Cobra

by Deon Meyer

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘On my back.’

  For a moment they were out of sight again, behind a knot of people. When there was a gap again, he saw Hoodie had turned sideways. He could see the rucksack now.

  Tyrone breathed deeply. Everything depended on the next few minutes. ‘Now listen very carefully. You know there is a ZIP file on the memory card? Fifty-six gigabytes in size.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you know that the ZIP file has a password?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK. I had the ZIP file encrypted again. With a new password. Do you understand that?’

  ‘Va te faire foutre, connard!’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You are playing games, connard. I will shoot your sister. I have a gun, right here.’

  ‘I know you have a gun. I’m telling you, if you don’t follow my instructions, you will never get the password. If you hurt Nadia, if you don’t do what I say, I will not give you the password.’ Tyrone shot a lightning prayer heavenwards that he would get the words right that PC Carolus had so patiently taught him. ‘The encryption is AES 128 bit. It will take you thousands of years to decrypt it without the password. Do you understand?’

  There was tangible fury in the silence, before Hoodie answered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. You must also know I haven’t written the password down. It is in my head. So if you kill me, you won’t have the password.’

  Hoodie did not reply.

  ‘The password is sixteen letters. Remember that. First, I will give you the disk. Then you can test it on your laptop. OK?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When you see that the file is there, we will start to open it with the decryption key. But then you have to tell Nadia to start walking, slowly, straight ahead, and around the corner, past the hairdresser. As long as she walks, I will give you a letter of the key. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ Impatient now.

  ‘Now, I want you to look up the passage, between the shops. Straight ahead,’ said Tyrone.

  Hoodie stood still, his features shadowed by the hood, but he was facing in the right direction.

  ‘Do you see the shop with the big green sign that says Hello Mobile?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you see the guy with the blue jacket standing next to the door?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He has the card, and he will give it to you when you reach him. If you hurt him, I will not give you the password.’

  ‘OK,’ said Hoodie.

  ‘Walk towards the guy now. Slowly.’

  36

  Griessel gazed out at the Stellenbosch mountains, the student beside him momentarily forgotten.

  At La Petite Margaux he had had a vague suspicion that it could have been more than one assailant, but the cobra on the bullet casings had muddled his thinking. The same engraving, the same shooter. That was the logical assumption, though instinct had argued against it. He had made the same mistake as Interpol. And their report had reinforced his error.

  He should have known. Two highly trained bodyguards, a reasonably good security system, the abduction of a man who did not want to be caught at all costs – naturally there would have been more than one operator. Now it made absolute sense.

  Cobra was not one killer for hire. It was a group.

  That explained superintendent Marie-Caroline Aubert’s speculation over the different pistols used. And that there were hits that did not carry the Cobra trademark.

  It changed a whole lot of things.

  Also the fact that a single operator would always be harder to catch. But three men working together, who had to stay together, travel together, move around together, were perhaps slightly more obvious.

  Griessel looked back at Nadia Kleinbooi’s door, saw the student waiting there eagerly. He would have to temper that enthusiasm.

  ‘Johan, I want you to understand one thing very clearly,’ he said strictly. ‘You can’t repeat anything of my conversation with the brigadier. It’s very sensitive information. If it leaks out, I’ll have to arrest you for obstructing the law.’

  ‘Never, Captain.’ But Griessel could see his disappointment.

  He took his wallet out of his jacket pocket and took out a twenty-rand note.

  ‘We need to make one more call,’ said Griessel, and held out the money.

  ‘That’s OK, Captain, keep it,’ said the student.

  ‘You’re going to hear more things that you would love to tell your friends, but if I hear you’ve repeated a single word, I will lock you up. You stay off Twitter, and off Facebook and What’s Up . . .’

  ‘WhatsApp.’

  ‘That’s right. Understand me?’

  ‘Yes, Captain.’ Solemnly.

  ‘Thank you.’ Griessel looked at the phone in his hand. It was a BlackBerry Z10. The screen had locked.

  ‘Can you show me how to phone from this thing?’

