Ali spent much of the day on the phone, and Amina scrutinised each call for a positive lead. He made a number of calls to hospitals and spoke about treatment programmes. Mojo, his right-hand man, called him frequently and they spoke cryptically about ‘orders delivered’ and people not co-operating who needed to be dealt with by the ‘township boys’. Few names, places or dates were mentioned, and these were the crucial building blocks of intelligence. Occasionally Ali would answer the telephone and indicate he would phone the caller back. He would then walk out of the French doors and into the garden where he would speak on his cellphone for a few minutes. Amina wished Durant and Shezi had planted a few bugs outside too.
The Libya call and one other seemed to be the only two of value today, and she was satisfied that progress had been made. She dialled Durant’s number, but his phone just rang. She was glad. She dialled Masondo’s number and asked if she could see him.
Stephanie looked a lot better when Durant finally returned to the ward. She was still groggy from the anaesthetic, but smiled cheerfully when she saw his face. ‘Well done, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Good work for a first-time mom.’
‘I didn’t do much at all, the doctors and nurses did all the work. I tried calling you.’
‘I know, I’m so sorry, I was in a meeting and had my phone off. I came as soon as I got the message. How’re you feeling?’
‘Actually, surprisingly well. I felt terrible this morning and it just got worse and worse. I phoned the doctor and he said to meet him at the hospital. It feels like ages ago, but it’s probably only an hour or two.’
‘I saw baby – she’s beautiful – I told you it was a girl. Alexis?’
Stephanie nodded thoughtfully. ‘That was always our first choice. She looks like an Alexis.’
Durant felt his cellphone vibrating in his pocket, and ignored it. ‘So how long do you have to stay here for?’
‘I think it’s three days, but I can’t wait to go home. Can you take some leave?’
Durant felt his cellphone vibrating in his pocket again, and ignored it again. ‘I’ll take a few days. They’ll have to survive without me for a while.’
‘Kevin, it’s all been worth it. It didn’t work out exactly as I’d planned, but I think everything will be okay.’
‘Of course it’ll be okay. I’m so proud of you. I wish I’d been there with you at the caesar.’
‘It was so quick.’
‘It took me completely by surprise.’
‘Me too. I was totally out of it. I actually thought you were there. I was so not ready.’
Durant felt a message reach his cellphone. ‘No more surprises, babe. This is nerve-wracking. Can I just read this message? It may be your mom …’
Durant saw he had five missed calls on the phone. He opened the message box and read an SMS. ‘Congratulations. Return to office urgently.’ It was from Masondo.
It was after 6 p.m. when Durant walked into Masondo’s office. Shezi and Amina were already seated and they both leapt to their feet and pounced on Durant, shaking his hand and hugging him.
Masondo shook Durant’s hand with a bone-crunching grip. ‘I heard another spy has been born.’ Durant managed a smile, although his anger at having been called to the office hadn’t receded in the twenty-minute drive there. Masondo motioned to Durant to sit in his chair, pushed back a heap of brown files and sat on his table. ‘I didn’t bring you back here to congratulate you, although consider yourself congratulated.’
Durant nodded. ‘Thanks, I think.’ He wanted to get back to the hospital.
‘Everything alright there?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good. I brought you here because Amina picked up something earlier on the telephone tap – Ali had a conversation with someone in Malta about a delivery. Amina, brief us.’
Amina rose to her feet; it felt like she was going to make her acceptance speech for some award. Every operational assistant dreamed of the moment when they found that crucial information bite which changed the course of the operation and led to a final breakthrough. ‘It came in at just after 3 p.m. Ali made a call from his office to a number which turned out to be the Libyan embassy in Malta. He spoke to a female there – a Miss Elhasomi. I did an internet search on the Libyan Foreign Service site and found an S Elhasomi at the Libyan People’s Bureau in Valletta. She’s listed as a second secretary. Now, Malta is quite a crucial hub for the Libyans; it’s a type of gateway to Europe, so they tend to have a concentration of intelligence officers at their embassy there. There’s a good chance Elhasomi is some type of undeclared intelligence officer there. Ali spoke to Elhasomi for about twenty seconds – it was very cryptic, and I didn’t understand everything, but the important thing is that she will be arriving in South Africa next week.’
