‘Why’s everybody so down?’ Durant asked. ‘Mike, you look miserable. This is Horizons. We’re not allowed to bring our moods here. This is where we relax.’
‘I’m cool,’ Shezi said, but Durant could see there was something on his mind. Maybe he and Thandi had had an argument that morning.
‘I wonder how many of those containers are going to reach their rightful owners? Ali probably also sits in this restaurant when the ships come in and calculates his monthly profit.’ Amina sighed. ‘Why didn’t the judge give us an extension on the tap?’
Shezi took a sip of strong coffee and shook his head. ‘Because he’s sitting in a cosy office in Pretoria, 600 kilometres away.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Durant. ‘Ali’s always operated on a very sophisticated level. He’s always been one step ahead of us. What we’re picking up are tiny pieces of a huge jigsaw puzzle. We only see these few pieces; we can only guess what the picture on the box is.’
Shezi allowed himself a laugh ‘You can see he’s got a kid. His examples are kids’ toys now.’
‘Shut up and listen,’ Durant said, happy to see Shezi perking up to his normal self. ‘We can’t motivate on the basis of what we think is on the puzzle box. We motivate on the basis of the pieces. The part that’s annoying is that the pieces of the puzzle we’ve got aren’t convincing enough for the judge. I can’t blame him.’
Amina adjusted her sunglasses and shook her head. ‘It’s different when you’re there. When you’re virtually sitting in his office with him like a fly on the wall. For six months I heard every word spoken in there. It’s unbelievable how in the past few weeks it’s just dried up. And what about the parcel? Why didn’t the judge take that into account?’
‘Without knowing what’s in the parcel, it’s just a parcel, it’s not intelligence. We can guess it’s drugs or money or a nuclear bomb. But it could just as easily be some banana muffins his granny baked.’
‘Then why did a Libyan intelligence officer come all the way from Malta to deliver granny’s banana muffins to Ali?’ Shezi asked, dipping an egg-and-bacon sandwich into his coffee.
‘We’re still waiting for that piece of the puzzle,’ said Durant. ‘Look, we’ve been incredibly lucky just picking up the contact with that Libyan woman. We were even luckier to get our old friend Dahdi to approach her and suggest the apartment. You know, in this occupation, luck plays a big role.’
‘Some of our biggest successes, if you think about it, happened because we were in the right place at the right time,’ Amina said. ‘So we mustn’t give up yet. I think we’ve done well. We’re closer to Ali than we’ve ever been.’
‘Of course, we’ll really have to encourage Elhasomi to take Dahdi up on his offer,’ Durant said. ‘We’re going to have to throw every curve ball we can in her way once we know where she’s booked in.’
‘How are you going to do that?’ Amina asked.
‘Like this. If she makes a reservation at the Holiday Inn, we send her an e-mail – saying during the period of her visit there will be a national police convention at the hotel and would she mind all the activity around that.’
‘Or a meeting of the Jewish Board of Deputies,’ Amina suggested.
Durant smiled. ‘You guys learn fast. We close every door that she opens until the only one left is Dahdi.’
‘Anything interesting from the surveillance reports?’ Shezi asked while spooning the remains of the sandwich out of his coffee.
‘They’ve withdrawn. They could only deploy for a week. Anja said they really struggled to monitor him. The guy’s tail-wise. He drives up one-way streets, ignores traffic lights, drives at 40 kilometres per hour on the freeway.’
Shezi laughed. ‘He should be a taxi driver with those skills!’
‘Ja, well, they lost him plenty of times. I’m waiting for the final report. Should be ready by tomorrow. Thing is, his driver, Mojo, is an ex-cop and I think he was in the VIP Protection Unit so he knows what he’s doing.’
‘How’s Stephanie and the baby? What’s her name again, Alice?’
‘Alexis. She’s okay, but Stephanie’s not doing so well. The last few weeks have been hell. She’s actually seeing a shrink.’
‘Those guys are expensive.’
‘Thanks, Mike, I noticed. That makes it even more depressing.’