  The student tapped in his code, brought up the dialling panel and passed it to Griessel. He phoned the DPCI’s land-line number, and asked to speak to Mbali Kaleni.

  The first thing she said was: ‘Benny, Ulinda Radebe called from O. R. Tambo. He thinks he has identified the Cobra.’

  Tyrone watched Hoodie and Nadia slowly climb the steps under the

  Shoprite banner and walk towards Bobby.

  Don’t look at me, Bobby – whatever you do, don’t look at me.

  Bobby stood still. He looked worried. He looked around, but he didn’t look at Tyrone.

  ‘When the guy has given you the card, tell him he can go.’

  Hoodie did not answer.

  Nadia still looked as though she was in a daze. She kept looking down, as if she didn’t know what was going on.

  Had they drugged her?

  Four metres from Bobby. Three. Two.

  Bobby noticed them.

  Don’t look at me, Bobby. Please.

  Hoodie and Nadia reached Bobby.

  ‘You have the card?’Tyrone heard Hoodie say.

  A fat couple obscured his view for a second. When he could see again, Bobby was taking his hand out of his pocket. Too far away to see if the memory card was in it, but Hoodie put out his hand, it looked as if he took something.

  ‘You can go,’Tyrone heard Hoodie say.

  Bobby’s head turned in Tyrone’s direction.

  Don’t look at me, you idiot.

  But Bobby looked at Tyrone, as if he wanted to know if he had earned his money, if he could really go now.

  Tyrone ducked behind the corner of the shop. He didn’t know if Hoodie had seen him. He counted one, two, three, four, five. He peered around the corner of the shop. He saw Bobby was walking away towards Kruskal. He would be heading for Hassan Ikar, the Somalian, for his pay. That’s for sure.

  Well done, whitey, even though you did look when you shouldn’t have.

  ‘Your sister not here yet?’ The voice took Tyrone by surprise, because all his attention was on Hoodie.

  It was the security man with the red beret. He came and stood right in front of him, too close, no respect for personal space, this guy, so that he couldn’t see Nadia.

  Tyrone shook his head. He couldn’t talk now, it would confuse Hoodie, it would make him look around. And identify Tyrone, if he hadn’t already.

  ‘I can’t let you stand here for so long,’ said Red Beret. ‘You must go wait on the platform.’

  Probably a complaint from a shop owner: What’s that guy doing there so long?

  Tyrone nodded. Go away, please, he thought.

  Red Beret stared at Tyrone in disapproval.

  ‘OK,’ said Tyrone. He covered the phone as much as he could. ‘Just a few more minutes, please. She says she’s almost here,’ and he pointed at the phone.

  For what felt like an eternity, Red Beret did not move. Then he walked away, to the left, with a smug swagger.

  Tyrone looked anxiously at where Hoodie was standing.

  Hoo
die made Nadia hold the small laptop, right up against the row of bright yellow MTN logos of Hello Mobile’s display window. The man’s fingers were busy on the keyboard.

  ‘Can you see that the memory card is in working order?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Hoodie.

  Tyrone saw Red Beret standing on the other side of the passage, arms crossed, watching him with a dissatisfied scowl.

  I’m running out of time, the trains are coming. How long would it take to check the memory card?

  He quickly looked at the cellphone’s clock: 15:04. Could it be? It felt like the whole thing had taken an eternity. He had nine minutes, maybe ten, before the Metrorail 3526 left for Cape Town. If the train was five minutes late. Please.

  ‘The card is good,’ said Hoodie at last over the phone.

  ‘OK,’ said Tyrone. ‘The first letter of the password is “Y”. Now tell Nadia to start walking towards the sports shop straight ahead. Sport Station. You can see it from where you are. And when she gets there, she must turn left, towards the station entrance. I can see her, and I will give you a letter for every step she takes, until she turns the corner. But you don’t move. You stay exactly where you are. Or I will stop giving you the code.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Tell her.’

  Five schoolchildren in rust brown jerseys and blazers walked between them. Then he saw Hoodie had the laptop in his left hand, and he was talking into Nadia’s ear.

  Nadia began to walk.

  ‘The next letter is the number zero.’

