‘We can’t change what’s already done. In our world, everything isn’t normal. Nothing is what it seems. Everyone has their own agenda, as we have ours. Sometimes these agendas work at cross-purposes.’
‘And people die.’
Amina nodded. ‘People die. We chose a hard profession. The hardest part’s not knowing who your real enemies and friends are. Today’s friends are tomorrow’s enemies. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Remember how you always say “we’re the good guys”?’
‘I really used to believe that. I’m not so sure any more.’
‘You put your career on the line to save your partner’s reputation, because you believed in him. That type of loyalty you don’t just find anywhere. You didn’t do it for yourself; you did it for your team.’
Durant put his hands through his hair and shook his head. ‘In a way, I’ve betrayed myself. I’ve defeated the ends of justice. I’ve gone against the very things I believe in.’
‘Your motive was pure. We did it together, remember; we’re in this together. I took the money. I didn’t put it back.’
‘Someone once said you can’t do a bad thing for a good reason without compromising your integrity. It feels like I’ve betrayed the Agency, the country. Have I done South Africa a service by doing this? Am I proud? No, I’m not proud.’
‘I spoke to Thandi earlier. She said Mike told her the night before his death that he felt like a fake and a fraud and that he needed to put something right. The night he died his detailed billing shows a call from Mojo. The next day he’s dead. My theory is, he lets Mojo know he’s done working with them. He puts his cards on the table and Mojo kills him to shut him up.’
‘I want to believe that. I want to believe that in a temporarily insane moment, he compromised his integrity and then regretted it until his conscience drove him to that meeting where he died. They wouldn’t have killed him if he was still useful to them. He died because he changed his mind.’
Amina nodded. ‘He did it to clear his conscience,’ she said. ‘Absolution sometimes carries a high price.’
‘He sacrificed his life for his principles, that’s why I’m protecting him.’
‘Can’t we just report it like that? Won’t they understand?’
‘The organisation hasn’t got feelings; it’s objective. It’ll always go back to the acts and directives. It won’t see it like we do. It would want justice and retribution. To the Agency, Mike Shezi’s just a name and an appointment number. To us, he’s a colleague, a friend, a family man.’
‘What would Masondo say if you told him?’
‘I’ve thought about that. I think he knows I’m hiding something, and just wants me to say it, but I can’t. Everything I told him so far was the truth. I just left some things out.’
‘But Masondo and Shezi are old comrades, surely he’d understand?’
‘I can’t risk it. I don’t know how he’ll react. If it goes well, we save Mike’s reputation. If it goes badly, you, me, Mike, Thandi, all of us, are doomed.’
‘It’s a mess. I wish I’d never found the money.’
‘If you didn’t, someone else would have and they would’ve reported it.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Where’s the money?’
Amina smiled, embarrassed. ‘Remember Mrs Meer?’
‘Best biryani I’ve ever had.’
‘That’s the one. She’s been struggling for years; her little shop’s been hit by thugs more times than she can remember. I invested the money into her shop, upgraded her security and got her some protection.’
Durant smiled. ‘Robin Hood? You used the proceeds of crime to protect an old lady from crime. Now that’s poetic justice at its sweetest.’
The black Chrysler Voyager with tinted windows slowed down as it approached a set of traffic lights in a Durban suburb. Before the vehicle stopped, the side door slid open and a man dressed in a dark jacket slipped out and disappeared around a corner and into a takeaway shop. The Voyager drove off as the traffic lights turned green; the driver noted the occupants of the vehicle behind him hadn’t noticed the departure of his passenger out the side door.
Scott bought a newspaper at the take-away and made a call on his cellphone to the driver of the Voyager. The tail from Durban International Airport was still following, but Scott was clear. Scott exited the take-away and walked a little way up the road to a bus stop. He removed his dark jacket, revealing a light golf shirt, and took a cap out of the jacket pocket. He threw the jacket into a rubbish bin beside the bus stop. Within a minute, a local Mynah bus arrived, and he climbed on and paid the fare.
