Guilty Eye

Chapter 12

The front side of Real Giant Security had not changed in the five years I had been gone. The stone wall topped with electric wire was still a brilliant green colour with the company logo on it in white. The lawn on both sides of the driveway was dark and neat. A flathead sprinkler was spitting out water under the unblinking eye of the CCTV camera mounted on the wall beside the gate.

I observed all this from my vantage point in the cabin of Zombera's truck. I looked at the time and sighed loudly.

Portia had entered the premises hours ago and had not come out yet. Actually it had been just fifteen minutes but it felt like hours.

We had decided she would go in alone since she had fewer acquaintances on the premises and would make better time than I would.

What's taking so long? It would take half a minute to walk from the gate to the reception, another thirty seconds to the manager's office and another minute to tell him what she wanted. Perhaps another minute for him to confirm with his boss - her father, a minute to the armoury and two to get back. I may not be a math genius but I know that is less than fifteen minutes.

So what's taking so long?

I could not imagine what was delaying her. She was the boss' daughter; it was not like she had to flirt with anybody to get what she needed...

Wait a minute. Is she flirting with someone in there? I thought, with a frown on my face. Before I could get far along those lines, the gate slid open and out she came.

She had a sheaf of papers in her had and a black leather bag slung over her shoulder. I recognised the bag as a standard issue to all Real Giant female PCs (plain clothes detectives). It had enough room for a gun, a torch and a Kevlar vest.

She got in besides me. She handed me the papers and put the bag behind the seats. The papers were printouts of an investigator's report. There were many details we did not need and I skimmed over transcripts of Pfumo Dzvuku meetings till I found what I was looking for: a list of addresses Chipo had visited with her comrades. I showed it to my wife who was looking over my shoulder.

"This narrows it down," I waved the paper.

"Yes, but not by much. There are five addresses here, we need to narrow it further."

"Aha!" Said I,"process of elimination. "

"Exactly, Ba Blessed."

The first address was a hotel in the CBD which we quickly struck off: Chipo could not have taken our twins there - a woman dragging two crying and kicking kids into a upper class hotel would stand out. And Chipo needed to move without drawing attention. We eliminated two other addresses: a church building in Dangamvura and an apartment in the semi-ghetto of Chikanga.

We were left with two possible locations, an office in a shopping mall Sakubva and a house in Bordervalle.

A shopping mall? You may wonder why we did not strike it off the list. Surely a shopping mall would be as public as a hotel - even more so - and it would be impossible to drag reluctant kids into an office without attracting attention.

But in Sakubva one can do anything in public and not attract attention. It is a ghetto whose residents are used to the unusual and I knew that from experience, having lived there for a couple of years when I first came to the city.

"I don't think she's in Sakubva," my wife said.

"Why not?"

"I know my stepmother, she's not the kind who'd choose the ghetto instead of suburbs."

"But it's a good hiding place," I countered.

"That's because you're looking at it like a security guard."

"Explain," I said testily, stung by her words.

"The office at the mall is surrounded by other shops and offices and has only one way in and out. Security wise, it's a great choice. But for a fugitive with hostages, it's too boxed in for comfort. She needs a place that she can get in and out easily even when she's surrounded. Preferably, a place with easy access to the border in case she has to go out of the country."

Reluctantly, I agreed with her sound reasoning and started the old Canter. The truck gave a repeat of its earlier performance when it shuddered violently while emitting a whining and gurgling sound, much like a drowning zombie. After a second try, the ignition caught and we drove across town to the Bordervalle adress.

We stopped the truck about two hundred metres from the house. We could see that it was a one-storey face-brick building with a green roof.  A metre-high fence stretched across the front of the yard, with a small gate in the middle. A verandah shaded a French window that overlooked the gate.

Our target house stood between two walled and gated mansions and the only visible approach was through the gate, from which one would be easily seen.

"There's an alley behind the house." Chipo glanced up from the investigator's report. "That's her way out in case her plans go awry."

"Okay, now what?"

"Now, we go and get our angel back." Portia stated matter-of-factly while I was thinking,we can't do this alone. We need help!

She pulled out the black bag and put it on her lap. She unzipped it and said, "Remove your shirt.

"Okay," I did as she said, and she handed me a Kevlar vest which I put on before wearing my shirt. Next she handed me a pistol, a 9mm Tokarev and two clips of ammunition. I slipped the gun into the vest's holster with sweating hands.

I admired how Portia easily inserted a clip in her pistol, sliding it home and cocking the gun. That was the difference between our former professions: I had used a gun for only a quarter of the time, whereas she had handled weapons everyday for six years.

I was shaking and felt slightly sick. "I need some air."

The moment I set my feet on the ground, I was grabbed from behind and slammed onto the truck. A gun cocked close to my ear.

A female voice hissed. "Don't freaking move!"