  Griessel had forgotten about Radebe and Ndabeni, who’d been sent to O. R. Tambo Airport. In the mix-up of the Waterfront shooting no one had thought to recall them.

  ‘Ulinda sent a photo,’ said Mbali to him over the student’s phone, her voice excited. ‘Taken at the airport’s scanner. And it might be him, Benny. He arrived on Saturday morning, on a flight from Paris. He is wearing a grey baseball cap and dark glasses. A coloured man, very athletic. They matched the guy to the passport control records, and he is travelling under the name of Hector Malot, a French citizen. Vusi checked all the flights to Cape Town, and the same guy was on an SAA flight that arrived just after two on Saturday.’

  ‘That’s very good, Mbali,’ said Griessel. ‘Are Ulinda and Vusi still at O. R. Tambo?’

  ‘Yes, Benny. We had to recall them, of course. They’re waiting for their flight back.’

  ‘Tell them to cancel the flight. Tell them Cobra isn’t just one guy. There are at least three of them. We are going to need all their names.’

  Tyrone gave Hoodie a letter for every step that Nadia took towards

  him.

  ‘U.’

  ‘M.’

  ‘Zero.’

  Hoodie wasn’t writing anything down – the laptop was folded shut under his arm. It didn’t make sense, but it wasn’t Tyrone’s problem.

  ‘T.’

  ‘H.’

  ‘The number three.’

  ‘R.’

  Nadia was now in front of the door of Hair International, just five metres from the corner, only eight metres from him. She didn’t look up, not to the left or the right. Just walked, slowly.

  ‘F.’

  ‘U.’

  ‘C.’

  That was when he saw Red Beret look at Nadia. Intently. And then he began to walk towards her.

  37

  Mbali asked him how he knew that the Cobra was not a single individual, and he said he was talking on a borrowed cellphone, he couldn’t say right now.

  ‘Oh. OK, Bennie, I will tell them.’

  ‘Get them to call you from a pay phone first.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What did Bones say? Is he in?’

  ‘Yes, he’s in.’

  ‘Has Vaughn brought the phones yet?’

  ‘No, we’re still waiting.’

  ‘Please tell him I’ll be at Nadia Kleinbooi’s fl at. I’m going to try and find a caretaker to unlock the door, and then search it.’ Griessel saw the student beside him shake his head. He gave the young man a querying look.

  ‘You don’t know Oom Stoffel,’ said the student.

  Red Beret walked right up to Nadia.

  Tyrone knew why. She was moving like a sleepwalker, it looked as if there was something wrong with her.

  ‘What is the next letter?’ Hoodie asked over the phone.

  Red Beret was next to Nadia. He said something to her, aggressively.

  She looked at him in a daze.

  ‘What is the next letter?’ Hoodie sounded threatening.

  Tyrone could not remember where he had been. ‘Wait,’ he said.

  C. He had given the C last.

  ‘K,’ he said.

  Red Beret gripped Nadia’s arm.

  She was startled, pulled away and looked around her, confusion on her face.

  Tyrone knew he could no longer just stand there.

  ‘The number three.’ And he began to walk towards Nadia. Hoodie was going to see him, but he had no choice. ‘There’s one more letter. I will give it to you when Nadia is safe.’

  He was close enough to hear Red Beret say to Nadia, ‘Are you drunk?’

  He reached them. ‘Leave her alone,’ said Tyrone. ‘She’s my sister. She’s sick.’

  Nadia looked at him. That’s when he knew for sure they had drugged his sister. That was when his fear and anxiety gave way to fury.

  ‘Boetie,’ she said with a crooked smile.

  ‘Sussie.’ He felt like crying.

  ‘She looks drunk to me,’ said Red Beret.

  Tyrone put his arm around Nadia. ‘Come,’ he said.‘We must hurry.’ He pulled her along, they needed to get away. He knew Hoodie’s eyes were on them now, the train was already at the platform, they would have to run for it. But Nadia didn’t look like she could.

  ‘Hey, I’m talking to you,’ said Red Beret, and pulled his baton out of a ring on his wide black belt.

  He wanted to tell the man to ‘Fuck off’, but he didn’t.

