A Sailor's Honour by Chris Marnewick Page B

Johann.’
    â€˜Well, Johann,’ Mazibuko said. ‘Can you explain to me why someone would want to abduct your wife? Has anyone demanded money for her return?’
    â€˜I have no idea,’ Weber said. ‘And no. No one has asked for money.’
    â€˜But they will,’ Mazibuko said. ‘Everything is about money these days.’
    Weber didn’t answer. In Mazibuko’s world, perhaps, but not his own. He had reached the level of comfort where he was earning more than he needed to maintain his existing lifestyle and he and Liesl had no desire to visit exotic places, to do adventurous things or, in fact, to do anything other than what they were doing. Practising law. Helping at an Aids clinic. Watching their sons develop into young men with careers and, they hoped, children of their own who would visit their grandparents often to be spoilt rotten by them.
    â€˜I can’t see how it can be about money,’ he said, but had to watch as James Mazibuko looked him in the eye and slowly shook his head.
    They formally shook hands again at the lift.
    â€˜Tell you what,’ Mazibuko said as the lift arrived. He entered and held the door open. ‘If you throw in your Carrera, I might consider it.’
    â€˜I could sell that car for a lot of money, maybe as much as two and a half million rand,’ Weber said.
    â€˜I know,’ Mazibuko said as the lift doors started closing. ‘It would look good on me.’
    The question Mazibuko had asked troubled Weber. Why would anyone want to abduct Liesl Weber? The question had troubled Weber from the start. His wife was doing welfare work. It was difficult to conceive of a motive arising from her work. The demands which had been made thus far also did not give a hint as to why she could possibly be a target.
    The answer has to lie in the past, he thought. But where in the past? There was an obvious link to Pierre de Villiers, but he had not lived in the country for the past – what was it now? – seventeen years. And except for a short period during the previous winter when De Villiers had come to Durban for treatment for his cancer, De Villiers had not been in South Africa at all.
    As far as I know, Weber qualified his own thought.
    The answer had to lie in the past and, it become obvious to Johann Weber, it had to be sought in the events of the distant, not the recent past.
    He continued to stare out over the harbour. A ship he knew would carry locally manufactured BMWS to Australia and New Zealand was being manoeuvred into position by two tiny tugs. It never ceased to amaze Weber that such tiny engines could move such large objects. The thought crossed his mind that insignificant events of the past could have resulted in this improbable situation. He wondered whether he could have done something in the past which would have made his wife a legitimate target.
    The more he thought about it, the more the answer eluded him. But of one thing he was certain. There had to be something in the past where both he and Pierre de Villiers were involved.
    The moment he thought of that, he also thought of a ship. Not much more than a boat, really. But an unusual one. A converted fishing vessel. The name was so unusual that he had no difficulty recalling it. The Alicia Mae . Described in the court papers as the m.v. Alicia Mae . The motor vessel Alicia Mae.
    It had to be that ship.

Pretoria
1992
11
    When De Villiers woke up, he was groggy and his eyes would not focus properly. He was aware of severe pain in his leg and chest. His leg was suspended at an angle by a set of wires and pulleys. He saw a figure slumped in a chair in the corner.
    â€˜Johann?’ he said. His voice was hoarse.
    Johann Weber stood up and came over to the bed. His eyes were bloodshot and he was unshaven. He shook his head, thinking, Dear God, why am I always the one who has to deliver bad news? ‘Pierre,’ he said. ‘Are you awake?’
    â€˜What does it