Durant stood up and walked across to the office window and looked out across to the sea. ‘Next week? Did he say anything about meeting her? Any talk about business, or a shipment … and …’ – the words were coming out Durant’s mind faster than he could verbalise them – ‘did he mention payments?’ He didn’t wait for Amina’s answers but spun around and faced his colleagues. ‘A Libyan government connection. This explains so much – I mean this explains how he does business: not with individuals or businesses. That’s why we could never identify the routes and the money trail – it’s with governments, rogue governments.’
Masondo’s frown made Durant feel uncomfortable. It was an angry frown, distinct from his normal contemplative frown. ‘This is South Africa, Kevin. “Rogue” is an American word; it’s an ugly word. Don’t use it again.’
‘Sorry, chief. My point is that they are labelled as having a history of trying to acquire WMD technology through internationally unacceptable means.’
‘Rogues are thugs and hooligans. I haven’t experienced the Libyans to be like that. Irritating and persistent, yes, but always polite and gracious.’
‘I get your point, chief. What I’m saying is that Ali is dealing with governments and probably their intelligence people.’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself.’ Masondo said calmly. ‘We’re an intelligence agency, not a news agency. We only deal with facts, not guesses. And we don’t editorialise. What do we know?’
Amina answered. ‘Ali is supplying something to the Libyans, represented by Elhasomi, and he’ll be paid cash for it. She’s bringing a list of goods which he must supply. That’s about all we know so far.’
Durant stood up. ‘What commodity can it be? What would the Libyans be interested in?’
‘Sit down, Kevin,’ Masondo said. ‘You’re thinking out loud and it’s not helping. Operationalise it, find out when she’s coming exactly, get the surveillance people to monitor her from the airport and maybe we’ll have more to go on. Profile Elhasomi, see if she’s come up anywhere before, check our databases, see if we can establish her exact role at the embassy. If she’s an intelligence officer, then it makes this investigation that much more important and sensitive. If the Libyans are up to something, we need to know what, because it involves one of our citizens and our soil. What do you need from me?’
‘We need Anja and the full surveillance unit on standby for the week she’s here, so we can split it into two teams – one to monitor Elhasomi, and one to monitor Ali. It doubles our chances of success. Amina, you’ve done well. This is just what we needed. Give Elhasomi the code name “Uptown Girl”.’
Amina smiled. ‘One more thing, gentlemen. After this call, Ali made a call to a cellphone. He didn’t speak to a person, he just left a message, but he arranged a meeting tomorrow in Cape Town, then he made a flight booking – an SAA flight at 10:20.’
The operation was gaining incredible momentum. Amina concluded her briefing, and Durant went to his office to start designing an operation around the new developments. He had just logged into the server when his cellphone beeped. It was an SMS from Stephanie saying she loved him and was proud of him being a new dad, and wishing him a good night’s sleep.
>
Amina Yusuf’s bmw arrived at the complex gates at 18:10. It was the third night in a row she had worked late and she could feel the involuntary tensing of her shoulders. The modern apartment complex was silhouetted against the orange haze the setting sun had left in the sky. Ahmed, her husband of five years, had bought the penthouse in the upmarket suburb of La Lucia two years previously. The door opened before she reached it and she smiled apologetically. ‘Salaam. Sorry, love, hectic day.’
Yusuf scowled at her and stepped aside to let her into the tastefully furnished apartment.
‘I’m tired of this.’ He shook his head and then reached into his pocket for his prayer beads. ‘This isn’t right. I question your loyalty when you do this.’
Amina tried to brush him aside and walked towards the spacious kitchen. ‘Sorry, Ahmed. I’m really sorry.’