  ‘What is the last letter?’ asked Hoodie over the phone.

  They were around the corner, out of sight.

  ‘R.’ said Tyrone and cut the connection. Then he reached his arm around Nadia’s back, took a firm grip of her shoulder, and pushed her carefully forwards so they could begin running.

  Red Beret was next to them, the baton threatening. ‘Stop,’ he said.

  And right in front of Tyrone stood the gunman from this morning, the guy from the Waterfront, the coloured one with the baseball cap and the eyes that made you shiver. He blocked the way to the station entrance. He had the same silenced pistol in his hand, and it was pointed straight at Tyrone’s forehead.

  Weird, was the word that stuck in his mind at that moment. How did he get here?

  He ducked, instinctively jerking Nadia to get her out of danger. But she stumbled and a knee gave, weakened by drugs and the heavy bag of textbooks and stationery and who knew what. She fell, pulling him down with her.

  The pistol’s aim followed them. There was a shot, a muffl ed,almost apologetic noise, and his sister’s body twitched as she fell back onto him.

  Griessel and the young man walked down the stairs.

  ‘Oom Stoffel is a drol,’ said the student. ‘Difficult arsehole. He’ll never unlock for you. Unless you have ten documents saying you have permission from Nadia, her grandma, and the state president.’

  ‘We shall see,’ said Griessel.

  ‘You can always threaten to shoot him too,’ the student urged him on with relish.

  Tyrone grabbed Nadia in his arms and screamed, all the fear, all the tension, all the despair released in a single, raging bellow.

  People turned to look.

  The gunman stood patiently, the pistol stretched out in front of him, waiting for Tyrone to keep still so that he had a clean shot.

  Red Beret, hidden behind Tyrone and Nadia, stepped around them, his baton raised. He moved surprisingly fast for the somewhat plump body. He shouted a reprimand
ing ‘Hhayi!’ The shooter’s response was smooth and skilful. He aimed the pistol at the guard. He fired, just a fraction of a second before the baton hit his right wrist. Tyrone felt the blood spray over his face, saw Red Beret sink down, and the pistol clatter on the brick paving. The gunman swore, bent down to the ground, trying to pick up the pistol with his left hand; his right hand hung limply.

  Tyrone kicked him with so much desperate violence that he lost his balance, because of the growing weight of Nadia in his arms. He knew that it was their only chance of survival. He hit the man against the side of his face, across his jawbone and cheekbone and temple, with the full length of the bridge of his foot. He felt the pain in his foot, and it gave him a moment of satisfaction. The gunman dropped like an ox.

  Tyrone wanted to pick Nadia up and run.

  The pistol lay right there in front of him.

  He steadied his sister with his left arm, bent and picked up the firearm, quickly shoved it into the deep pocket of his trousers, then swept Nadia up, cradling her in his arms. He saw the blood on her left breast. ‘Sussie.’ It was a whisper, a sob. He had to get her to a hospital. The train was no longer an option. He ran to the right, to the eastern exit of Bellstar Junction, staggering under Nadia’s now-unconscious weight.

  He saw the delivery van in Charl Malan Street, a white Kia. Two brothers unpacking cartons at the back. Ossie’s Halaal Meats on the side. He staggered up to them and cried out, ‘My sister, please, she’s been shot, I have to get her to a hospital.’

  He knew his voice was high and shrill, he felt the wet blood spatter on the left side of his contorted face, Nadia’s blood glistening on his hand.

  The two men stopped what they were doing and stared at Tyrone, mouths open.

  He ran up to them.

  ‘Please, my brother,’ he begged. ‘She’s all I have.’

  The older one reacted first. ‘Get in,’ he said. He looked at his colleague, and pointed at the boxes on the pavement. ‘Look after the goods, nè.’

  Oom Stoffel, the caretaker, was a sour old man, somewhere in his sixties. His flat was opposite, in Block One. He opened the door, without a word, didn’t even look at them. Just pointed at the sign on the wall. Caretaker. Hours: 09:00 to 12:00. 13:00 to 15:00. He made a big show of looking at his watch. Then he began closing the door again.