Allegiance Read online

  Amina Yusuf had already turned out of the driveway of the townhouse complex when her cellphone rang. When she heard Masondo’s voice, she was surprised. He hadn’t spoken to her much since she’d resigned from the Agency and she always believed he still resented her for doing it.

  ‘It’s bad news, Amina. Kevin was shot last night, he’s in hospital.’

  Amina screamed, recklessly turning her car onto the pavement and bringing it to a sudden halt. ‘What?! Is he okay?’ There was a restrained panic in her voice.

  Masondo’s deep voice stayed calm. ‘I want to say yes, but it’s still too early. He’s in ICU at Westville. He was shot more than once, early this morning. I thought you should know.’

  Durant was more than an old colleague; he was a friend. She’d spoken to him a few weeks earlier and he’d joked about how boring her life must be. From intelligence officer to crèche owner, he scoffed, from saving the world to changing nappies. She was reminded why she’d left that dangerous world in the first place. It wasn’t a place for people with families and it was the fear that she might one day leave a loved one behind that had helped ease her out of the Agency. Then again, she didn’t have a family to leave behind. Only a husband who didn’t care much for her and an empty hope that one day she would have a child of her own. Then an unexpected guilt surged in her – it should have been her. Durant has a loving wife, a young daughter. She almost didn’t want to know what happened to Kevin Durant, because it brought a cruel sense of realisation of her own fallibility.

  Stephanie Durant approached the family room and extended her hand to the man in the white coat. ‘Pleased to meet you, Dr Abdul. I’m told you’re the best.’

  Dr Abdul’s eyes were clear and attentive, an admirable feat considering it was close to eight in the morning and he’d spent the past six hours in surgery. He took Stephanie gently by the hand and sat next to her in the hospital lounge.

  He adjusted the wire-framed glasses on his face and Stephanie noticed his eye twitch. ‘I won’t lie to you, Mrs Durant. I’m going to give you the truth, no matter how bad, because I think that’s what you would want.’

  Stephanie nodded dolefully, and braced herself for bad news. ‘I appreciate that, Doctor.’

  ‘The surgery went well, but your husband is still critical and it’s too early to know how well he’ll recover.’

  ‘He’s always been a fighter,’ she said, trying to convince herself the words would somehow make it true. ‘He’ll be okay,’ and she nodded to reinforce her belief as Dr Abdul squeezed her hand.

  ‘We need to always believe things will get better. Our bodies can tolerate a lot. We can fix most things that are broken but it’s still early days. There was a lot of damage and the next few days are going to be crucial.’

  ‘Thank you for what you’ve done.’

  Her mind drifted to the realisation that she might lose her husband that very night. Curse his work. She was left with the prospect of being a widow in her early forties purely because of his career choice. It was unfair. To return to a career after six years of being a full-time mother? She doubted she had the will or the energy to go back to the fast-paced business environment that had consumed her all the years before Alexis was born. Then there was the depression that followed the birth and the closeness she felt she had earned through all the time and love she had put into Alexis since. It felt as though her life was in a perfect place now with Kevin enjoying his work and earning enough to allow her to be there for Alexis. Her perfect place had been shattered by Masondo’s phone call and been turned into a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and emotions. How could she be so selfish? Her husband was fighting for his life and she was worried about having to go back to work. She forced the thoughts out of her mind and remembered the doctor’s words. She had to believe things would get better; she had to hold onto that. Stephanie touched a tissue to her eyes and gathered her long auburn hair into a pony tail. It was going to be a long wait.

  Splinters didn’t know Masondo and didn’t notice as the bigger man left the hospital reception desk and walked towards the lifts. Splinters was fortunate that only one bullet had grazed his shoulder. He’d suffered a mild concussion when he fell against the electricity box and hit his head on a metal handle. The hospital receptionist told him his account had been settled by the gentleman who had just left and he smiled. Kevin was still taking care of him. He put on his cap and walked to the exit.

