper and deeper into the darkness. My muscles are aching and there is
perspiration all over my body. When… will… this… end?
I feel my body twitching. My eyelids
are heavy. Slowly I open it. Am I dead? Where am I? I look around the room. I
close my eyes again. It’s burning. I have a pounding headache. And I feel sick
and weak.
I slowly open my eyes again. I look
around the room. It is white. Everything is white. Am I dead? What is the last
thing I remember? Is this heaven? Well… it feels like hell. I close my eyes
again and try to make sense of where I am.
After a few minutes I open my eyes again and look around. I realise that I am in a hospital bed. I search for the button to call the nurse. Finally my fingers find it and I press it. A minute later a nurse appears.
“Where am I?”
“Good morning, Mr Smith. You are in
hospital. You were in an accident a few days ago. You’re very lucky. You bumped
your head pretty hard but you didn’t sustain any major injuries.”
“Which hospital?”
“The Sisters of Mercy Hospital.”
“And where is that?”
“Cape Town.”
She continues to take my blood
pressure and listen to my heart rate. She writes something on my chart.
“I will ask the doctor to come and
speak to you as soon as possible. Are you hungry or thirsty?”
“Yes, is it possible to get something
smooth like yoghurt or jelly?”
“Certainly. I’ll phone the kitchen
right away. Get some rest.”
Did she say “a few days ago”? Boy, my
boss is going to be pissed. I had that important deadline. What day is it? O my
word, I feel so confused. What happened anyway? Accident, they say. I can’t
remember any accident. But how is it
that I remember everything else about my life? My lovely wife, Jill, with her
reddish blond curls and supple body; my overbearing mother who can always think
of another insult and who dresses like a teenager; all my friends; my job; my
bombastic boss and my Golden Retriever called Lady.
I am so tired. I just lay there for a
while. Then the doctor enters the room. He explains about the accident and the
head injuries I sustained. I have a cerebral concussion and I was in a coma for
three days but he thinks that the swelling in my brain is down and they need to
do another MRI scan. He keeps on calling me “Mr Smith”.
Finally I say, “I’m not Mr Smith. My
name is James Butternox.”
The doctor and the nurse exchange
looks. How odd.
“Do you know what day it is?”
“Well, if I was in a coma for three
days, it’s probably a Saturday. The 19th of July 2014.”
Again the exchanged looks. What is
going on?
“It’s the 5th of February
2015.”
“Impossible!”
“Mr Sm… uhh.. sir, I’m afraid it seems
that you have partial amnesia from the brain injuries you sustained.”
“Partial amnesia? What does that even mean? I remember everything fine – my
wife, my mother, my friends and colleagues and my dog.”
“Do you have a contact number for your
wife?”
“Off course. Her name is Jill
Butternox. Her number is 071 255 5525. Call her. Has she already been here
today?”
Exchanged looks.
“No-one has been here to visit you
since you arrived, sir.”
“Impossible!”
I feel a heat wave going through my
body. My anger is rising. If I don’t make sense of this situation, I’m going to
lose it very soon. I want to see Jill!
The sister comes back with my personal
affects. It looks like my wallet. It even has teeth marks in the leather where
Lady chewed on it when she was still a puppy. I check the cell phone. Yes, it’s
mine all right. I have this compulsion to draw ;) on everything, a wink. I don’t
know why, I just draw it all the time. And there is the minute winking face in
the bottom right hand corner at the back of my cell phone.
I open my wallet. I’m convinced that I
will now be able to prove that I am James Butternox. And then I’m phoning Jill.
I open the wallet and take out my driver’s licence. That’s me on the photo. Sandy
brown hair, blue eyes, aristocratic nose. My birth date is correct. 7 August 1985.
Then I look at the name. Kevin Michael Smith. Really? Who would give their child such a stupid name? Kevin
Michael? It doesn’t even sound right. No! It can’t be! I KNOW I am James Butternox. Okay, really it’s Jameson Butternox - maybe my mother had one too many whiskeys when
she thought of this name? So, what the
hell?
