Castello di Monte wasn�t just a hotel�it was a fortress of elegance. A Tuscan-style estate perched high in Waterkloof Ridge, famed for its sweeping views, its hush of luxury, and the kind of discretion that money can�t buy.
On the line, Kunene hesitated. �Can I come to you, Sir? It�s urgent.�
�Of course,� Willem replied, his voice settling into steel. �I�ll be expecting you.�
�Thank you, Sir. One more thing�� Another pause, �I�ll be bringing Brigadier Mabena.�
�No problem, General.� Willem allowed himself the faintest of smiles. �I�m all yours.�
The call ended, and silence reclaimed the room. But Willem knew the night had just surrendered. Whatever Kunene was bringing, it wasn�t light enough to wait for daylight.
He rose, pulled on a tailored robe, and moved to the balcony. From Castello di Monte�s heights, Pretoria sprawled in hushed darkness, the city lights blinking like a patient machine. A chill breeze stirred, carrying the scent of night jasmine from the garden below, Peaceful, Deceptively so.
He called down to reception, his voice calm, measured. �Two visitors are expected. General Kunene and Brigadier Mabena, Direct them to me.� No further explanation. None needed.
By 04:20, the distant hum of an engine broke the stillness. A black BMW eased up the cobbled drive, headlights carving brief shadows across the estate�s stone arches. Willem watched from the balcony, arms folded. The car rolled to a stop, and two men stepped out.
General Kunene was a big man who carried authority like a second skin�broad frame, squared shoulders, a face that had forgotten how to smile. Beside him, Brigadier Mabena moved with the coiled precision of a man who measured every step, every glance.
They entered without ceremony. At this hour, courtesy was a dead language. Willem greeted them with a nod, his tone even, but his eyes sharp as cut glass.
�Gentlemen,� he said. �You�ve brought the night to my door. Let�s make it worth the hour.