‘I’m sure things will work out,’ Amina said. ‘It’s probably because everything’s still so new. I had a friend who had post-natal depression—’
‘We need to go over everything again,’ Durant interrupted, ‘so that if we missed something, we find it. Ali must have slipped up at some stage. He must have said or done something over the last three months which indicates what he’s up to. You guys need to wake up, get your act together and wrap this thing up.’
Durant threw money on the table and left the restaurant, while, in stunned silence, Shezi and Amina watched him go.
DECEMBER 2002
Emile Dahdi’s penthouse apartment overlooked the yacht mall and the Victoria Embankment. He’d made one of the bedrooms a study and positioned his desk in such a way that he could work on his pc and still see the ocean in his peripheral vision. He sat here on many occasions and wrote reports on interesting meetings he had attended and characters he had met. He knew Durant used him because of his particularly unique background. He was well known in the business world and in diplomatic circles; fluent in French and English, he could also speak and understand both Arabic and Hebrew. He’d worked in Arab and European countries for most of his life. He was old and eccentric and a thespian to the core. His performances were often not rehearsed at all, but delivered with a conviction which was hard to fault.
He particularly liked the role of the absent-minded, dithering old man because nobody would ever suspect the octogenarian of being a career spy whose fumbled questions yielded brilliant intelligence. Durant appreciated his work and their professional relationship was one of mutual respect. Dahdi wasn’t sure if Durant knew everything there was to know about him: the fact that he was a multi-millionaire, had fifteen grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, and that he had lost his wife in a tragic accident more than a decade earlier. But he thought it wasn’t necessary that Durant knew too much about him. He was doing this for his own reasons, not for Durant. Durant benefited, surely, but his motivation ran deeper than loyalty to the NIA and to South Africa. He also had to be true to the promise he’d made his wife all those years ago at her graveside in Scotland, and although he didn’t believe she heard him, he was sure the promise embodied everything she stood for.
Dahdi leaned forward in his chair towards the computer monitor. It was almost as if the proximity to the monitor somehow made the message more real. The message originated in Malta and was written in English:
Sir,
I attach for you the photographs from the Tourism Indaba. I hope it is okay. Also, you offered me a place to stay if I came to South Africa. I will be arriving on the 10th of next month for a week. Might I still take advantage of your hospitality? I am sorry about the short notice, but the hotels I wanted to stay in have let me down. I want something quiet and discreet. I may bring a friend. Please let me know.
Greetings, Leila Elhasomi.
The house was quiet when Durant got home. It was a welcome change. Alexis was asleep in her crib and Stephanie was sitting at the kitchen counter, peeling potatoes. Durant put his briefcase down and kissed her.
‘I tried to phone you a few times, but your phone was off. Were you with the psychologist? How did it go?’
Stephanie smiled. ‘She said I need a lot of time to get better, but I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I mean, if you’re sick, you take a tablet and you get better. This is apparently not that easy.’
Durant switched on the kettle. ‘Tea?’
Stephanie nodded. ‘That’ll help. I just feel so down and the worst thing is I shouldn’t be feeling down at all. I should be happy.’
‘I don’t really understand any of t
his either. You’re not yourself, and haven’t been for a while.’
‘I’m sorry I’m like this, I’m really trying not to be.’
‘It’s fine, my love. I’m sorry I still have to go to work every day. There’s so much pressure at the moment.’
‘And the medication my gp gave me to help me sleep just makes me so useless at night. I feel bad that you have to deal with Lexi and still be sharp enough to work the next morning.’
Durant knew his work was suffering. He was exhausted. Deep down, he wanted to throw himself into his work and detach himself from this crisis that was always there when he opened the front door. He hated himself for feeling like this, but it was a situation over which he had no control. He couldn’t call for backup, get surveillance in, write a memo or debrief an agent. The solution was out of his hands; he felt helpless and exposed. It was a feeling he despised.
His phone rang. It was Dahdi with good news about Elhasomi. Durant forgot to make the tea.
