CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
It had been twenty-five minutes and counting since the tracking device stopped moving. Rathbone had watched it go from Lindela to downtown Joburg back to the western suburb of Roodeport. Was an odd location for a safe house—that was for certain. Almost the entire surrounding area was residential. Even still, Rathbone wasn’t the least bit interested in quibbling with the particulars. He had five million good reasons for him and his team of private military contractors to complete this job.
The caravan of three Range Rover sport utility vehicles veered to their left onto a gravelly road. The perfect bottleneck for an ambush. One way in, one way out. They drove between a row of modest, two-floor homes on their right and a golf course to the left.
“It should be another t
