Execute the Sentence (eBook)

An Obed de Swardt Thriller, Book 5

Gerrie Radlof, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
112 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
9780001021495 (ISBN)

Infos

He sided with convicted murderers to save his friends.

Now, he's trapped in their deadly game.

In the sprawling, deceptive streets of Johannesburg, private investigator Obed de Swardt, the famed Wanderer Detective, is known for solving the impossible. But when a relaxing evening is shattered by the city's most wanted fugitives, Obed makes a split-second choice that will seal his fate.

To uncover a conspiracy that reaches the highest echelons of power, he must become a traitor in the eyes of his friends and the law. He joins the ruthless saboteurs on a desperate hunt for revenge, all while a beautiful and deadly spymaster from the shadows pulls the strings. Every alliance is a lie, and every move could be his last.

This blistering, high-octane spy thriller is a must-read for fans of classic Alistair MacLean adventures and the relentless suspense of Lee Child.

Five cases in, the Wanderer has been pushed to the edge. Now, he has to make a choice that will change everything. Execute the Sentence is a game-changing chapter in the series that pulp, action, and mystery fans have come to love. Don't miss what happens next.

Textauszug

5. EXECUTE THE SENTENCE

Chapter 1

DEATH ON THE STREET

It happens lightning-fast. For just a moment, the constable had bowed his head, rubbing the side of his nose with his left forefinger. In his right hand, he held the heavy police revolver, where it rested on his right knee.

He is aware of no movement until two strong hands clamp around his neck and the manacles connecting the wrists are used to throttle his windpipe. At the same moment, a hard blow strikes his right wrist, and he feels the revolver being wrenched from his grasp. He wants to scream but no sound emerges. His tongue feels large and clumsy in his mouth. His vision blurs and he collapses, unconscious.

The police van swerves once across the street. The driver keeps his eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror. The officer next to him had turned around when he heard the muffled voice from behind them. He sees the barrel of the revolver aimed at them through the wire mesh of the cab.

“Turn into that side street,” comes the curt command.

The driver glances quickly and inconspicuously at his officer. Then he suddenly presses the accelerator deeper and continues straight along the main street.

The shot cracks. The driver falls forward onto the steering wheel. His foot slips off the accelerator and the wheels of the police van are already scraping against the pavement.

A second revolver shot, fired at the police officer at close range, is inaudible above the impact of the collision. The police van ricochets off a parked car, hits a lamppost with its left front fender, flips onto its side and slides to a halt against the wall of a building.

In the back, the four prisoners cling to the framework with all their might. The vehicle has barely come to a rest when the one with the revolver commands sharply, “Marks, search that fellow for the keys to the handcuffs!”

“I have them!” Marks calls out hoarsely.

As one man, they jump onto the pavement through the back door of the prisoner transport van, which had flown open from the shock of the collision. The street is busy with traffic. With screeching brakes, car after car comes to a standstill. From all sides, curious onlookers run towards the scene. It is still reasonably early in the evening.

The four escapees cut along the semi-dark wall where the streetlights do not quite penetrate beneath a balcony. In the turmoil that erupts around them, it seems as if no one notices their escape. They slip around the corner and up the first side street. The one with the revolver glances back quickly. The crowd is thronging around the police van. No one is looking in this direction.

“Unlock the cuffs, Marks,” he requests urgently. “We’ll move more easily without them.”

They carry the handcuffs for a while and then toss them into a dark backyard. Without drawing attention to themselves by their pace, they walk quickly up the street and turn left again into the first cross street.

“We’ll have to get our hands on a car, Kenshoff,” says Marks after a while. “We won’t get too far on foot.”

“There’s no need to remind a person of such things, Marks,” Kenshoff snaps at him. He is more robustly built than the other three and, in any case, carries the revolver, now in his jacket pocket. “We just need to get a little further away from the accident first.”

They do not talk much. All four are in plain clothes. They walk quickly. After turning the fifth corner and walking down a side street, they find themselves in a reasonably affluent residential area. Marks is again the first to point out a house.

“It’s set quite far back from the street, Kenshoff,” he voices his opinion. “There’s a garage next to it, and a light is on in one of the windows.”

They enter openly through the garden gate. When Kenshoff knocks on the front door, the other three stand to one side against the wall.

An elderly man opens the door. A light from the hallway shines fully on Kenshoff.

“Good evening,” Kenshoff greets amicably while stepping slightly forward to prevent the man from perhaps looking out onto the porch. He continues fluently in English. “I’ve had a bit of bad luck. A flat tyre just down the street. I was wondering if you could perhaps help me with a jack.”

