Vengeance from the Past (eBook)

An SA Police Series Suspense Story, Book 6

Meiring Fouche, Pieter Haasbroek (Autoren)

Pieter Haasbroek (Herausgeber)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
142 Seiten
Pieter Haasbroek (Verlag)
9780001021549 (ISBN)

Infos

Ten years. Ten lost years.

For a crime he was framed for, a love that was stolen, and a fortune he was cheated out of.

Now, the man they sent to prison is back, and his debt will be paid in blood.

In the sun-scorched dust of South West Africa, a stranger steps from a train with nothing but a suitcase and a ten-year-old grudge. Anton Verwey has returned to the desolate village where the town's powerful mayor and a corrupt sergeant framed him, stealing his freedom and his share of a hidden diamond treasure. They thought prison would break him; instead, it forged him into a weapon.

His demand is simple. He wants the map to the diamonds and payment for his lost decade. But when the confrontation moves to a ghostly castle in the Namib desert, the past erupts in a storm of bullets and betrayal. Now, Verwey is no longer just a victim. He's a killer on the run, locked in a deadly battle of wits with a relentless young constable.

This gripping tale of revenge, hidden treasure, and relentless pursuit is a must-read for fans of classic action-adventure and high-stakes thrillers. Perfect for readers who enjoy the relentless pace of Wilbur Smith and the classic suspense of Alistair MacLean.

The SA Police Series just got even more personal with old ghosts that have returned! Vengeance from the Past takes you on a relentless journey in this thrilling sixth book, brimming with the signature blend of pulp, action, and mystery. Continue the adventure now!

Textauszug

6. VENGEANCE FROM THE PAST

Chapter 1

“I AM BACK”

When the mixed train halted at the small station of the village in South West Africa, only one man disembarked. He was a tall, slender fellow with an aquiline nose and a black hat on his head. In his hand, he carried a single, rather small suitcase. He moved slowly, deliberately. His hat was pulled down slightly over his forehead, and one could not see his face clearly. Not only was his hat pulled down low, but he also walked with his head bowed.

He was just about the only person moving on the small platform. This was a little village on the edge of the Namib Desert.

The passengers on the train gazed curiously at the appearance of the little place, which was actually reminiscent of the small villages of Switzerland. The houses standing here were mostly old, and they looked like houses on the European continent. The terrain on which the village was situated was uneven, with a good number of inclines and koppies, and on the highest koppie stood an imposing white house that strongly brought to mind the kind of houses one finds in the Rhine Valley in Germany.

The village’s appearance was just about the only asset it possessed, for it was small, lonely, and isolated. A few kilometres further, one enters the inhospitable Namib Desert. And then you move through an endless monotony of plains and gigantic sand dunes until you reach the sea.

The tall stranger with his black hat, his aquiline nose, and his narrow, soft hands, walked past the station master’s little office and went to stand beside the station building. The train passengers watched him with interest, wondering why such an impressive, well-dressed man, who was apparently a man of status, had disembarked here on the dusty platform of this village in South West. Others, thinking further, wondered why there was no one there to meet him. He was truly the only man at the station, besides the station master and the station master’s piebald fox terrier. Beyond that, there was nothing and no one.

The tall man went to stand beside the station building and looked up at the village. He looked from one side to the other and saw that it had changed very little. It was still just as it had always been, except that in one place a building had apparently burned down. That was truly the only thing that had happened here.

Almost furtively, as if he were afraid that someone would notice, he looked up at the large, imposing house with its continental appearance on the highest koppie in the village. He gazed at it for a long, attentive moment, and his eyes narrowed as if the image of the house had awakened a new memory within him. His left hand slowly closed until it had become a firm fist, and if anyone could have looked into his eyes then, those clear, steel-blue eyes, they would have realised that there was something more than anger in the man’s eyes. They would have seen that they had narrowed to mere slits. And if someone had been standing beside him, they would have realised that the breathing of the tall stranger with the black hat had suddenly become faster and uneven.

He looked at the residence so thoroughly and with such intense interest, just like a man considering buying this most impressive house in the village. He surveyed the house from its pointed towers to the large front door with the wide veranda. He looked at windows and doors and then closed his eyes for a moment. His jaw muscles worked as he clenched them, and his right hand tightened its grip on the handle of his suitcase. He stood there for so long, so lost in thought, that he was unaware of the train whistling and steaming out of the station.

He was not even conscious of being the only man on the station grounds now. The station master himself had gone back into his little office, and the fox terrier had lain down somewhere in the shade. In the streets of the village, he saw nothing and no one stirring. This was the warm part of the day, the part when people in this corner of the world usually take a little rest.