I take out my credit card, my Clicks card, my Pick ‘n Pay Smart Shopper card and all the others. They ALL say Mr KM Smith. I don’t understand this. Maybe
I hit my head really hard - but hard enough to get someone else’s memories? I
doubt that very much.
Chapter 2 [James Butternox, Monday, 16 February
2015; 12:45]
I wake up. I feel groggy. It feels
like I have been sleeping for hours. I haven’t even phoned Jill yet. She must
be so worried about me. My tummy is rumbling. I open my eyes and see a large
bowl of jelly and custard on the serving tray. I sit up and eat it. It feels
like heaven, smoothly going down my dry throat. I feel better instantly. I look
at my cell phone. The battery is flat.
I try to get up. Oh, I’ve got that
ridiculous hospital gown on where people can see your arse if you’re not
careful, and no underwear. Great! And I mean that in the most sarcastic way
possible.
I look in the bedside cupboard and
find a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, socks and tekkies.
And, thank goodness, also clean underwear. I get dressed quickly. I feel fine. There’s
no way I’m going to stay in this place for a minute longer. I just need to get
home a see Jill and Lady. Then everything will be all right.
I test my legs and body strength. Not
as good as I remember it, but fine for the get-away. I slightly open the door slowly
and silently. The nurse is busy at the nurses station, turned away, chatting
happily with her boyfriend on her cell phone.
I sneak out and soundlessly close the
door. I crawl past the nurses’ station and out into the corridor. Then I get up
and walk quickly, trying to find the nearest exit. With luck I will find a busy
Emergency Room and can just sneak out.
It’s very quiet in the hospital. That
is odd. No doctors and nurses walking around. No cleaners mopping the floor.
Where is everybody? This is eerie.
I don’t stick around to find out why
it’s so quiet and where everybody is. I sneak out the closest door with an
“EXIT” sign. I shield my eyes from the blazing sun. Damn, it’s hot! It really must
be February. I run over a patch of grass and leave the hospital grounds through
the huge iron gates. I run-walk quickly along the sidewalk to the nearest bus
stop or taxi rank that I can find. There are already sweat stains under my arms
from the effort of walking. I’m weaker than I thought. I hold onto a lamp post
for a moment and catch my breath before I continue onwards. I don’t know the
area at all so it’s difficult to know where I’m going and if I am even moving
in the right direction.
As I’m walking I check my wallet. I
thought I saw some cash in it when I went through it in the hospital. As I open
my wallet I see my hands and they remind me of my father’s hands. I put that
thought right out of my head. I still get a knot in my stomach when I think of
Dad, even if he died twenty six years ago.
I have always been very meticulous
about paying with cash. Once you start swiping the card, what prevents you from
doing it again and again? No, the way to become successful and rich is to live
frugal. Buy only what you need and indulge yourself once in a while.
There is R1 820 in my wallet. Why
on earth am I carrying so much cash with me? My daily withdrawal limit is only
R1 000. Well, luckily I have it now because I have no idea how much money
I will need to get home.
A block away I see a taxi-stop. I’m a
little bit scared, I admit. It’s not as if I’m racist or anything but a tall white
guy with blue eyes and sandy brown hair in a taxi full of black and coloured
people definitely stands out. I stand inside the taxi-shelter, out of the
scrutinising sun. I wonder how much a
taxi will cost from Cape Town to Stellenbosch.
Finally a mini-bus taxi stops here. The
driver and other people look at me like I’m some kind of alien. I ask the
driver where the taxi is going. He says that he is on his way to Kuilsriver and
that is the furthest they travel on this route. From the taxi rank in
Kuilsriver I can take another taxi to
Stellenbosch.
I get into the taxi. I just see white
teeth on dark faces as the tired people show their amusement with a white boytjie on the taxi. I sit in the second
row from the front. I’m squashed between a coloured guy in dirty jeans and a
big black women who also has her shopping on her lap. I find it hard to breathe
and the mingling smell of different people’s sweat is overwhelming. I feel
nauseous but have no choice – I have to get home.
