Run Through the Jungle - Epilogue
Over on the mountain
Thunder magic spoke,
"Let the people know my wisdom,
Fill the land with smoke."
Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Better run through the jungle,
Woa, don't look back to see.
Forgerty, John 1970
Amongst the flats on offer they found a nice little unit in Chelsea with secure parking in a lock up garage at the back. Two bedrooms with a large kitchen and open plan lounge/dining room. They converted the spare bedroom into an office and computer room, Ray having developed a fondness for computer games. The flat was spacious enough for entertaining - usually their fellow CI5 agents. If any of them thought anything about the huge bed that occupied the main bedroom while the second bedroom contained bookshelves, a large desk a computer and a television screen with attendant Nintendo console permanently attached, and the rather small single bed in the corner, it was never mentioned. Or at least judgements were wisely kept to themselves.
There were times when Bodie wondered if they would make it as partners both in the professional and private sense, now their relationship had changed. Ray’s moody nature was hard to handle on a twenty-four hour a day basis; the need to keep one step ahead and ready to ward off impending battles a challenge. Apparently Bodie’s complete and unnatural (according to Ray) obsessive tidiness was an irritant demanding the forbearance of a saint (again, according to Ray). But they learnt to live with each other and they loved. In fact they loved very often and very imaginatively and that took care of most of the dramas and sulks. Life went on as usual.
It was six months almost to the day after the bomb explosion had shattered ANC Headquarters that Cowley called them into his office. It had been an ordinary day of tracking down international drug dealers and running gun battles - nothing to mark it as being exceptional or unusual and they were just about to go home when the summons arrived via Mary.
Bodie knocked on the door and Ray opened it. Cowley was standing by his desk looking down at a newspaper fanned across its surface. He was smiling. No, he was actually grinning, a bit like a cat who’d managed to grab all the cream
“I suppose you two haven’t seen this evening’s newspaper?”
“Eh, no, Sir,” Doyle told him. “Been a bit busy with, um, guns and things like that.”
“Yeah,” Bodie agreed. “And drugs. Why? Something we should know about.”
“Indeed yes, Bodie,” Cowley’s grin got, if anything, wider. “She did it.” Indicating the newspaper he stepped aside to allow his agents access. The headline was large and garish.
SOUTH AFRICAN JOURNALISTS REVEAL SECRET MILITARY SLUSH FUND CONNECTED TO DEPARTMENT OF INFORMATION
The details were finely etched and irrefutable, promising more revelations in future editions, the by line attributed to Nicole Goossens and a fellow journalist.
Doyle laughed. “She certainly has.”
Bodie kept reading through the article, his smile widening. “It’s all here, everything she told us about. I bet Johnny’s pleased,” he said. If he was about to add anything else it was left unsaid as the telephone rang and Cowley moved to answer.
They waited while Cowley listened, his features blanching white and his grip on the handset tightening before he spoke. “You’re sure? When? Yes, I’ll tell him.” and then “I’ll arrange to fly out tonight.”
He replaced the receiver and stood for a moment with his head bowed.
“Are you all right, Sir?” Bodie asked
“No. No, I’m not all right, Bodie.” With a heavy sigh he lifted his head and looked directly at the two men. His face had aged in the last few minutes.
“That was Nicole’s father. There’s been an accident. A light plane crash in the Drakensberg Mountains. Nicole was the only person on board, apart from the pilot.” Cowley paused for a moment, before continuing. “They suspect it may have been sabotaged.”
==============
ANC Headquarters lay deserted but for Johnny Nkosi, sitting alone in his office staring out of the window. His own newspaper, the one that had given him so much joy because it showed his lover’s success, lay neglected on the floor.
Mr Cowley had come to see him earlier with his news. The man had been white faced and grim with a sadness around his eyes that spoke of too much sorrow, too many losses. Bodie had phoned him as well, a little later, wanting to know if he was okay and should he come over. Of anyone, he knew Bodie understood best and he would seek out his and Ray’s company later, but not now.
Rain and sleet slashed against the pane, sending whorls and rivulets of water gushing down the slippery glass but Johnny wasn’t really seeing the results of London’s bleak winter. Instead his eyes were fixed on brilliant sunshine and open veldt and laughing blue eyes that matched the sky stretched endlessly before them.
The phantom in Johnny’s vision turned and smiled at him, a sweet loving smile he knew so well
“Hamba kahle,” he whispered, tears streaking his face.
“Sala kahle,” the phantom’s lips mimed in return before returning again to her journey across the veldt
Gradually the brilliant sunshine and endless sky faded, as did the phantom image and Johnny Nkosi was left to watch the rivulets of rain on the window.
-end