Two stops later, Scott got off the bus and entered a shabby bar in Umbilo Road. He walked to the far corner of the noisy and dimly lit tavern, sat on a hard wooden bench which was etched with graffiti and watched a stripper begin removing her clothes. The more clothes she removed, the more his interest waned. He looked at his watch continuously, his irritation level clearly rising each agonising minute. He didn’t notice Vitoli enter the pub, as he was momentarily distracted by a minor drunken scuffle at the bar. Scott jumped involuntarily as Vitoli sat down on the bench opposite him.
‘Where the hell were you?’
‘Spent the mornin’ shakin’ tails. Every time I’ve ducked into a takeaway, I’ve had to buy a damn hamburger, but I’m clean. I’ve done everything I had to do, I’m good to go.’
‘Your route’s confirmed. Themba, gate six, walk across at the GPS co-ords on this card. Once in Mozambique, our man Raoul will take you by vehicle to an airstrip in the north-east. A cargo plane will take you to Kenya and then a charter flight to Germany. You’ll be back in the States in forty-eight hours.’
Vitoli smiled. ‘No time to do some shoppin’?’
‘What the hell happened?’
‘Durant knocked on my door. The damndest thing. If it’d been Santa I woulda been less surprised.’
‘How’d he compromise you?’
‘Just by being there. Told him I’m Department of Commerce, but I don’t think he bought it. I’ve followed protocol and shut down the station. Here’s the crypto stuff.’ He handed Scott a blue canvas bag, the zip sealed. ‘Guess I won’t need that any more.’
Scott took the bag and pushed a black folder across the table to Vitoli. ‘Everything you need to get you out. You’ll depart immediately. You know you can’t say goodbye to anybody.’
‘I know the protocols.’ Vitoli flipped a memory stick out of his pocket and held it out to Scott. ‘My final report.’
‘Is Durant as arrogant as I think he is?’
Vitoli frowned. ‘Arrogant? Nah. He ain’t arrogant. Passionate, yeah, professional, yeah. I think he’ll get his man.’
‘That damn Durant is everywhere, poking his nose into our business.’
‘Well, it’s their business too. This ain’t our country, remember.’
‘He blundered into our business and he’s wrecked our operation. You know how much it costs to withdraw an NOC who’s been active for so long in one country?’
‘My goodness, Paul, is that a compliment? Are you tellin’ me I’m irreplaceable?’ Vitoli took a large gulp from the beer he’d picked up on his way in.
‘Hopefully your replacement will be a little more disciplined,’ Scott said, and glanced over to the stripper, who now seemed to be engaged in a wrestling match with one of the patrons.
‘I’m sorry, did you call me undisciplined?’ Vitoli’s voice was slow and menacing.
‘I meant someone who’s more agreeable to the Firm’s identity, someone who will follow orders better.’
‘Scott, you know I was collecting intelligence while ya mama was still wiping ya backside and singing lullabies in ya ear at night? I worked deep agents in Africa during some of the bloodiest revolutions the world’s seen. I don’t wear suits and live in compounds where a Marine detachment protects me. I ain’t got a fancy office or dip automobile. You know nothin’ about me and nothin’ about what this business�
�s all about. You’re a college boy, a punk who thinks he’s a spy but you’re really just an insecure and unfulfilled admin officer without any damn use to the intelligence profession.’
The colour drained from Scott’s face and he put his glass on the table, mainly because it drew attention to the fact that his hand was shaking.
‘How dare you question my abilities? How dare you judge my character and slander my name? I’ve gone out of my way to treat you with respect and look after your interests. This is the thanks I get.’ His teeth clenched and he struggled to get the last few words out. ‘I’ll see to it that the director deals with you in the appropriate manner. Your days in this organisation are fewer than you think.’
‘You’ve never had to get your hands dirty. You ain’t earned the respect you demand. You ain’t got no courage, Scott. You’re an embarrassment. You need to look at yourself, man.’
‘Damn you, Vitoli, I gave you nothing but support.’