Suddenly people start passing money
from the back to me. My neighbour sees that I am confused and he explains in Cape-Afrikaans, “My Lanie, die texie fêr is fôtie-faif Rênd. Djy moet a-mal se gelt va
agte af sa-vat, djoune bysit en da wie voerentoe aanpass.” [The taxi fare
is R45. You must take all the money from the back, add yours to it and then pass
it on to the front.]
In Kuilsriver I locate a taxi going to
Stellenbosch. I get in. Another R45. This time I know the drill. I’m also used
to the sweaty odour in the air.
They drop me off at the Taxi stop at Die Braak in the middle of Stellenbosch.
It’s already late afternoon, probably 4 o’clock. The shops are still open. I
phone Jill. Maybe she can leave work early and pick me up. No answer. I leave a
voice message, “Jilly Bean, it’s me,
James. I’m standing at Eikestad Mall
and was wondering if you can pick me up. I don’t have my car. Please phone me back
as soon as you get this message. Love you! Bye.”
Jill only gets off work at 5 o’clock
at the earliest. She works a lot of overtime, as do I. She is a lawyer and it
is really survival of the fittest out there. She is a good lawyer. People go
back to her because of her empathetic and straight forward manner. She is a
short woman and she always wears high heels to make herself look taller. She
wants to look a client (or the enemy) in the eye.
She doesn’t come from a rich family.
When she was five, Child Welfare took her away from her alcoholic parents
because they couldn’t look properly after her anymore. She was adopted by a
nice family, but the emotional damage was done. She studied Law to make a real
difference in normal people’s lives. But even when she tries her best it
doesn’t stop disgruntled clients who are in jail to send her death threats from
time to time. Arseholes. She doesn’t know where her real parents are now,
whether they are dead or alive, and she doesn’t care either.
I think about it. Will I sit and have
coffee and something to eat or will I just walk to Jill’s office myself? Jill
and I love to hang out in coffee shops and just read the paper or talk. I miss Jill
so much that I decide to rather walk to her work. I just want to hold her and
rest my face in her neck, smell the sweet, flowery perfume that she has always
worn since we were in high school.
I’m tired and I stink. My coma, the
weather, as well as the claustrophobic atmosphere in the taxis contributed to
that. I hate how I look and feel. I normally dress nicely, even when I am just
at home. Now I look like a drenched dog. I start walking towards Dorp Street. At Checkers I stop to buy a chicken-and-mushroom pie and a 500ml
bottle of Coke.
I eat and drink while I continue walking
down Dorp Street. When I see her
office building, I try to clean my face as best as I can and I enter the foyer.
I’ve always felt very welcome here in these grand lawyers’ offices but today I
feel out of place. I normally wear formal clothing as I am a chartered
accountant. Now I am in jeans, a stinky T-shirt with sweat stains and tekkies, and not clean ones at that.
I try to keep my pose as I walk closer
to the receptionist. Mary, the usual receptionist, who is an elderly
kind-hearted woman, is not there. Instead there is some young beautiful blond
girl that looks like she is rather a model than a receptionist at a law firm.
She puts away her cell phone to give me her full attention.
I a honey-dripping voice she asks “May
I help you, sir?”
“Yes. I would like to speak to Jill
Butternox. Can you please call her for me?” I reply.
“Do you have an appointment, sir?”
“No. She is my wife. I just need to
talk to her quickly. Can you please call her?”
“Certainly, sir.”
She gives me a look of ‘look what the cat dragged in’ while she
picks up the phone to summons Jill. I sit on the red velvet covered couch in
the waiting area and look at the modern art against the walls.
Five minutes later Jill walks in. Man,
she’s a looker and she’s got a great heart. Her red hair slides through the air
as she walks into the foyer. She looks at me with her green eyes. She has a
pointy nose and she hates that fact about herself - but I love it. She is
always dressed in formal work clothes and those high heels makes her calves
look even sexier that they are. I’m such a lucky man!
“James? Let’s go talk in my office.”
Well, at least she didn’t think I’m Kevin Michael! What a relief.
I follow her into her medium sized office
and she closes the heavy wooden door. She is a very private person and will
never discuss any matters in front of colleagues or the receptionist. I’m so
tired - I just fall into the leather chair opposite her desk.