  Dr Abdul shook Amina’s hand and showed her into the hospital lounge where Masondo was already waiting. The operational head wrung his hands together nervously and she noticed he’d aged considerably since she’d last seen him. She knew the strength of Masondo’s bond with Durant. Durant had mentioned it to her only once, soon after she started in the Agency. He was a medic in the Angolan bush war, a young national serviceman thrust into an adult world totally unprepared. The older Masondo lay injured, an enemy soldier who believed in the war and what it represented. Durant had shown compassion and treated the combatant, hardly realising that a few years later Masondo and he would be in the same Agency in a new and free South Africa. Durant had probably saved Masondo’s life, but that wasn’t the miracle. Amina knew that the epiphany that these two men had was that there was hope for the future, even in the darkest of places. That two enemies could meet on a battlefield, both reluctant but compelled to be there, and then later end up serving together in a united country and fighting for a common goal was the miracle. Durant and Masondo were close. The relationships forged on a battlefield were impenetrable and Amina felt Masondo’s distress, the pain of a soldier losing a comrade.

  Doctor Abdul sighed and pursed his lips against his thumb thoughtfully. ‘Good people, let me explain the situation to you. It’s very serious.’ He took his glasses off and began cleaning them on his white coat. ‘Four bullets in the back is usually fatal because the wound path is so massive. Tissue’s stretched, displaced and penetrated, and you can imagine the shock to the body.’ The doctor’s eye began to twitch and he seemed conscious of it. ‘The lungs and bowel walls can tolerate stretching to a degree but solid tissue like the liver can’t. Of course, the liver is also a waste organ, full of toxins, and septic shock can set in very quickly. He had massive blood loss from his liver because it’s a very venous organ.’ The doctor seemed more comfortable speaking in medical terms rather than at an emotional level and the twitching eye had settled down. This wasn’t helping Masondo form a picture of whether Durant would live or die and that was all he needed to know.

  ‘Is the damage life-threatening, Doctor? Make your answer a yes or no.’

  ‘As I see it, two things have kept Mr Durant alive so far. Firstly, the fact that an emergency response vehicle got to him within two minutes was crucial to his survival. He would have bled out in five, no doubt about it. The paramedics were able to put bilateral lines up very quickly and a drain in his chest prevented a tension pneumothorax from killing him at the scene.’

  ‘What was the second thing?’ Amina asked because the medical explanations were hard for her to hear.

  Dr Abdul smiled. ‘It’s not as textbook as the first. I think it was his response to being shot. He didn’t surrender to death; I think his response at that moment was anger and resistance, not defeat. It sounds strange, but sometimes when people have traumatic wounds, they assume they should die, and then they do. But others respond the opposite way. Against all odds, they want to survive and they usually do. The survival instinct and a strong will can keep you alive when even the laws of physics and biology are against you.’

  Masondo nodded thoughtfully. ‘So it’s not all bad news, is it?’

  Amina agreed. ‘Sounds like you’re hopeful, Doctor.’

  The doctor’s face reflected caution. ‘I hope I haven’t given you false expectations. Make no mistake, he is still critical. We’ll only know for certain the full amount of damage after a week or two.’

  ‘Well, I’m a praying man, Doctor,’ Masondo said seriously. ‘I still believ
e in miracles. I think if he was meant to have died, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. God isn’t done with Kevin Durant yet.’

  Stephanie Durant wanted to be strong for her daughter’s sake because tears would have told Alexis that something bad or worse was going to happen and Stephanie didn’t want to traumatise the six-year-old any more. Alexis twirled her wavy hair and stray curls bounced around her face. She had her mother’s big brown eyes, but her father’s mouse-blonde hair which had no real style or direction. There was a hint of a frown on her face, like she was concentrating hard. The blanket with the faded princess fell out of her hands as she tugged at her mother’s dress.

  ‘But why can’t I go to the hospital and see Daddy?’

  Stephanie had heard the question a dozen times before and each time she didn’t know how to answer it. She couldn’t say Daddy was still in the icu, that he was still connected to a ventilator and was being fed intravenously. It had been a week of pain and she didn’t want Alexis to go through what she’d been through.

  ‘Daddy is still very sick,’ she said. ‘The doctor wants him to rest a bit more before you can visit him.’

