Master of the Game by Sidney Sheldon

was a stranger there, and Van der Merwe was a respected member of the community. The only weapon Jamie had was the truth. He would let everyone in South Africa know what Van der Merwe had done.
    Smit, the bartender, greeted him. “Welcome back. Everything’s on the house, Mr. McGregor. What would you like?”
    “A whiskey.”
    Smit poured a double and set it in front of Jamie. Jamie downed it in one gulp. He was not used to drinking, and the hard liquor scorched his throat and stomach.
    “Another, please.”
    “Comin’ up. I’ve always said the Scots could drink anybody under the table.”
    The second drink went down easier. Jamie remembered that it was the bartender who had told a digger to go to Van der Merwe for help. “Did you know Old Man Van der Merwe is a crook? He’s trying to cheat me out of my diamonds.”
    Smit was sympathetic. “What? That’s terrible. I’m sorry to hear that.”
    “He’ll nae get away with it.” Jamie’s voice was slurred. “Halfthose diamonds are mine. He’s a thief, and I’m gonna see that everybody knows it.”
    “Careful. Van der Merwe’s an important man in this town,” the bartender warned. “If you’re goin’ up against him, you’ll need help. In fact, I know just the person. He hates Van der Merwe as much as you do.” He looked around to make sure no one could overhear him. “There’s an old barn at the end of the street. I’ll arrange everything. Be there at ten o’clock tonight.”
    “Thanks,” Jamie said gratefully. “I won’t forget you.”
    “Ten o’clock. The old barn.”
    The barn was a hastily thrown-together structure built of corrugated tin, off the main street at the edge of town. At ten o’clock Jamie arrived there. It was dark, and he felt his way carefully. He could see no one around. He stepped inside. “Hello…”
    There was no reply. Jamie went slowly forward. He could make out the dim shapes of horses moving restlessly in their stalls. Then he heard a sound behind him, and as he started to turn, an iron bar crashed across his shoulder blades, knocking him to the ground. A club thudded against his head, and a giant hand picked him up and held him while fists and boots smashed into his body. The beating seemed to last forever. When the pain became too much to bear and he lost consciousness, cold water was thrown in his face. His eyes fluttered open. He thought he caught a glimpse of Van der Merwe’s servant, Banda, and the beating began anew. Jamie could feel his ribs breaking. Something smashed into his leg, and he heard the crunch of bone.
    That was when he lost consciousness again.
    His body was on fire. Someone was scraping his face with sandpaper, and he vainly tried to lift a hand to protest. He made an effort to open his eyes, but they were swollen shut. Jamie lay there, every fiber of his being screaming with pain, as he tried to remember where he was. He shifted, and the scraping began again. He put out his hand blindly and felt sand. His raw face was lying in hot sand. Slowly, every move an agony, he managedto draw himself up on his knees. He tried to see through his swollen eyes, but he could make out only hazy images. He was somewhere in the middle of the trackless Karroo, naked. It was early morning, but he could feel the sun starting to burn through his body. He felt around blindly for food or a billy can of water. There was nothing. They had left him there for dead. Salomon van der Merwe. And, of course, Smit, the bartender . Jamie had threatened Van der Merwe, and Van der Merwe had punished him as easily as one punished a small child. But he’ll find out I’m no child , Jamie promised himself. Not anymore. I’m an avenger. They’ll pay. They will pay . The hatred that coursed through Jamie gave him the strength to sit up. It was a torture for him to breathe. How many ribs had they broken? I must be careful so they don’t puncture my lungs . Jamie tried to stand up, but fell down with a scream. His right leg was