“James? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you
at work? Why do you look like this? What happened?” She is frowning and looks
super concerned but also puzzled. Her brows look like question marks.
I start explaining about the accident,
that I was in a coma for three days, about my concussion and swollen brain, how
I “booked” myself out of hospital and how I finally got to her via the taxis
and walking.
She listens quietly to my story the
whole time, with her hands folded neatly in her lap. She has her game face on.
This is odd. She usually reserves that face for clients and my mother. I can
see her nervously pressing the pinkie of her one hand with the thumb and index
finger of the other.
When I’m done, she says, “James, you
were not in an accident. You woke up
next to me in bed this morning. You scolded Lady for lying on your work clothes
you put out last night. We had muesli and yoghurt. You were late for work and
left in a hurry. I left a few minutes later.”
“Impossible!” That’s the third time
I’ve said this word today.
“Where’s your car?”
“I don’t know” I reply.
“Well, take my car, go home, get a shower and
climb into bed. Maybe you’re coming down with something. I’m really worried
about you.”
“I lost my house keys.”
“O my word! We’ll have to change the
locks! You know about the threats I receive” she scolds but then she says in a
calmer voice, “Let’s talk about it later. It’s now first a priority for you to
get home. I will catch a lift with Lilly.” Lilly is one of her colleagues.
I thank her and take the car and house
keys. I locate her car in the secured parking lot, an easy job, since she
always parks in the exactly the same spot. I get into her silver Volkswagen Polo. As I start the car I
turn the air con on full power. Oh, how nice that feels. I really just want to
get into my own shower.
I drive home. We can afford a larger
home. In fact, we own a larger home,
but it is more profitable to rent it out while we keep on living in our
two-bedroom flat, the one we bought just after our wedding five years ago. It’s
also almost walking distance from Jill’s work. The traffic in Stellenbosch can
get quite bad, especially in the morning and late afternoon. A long time ago
the roads may have been sufficient for the inhabitants but in the past ten
years or so the amount of university students and residents increased
astronomically – or so it feels. Even in December the town is bustling with
people.
I park in the driveway in front of our
semi-detached flat. I get out, lock the car, open the small iron gate and walk
to the front door. Lady is sitting in the living room window, waving her tail
furiously and barking a welcome bark – one only reserved for me. She is already
six years old. We rescued her from a ditch and since then she has been our
“child”.
I unlock the door and immediately Lady
is all over me. She kisses me and I physically need to push her off me. I bury my
head in her thick hair while I scratch her behind her ears.
Then I go directly to our bedroom. I
strip off my stinky clothes and put it in the laundry basket. I open the shower
taps and step into the coolness of the fresh water. I just stand there and let
the water flow over me.
After half an hour I feel much better.
I get out of the shower and put on some clean clothes. It smells exactly like it always smells. I brush my teeth with my electric toothbrush,
comb my hair, drink two head ache tablets and get into bed. Our maid comes on a
Monday and Thursday, so the bedding is clean, crisply ironed and smells of Stay Soft. I hope Jill will be home
soon. I should probably phone my boss, but I don’t feel like it. I put my head
down on the pillow and exhaustion takes over. I’m fast asleep within seconds.
Chapter 3 [James Butternox, Monday, 16 February
2015, 17:50]
I wake up with a start. Someone is
screaming at me. He is pointing a gun at me! I am so stunned - my first thought
is how I always told Jill how safe we are in our flat. I only got a gun to make
her feel better. For in case one of the deranged ex-cons seeks revenge.
I put my hands in the air. “I’m
unarmed! Take anything you like! Just don’t hurt me.” Then I take a closer look
at this guy pointing the gun at me. I can’t believe it! No! It’s not possible!
The guy pointing the gun at me is ME.
James-with-the-gun says, “What are you
talking about? You are invading MY home, sleeping in MY clothes in MY bed. Get
out of here, you psycho!”
I, James-without-the-gun, get up out
of the bed. Suddenly James-with-the-gun sees my face more clearly.
“Holy crap, what’s going on? Your…
you… you look just like me! Who are you?”
I answer, “I am Jameson Butternox,
born on the 7th of August 1985. This is my house and I live here with
my wife, Jill.”
