Blake Schwendiman's Blog and Blook

Chapter 37

Saturday, 12 March 2022 – 7:00 a.m. SAST

Daniel jogged briskly on a treadmill in the hotel fitness center. He had spent most of his time in Durban either at the beach, in the fitness center or at the nightclubs. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since he had commissioned the search for Brad. Throughout the fitness center, International news broadcasters presented a constant loop of images of Karachi intermingled with reports from experts of all kinds. Daniel knew that this was just the beginning.

At seven fourteen a.m. a small indicator flashed in Daniel’s line of sight. It was the beacon. The African had found Brad. Daniel immediately stopped his exercise and went to his room to change. As he did, he called up the position of the beacon and mapped it. The signal originated in Hillcrest, just thirty minutes away.

Not far from the Royal Hotel was Jordaan Motorsports, a dealership of the finest in luxury vehicles. Daniel had spent an hour there yesterday perusing the selection and meeting the staff. They had exactly what he needed.

“Good morning again,” called the young English salesman that he had met yesterday.

“Morning.”

“Have we come for a test drive?”

“No.” Daniel wasn’t the kind of person who test drove. He didn’t waste his time. He knew exactly what he wanted. He knew exactly what it would cost. “I’m here to buy.”

The salesman lit up. “Which of our cars?”

“Not a car. A Volak.” Daniel reached out and ran his hand over the molded frame of a jet-black and chrome motorcycle. It was manufactured by Volak, the Czech manufacturer that had grown into one of the largest motorcycle manufacturers in the world. While most manufacturers had transitioned to electric or hybrid engines, Volak had remained true to the gasoline-engine aficionados.

“Perfect.” The salesman considered for a moment mentioning the excessive pollution tariffs on the Volak, but decided better of it. Daniel didn’t appear to be the kind of buyer that would settle for anything less than the best. “And will you be paying in Rand or Dollars?”

“Dollars.”

“Excellent.”

At seven fifty-six, Daniel raced away from downtown Durban toward Hillcrest. He weaved through traffic along the N3, the national highway connecting Durban with Pietermaritzburg. The freeway was relatively busy, but the traffic appeared almost stationary as he ripped through it. Traffic thickened near Pinetown at which point he used the shoulder. As he approached Hillcrest, the map in his view zoomed and rotated to match his position.

Just outside of the main town center, Daniel weaved through the hilly neighborhoods of Hillcrest. It had been a small town when he lived in the area, but Hillcrest had grown to become a suburb the Durban Unicity Metropolotan Area area. It had become the fashionable upper-income suburb of Durban with the type of shopping and lifestyle that made it a destination unto itself. The homes were obviously owned by the wealthy. They were large homes on large plots. They were gated and secure.

Daniel slowed as he approached a small gray kombi parked askew on the side of a small residential road. The beacon originated from the kombi. Daniel approached and knocked on the glass, waking the African who had been waiting for just over an hour.

“I’ve found him,” stated the African after crawling out of the disheveled kombi. “He lives there.” He pointed at a distinctly smaller home situated just below the road connected by a narrow dirt driveway.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. But he is not there now. No one is there.” The African fumbled through his pockets in search of a cigarette. He drew a long breath then continued as he exhaled, “He works at the house project. My mother’s sister knows him.”

Daniel looked skeptically at the African. “Did you actually see him here?”

“No. But he will be back later ... after two or three, when the project finishes for the day.” The African took another long pull on his cigarette then flipped the butt into the road. “You’ll pay me now?”

“Not until I see him,” Daniel answered.

The African considered pressing the issue for a split second, but decided against it. He remembered how quickly Daniel had disabled the Englishman at the nightclub. He grunted in disapproval but said nothing.

“I’m going to wait in the house,” Daniel continued. “You can stay here or come back later – it makes no difference to me, but remove this heap from the road and don’t let them see you.”

“I’m going nowhere until I have my money,” the African growled.

“You will stay low. I’ll be at the house until they return. I’ll pay you when I leave.”

Daniel did not wait for a response. He strode to his bike and made his way down to the small house. He parked the bike prominently in front of the house and made his way inside.

Inside the house, he found very little. There was no indication of the wealth Brad had accumulated in his years at Q-Morrow and at Naidu. There were few pictures of any kind, but Daniel did find what appeared to be a wedding album. He skimmed through it and left it open when he found a good picture of Brad. After a few moments of rummaging through the bedroom, Daniel returned to the main living room. He sat down and activated a small viewscreen – the only visible modern technology in the house.

He checked his watch. It would be nearly noon in Bangalore. He called Sireesha.

“I’ve found him,” he said immediately after Sireesha answered the call.

“You’re there with him now?”

“No. I’m at his house. He’s not here now, but I’ll stay until he returns.”

“Is there any indication of the device?”

“There’s nothing here at all,” Daniel answered. “Nothing but entertainment devices.”

“Could it be hidden there?”

“Not likely. I scanned for network devices straightaway. There’s nothing modern here at all – I don’t know how he lives.”

Sireesha sighed. “Keep looking. And keep me informed. This is good news.”

The phone clicked. Daniel reclined on the chair and put his feet up. He would wait.