It was quite some time before the tall man with the black hat left the station and strode across the open ground towards the village. He was slightly stooped, and his long body moved with a peculiar ease and litheness. His strides were long and measured, and his head remained slightly bowed.

He walked straight to the village bar and, upon entering, he stopped short on the threshold. It was cool inside, and it smelled of liquor. He immediately looked at the man behind the bar and then sighed with relief.

No, he did not know the man. This fellow now behind the bar was short, thin, grey, and elderly. It was no longer the jovial, red-faced German who had worked behind this small counter so long ago. And that satisfied the tall man. He set his suitcase down just inside the door and walked slowly over to the bar, his eyes still fixed on the bartender.

He sat on a high stool, leaned his elbows on the bar, and pushed his hat more firmly onto his head.

The bartender, who had been busying himself behind the bar with bottles and glasses, looked up into the lean face of a man who had a small moustache and a pair of incredibly thick-lensed spectacles. His eyes looked as small as pinpricks behind the lenses. He saw immediately that he was dealing with a stranger who was well and neatly dressed, but with a kind of nonchalance that is always so interesting. The tie was knotted well and firmly. The suit was of an expensive material, and the man’s hands were so peculiarly delicate.

The bartender had a habit of thoroughly observing all strangers and sizing them up. His first impression was that he was dealing with an intelligent and determined fellow.

“Yes, sir,” the bartender asked. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“A long, cold beer,” the stranger requested, his voice light and clear.

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his neck. Then he wiped under his spectacles and across his nose.

“A stranger here?” said the bartender.

“Yes, I am a stranger here,” said the visitor.

“Can I arrange lodging for you here in the hotel?”

“Yes, thank you, I’ll take a room.”

“For how long?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” said the bartender, looking at the man with some surprise.

The new arrival took a few long swallows of the cold beer, apparently doing so with pleasure. The bartender began to clear away empty glasses, wiping the bar with his cloth. He glanced sideways at the man on the stool and wondered if he had seen him somewhere before. No, he did not think so.

“Here on business?” the bartender asked out of innate curiosity.

“Yes,” said the stranger. “I have a little business here.”

“Came by train?”

“Yes, came by train. A wretched mess. I’ve never seen such a train in my life.”

The bartender smiled familiarly. “Yes,” he said. “This Makadas of ours isn’t exactly the fastest in the world. Do you know the village?”

“No, this is my first visit. I hope it is also my last.”

The bartender was slightly annoyed by the man’s condescending talk of his town.

The tall man paid him no mind. He lifted his glass again and took a few long swallows. When he put the glass down and stroked his finger over his little moustache, he asked the bartender.

“And what’s the news in this place? Or, is there no news here? I suppose the only news here is when someone dies or when someone breaks his leg or something of that nature.”

The bartender could not help but smile. “That’s about right,” he said. “That’s about the only news we have here. Still, every now and then we have a bit of excitement when someone dares to enter the forbidden territory to try and steal a few diamonds.”

“Ah, is that so,” said the stranger, looking into the bartender’s meaningful eyes.

He got the impression that the bartender had uttered those words just for his sake. Perhaps to warn him or perhaps to test him. To set a little trap for him. Who knew, maybe this bartender was still in the service of the police. A decoy of some sort.

“Do you have many diamonds near here?” the stranger asked.

“Oh, yes, this part of the Namib is full of diamonds. That’s why it’s forbidden territory.”

“I see...”

“Speaking of dying,” said the bartender. “We lost a prominent resident a short while ago. Mrs. Bertha Meisner. She was the wife of Mr. Carl Meisner, our mayor.” He shook his grey head. “It was a blow to us. In a small community like this, it is always a heavy blow when someone like Bertha Meisner dies. She was so attractive and not very old at all. Just in her early forties. And so suddenly. They lived in the big house on the highest hill in the village. A beautiful place. So tastefully furnished with everything money can buy. They are, of course, immensely wealthy. Carl Meisner and his wife Bertha were among the richest people in South West.”

The stranger’s hands tightened around the beer glass, and for a moment the bartender had the impression that the man was trying to crush the glass between his hands. But suddenly his grip relaxed, and he looked up at the rows of bottles on the shelves.

“Yes,” he said, preoccupied. “I think I read about it in the newspaper, that Mrs. Bertha Meisner passed away here. You say they are rich, do you?”

“Immensely wealthy,” said the bartender with a slight frown. “Have you ever encountered them?”

The stranger shook his head vehemently. “No,” he said. “No, I have never encountered them. I don’t know them from anywhere. Perhaps it just struck me...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.9.2025
• Übersetzer: Pieter Haasbroek, Ai
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-13: 9780001021549 / 9780001021549