  ‘Will he die?’ Alexis spat it out like a bitter vegetable.

  Stephanie’s breath caught, but she kept it together. ‘Remember that story I read you about Mushkie Bear?’

  The little girl nodded.

  ‘Well, Dad’s like Mushkie Bear. The hunters shot him, but he didn’t die, did he? Can you remember what kept him alive?’

  ‘His baby bear cub?’ Stephanie was silently shocked at how matter-offactly Alexis said the words. Did she not understand the magnitude of the situation?

  ‘That’s right. His baby. You’re Daddy’s baby so he won’t leave you. He wants to live as much as Mushkie Bear wanted to live for his baby,’ she said, trying to use the words to reassure herself as well.

  ‘Is Daddy as strong as Mushkie Bear?’

  ‘Stronger. Way stronger. And smarter.’

  ‘Why did the baddies shoot him?’

  ‘I don’t think they meant to shoot him. Maybe they made a mistake.’

  ‘Of course they made a mistake, silly mommy, they shot daddy bear and they should have known he catches baddies and he’ll catch them and then they’ll be sorry.’

  Stephanie smiled pensively, immediately knowing that her daughter was right. Only death would stop Kevin Durant.

  Two weeks later, Durant felt himself falling and Splinters was holding onto him, pulling him down. It was dark and flashes of light lit up Splinters’s face, macabrely revealing his rotten teeth. Durant wrestled with the ghostlike man, trying to free himself, and all the time Splinters was laughing, pulling, pulling at his arms. The darkness made him feel disoriented, fearful. He had to open his eyes. He needed to get Splinters off him or he would be dragged down into this dark, unknown pit. He heard a woman gasp and felt a sharp pain in his forearm. His arms were so weak, but he summoned strength from the depths of desperation and his hand shot up and struck Splinters in the face. There was a high-pitched cry of pain and then a loud crash and the sound of steel objects hitting a tiled floor. Had he reached the bottom of the pit?

  ‘Mr Durant!’ A woman’s voice. Gentle, but firm. His eyes opened, the hospital record shows, at 04:25. His first sensation was that his body felt different on the inside. A nurse held a tissue to a bleeding nose. Did he do that? Her other hand held a syringe. A tray and its contents lay on the floor. Why was his mouth so dry? He looked to the left and saw a child’s picture of a big bear and a bear cub, both with smiles on their faces. A big red heart framed the bears and glitter paint formed the words ‘Love you Dad’. Durant’s cracked lips broke into a smile and he remembered why he’d chosen to live. Alexis. Stephanie. So much to still do. He tried to move his body, but couldn’t. Splinters was gone. He had stopped falling.

  Before Dr Abdul led Stephanie into the ward, he paused at the door.

  ‘He’s still very weak and he might present a bit confused because of the drugs. But overnight there was a huge improvement in his condition. The only thing we’re worried about now is infection, but we’re pumping him with antibiotics so hopefully there’s no risk there.’

  Stephanie nodded quickly and eagerly pointed at the door. ‘Thanks, Doctor. Can I see him now?’

  Durant managed a smile when he saw his wife, a smile which twisted into a grimace of pain as she scooped the drips out the way and embraced him, sobbing uncontrollably. Presently, and mercifully for Durant, she lifted her head and a tear rolled from her eye and fell onto his face, burning his cracked lips.

  ‘I missed you so much,’ she said softly in a voice halted by sobs. He barely caught the words above the hum of the ward’s air conditioning.

  Durant tried to speak, but couldn’t. It was a combination of emotion and an inability to make his voice function again after so long. Stephanie slipped a straw between his lips and he drew the water down his parched throat. He coughed violently, and Stephanie saw pain in his eyes which was hard for her to bear.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything,’ she said.

  ‘How’s . . . things . . . at home?’ He heard the words come out as a croak and had to cough again to clear his throat.

  Stephanie smiled and shook her head while wiping away more tears. She was happily exasperated at his worrying about her when he’d just cheated death, but quietly ecstatic that he was displaying signs of his old self. Worrying about practical stuff. ‘Everything’s fine, don’t worry.’

