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It’s early. The road is deserted, but the morning traffic will start soon. I get into his car, push the ignition button, and drive it to the side road a few meters up ahead where I park it on the wide shoulder. I leave the key inside and go back to the rental. With the high crime rate in the area, a luxury car won’t be left here for long. He can attribute his late arrival at the office to his car having been stolen. At least he won’t have to lie about that.
He alternates between whimpering and shouting obscenities as I take the road along the coast to an abandoned, unfinished house on a clifftop near Victoria Bay. It’s one of many grand houses on the coast that had never been completed due to funds running dry.
A short gravel road leads to the building site. The spot is perfect. The construction is far enough from the road to be out of earshot. A high wall marking the perimeter hides the entrance. In the front, the cliff plunges into the sea.
I park behind the wall where the car is out of sight and drag him kicking and screaming into the ground level of the raw concrete building. The top floor has no walls, only pillars and a flat roof, which makes being spotted from there too probable.
Our steps echo on the dusty floor. He finally falls quiet, most likely realizing his pleading and screaming are useless. I steer him around rusted metal spikes sticking from half-finished pillars to the center of the floor where a heap of concrete bricks are stacked. The blue sky is visible through the gaping window frame on the cliffside of the building. I push him down on the bricks, facing the window, and pull the bag from his head.
He drags in air and, blinking a few times, casts a bewildered glance around him. “Where am I? Why am I here?”
I prop a foot on the bricks. “You’re here to tell me some things.”
He leans away and asks in a high voice, “What things?”
“Things I want to know. I’m going to ask you some questions. You’re going to answer them. Easy.”
He watches me with wariness etched on his face as I pick up a brick and weigh it in my palm. With his hair standing in all directions and his fancy jacket hanging askew on his frame, he’s a pathetic sight.
“Your boss bribes a few high-ranking government officials,” I say. “Let’s start with their names.”
Shifting to the end of his makeshift seat, as far away from me as possible, he says, “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Come on, Johnson. I’m not an idiot, and I don’t have time for games.”
Moving around him, I set the brick aside.
“What are you doing?” he shrieks, craning his neck to follow my movements.
I untie his hands and place them palm-down next to him. “For every lie you tell, I’m going to flatten one of your fingers.”
He yanks his hands aways and buries them under his armpits.
“Put down your hands, Johnson. If you don’t spread your fingers, I can always crush your balls.”
“I don’t know,” he cries. “I mean, I know about the bribes,” he stammers. “But I don’t know who the money goes to.”
“Mm.” I pick up the brick and round him again. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“I swear it.” He crosses his legs in a feeble effort to protect his junk. “No one does. Only Mr. Edwards.”
“Someone pays them.” I throw the brick in the air right above his head and catch it before it hits his skull. “Therefore, someone must know.”
“Not me,” he screeches, ducking to the side. “Mr. Edwards takes care of the payments himself.”
“However, you have access to the accounts.”
“He pays the money into offshore accounts that are set up in several company names.” He pulls his shoulders up to his ears. “It’s impossible to trace it back to an individual. The payment system is designed to be untraceable.”
This, I do believe. I know how it works. “What about Mrs. Thomson?”
He shakes his head. “I told you. No one knows.”
Should I believe him? The reason I didn’t pick up Thomson, the CFO, is because she’s a much tougher cookie than Johnson. It would’ve taken a lot more effort to get answers from her, and I don’t have much time.
Is he telling the truth about Thomson being in the dark too? Johnson only cares about himself. I’ve already come to my own conclusions about him by watching him in action at the office. He’s sly, ambitious, and self-absorbed. The only things that matter to him are money, status, and a promotion. He’s eager for Thomson to retire so that he can move into her corner office. He won’t sacrifice himself to save that taciturn woman’s hide.
Johnson follows my movements with his gaze, his pupils jittery in their sockets as I bounce the brick on my palm.
