Bad Seeds

by Jassy Mackenzie

  Robbery was clearly not the motive.

  And where were the dead woman’s possessions? Nothing belonging to her had been found. Not so much as a wallet, never mind the black purse that Ms. de Jong had seen in the SUV.

  Which led her to the next item in this investigation: the envelope that had been left under her windshield wiper last night.

  It was a sturdy brown envelope, slightly stained with damp. Inside, there were ninety-nine bills. Presumably whoever had left the money under her wiper had spent one of the notes along the way. Buying takeout, perhaps, she surmised in a moment of dark humor.

  It was a bribe, and she wasn’t going to take it, even though an extra nine thousand, nine hundred rand would come in handy. Nor would she keep some and declare the rest, though she couldn’t deny the thought was tempting. She was going to turn this money in, every penny of it, and if somebody wondered whether Mweli had spent the hundredth note on takeaway—well, they could damn well keep on wondering.

  “Forget about the woman. She’s a nobody. A hired prostitute.”

  And then the veiled threat of vengeance to come.

  Finding out the woman’s name would provide her with a starting point for the investigation. These bags did not contain all the evidence. She was certain of it. Had Loodts’s killers stolen his secrets as well as his life?

  Or were those secrets still hidden somewhere?

  Mweli gave the folder a final shake, running her gloved hands inside and opening it up. If it had contained papers, they were gone. But this time, when she opened the plastic flap fully, she saw something she had missed the first time around.

  A white label was stuck to the inside of the folder. On it was neatly printed: inkomfe classified information—meetings, minutes & memos.

  Mweli stared down at the label. The briefcase was neatly ordered, free from clutter and any other folders. Loodts gave her the impression of having been a methodical man who didn’t carry unnecessary items around with him. Everything in the briefcase had been neatly closed and secured, apart from the folder. Against the odds, Mweli hoped the classified documents once in that folder had made their way into the hands of someone other than Loodts’s killer.

  With two giant coffees steaming in the car’s cup holders, Jade followed Botha’s directions, easing her way through the traffic until she arrived at the main gate of a community development surrounded by high white walls. The caretaker’s domestic worker was waiting to hand over the keys and gate buzzer which Botha had called to request a few minutes earlier.

  The house was small and neat and bright—typical South African upscale complex living. A paved balcony faced out onto a narrow strip of lawn flanked with flower beds. The architect had even managed to squeeze in a fishpond-sized swimming pool.

  They parked outside the garage door, but when Botha opened it, Jade saw that the space was unusable; it was packed with equipment, tarps and tools from the renovations.

  The house itself smelled of fresh paint and adhesive. It was small and cozy with the kitchen and open-plan living area downstairs, and glass doors opening onto the patio. Upstairs were two bedrooms with more glass doors and small balconies. On the plus side, she was certain they had not been followed here. On the downside, the front door lock was so flimsy that Jade was fairly sure she could break it just with a strong look.

  She’d just have to rely on those high walls and automated main gate.

  Botha carried his laptop bag upstairs to the second bedroom, leaving the main one for Jade. It was freshly carpeted, with a brand-new bathroom.

  “Partly furnished” meant a bed but no bedding. Jade opened the sliding door to let in some air, wondering if the house next door was occupied. It was so close by that the residents would surely have few secrets from their neighbors. She saw flowering potted plants on the balcony opposite, in front of closed curtains. Someone was living there, then.

  The lack of security concerned her. “We need to assess this place,” she told Botha. “Let’s get a picture of its strengths and weaknesses. Explore our escape routes for the worst-case scenario of a break-in.”

  They started with the glass sliding doors that opened onto the postage stamp–sized porch and fishpond swimming pool. The doors didn’t appear shatterproof or protected, and their fastening was basic.

  “This is a problem,” Botha said.

  “It’s not ideal, but it’ll do.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, his tone challenging her.

  “Because that latch rattles. If it breaks, it’s an early warning system. Like an alarm.”

  “Speaking of which, I don’t see one of those.”

  “Nope. No alarm.”

  The downstairs bathroom window had frosted glass but no grille. The builders had obviously decided that the electric-topped wall that surrounded this cluster development would be a sufficient deterrent.

  Their safe house wasn’t so safe. But then, at least they could be more anonymous here, unlike at a hotel. It might be a cheaply built dwelling with a few serious gaps in its defenses, but it was the best they had for now.

  The house felt cool after the oppressive humidity outside. Her coffee was waiting on the lounge table. Botha stayed outside for a few minutes, speaking quietly on his phone. He disconnected before he walked in. He went to the kitchen, and she heard the tap run before he brought his own coffee into the lounge.

  When he did, she saw he’d removed the dressing she’d applied to his forehead last night. The gash had scabbed over. She’d wondered at the time if it needed stitches, but she saw now that her quick patch-up job had proven sufficient.

  “You had questions for me last night,” he said. “I have answers for you if we manage to stay out of trouble long enough.”