When she woke up, Leila Elhasomi realised she couldn’t have dreamed it, because no dream was ever so real, so indescribably beautiful. Ben made her feel like a princess, prized and sheltered like a treasure of untold value. She pulled the bed sheets up over her as Salem opened the window, letting the cool Mediterranean breeze into the apartment. Salem stared out of the window for a few moments at the light honeycoloured stone walls of the Maltese capital, and then turned to face Elhasomi. The gold light reflecting off her skin made her look breathtakingly beautiful and her hazel eyes sparkled as she smiled at him.
‘What have you done to me these last few weeks?’ she said.
‘Nothing that you didn’t want done to you,’ he said.
‘I did not plan to have a relationship with you.’
‘It just happened.’
Salem sat on the bed and Elhasomi nestled into his chest. ‘God is good,’ she said.
Salem laughed. ‘This was never meant to happen.’ He put his palm on her cheek. ‘There seem to be secrets inside you which you are keeping and which I hope one day you’ll share with me.’
‘You have secrets too. I can tell. We all have secret lives.’ She smiled and kissed his hand gently. ‘I am twenty-seven years old and for the first time I can say I am in love.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘You must believe it. I am a country girl from a small village near Tripoli. It has taken me years to just be myself.’ She ran her hand through her hair, almost as if her scarf was there, covering her face as her mother always expected. ‘But this is me. I love my country, and am thankful for what my country has done for me. Most Libyans have not travelled further than the next village. I have been all over.’
Elhasomi looked towards the window and could just see the fortress walls beyond that had kept the invading armies out of the city for hundreds of years. ‘I have also been careful. I am like this city. I have put up walls to protect myself. You are inside my walls now, I have opened the gate. I am at your mercy.’
Salem pulled her close and embraced her. ‘I feel like Napoleon. The city fell without a fight. The walls are useless if the fight has gone out. You are safe with me.’
‘I have fallen for you, Mr Salem.’
‘You never thought you would fall for the wine merchant.’
‘You have the same beliefs and passions I have. I am truly blessed. Allahu Akbar. God is great!’
Salem took her hands and looked into her eyes for several seconds. She was silent, lost in the intensity of the stare, but when she spoke, it was with a determination which she knew came from her heart.
‘Will you come to South Africa with me?’ she asked suddenly, as if the insane thought had only just occurred to her.
‘South Africa?’ Salem asked, surprised by the question.
‘I have to do some follow-up work there for my government. We are busy with a major tourism drive; we want to attract three million tourists a year to Libya.’
Salem seemed impressed. ‘You think European and African tourists would rather go to Libya than their regular Mediterranean destinations?’
‘Libya is unspoilt, not like some of the Mediterranean countries. There, the tourists are herded like cattle onto the beaches. We can offer the longest stretch of coastline in North Africa and a treasure chest of history still undiscovered by most tourists: the ancient ruins, the colonial architecture … sleeping in the desert, the silence …’
‘You are starting to sound like a tour guide, my love. I think what may discourage many European tourists is your fearless leader. The Western world has labelled him a terrorist and Libya a terrorist state. Who would want to holiday with terrorists?’
Elhasomi slapped Salem hard on his shoulder. ‘You insult me and you insult my country. Western labels are not always the right ones. Our leader has done great things for his people and the Arab world. He is not a sell-out like some Arab leaders who stand on podiums and condemn injustice and then sit back and fold their arms. The Western world has little to say about Israeli terrorism, their aircraft that bombed our nuclear power station, the assassination of our people, the oppression and the occupation.’
‘I’m sorry, love, I don’t mean to be insulting, but it’s a point of view. Just take it in.’
‘Our leader is not afraid of the world and he has proven it. This is why he has so much respect. He is the leader of African Arabs and perhaps one day he will be the one who will free the Palestinians from life under occupation. So do not speak with the voice of the Western world. Come to Libya yourself and discover its treasures.’
Salem smiled. ‘I’ll leave my wine samples behind.’