‘Then let me give you somethin’ in return.’
Vitoli put his big hand on Scott’s face and pushed him backwards hard, letting the forces of gravity and momentum do the rest. By the time Scott had ungracefully lifted himself off the floor and returned the disinterested stares from the patrons, Vitoli was already outside.
Masondo looked like a statesman. His walk to the podium was deliberate and unwavering. Durant only found out years after his first meeting with Masondo in Angola that he was an unofficial chaplain in the MK trenches and had buried many of his comrades who had died in the war. Masondo had cried many tears over fallen comrades, but this time it was different. This time it was needless, the sacrifice had no merit. He looked straight ahead until he reached the podium, and then boldly raised his eyes and silently looked across the crowded hall. A woman wailed at the back and Durant and Amina glanced back awkwardly before focusing on Masondo. Thandi sat in the front row, sobbing silently and surrounded by a few family members.
‘Few people outside the intelligence community understand the special bonds we have with each other. We’re more than colleagues and associates and workmates. We share a common peculiarity: we eat, sleep, breathe and dream about a nebulous world called “intelligence”. In this world, we form bonds with people, which are bound with a stuff which is unbreakable.’
Masondo looked directly at Durant. ‘There is only one thing which can break these special bonds we have with each other, and that’s the power of death, because there’s nothing else. That’s all. Mike Shezi has been taken from us, tragically, suddenly, and unexpectedly. But I take comfort in the fact that he died doing what he was passionate about, what he lived for – intelligence. He never saved anything for later – he gave his best work every day, until the day of his calling. Mike can rest now, because where he is, in that perfect place that’s been prepared for him from the beginning of time, there is no need to heed the call to protect the weak and hungry and helpless and find ways to lessen the burden of those who can’t sleep at night for fear.’
Masondo looked down for a moment, and then at Thandi. ‘My dear Thandi. My sadness is for you and for us, for those whom Mike has left behind. Your loss must be an incredibly heavy burden to bear. But you don’t bear it alone. We, as fellow intelligence citizens, as family and as friends, can and will help you along the road ahead. Rest in the knowledge, Thandi, that Mike lives on in our hearts and in our memories and as we move on with our lives – poorer lives, yes – we take Mike along with us every step of the way until we meet him again in the eternal place where every tear will be wiped away and where there’s no sorrow and mourning.
‘I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to give you a future and a hope. Then you will call on Me and come and pray to Me and I will answer you, says the Lord. We call, He answers, Thandi. You will seek Me, and you will find Me when you search for Me with your whole heart. God’s words, not mine. Find Him and He will give you rest as He has given Mike rest. It’s the same rest.’
The silence was punctuated by sobs as Masondo left the podium and the programme director invited Amina up.
Dressed completely in black and wearing a headscarf, she walked gracefully to the podium and held the sides, partly to keep herself from collapsing. She wanted to say how Mike had taught her so many things about life and how he had always brought a smile to her face and looked on the bright side. She wanted to share with everyone the joy of knowing a man who was passionate about so many things and treated her like his best friend. She wanted to tell of the times they’d worked together in the evenings until late, stressing and laughing and rushing around until the deadline was met. She wanted to say she was sorry for not being more sensitive to his personal situation, or indeed, not knowing much about it. She wanted to tell everyone that it was okay, she’d taken care of his indiscretions and he’d died with his name and reputation intact. She wanted to say many things, things which needed to be said, but she didn’t say anything. She just cried. After a minute of sobbing, she was led off the podium by a colleague and sat down.
Durant went up and spoke, unable to look up.
‘Mike Shezi loved two things. He loved his wife, and he loved his job. He was passionate about both and put his soul into them. I’ve known Mike for almost ten years. He’s a man of courage and conviction. A soldier of truth. A veteran of many struggles. The struggle for freedom. The struggle for a more stable and prosperous South Africa. The struggle to fulfil his responsibilities as a husband and caregiver to his extended family. In all of these struggles, he’s excelled. He never lived to reap the rewards of his hard work. Mike was more than my partner, he was my friend. I’m unashamed to admit that I loved him.’