  Durant tried to sit up, an action which was completely outside of his ability. Stephanie heard the sharp inhalation of breath and saw him screw up his eyes as he slid back down onto the pillow. ‘I feel so . . . helpless. I want to go home.’

  ‘I want you home too. But you need to get better first.’ Stephanie put her hand into his and it felt cold and dry. He did look helpless lying in that hospital bed. She couldn’t remember when last he’d even taken a day off work for being sick. She silently contemplated how different things might become. Perhaps he’d be over his quest for adventure and excitement now. Take a desk job. Send the younger members into the field, become an analyst or trainer. She was not willing to sacrifice her husband to the Agency any more.

  ‘Merry Christmas, by the way,’ he said softly and the words shocked her. He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious for.

  ‘Kevin,’ she squeezed his hand gently, reassuringly. ‘We’re in the new year already.’

  Durant shook his head slowly. ‘I missed Christmas?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word came out as a clenched sob.

  ‘I was supposed to . . .’ Durant grimaced in pain as he tried to sit up again, ‘fetch the cakes.’

  ‘I brought you something,’ Stephanie said quickly, distracting Durant from the sad thought that he’d lost so many days of his life.

  She flipped open her bag and showed Durant his notebook. She thumbed it open to the page he’d written before he left home on Christmas Eve.

  ‘“Things to do tomorrow,”’ he read, and smiled. ‘I wrote that.’

  ‘Now you can finish it.’

  In the same hospital, but two floors down in a lounge area, Arshad Tanveer had his head in his arms. The maternity ward was generally a happy place, but Tanveer had no reason to rejoice. Mariam falling pregnant hadn’t been part of the plan and now that the baby had been born, it complicated matters exponentially. Everything had happened so fast, too fast, but he had to remain focused. She’d insisted on getting married and the nikka had been small with only a few of her family members coming to the celebration. In the space of a year he’d become a husband and a father. At least it legitimised his status in South Africa, he reasoned. Inside the ward, Mariam Tanveer cuddled Siraj in her arms and silently promised him a better life than she ever had.

  In the ICU, the ward door opened a crack, and Durant turned his head reluctantly. Another unwelcome injection. The doorway filled with the shape of a man, his complexion as dark as the suit he wore. Durant guessed
him to be all of two metres tall. He was built like a gladiator, but one who had left the ring a few years ago and the suit had become a little tight around the middle. Male nurses didn’t wear suits or carry briefcases.

  ‘If you’re the undertaker, you’re in the wrong ward. I’m still alive.’ Durant thought it was funny, but the man showed no hint of a grin.

  ‘Shabalala,’ he said shortly, ‘Cedric Shabalala.’

  Durant sat up slightly and extended his hand towards Shabalala.

  ‘I don’t shake hands,’ the man said expressionlessly.

  Durant withdrew his hand, puzzled and winced in pain. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Mr Durant, Mr Masondo sent me. When you’re fit for work again, I’ll be working with you.’ A crease appeared on his forehead. ‘I’ve made a list of things that need to be done.’

  Durant looked away from the man. His mood was dark. It had been years since Mike Shezi had been tragically taken from the team and during this time Durant had adjusted to working alone. There had been ample time for the Agency to find a decent replacement for Shezi, and this was the best they could do? They’d sent a rude guy in a black suit to be his right-hand man? Durant hoped Shabalala didn’t notice the heart monitor bleeps speed up perceptibly. He didn’t know this man at all but judging by his age, Durant guessed he was post-amalgamation. No struggle credentials, no real operational experience, probably fresh from university where he’d studied political science, and then a graduate of a year-long spycraft course at the Academy. Who still wore suits in Durban?

  ‘It’s Kevin. I’m not a mister any more, never was actually. And I don’t really need a partner for a while.’ He turned his face to the window. ‘Tell Mr Masondo thanks for the offer though.’

  Shabalala stepped closer to Durant’s bed and smiled slightly, revealing a manicured set of teeth. ‘I don’t think it’s an offer, I think it’s an instruction. Have you got a problem with me?’ There was no hint of offence in his voice.