‘The hospitality of the Libyan people is unrivalled, the beauty of the desert at night hypnotises you and puts you in a trance. Libya is an undiscovered jewel, and when it is revealed in all its glory, everyone will want to see it.’
‘Even Gaddafi is not powerful enough to free the Palestinians from oppression,’ Salem said, looking out of the window in thought. ‘All talk, no action.’
‘Our leader has plans in his arsenal, plans which will surprise not only the Western world, but even our Arab brothers. You wait and see, Ben; soon our leader will be the hero of the Palestinians and of all Arabs everywhere. He will liberate Palestine from the Zionists and chase them into the sea.’
‘Leila, I see your passion. When you speak of these things I see in your eyes a drive which seems unstoppable. Are you unstoppable?’
‘As an Arab and as a Libyan, I have responsibilities to fulfil. Bringing tourists to our country is only one responsibility. Perhaps one day I will tell you about the others. Not now. Perhaps after a year when there is great rejoicing in the Arab world, when the lion of the north roars and the world realises who the true Messiah is, then I will say to you, “Ben, I was part of that.” You will be proud of me.’
‘I am already proud of you, and the answer is yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, I will go to South Africa with you. Many of our wines are imported from there. I’ve travelled there a few times. Your boss won’t mind?’
‘My boss? He will not know.’
The briefing room was a frenzy of activity. Masondo was there; Amina and the head of the surveillance unit milled around. Shezi was there too, surrounded by familiar people but feeling a sense of jamais vu. He was an outsider now, no longer part of the family. His limbic system, the part of him that controlled his behaviour, was trying to adjust, trying to make him act the part of a loyal and dedicated intelligence officer, but it was hard. He clutched at silly justifications: he would turn in the end, he told himself, be a double agent, betray Ali, be the hero. But he knew it was impossible. It was too late to go back now.
The room fell silent and the lights dimmed. Durant switched on the projector to begin his presentation.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, today I received a call which has changed the course of the Ali investigation. About two months ago, a woman came to South Africa to meet with Ali. She’s attached to t
he Libyan embassy in Malta and her name is Elhasomi – we’re calling her Uptown Girl. She came to give Ali something; we’re not sure what, but we’re speculating it may be a purchase order for some kind of sensitive technology, related to industrial espionage, or to weapons of mass destruction. Amina and I have gone through hours and hours of transcriptions and we’ve also gone over the surveillance reports, but nothing points to what this woman gave to Ali or what he was supposed to do.
‘We lost authorisation for the monitoring operation soon afterwards, but we did put in place a Plan b should she return to South Africa for any reason. Colleagues, Plan b was a long shot right from the beginning; it was one of those one-chance-in-a-thousand deals. We dangled an offer of accommodation to Uptown Girl when she was last here, and then we crossed our fingers.’ Durant rubbed his chin. ‘We’ve been devious. We’ve torpedoed her every move to book into hotels in Durban. We’ve used people, abused relationships and done other things I’m too ashamed to mention.’
‘Maybe you should mention it, Mr Durant,’ Masondo said. ‘I think everyone can learn some lessons in manipulation.’
Durant looked embarrassed. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. ‘She tried to book into two separate hotels. The first one I got Amina to phone the Libyan embassy. Amina, maybe you can recount the call.’
Amina stood up reluctantly and recalled the conversation. She had impersonated a receptionist from the hotel she had reserved, and phoned Elhasomi to reassure her the rumours about the hotel being targeted by anti-Islamic people were untrue, and that the fatal assault had merely been a coincidence. Elhasomi took the opportunity to cancel her booking.
Durant thanked Amina and continued. ‘The second hotel we had to really be creative with. I created a leaflet and made as though it was produced by a local but nonexistent Islamic group. The text spoke of the hotel being owned by American Jews and profits were going to Israel. I scanned the flyer in and e-mailed it to as many Islamic organisations as I could find in Libya from an internet café. She cancelled her reservation within two days of us mailing the flyer. Uptown Girl is coming to visit Durban again – and this time she will be our guest.’
An Ordinary Day Page 10