Durant felt the tears running down his cheeks, but made no attempt to stop them. ‘He was the best friend a man could ever have. He has wanted to sacrifice his life for others ever since I’ve known him. Whenever a chance came for him to make the lives of others better, he would seize it with both hands. He’s incapable of selfishness. We are told by psychologists that when danger lurks, a self-preservation mechanism kicks in – the fight-or-flight mechanism. For Mike, flight was never an option. Even in the face of extreme danger, he would face it with the boldness of a warrior. He grasped death when it came to him because he didn’t die for himself, but for me, and for you and for all of us sitting here.’ Durant paused for a moment, then went on. ‘We always say we would sacrifice for those we love even our lives, if need be. But do we really mean it? How often do we say those words carelessly without realising one day we might be called upon to really make that sacrifice?’
Durant lifted his eyes to Thandi momentarily. ‘I’m ashamed to say I didn’t do enough for Mike; shame on me for putting my own interests first, for not knowing more about issues affecting Mike’s life. I could have made a difference, and I failed. I should have been with Mike … been at his side, I’m sorry … I’m sorry … I’ve failed …’
Durant wept bitterly as two colleagues took him by the arms and led him into the passage. Outside, he sat in a chair, put his head in his hands, and cried, and only he knew why the grief was so profound and unyielding.
Salem looked at the small, crumpled photograph he held in his hand. The young woman was as striking as the city of Jerusalem itself, which hung in the background like a golden curtain at sunset. Salem unwittingly touched the scar on his chin, as he always did when he thought about Aliyah. He’d loved her with a boundless love, a love which the cold passage of time could not diminish. The two and a half years had passed by like a movie in slow motion, and he remembered the first few months he prayed at the western wall for understanding and realised he wasn’t alone.
He remembered the day the suicide bomb took Aliyah in merciless detail. Every sound, the smell, the taste. He remembers she was barefoot and screaming with a desperate scream that begged him to hold her tightly. But with a broken pelvis, he could only drag himself across the glass-splintered pavement … too slowly, too slowly. By the time he reached her, the black smoke
which had billowed out of the city bus’s carcass was dispersing and the screaming had stopped. It was only days later that he realised that Aliyah, his beautiful, sweet and innocent daughter, had ‘gone up’, ascended, as her name foretold, and she was home and safe, but he would never see her again.
Salem’s wife left him eight months after the bombing. She said he had become a different person since their daughter’s death: cold, indifferent, unable to show affection. He knew it was true. His daughter was his world, and all he had left of his world was a small silver chai she had worn on a chain around her neck.
The man who approached him at the Western Wall one day told him Aliyah’s death needn’t have been in vain. The man was like the Messiah, the timing was perfect; he brought redemption and cleansing and Salem’s life had changed forever.
Durant insisted on meeting Inspector Heath in the open car park of a shopping centre in Westville, despite the uncomfortable humidity. Heath had indicated to Durant telephonically that there was major progress in the investigation and Durant arranged the meeting for twenty minutes later. It was the first week of January, still school holidays, and both men had forgotten how busy the area was.
Heath was out of breath when he arrived in the unmarked police car; the thirty-eight-degree heat made even the most sedate activity exhausting. They shook hands briefly, and Heath got straight to the point.
‘I spoke to Mojo earlier today. Arrogant fellow and uncooperative. Knows the law too. Denies any contact with your colleague, Mr Shezi, and can sort of account for his whereabouts on the night of his murder, although these guys can create alibis quite easily.’
‘What about the call to Shezi’s phone?’
Heath shrugged his shoulders. ‘He denies he made the call. He says the phone in question is used by various people. We’ll have to subpoena his phone records and try to establish patterns, but it’s a prepaid so it’s likely he only used it for a short period and then ditched it. We can link the phone to Ali’s phone, but he works for Ali so that’s not incriminating.’
An Ordinary Day Page 24