“A jack?” The man looks disappointed. He shakes his head. “Unfortunately, my son is out with the car. The jack is in it, of course. I’m really sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Kenshoff assures him. “I’ll ask further on. Thank you very much.”

“My neighbour…” the elderly man begins while stepping out of the doorway. He stops talking when he sees the other three on the porch.

“They are my friends,” Kenshoff explains quickly. “We were just on our way to the cinema when we got the flat tyre.”

The man does not answer. There is a clear expression of suspicion and also of fear in his eyes. At the same time, they hear from the direction of the main street the screech of tyres as a vehicle speeds around a corner, and the high-pitched shriek of a police siren.

Marks cries out in alarm. These sounds make him nervous. He looks at Kenshoff.

The elderly man hastily steps back towards the door. It is as if he can read on the faces of the four men that their presence here is connected to that shrill sound.

In a single movement, Kenshoff spins around and yanks the revolver from his jacket pocket. The man who a few moments before was willing to help them tries to reach the door, but before he can do so and before he can let out a cry, the butt of the revolver strikes him on the side of his head.

“Drag him inside,” Kenshoff hisses in a hushed tone. “Help Dietri, Sark.” He himself stands by the door. As soon as they have laid the unconscious body silently in the hallway and come out again, Kenshoff carefully pulls the door shut. “We’ll have to stay off the streets now,” he whispers hoarsely. “Come on, let’s go around the back of the house.”

It is a large property. There are shrubs, trees, and a few cultivated flowerbeds. In the dim twilight cast even here by the streetlights, they run quickly to the back wall. Kenshoff pulls himself up by his arms, peers over. He swings his legs up and jumps down on the other side.

He waits until the others have joined him. Before them is a property of about the same size as the one they just came through. Here too, there are plenty of fruit trees offering cover. They can see the lights of a house a short distance ahead of them.

At the edge of the backyard, they listen attentively. By the outbuildings and where they judge the kitchen to be, there is no light or movement. On the left, however, they can see a sliver of light falling across the lawn.

Marks is on the far right. He suddenly steps a little away from them and then comes back quickly.

“There are two cars on the driveway,” he whispers. “Both are luxury modern models.”

“Go see if the keys are in them,” Kenshoff commands curtly. “Make sure you’re not seen. You stay here, Sark. Dietri and I will walk around the house to scout. This time we have to make sure we get a car. It’s clear the police are already searching. This entire neighbourhood will soon be combed.”

He moves to the left. He reaches the corner of the house and slips around. A short distance in front of him is the window from which the light is shining. Cautiously, he moves closer, staying close to the wall.

The curtain has been pulled away from the window. On one side, it has not been moved completely aside, and there is a small gap open next to the frame so that he can peer through without his face being seen from inside.

It is a small room, as if a part of the porch has been enclosed here. It looks almost like a miniature bar in which there are three young men. Kenshoff curses under his breath. It seems as if this room adjoins a living room and there might be people there too. He will wait a moment to ascertain how many there are. If there are no more men in the house, they will just have to risk getting the keys to one of the cars from them if Marks cannot find them. Their time is too limited to go looking for another car elsewhere now. It will only reduce their chances of escape. Unfortunately, none of them knows much about cars, otherwise they might have been able to get the engine started by short-circuiting the wires.

He moves his head back and forth in front of the gap. As far as he can see, there are indeed only the three men in this room. One is standing behind the small counter. He is busy pouring drinks into three small glasses. Through the open window, Kenshoff can hear their voices.

“What are you doing, Albert!” one in front of the counter exclaims. His black hair is cut short and there is a sparkle in his brown eyes. The sports jacket pulls tight across his broad shoulders as he lifts his hand to stop the other. “Whose is this one?”

“Tessa’s, of course,” answers Doctor Albert Uys. There is surprise and feigned indignation in the expression on his slightly pointed face as he looks up. “She wants gin, doesn’t she?”

“She does, yes, but just a drop, she said explicitly, ‘just a drop’.”

“And how much is this, perhaps?”

“Don’t you dare get into an argument with Obed, Albert,” the third man interrupts them. He is larger in build than the other two, but the smile on his broad, open face matches their mood. “If he says it’s not a drop, then it surely can’t be a drop!”

Obed laughs and nudges Maans du Preez in the side, causing him to almost tumble off the high stool in front of the small...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.9.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 9780001021495 / 9780001021495