“That’s worrying.”
“Jade, I really need your help here. I’m a security director. Tracking missing people is outside my field of expertise. But the matter is extremely urgent. Whoever these criminals are, the odds are good that they’re going to come back for another attempt.” Gillespie spoke calmly, but Jade noticed he was gripping his key ring with his left hand. The metal logo dug into his palm.
“Can you find him?” he asked. “I need to know where Botha is now, and more importantly, what the hell he’s up to.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jade promised.
“I’ll give you all the paperwork this afternoon,” Gillespie told her. “In fact, I’m hosting a press briefing at two p.m. You can join if you like. It will give you some background on Inkomfe and show you the size and scale of our facility.”
“I’ll be there.”
Gillespie handed her an official-looking laminated press invitation before standing up and shaking her hand. His palm felt warm, but the grasp was surprisingly tight, reminding her of the way he’d crushed the key ring in his hand. The grip belied his relaxed demeanor and likable confidence. It hinted at the tension simmering below the surface.
Chapter Five
Knowing she’d have to drive out this way again in a few hours, Jade decided to find the gas station Gillespie had mentioned and fill up her rental car. Since there was no sign of it near the casino mall, she guessed it was on the opposite end of the industrial complex, closer to Inkomfe itself.
Taking a shortcut through the complex didn’t save her much time. The place was so freshly built she could almost smell the concrete drying, and it looked to be unoccupied apart from one huge warehouse near the far side. Here the entire road was blocked by a large blue-and-yellow delivery truck with gold city gaming—equipment & supplies in large letters on its side.
The truck’s back doors were open, and a delivery of slot machines was—very slowly—being unloaded. Jade watched, first with interest and then with impatience, as groups of workers hoisted the heavy-looking machines one by one onto carts and rolled them carefully down a ramp. She wondered whether the slot machines were being warehoused before being installed in the casino nearby. Perhaps it was expanding, and needed to store these goods in the meantime. Or maybe the existing slots had already worn out, their buttons faded and tired after millions of hopeful presses.
The truck didn’t look like it would be moving anytime soon, so Jade turned her car and drove the other way around the large warehouse.
On the opposite side, one of its massive doors was open, and she heard the screech of a grinder and the sizzling of welding machines at work. Glancing in, she saw to her surprise that the machines were being worked on by two black-clad technicians. One of the slot machines had its backing removed, and the technicians appeared to be welding something inside. Another machine stood next to it, also with its innards stripped away.
She slowed to take a better look. The way the men were hunched closely together in the poorly lit warehouse, blocking the open back of the machine, suggested a clandestine operation. This was reaffirmed when one of them glanced around and noticed Jade’s car. He lifted his helmet and abandoned his job to hurry over and shut the big steel door, scowling at her as he did so.
Amused, Jade drove on. The things that happened in Jo’burg. She wondered for whose benefit the tampering was being done. Was the casino doing this to maximize profits, or was it private enterprise, hoping to get a better payout? Would three rows of cherries come up more often, or never? Was tampering with slots even possible? She had no idea, and in any case, it wasn’t her business to find out; she had a nuclear research site to visit.
Up close, Inkomfe was like a prison. A three-meter-high chain-link fence set in concrete and topped with strands of electric wire protected it from the world. Inside that was a second fence, which also hummed with an electric current. The fences stretched for what seemed like miles, a steely double barrier punctuated by a series of gates. The visitors’ center where Jade had been directed was through gate three. Only when the guards on duty had scanned her ID and driver’s license, inspected her invitation and issued her an entrance pass and visitor’s card were the gates opened for her to drive through.
The place was a paved concrete jungle, dominated by the cooling towers. The road Jade was on led directly to an enclosed parking lot on the far right-hand side, outside a large building.
The inside of the visitors’ center was friendlier than she’d expected. A team of receptionists and security guards were on duty behind a long, dazzlingly white console. On the walls, official-looking safety notices were displayed in silver frames. A row of tables with starched white cloths had been set up at the far end of the room with drinks and snacks for the guests.
One of the journalists asked Jade who she worked for. She told him she was a freelance journalist, and received a sympathetic grimace in response. He poured her a Diet Coke, which she drank while waiting for the manager to arrive and start the tour. Not inclined to socialize with the others and inadvertently display her lack of a track record in the freelance world, she stood in the corner and thought about Inkomfe’s security.
Everything looked good so far. The guards had been attentive and thorough, and certainly this visitors section was properly enclosed. But perhaps she hadn’t been thinking like a criminal would. Could you secure a massive nuclear power station well enough to guarantee intruders would never break in?
“Humans are like rats. You can’t keep them out of anywhere they really want to be.”
Words she’d always remembered, spat contemptuously by somebody who’d proven them true many times over. Somebody she didn’t want to think about, but whose presence was now in her head.
Robbie, the criminal-for-hire she’d worked with closely in the past.
Long ago, he had helped her take revenge on her father’s murderer, but only after making it clear that she would pay in kind for the favor by helping him with other jobs.
