“What do I do with the key?”
“Leave it with Simon in reception.” He takes a pistol from his waistband and hands it to me. “Ian told me you know how to use this. It may come in handy.”
“Thanks.” I check the receiver. The serial number has been scratched off. “Say hi to Lina for me.”
“Take care.” Offering me a last, strained smile, he lets himself out.
The minute he’s gone, I turn my attention back to the television. Ian’s arrest is all over the news. The news anchor, who reports from in front of the Johannesburg High Court building, reckons the trial could take place in as little as a week.
When my two days are up, I don’t flee the country as I’m supposed to. I leave Damian’s apartment building, walk across the street, and book in at the Braamfontein Hotel. The room is on the second floor. It has a big bed with a soft mattress and a plush carpet.
I read every morsel of news about Ian’s trial I can get my hands on. It’s taking place in two days from today, on Friday.
In the afternoon, I leave my room to buy food from a store down the road. Venturing a little farther, I locate a clothing store where I buy a yellow dress and matching shoes. At an African hairdresser not far from the hotel, I find a selection of wigs. Choosing one with layered red hair, I also buy nets and pins to use under the wig. At a department store, I buy cosmetics and false eyelashes.
On the day of the trial, I get up extra early to work on my appearance. When I’m done, I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. The woman looking back at me has red hair and brown eyes. The contact lenses are a cheap fashion accessory available at any pharmacy.
My stomach is in knots when I take my fake ostrich leather bag and leave my hotel room. The courthouse is only two kilometers from my hotel, but I don’t want to risk wandering around the city. Instead, I take a taxi.
Ian’s trial is public. The media is crowded outside when I arrive. I hang behind a group of people, mostly Phantom fans who came to witness the trial, until the doors open and we’re let inside. I follow the group through the security check and give my fake ID for scanning. I look different than in the photo, but I can always claim I dyed my hair.
I give the security guard a broad smile, and he lets me through. I’m nauseous with nerves, feeling like I may be sick, but I can’t miss today for anything, not when it’s one of my last chances of seeing Ian. I’d risk getting caught for this opportunity, which is exactly what I do as I slink inside with the rest of the crowd after being searched and take a seat in the gallery behind a tall man at the back.
The defense attorney is already at his place. The prosecutor enters with a stack of files and a briefcase. According to the media, she’s a lioness in court, but in this trial, she doesn’t have to go for the kill. Ian already confessed. Delivering the verdict is just a matter of formality. Every news channel is questioning why Ian didn’t make a deal. What they can’t know is that he did. He made a deal for my freedom, which left him with no room for negotiation for himself. The time he’ll be sentenced to serve depends on how sympathetic the judge is to the mitigating factors of his case. At least that’s what’s said in the news. Legal reporters reckon the minimum he’ll get is two life sentences.
A murmur runs through the crowd as the door in the back of the room opens. I grip the back of the bench in front of me. A tall, imposing form fills the frame. Excited whispers rise as a man in an orange jumpsuit enters. His broad shoulders are square and his back straight. His features are set in hard lines, but the light shining in his brown eyes is mocking. His rebellious haircut is gone, his hair shaved short. His hands are handcuffed in front of him.
Proud and arrogant, the most wanted man on the continent enters the courtroom. Chains rattle when he crosses the floor with small steps to take his place next to his defense attorney. The sight of him twists invisible chains around my heart and strangles the breath from my lungs. I don’t give in to those feelings of hopelessness. He’s too magnificent, too big for pity. He looks over the courtroom like the incredible specimen he is, untamable, even in chains.
Chapter 19
Ian
The courtroom is packed. All eyes are trained on me. I sent a message to Damian via his lawyer, telling him not to come. It’s better my family is kept out of the spectacle. It’s bad enough they have to deal with the media attention. What I never wanted for them happens as our family history is dissected in every printed and online newspaper and magazine.