Once the people downstairs had mostly finished eating, Du Preez opened the glass door leading to the backyard and followed Keith outside.


    “Gentlemen, welcome,” Keith greeted, then walked over to the pool, introducing himself, “You can call me Shannon.”


    The lively chatter among the crowd immediately quieted.


    “So…” He glanced around at everyone and asked, “Are you all full?”


    All eyes were on him.


    “Good,” he murmured to himself, then continued, “Or is anyone still feeling a bit tipsy?”


    No one responded.


    “I assume you haven’t all decided whether you’re interested in this job.” He paused, adding, “It’s a complicated job, with certain risks. If anyone feels it’s not for them or simply isn’t interested, feel free to enjoy the meal and leave; there’s no need to feel embarrassed.” He glanced around at them again, then pointed back at the house, “Otherwise, please follow me.”


    The group hesitated briefly before setting down their food and drinks to go inside, except for one person.


    This was a middle-aged man in an army-green short-sleeved shirt with rusty red short hair. He looked somewhat haggard, holding a half-full glass of whiskey on the rocks, and sat, hesitating, on a lounge chair by the pool.


    Du Preez looked him over, noticing a familiar insignia sewn onto the left sleeve of his shirt. It was a shield-shaped patch about the size of half a palm, with a black night sky as the background, a white embroidered moon in the center, and a black bat in flight in the foreground.


    Du Preez walked over and asked quietly, “Thirty-second Battalion?”


    The man raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply.


    To confirm his guess, Du Preez asked again, “Aerial Reconnaissance?”


    “Mmm—” He nodded slightly, then asked, “You too?”


    But Du Preez cut him off, “Are you here for a class reunion?”


    The man’s expression changed slightly, and he responded in a barely audible voice, “No.”


    Du Preez gestured toward the house with a jerk of his head and said, “Then get inside.”


    The red-haired man hesitated, then set down his drink, stood up, and walked inside.


    They gathered in an elegantly furnished lounge, and after everyone was seated, Keith got straight to the point. “Gentlemen, as you know, I purchased two Mi-17 helicopters from PAS.” He paused, adding, “I’d like to hire you to complete a job.”


    “First, let’s talk about the risks. The job won’t be on land but on a cargo ship. Since the ship can’t carry passengers, you’ll be classified as illegal occupants.” He looked at the three sofas, filled with people in the lounge, and continued, “But I assure you, during your time at sea, the ship will stay in international waters, and South Africa doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the country it’s registered in.”


    After another glance at the people on the sofas, Keith continued, “Now, it’s time for questions.”Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    A young white man raised his hand, and Keith gestured for him to speak.


    “Sir, I’d like to know what exactly you want us to do.”


    “Let’s start with the mechanics’ job; I’ll discuss the pilots’ duties later,” Keith replied. “Mechanics will handle the maintenance and repair of the two helicopters, much like your usual work. PAS will perform a full inspection before departure, so you’ll only need to handle minor issues.”


    Next, a thin black man in his early thirties raised his hand and hesitantly asked, “I’d like to know the working hours and the pay.”


    “The job lasts two weeks, though the exact time might vary, but it won’t exceed a month,” Keith paused, then continued, “As for pay, I’ll give each of you a daily rate of one thousand rand starting the day you set sail, with a twenty-thousand rand bonus upon return.”


    As soon as he finished speaking, a buzz of murmurs filled the lounge as the people on the sofas began to talk quietly amongst themselves.


    Keith smiled, saying nothing further. With the recent closure of Precision Aviation Services, many employees had been laid off, making a high-paying job appealing to them. He had checked with Crawford beforehand, learning that these people typically earned between fifteen and twenty thousand rand per month, so he felt confident in his offer.


    And indeed, after a few minutes of deliberation, the first person agreed, which encouraged the other twelve mechanics to express their willingness to join. Two were so eager they wanted to sign a contract immediately.


    But Keith declined, “I value commitment; if you’re willing to join, I’ll give you the opportunity. Unless you think my promise is less trustworthy than a piece of paper.” He grew serious, adding, “And I’d rather not leave any evidence for the police, I trust that’s clear.”


    Once there were no further objections, Keith continued, “That’s all I have to say. If there are no more questions, feel free to head back and enjoy your lunch; I still have matters to discuss with the pilots.” With that, he gestured to the door, and Du Preez stepped forward to open it.


    Soon, only Keith, Du Preez, and the four pilots remained in the lounge.


    When Du Preez closed the door, Keith told them, “Your mission is to fly those two helicopters from the ship to the destination.”


    “Where’s the destination?” one of them asked.


    “I can’t tell you that right now.”


    “Where will we take off from?”


    “I can’t say that either.”


    The pilots’ expressions grew increasingly skeptical.


    The red-haired man with the Thirty-second Battalion insignia spoke up, “What are the helicopters transporting?”


    Keith glanced at him and replied, “I can’t disclose that right now, but I assure you, it’s not drugs.”


    “Not drugs…” The red-haired man murmured, and then, as if something dawned on him, he looked around, “Could it be weapons?”


    Keith nodded reluctantly, adding, “And there some people.”


    "Hiss--" A slight inhalation sound came from the reception room.


    But the red-haired man remained calm, pursing his lips and saying, “While I’d love to know every detail, I doubt you’ll tell us, right?”


    “Right,” Keith replied, “What I can tell you is: first, the mission will take place at night. Second, the flying distance is one hundred and fifty miles. Third, the first half of the route is across plains, and the latter half over mountainous terrain, with altitudes between fifteen hundred and twenty-five hundred feet. Fourth, at least two round trips are required.”


    All four pilots frowned.


    “Now, here’s what I can provide.” Keith paused, “We have night vision goggles and GPS navigation equipment, and complete data on the flight route: this includes the latest satellite images, detailed topographic maps, locations of air defense facilities, and radar detection ranges at various altitudes.”


    The red-haired man glanced at his companions, “So, what’s the good news?”


    “The good news is…” Keith deliberately dragged out his words, “This job pays well enough to make it worth the risk.” He smacked his lips before continuing, “Each of you will receive two hundred thousand rand, with half paid upfront, and the rest upon completion.”


    “Whew—” Someone quietly whistled.


    “This is my final offer,” Keith said, “If anyone’s thinking of bargaining, please don’t waste time. You’ll need to decide whether to take it or leave it before you walk out of this room.”


    “I’m in,” said the red-haired man, raising his hand as soon as Keith finished speaking.


    Keith looked at him, slightly surprised, then asked the remaining pilots, “What about the rest of you?”


    Once again, the power of leading by example came through, and the other three nodded one by one.


    “Looking forward to working with you,” Keith shook each of their hands before instructing, “In the coming month, please stay in Pretoria. My people will contact you when it’s time to start. Also, just a friendly reminder, don’t share what you’ve heard today with anyone.”