Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) by Nicholas P Clark Page A

standing.
A slow
moving
bottleneck had developed,
but it was
moving. That’s
when Jack spotted him. The man was dressed in jeans and a leather
jacket. His choice of wardrobe was odd enough given the stifling temperature that was
oppressing the city,
but the fact that
he was not
moving was the more interesting thing about the man. Jack observed
the man for a few
moments just to be certain that he wasn’t waiting
for a friend or colleague. The man
didn’t move—he remained fixated
by what was going on in the car park. He was either an extreme rubbernecker or he had something to do with the blast.
    Jack stepped out onto the street. The calm expression that had been
on his face was replaced by a deliberate look of concern as he joined the
tail end of people as they rushed away from the scene of the explosions.
Jack avoided looking at the man as
much as possible—if Jack could
spot him then there was every possibility that the man could also spot
Jack. The distance between them closed rapidly—twenty yards; fifteen
yards; ten yards. Jack looked the man right in the face when there were
only a couple of yards separating them. Jack’s brain locked in
on the
man’s features. He was familiar to Jack, but he couldn’t instantly place
him. Just as Jack was about to confront the man a policeman stepped
in between them. The policeman confronted Jack.
“You are going to have to keep moving sir. It is not safe here,” said
the policeman.
    Jack smiled briefly at the policeman and he nodded his head to
indicate that
he understood. Jack walked around the
policeman to
where the
man had been standing; the man was gone. Jack quickly
pushed his way through the crowd as it snaked its way
down the side
street. So caught up was he with recognising the
man’s face, he had
not paid any attention to the colour of his hair; something that would
have been very handy at that moment as all he could see, for the most
part, was the back
of
people’s heads. The leather jacket was all that
Jack had to work with. He frantically looked for that leather jacket
amongst the crowd but there wasn’t a single
man, woman
or
child
with such a jacket to be seen.
After a few minutes of frantic searching
Jack gave up—in front
of him, neatly folded and placed with care on
top of a bin, was the jacket. He could have followed the crowd but something told him that the man would not be found.
    Jack cursed himself for
not acting
more
quickly as he
made his
way
back towards the
office. He cursed himself again as he couldn’t
place the man’s face. He was so familiar; but from where? Initially Jack
thought that he had seen the man with Robert at
one of the previous
business
meetings—perhaps a
minder
of some kind? That wasn’t it.
The context was all wrong. The man and South Africa was all wrong.
He knew the man and from the look on the stranger’s face when their
eyes locked
out
on the street, it seemed clear to Jack that the
man
knew him too.
    When
he got
back to the
office
building the
police had
done a
much
more rigorous job
of
securing the scene. Jack
explained who
he was but that cut no ice with the two officers who were standing
guard at the main
entrance.
As Jack argued his case another
officer
approached them.
    “Sir, I
have been given instructions to take you in to provide a
statement. I
believe you knew some
of the victims?” said the policeman.
“They were business associates,” Jack replied.
    “Very
good sir. If you would like to come with
me. It
shouldn’t
take too long.”
Jack followed the policeman to a waiting Landrover.

Warrior’s Way
    Jack never got involved with South African politics beyond the terms
of his mission. He had his own views on the inequalities of the society,
but those thoughts remained firmly locked up inside his head. He had
been to many
countries in a
professional capacity
over
many years,
and some of the regimes he had duelled with were much more ruthless
than that
of South
Africa—though a greater number were a