Soon after they’d met, Robbie had tried to force himself into intimacy with her. She’d fought him off, and to her surprise, he hadn’t fought back but grudgingly respected her boundaries. Since then, their relationship had been purely business, a business way outside the law. Memories of Robbie always brought with them a wave of fear and shame. She hadn’t seen him in over a year, and yet his face was as clear in her mind’s eye as if he were there in the room. His hard eyes; the small scar above his lip; his hair, which varied in length, style and color according to his dubious fashion sense. The last time she’d seen him, he’d sported short red-tinted dreads, an improvement on the bleached catastrophe of the time before.
“A beanie covers all styles anyway, baby. Wear it, and that’s all people will remember. Take it off, and you’re suddenly the guy with the crazy hairdo. Not the criminal they think they saw.”
And Robbie’s wisdom when it came to breaking in.
“You know something? That chain-link fencing is just a big climbing wall. Find the right spot, and you’re in. Doesn’t matter how many guards are waiting at the gate. You might think a place is a fortress, but fortresses can be infiltrated, too. Pay the people inside. Leave a Trojan horse outside for them to bring in. Crawl through the sewers. Do whatever it takes.”
Jade’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice she recognized. Turning, she saw that Gillespie had arrived and was standing near the main doorway.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for coming here today. My name is Ryan Gillespie, and I head security and operations here at Inkomfe. As you know, we’ve been holding these press meetings throughout the year to help the general public understand more about nuclear technology via your skilled pens and keyboards.”
He smiled at the waiting journalists as a ripple of laughter went around the room.
“Today’s event will also include a visit to the reactor room in th
e classified security area known as the red zone. However, due to upgraded security measures, this will be the last time our media friends will able to access the red zone. We’ll be taking you to the reactor’s viewing deck two by two after the main presentation. In the meantime, we’re glad to welcome you here. Now there’s been a lot of bad press about the proposed nuclear power stations to be built in South Africa, so I thought I’d start by giving you a balanced picture of the role that nuclear technology plays, and why it might not be the monster everyone’s making it out to be.”
In fact, he began by breaking off his speech as a late arrival hurried in: a sallow-faced journalist with a hunted expression, dressed in an unflattering gray pantsuit. After the embarrassed woman had joined the group, Gillespie continued.
“People are afraid of nuclear technology because they don’t understand it. But we at Inkomfe are far more worried about what’s happening to this planet as a result of fossil fuels. Pollution, environmental degradation, global warming. Has anyone noticed how hot this summer has been? And precious little rain so far.” He paused, scanning the room, letting his words sink in before continuing. “Coal-fueled plants don’t only emit greenhouse gases, although they’re very efficient at doing that. They release over two pounds of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere for every kilowatt hour of electricity they create.”
There was a murmur of surprise from the crowd.
“Wind turbines have their place, but they’re not suitable for all locations. They’re extremely noisy, a major threat to wildlife and not very efficient. At the moment, solar power is costly, and the panels, which, incidentally, contain toxic metals including mercury, don’t have a long life span or high efficiency. Solar technology is still in the early phases of development. Nuclear technology is already here. Yes, it has its challenges, but it’s by far the best answer at the present moment, so we’re in favor of the decision to build more nuclear power stations. We work with the technology every day; we understand it.”
A couple of nods greeted this statement.
“The reactor here at Inkomfe has operated safely for decades, starting with the manufacture of nuclear weaponry, then moving on to the more peaceful process of constructing medical isotopes. You don’t need to worry—the bombs were all dismantled decades ago.” More laughter filled the room. “In fact, South Africa was the first country in the world to voluntarily dismantle its nuclear weapons, a fact that we’re very proud of here. Please follow me inside and have a look around the visitors’ center. The reactor tours will start in half an hour.”
Jade followed the group into a spacious, high-ceilinged hall where informative posters and displays were arranged.
Inkomfe was built in the early apartheid days for the sole purpose of creating nuclear bombs, she read on the first poster. The plant was originally named Mamba, after the poisonous snake—a fitting name for an establishment dedicated to the manufacture of lethal weaponry. But when nuclear disarmament became an international priority in the late 1980s, the plant was decommissioned, and the weapons were dismantled. At that point, the plant was renamed.
The second poster told her about the weapons themselves. From the 1960s to the 1980s, South Africa had researched weapons of mass destruction and built seven bombs. Getting hold of the necessary materials hadn’t been easy, with sanctions that became increasingly stringent during the apartheid days. However, the country’s natural resources included ample uranium, which South African scientists learned how to enrich. This was used for the warheads.
In order to prevent nuclear catastrophe, Jade read, the weapons were worked on by only a few carefully chosen technologists. The weapons themselves could only be released from their top-security bomb storage lockers once a security code had been keyed into the strong room door.
While our bombs have been dismantled, we place the same emphasis on security, and certain areas of the plant still require codes that are known to only a few trustworthy individuals, the poster informed her.
Jade wondered who held the codes, and for which sections they were needed.