‘You don’t look sorry.’
‘I’m just not getting through all my work. Want some juice or something?’
Yusuf shook his head. ‘I want you to be here when I get home.’
‘I know I should be. I feel bad.’
Yusuf put his thumb into a raw blister on his hand and felt the pain. ‘I also work hard. I close the business at four-thirty, and it’s my business. You can walk out of someone else’s work at four.’
‘Baby you know my work doesn’t begin and end. It keeps going on. I thought you understood.’
‘Maybe I used to. Not any more.’
Amina sat on a kitchen chair and sighed. ‘I try to leave when I can. We’re busy with an intense operation at the moment. It won’t be much longer.’
Yusuf walked towards a wall cabinet. He opened it, shuffled through some paper, and brought out a bank statement. ‘Do you ever look at these?’ he asked sharply.
‘Bank statements? Not really.’
‘Maybe you should. Last month, there was sixty thousand rand in the cheque account.’
‘Ahmed, I—’
‘Ninety percent of that I put into the account. Your pathetic salary hardly pays the bank charges. And you’re dedicated to your work?’
Amina stood up, indignant. ‘I’m dedicated to the team I work with. I’m there because I want to be there, not for financial gain.’
‘You’re paid to be there.’
‘I’m not materialistic, you should know that.’
‘It’s bad enough you’re working, it’s worse you’re working for the government intelligence service, but the worst, most unforgivable sin is the fact that you’re dedicated to your work in an unnatural way.’
‘It’s not a sin to work.’
‘You have no business dedicating yourself to anything or anybody, except me.’
Amina cast her eyes to the polished marble floor and saw a vague reflection of herself. She ran a hand through her hair and then rubbed the back of her neck, which was now throbbing with pain. ‘Ahmed, please try to understand, you’re my husband, you’re everything to me, and I’ve tried to be perfect in every way for you.’
‘No, I don’t want perfection. I want you to be what you were created for.’
‘I’m a custodian of the nation. It’s a duty bestowed on me by the Almighty – to protect the weak and the afraid. I can’t fail you, but I also can’t fail them.’
‘You’re failing me.’
‘The people of this country look to us – to me – to protect them. We’re so few …’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Yusuf shook his head. ‘You believe your little contribution is going to change anything?’
Amina didn’t answer.
‘The only thing that’s changing is you.’ Yusuf picked up a packet of cigarettes from the table and lit one. He casually blew a smoke ring in her direction. ‘And has the nation thanked you?’
Amina tried to smile, but failed. ‘The fact that people sleep soundly at night’s all the thanks I want or need.’
‘What about me? Don’t I deserve to sleep in peace?’
‘You can and you do—’
‘Knowing you’re working late. I go through hell at night.’
Yusuf turned his back on Amina and walked to the balcony where he silently finished his cigarette. Amina sat on the couch, exhausted, and before Ahmed had finished his cigarette, she was asleep.
Leila Elhasomi looked at her watch, a fine and elegant piece, not unlike her. The reception, hosted by the Canadian ambassador, had just begun at the Valletta Plaza Hotel and the guests, magnificent in their dark evening wear, were finding their standing places around the small tables. She gazed out of the windows and could understand how the Knights of St John had been prepared to give up their lives in defence of the city. The calm waters of the Grand Harbour reflected the huge fortifications around Fort St Angelo, which had kept Malta safe from invading forces for hundreds of years.
Malta had always been a desirable, unconquerable prize. A bit like her, Elhasomi thought. At diplomatic functions, single women invariably became prime pick-up targets for ambassadors, military attachés, frustrated and lonely counsellors, and administrative staff. Elhasomi, dressed in a superb off-the-shoulder black dress and a gold choker which drew attention to her graceful olive-skinned neck and perfectly contoured jaw line, had not escaped the notice of the male guests. Her mysteriously sullen and melancholic look was not a practised pose: it was as natural as her long black hair, which fell past her shoulders to the small of her back.