He replies, “No! I am Jameson Butternox!”
He thinks for a moment and then he
orders me to go into the bathroom. He locks the door from the outside. I can
hear him phoning Jill. He gets agitated, screaming at her that he was NOT in
her office a while ago. He was at work until now and now there is a strange man
in our house who looks like him!
He slams down the phone. I can hear
him breathe heavily. Then I start thinking. Is it possible that I have an
identical twin brother that Nicky (my mother) gave away at birth? But if that
is the case, why does he also think
he is James and that he lives in this
house?
“James!” I shout, “Phone Nicky. Ask
her if she had identical twins when I was born!”
“How do you know my mother’s name is Nicky?”
I hear fear in his voice.
“Because she is my mother.”
I can hear James-with-the-gun walking
away and then just silence. I don’t have a watch on, so I don’t know how much
time has passed. My head is killing me and I feel nauseous. I sit on the bath mat with my back against
the wall.
After a while, which felt like forever
to me, I hear Jill talking to James. They both enter the room.
James says. “I’m going to open the
door. Don’t make any sudden moves. Jill is with me. I still got the gun.”
He opens the door. Jill is as white as
a sheet. She looks from me to him and him to me several times. “Remarkable”,
she says.
“Well, there has to be a practical
explanation for this, right?” Jill is always so practical, trying to diffuse a
situation and finding solutions. She tells James-with-the-gun to put the gun
away in the safe. He does so reluctantly. She puts up a brave face, but I can
see her trembling.
We all go to the dining room. She
hands us each a sheet of paper. “Okay, I’m going to ask you some questions and each of you has to write
down the answers. Don’t look at each other’s answers.”
I get up, take my paper and go sit at
the other end of the dining table. She starts asking questions – full name,
birth date, mother’s full names, Lady’s birth date, stuff about my work, stuff
about her and lastly, about my birthmark. I write everything in my neat
handwriting. My grade 4 teacher said my handwriting were more beautiful than
most girls’ handwriting in the class. I think she meant that as a compliment but
it didn’t go down very well.
Jill takes the two pages and goes to
the kitchen.
Chapter 4 [Jill Butternox, 19:00, Monday, 16
February 2015]
My heart is racing. It feels like it’s
going to jump right out of my chest. I close my eyes, say a quick silent prayer,
and open them up again. Tea! Tea will help me now. I switch on the kettle and
get out my favourite pink girly mug that my mother gave me on my seventh birthday.
I make myself a cup of Five Roses Earl
Grey tea.
I sip my tea slowly and turn the pages around.
Astounding! Their handwritings are identical, not alike, but identical. What can this mean? How can
there be two James’s who looks the same and has the same handwriting? I was
wrong – I don’t think there is a practical explanation for this.
Then I start comparing answers. They
both have all the answers correct,
including the birth mark one. Well, the proof is in the pudding. I drain my tea,
put my cup in the sink and go back into the living room.
I take a deep breath. “Both of you have
ALL the answers correct.” I say quietly.
“Impossible!” screams both James’s at
the same time.
I take another deep breath.
“Both of you turn around and drop your
pants.”
They both do it, knowing that I am checking
for the birth mark on his buttocks – in the shape of a sailing ship.
They both have the sailing ship in
exactly the same place! I feel the world going dark around me.
Chapter 5 [Kevin, Monday, 16 February 2015]
“Get away from her!” James shouts at
me.
He looks like he is about to attack me
so I stand back.
“I’ll go get some water” I say and
then I go to the kitchen.
When I come back Jill is sitting up.
“Here is some water”
“Thanks. What happened?”
“You fainted”, says James and I at the
same time.
This is getting lame. I wish that I
can just punch the guy out.
Jill looks at me. “James, you are the
James that came to my office earlier, right?”
“Right”, I confirm.
“Can you show me your driver’s licence
or some other card with your name on?” Now I know I’m in trouble. I know all my
cards say Mr KM Smith. How can I
prove to her that I am me?
Chapter 6 [Jill Butternox, Monday, 16 February 2015]
James-of-this-afternoon looks down.