Moving on to a different part of the room, she was surprised to see a poster featuring an attractive tuber with dark green sprouting leaves, a bright yellow flower and dark, glossy seeds. This was Inkomfe, the plant after which the nuclear facility had been renamed. Reading the caption, she learned that the African potato plant had once grown wild in the surrounding area, but had been nearly wiped out in the rapid urbanization that had taken place.
In its raw state, the African potato, or Inkomfe as it is known in Zulu, is poisonous. However, when correctly prepared, its medicinal properties are well documented. It boosts the immune system and protects against carcinogens. It is also one of the traditional remedies for treating HIV. With the nuclear facility’s focus shifting to the manufacture of medical isotopes for cancer treatment and other forms of valuable research, it was decided in 1990 that it would be fitting to rename the place after the healing powers of this indigenous shrub.
“Jade?”
She turned to see Gillespie approaching her.
“Come with me. You want to see the reactor, don’t you? I’ll take you on your own, ahead of the others.”
Pleased that her questions about the place would be answered without her having to blow her cover, Jade followed Gillespie out of the center to a custom-made blue-and-white golf cart, where a security guard was waiting at the wheel.
Chapter Six
The car headed out of the visitors’ parking, turned right, and joined up with a main thoroughfare. In the opposite direction, Jade saw a large van approaching. It had the international radioactivity symbol displayed on its side, a black trefoil on a bright yellow background. Below that, in black on yellow, was the lettering warning: radioactive material in transit.
“What’s in there?” Jade asked.
“It’s our low- and intermediate-level waste,” Gillespie said. “Lab coats, consumables, contaminated machinery. It’s sealed in containers and loaded into the vans, which leave the complex late at night, then travel through the night while the roads are quieter, for added safety. The waste is transported to a place called Vaalputs, on the Northern Cape, and buried there. It’s a safe way of disposing of it. The nearest town is more than one hundred kilometers away, and the area is not seismically active.”
“What about the high-level waste?” Jade asked.
“High-level waste is not transported. It is securely stored here on-site,” Gillespie told her. “Such waste has potential to be reused in the future.”
Glancing to the right, Jade saw a large, empty parking lot surrounded by floodlights.
“We sometimes get large-scale deliveries of dangerous and flammable materials coming in at night,” Gillespie told her. “Now they’re off-loaded in this fully lit area for better security. Of course, all trucks and their contents are checked at the gate before being allowed through in the first place.”
They turned off the thoroughfare, rattled over pavement, then joined another road. They wove between huge buildings punctuated by occasional tall, narrow chimneys on a route that led them into the shadow of the cooling towers.
The car approached the double doorway of a massive building whose gate swung open when the guard pressed a button on the dashboard. They stopped inside, and the guard accompanied Jade and Gillespie to an industrial-sized elevator that took them down a level. A reception console opposite the elevator was manned by two staff members, busy on calls. They hardly even glanced up as the doors closed.
The parking lot had been unpleasantly warm and the reception area cool; as the doors opened into the underground heart of the building, the temperature dropped to freezing.
They walked out into chilly, brightly lit silence, insulated by silver-white walls. Their footsteps were hushed, cushioned by the rubberized tiles. Jade had the impression that megatons of concrete surrounded the labyrinth of corridors.
She wouldn’t have liked to work here, she decided. It felt too much like being buried underground.
Gillespie didn’t share her unease. Seemingly in an upbeat mood this afternoon, he began talking animatedly as they set off down what proved to be a long passage. “Do you live in the West Rand, Jade?”
“No. I’m in the northern suburbs, near the Kyalami racetrack. In a furnished garden cottage.”
She hoped whoever had furnished it would one day end up in some sort of upholstery hell as punishment for their overuse of the color pink and the plethora of scatter cushions that adorned every soft surface. Jade could have sworn there were more of those cushions now than there had been when she first arrived. She was scared to lock them away in cupboards, in case that was their breeding ground.
“That’s nice. Good to have somewhere quiet and private to live. I came back earlier this year from an overseas assignment, so I’m renting in a nearby townhouse estate. My bonus is coming through soon, and I’m going to buy a home when it does. In Dainfern golf estate, maybe. You know where that is? Just down the road from Montecasino?”
“Yes, I’ve been there a few times on jobs for clients.” Mostly women. In her experience, Dainfern was the city’s epicenter of cheating husbands.
“I recently looked at a lovely four-bedroom house there. The other place I like is Blair Atholl, although that’s a bit farther out of town.”
Expensive properties. Right at the top of the scale. Jade guessed Gillespie’s bonus was going to be substantial.
“And I’ve got my eye on an investment apartment in Sea Point, Cape Town. Just a small place, but beautiful, and so close to the beach you could throw ice cubes into the ocean.”
The probable size of Gillespie’s bonus doubled itself in Jade’s mind.
“But that’s in the future. My dreams for tomorrow. Normally I live for today—I’m a big believer in making the most of the here and now, but until these security challenges are resolved, I’m afraid I’ve turned into a survive-for-today kind of man.”
Bad Seeds Page 3