‘Care for a cocktail?’ It was the public-affairs officer based at the American embassy. Elhasomi smiled and shook her head. Arthur O’Grady took his work seriously. He had had more public affairs than anybody else in the mission. Harmless, but annoying.
‘Come on, Miss Elhasomi. Just a harmless drink. We don’t have to talk politics.’
‘Everything in this room is politics, Mr O’Grady. If I talk to you, it’s politics.’ She half turned. ‘Excuse me, please.’
‘Excuse me,’ a gravelly voice said and she felt a big arm around her shoulder and didn’t like it. She recognised the uniform as Brazilian air force, the rank as colonel, and his way as presumptuous. He motioned to a colleague who came over quickly. ‘I will protect you from all these dirty old men,’ the colonel bellowed, ‘such as my colleague here. This is no place for a lady as beautiful as you to be without protection.’
‘Thanks, I do not need protection.’
‘Valletta’s full of rogues and men with questionable motives. O’Grady, case in point.’
‘I was part of Colonel Gaddafi’s close protection team for a year,’ Elhasomi said. ‘If I can look after my president, I am sure I can look after myself.’
‘Ah, but here you’re far from home. This beautiful city is full of dangerous people.’
‘And how do I know you are not one of them?’
The colonel put his hand on his heart as if he’d been mortally wounded. ‘But now you offend me, Miss. I am a gentleman and an officer. Malta’s my second home, I know everyone here, and everyone knows me. I am a helicopter pilot, very skilful, very professional. I can take you on a flip. Have you been in a helicopter before?’
Elhasomi smiled disarmingly. ‘I have my commercial rating on helicopters and fixed-wing aircraft. Maybe I will take you some day. Excuse me please, I have seen someone I know.’
Elhasomi glided off towards the entrance and the colonel watched her moving towards a man sitting alone at a table. The colonel smiled, and shook his head in defeat.
The man at the table was tall and well built, with short, black, gelled hair and dark Middle Eastern features. Elhasomi observed that he had a noticeable, but not unattractive, scar on his chin. He looked at her briefly as she stood at the cocktail table and then looked down again. His eyes were dark, Elhasomi thought, secret eyes.
‘Good evening,’ she said. ‘Can I join you here?’
The man looked surprised, shy almost. ‘I’m not going to be here much longer.’
‘I just want to be away from those annoying men.’
The man looked at his watch and
then at Elhasomi. He was silent.
‘I do not want to disturb your dream.’
The man smiled without looking up. ‘I’m not dreaming, I’m observing.’
‘Are you security?’
‘My favourite pastime at these functions. Forget zoos – human beings are the most interesting creatures to watch.’
Elhasomi frowned, then smiled and felt herself relaxing. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Have you ever watched men and women at these functions? The way they play?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean the hunting, the preening, the posturing, the flirting. Everybody is acting, but the movie is never good.’
Elhasomi smiled and extended her hand to the man.
‘Leila Elhasomi.’
The man took her hand and looked into her face for the first time. ‘Ben Salem. Pleased to meet you.’
Elhasomi smiled flirtatiously. ‘Were you observing me?’
The man nodded. ‘I was, but only from a scientific point of view. You’re a good subject.’
‘I will take that as a compliment.’
‘I’ve been watching these pretentious idiots all night. I’ve seen how they act around the pretty girls.’
‘Do you think I am pretty?’
Salem looked at her. ‘Yes.’
‘So … Are you acting now, or is this understated, shy man the real you?’
‘You can decide.’
‘I think you are security. Diplomats talk and mix. You are not mixing, networking. Why?’
‘I only get invited to these functions because of the business I’m in.’
‘And what business would that be, Mr Salem?’
‘Wine.’
Elhasomi frowned and then smiled. ‘Wine?’
‘I import fine wine. What better way to impress your friends and pursue your country’s interests than over a glass of fine wine?’
‘And what makes wine so fascinating? It is just old grapes, isn’t it?’
An Ordinary Day Page 6