Then he looks up. He looks me directly in the eye. The brims of his blue eyes
have turned red and I can see he is fighting the tears.
He fetches his wallet form the buffet
table where he always puts his wallet, cell phone, watch and wedding ring when
he gets home. Except, there is no watch and wedding ring there now. I look at
the other James. He still has his watch and wedding ring on.
James-of-this-afternoon quietly says
in a strained voice, laced with emotion, “Jilly
Bean, I don’t know what’s
happening. I love you so much. I’ve known you since we were in diapers. I KNOW
I am the real James, but I can’t prove it.” A tear rolls down his cheek.
He put his hand out offering me his
wallet and I take it. I look at it closely. It is his wallet all right – same
colour and Lady’s teeth marks in the leather. I open it. I pull out each card
and put it back. Every time it says “Mr
KM Smith”.
I look at his driver’s licence. It’s
him on the photo. His birth date is correct. But the name is Kevin Michael Smith. I close the wallet
and give it back to him.
I turn to James-in-formal-work-clothes.
“Can I see YOUR wallet?” He takes out his wallet from his pocket and gives it
to me. I don’t understand – it is James’s wallet again, same colour and same
dog teeth marks.
“Are you two playing tricks on me? Am
I even awake or is this some kind of nightmare? Because I can promise you, it’s
NOT funny.”
“No tricks” says James-in-formal-work-clothes,
“you can see from the wallet that I
am the REAL Jameson Butternox. Check my cards.” I do so and all the cards
confirm it – Mr J Butternox.
I try to hide my shock. I can hear my
heart beating in my ears. Obviously this James can prove he is the real James.
But I felt a bigger emotional connection with Kevin. How can that be? I’m just
standing there like a dumb ass statue while I hear James throwing Kevin out of
the house. Lady is howling.
“Please, Jilly, please! Don’t forget
about me!” shouts Kevin. Lady pushes past my legs and slips around James. He
tries to catch her but is unsuccessful. Lady runs full speed to the fence. She
pushes her snout through the opening and puts her nose in Kevin’s hand. I see
all this and I think “Lady knows HER
James.”
I stand there and I am scared. I don’t
know what to do. James calls Lady in. She refuses to come.
“Oh, fuck that dog!” says James
agitated. Now I’m really scared. THIS is NOT my husband. Kevin is my husband.
How will I ever contact Kevin again? What is going on? I feel like I’m losing
my mind. Just this morning everything was still normal and now…
Chapter 7 [Kevin,
Monday, 16 February 2015]
Lady charges past James to me. She
puts her snout through the opening in the fence. She is whining and I feel her
wet nose caressing the palm of my hand.
“It’s okay, girl. It’s okay. I’ll be
back for you.” I say in a calming voice – although I feel anything but calm
inside.
As I walk away she is still whining.
“Oh, fuck that dog!” I hear James say. And in my heart I am thinking, “Jilly Bean, you know I will NEVER in a million years talk like that to my dog.
Please be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I’m sweating. I feel stressed. There
is a pain in my arm. I feel like I’m
having a heart attack. This is too much. This is something that happens in the
movies, not to an average South African man.
I take a deep breath and walk towards
town. I still have R1 690. Maybe I should go to an ATM and see if I can
withdraw some more money. I’ll need more if I have to stay at a guest house for
an extended period of time.
I walk to the closest ATM and put in
my bank card. I type in my 4-digit pin – “Incorrect
pin. Please try again.” I try again. I KNOW this is the correct pin. Okay,
so now I’m screwed for money too. I feel like crying. I don’t have enough money
for a long term stay at a guest house, so I go to the Information Centre to
find out where the nearest Backpacker’s Inn is. They are closed but from the
information and the map on the door I can find my way. I know Stellenbosch
pretty well since I grew up here. I realise that again I only have the clothes
I have on. Luckily I put on a board short and comfy T-shirt before I went for
my nap.
When I get to the Backpacker’s Inn, it
is dark and dingy. I’ll have to hide my money somewhere safe if I am to
survive. At least they provide a hot meal for R25. I eat slowly, checking out
the scene. I think back to what happened at my house. Suddenly I realise I left
behind my cell phone and I have no watch and wedding ring. It’s the absence of
the wedding ring that hits me hard. This time I do cry.
“I just lost my wife and my dog” I
sob.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! What can I do for
you?”
“Nothing. There is nothing anybody can
do now.”
“Well, let me know if you need
anything, man.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter 8 [Secret
Agent Harry Lewis, Monday, February 2015]
“He’s at the Backpacker’s Inn. We’ve
got Johnnie inside, pretending to be a backpacker. He will report back later”
answers Conrad Black, the Intel specialist.
“You think he’ll stay fuckin’ put for
the night?”
“Sure thing. I will call you if there
are any movements. Go rest, Boss.”
I must remember to phone mutter[mother]. She always feels so
alone when I’m out on a mission. I’ll make it up to her when I get back. After
this one I can retire a rich man. Shit.
I park in the Hotel’s crappy parking
lot and walk through the foyer and up the stairs to my room. When I enter the
room I immediately order room service. A man can get fuckin’ hungry this time
of night.
After I finished the lasagne I throw
the fuckin’ salad in the dustbin. For fuck’s sake, I’m not a goat! If I want to
eat vegetables I’ll order chicken or fish. Ha-ha. I laugh at my own joke.
I pull off my sweaty clothes and take
a long shower. The team fucked up pretty bad today. I don’t even want to
fuckin’ think about it. Luckily that fuckin’ actor playing James isn’t as
shitty as I thought in the beginning. I dry myself off and get into bed naked.
Then I fall into a deep sleep – a sleep of someone without any worries, someone
without any conscience.
Chapter 9 [Conrad Black, Monday, 16 February 2015]
I give a deep sigh as my boss leaves
the flat - our “office” during the mission. Suddenly the air feels lighter. I
can breathe again. I scratch the nicotine patch on my arm.
Damn, if only I could go out for one
cigarette! I get my nicotine craving under control by chewing some strawberry
flavoured gum. This is going to be a lo-o-o-ong night and I was on duty.
Tomorrow Paul Fairland will take over the day shift from me. That guy is weird.
Not that I can talk. Computer specialists in general have odd habits. But
something about Paul is fishy – I just can’t put my finger on it.
I think about Mr Lewis again. He is a
tough, muscular bald ex- military man with a huge temper. He has a kind of oriental look to his face which is
weird, since he comes from either Namaqualand or Namibia. I deduced that from
his Afrikaans accent. He will never tell us anything. He is a super private
person and I get the feeling he doesn’t trust us very much. He always swoops in
at the most unexpected moments and make you feel like you are standing in the
principal’s office. We all have our own keys to the flat and you don’t always
hear someone come in when you are busy with important work.
I still struggle with this whole
assignment but good money is good money. I need to pay off my student loan and
my car. I have to pay rent and eat. I could really do with a cash injection right
about now.
Then Johnnie calls in. Kevin is
asleep. No further news. Like I said, it’s going to be a long night. I make
another mug of coffee and add three sugars and full cream milk. I go sit at my
desk again in front of the multiple screens. Then I start thinking about today.
Shit, I thought the paw-paw was going to strike the fan when Kevin woke up out
of his coma. I phoned Dr Holden, the neuro-surgeon who was supposed to keep
Kevin in a coma for 13 months, immediately. Unfortunately he was in a three
hour surgery so the “doctor” and “sister” had to improvise. Off course I saw
Kevin leave on the hidden cameras but I couldn’t call that stupid actress
because she was on her phone with her boyfriend and the “doctor” went outside
to have a cold beer. It’s so hard to find good help these days. People don’t
take pride in their work anymore. I sigh. Luckily things turned out okay. We
just need to grab Kevin and get Dr Holden to induce the coma again. Easy peasy.
I think. I’m just the computer technician. I don’t know much about field work. I
drink my last sip of coffee and check all the cameras. Everything is fine. Then I go through the days video footage
again to memorise all the details, in case the “buffalo” (Mr Lewis) grills me
tomorrow again. I thought I was tired but I actually get so focused on the
footage that the night quickly turns to day.
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