  Jade was surprised to see a glint of humor in his eyes, and more surprised to find herself smiling in response. “Let’s hope we do.”

  She sat down and took a sip of coffee. Hot, strong, with a hint of sweetness. She could feel the caffeine zinging through her bloodstream, sharpening her thoughts, banishing the last traces of fuzziness. A temporary fix, but an effective one.

  “I was hired to work at Inkomfe by the security director at the time, Lisa Marais. She left soon afterward.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “She’d always clashed with Wouter Loodts. She believed his ideas were old-fashioned, and that he prioritized production efficiency over workers’ safety. They used to argue about that all the time, but Loodts is—was—the hands-on manager of Inkomfe’s board of directors, which meant he was in charge. He was at least seventy, and scheduled to retire at the end of the year. Overdue, in my opinion. After Loodts employed Ryan Gillespie, Gillespie and Lisa quickly came to despise each other. A few months later, she was forced out, and he took over.”

  Jade nodded.

  “When the nuclear partnership with Russia was announced, Gillespie was immediately concerned about sabotage. He told us he feared that intruders might break in and gain access to the control room, which would give them the capability to destroy the machines or even trigger some sort of meltdown. I suggested some changes that could be made to improve security. Finally, he and Loodts agreed on them, but there were a number of unexpected delays. There seemed to be more and more problems cropping up. We were running worst-case scenarios and trying to troubleshoot.”

  “And then?”

  “I began implementing a major but necessary project, updating the security systems in the strong room and reactor control room.”

  Jade raised her eyebrows.

  “Access to these areas is old-fashioned, still involving security codes. It needed to be upgraded to biometrics.”

  “I see.”

  Botha rubbed his eyes—carefully, so as not to aggravate the wound on his forehead. “The project didn’t receive the go-ahead.”

  “Why not?”


  He cradled his coffee mug again. “There was disagreement over protocol, which delayed things. Then a meeting got canceled. Then another project was prioritized. I started to get the feeling that there was somebody at Inkomfe who didn’t want these changes to be made.”

  “Who? Loodts? Gillespie?”

  Botha nodded. “Lisa and I believed Gillespie was stalling things, though we weren’t sure why, because he was the one who’d been so worried in the first place. I stayed in touch with Lisa after she left, and the two of us began to discover other extremely disturbing facts about Inkomfe’s security systems. And then the sabotage took place.”

  From outside the townhouse, tires squealed and a powerful engine roared.

  Botha stopped talking, and he and Jade turned toward the window. “Who’s that?” Botha asked.

  Jade pulled the curtain back just in time to see a black Land Rover swerve around their car toward the exit gate. “Probably just a neighbor in a hurry,” she said, trying her best to ignore the fear creeping over her.

  Craning her neck, she noticed the flashing lights of a patrol security vehicle making its way up the pavement in the opposite direction.

  To Jade’s surprise, the small car stopped outside their gate. As the uniformed guard climbed out and headed toward their front door, she noticed the logo on the black-and-white car door: scorpion patrol neighborhood security.

  She hurried to the entrance as the guard arrived.

  “Morning,” he said. The walkie-talkie on his belt crackled unintelligibly. “Is this your vehicle parked outside the garages?”

  “Yes,” Jade said. “We’ve just arrived. The garages are full of building equipment.”

  “The car’s blocking the road. We need clear access here. Please move it to the visitors lot on the right-hand side of the entrance gate.”

  “I will. Can I have ten minutes?” Jade asked. “I’m going out soon, and I’ll park it in the correct place when I come back.”

  “Ten minutes will be fine, but no longer, please.”

  The guard climbed back into his miniature car and drove off.

  Jade watched the road for another minute, but the dark SUV didn’t return. All she saw was the security vehicle driving slowly around the complex.

  She returned to the living room. Botha was midway through dialing a number, but he locked his screen as soon as she walked in.

  “Just a guard telling us to move the car,” she said.

  “Good to know they’re patrolling.” Botha put his phone on the table.

  “So the worries about sabotage were well founded?” she asked, getting back to the topic at hand.

  “Yes. They were. And what happened on Friday could have been far worse.”

  “How?” Jade glanced uneasily toward the window again.

  “You still worried about that SUV?” Botha asked.

  “I’d like to make sure it’s gone.”

  He nodded somberly. “Let’s take a walk and check out the complex while I explain the problems at Inkomfe.”

  Jade opened the front door and stepped outside, feeling vulnerable in the bright, clear morning. She wished she knew where their hunters were, and that she had a gun.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jade and Botha set off along the narrow pedestrian path at a brisk walk, heading toward the complex gate. “It’s good to be moving again,” he said.

  “Do you usually go to the gym? Run?” Jade asked, wondering how he maintained his impressive physique.

  “I run occasionally, but my main sport is martial arts,” he said.

  “Which one?”

  “Judo and karate. I’m black belt in judo, third dan in karate.”

  “Wow,” Jade said, impressed. She’d always believed martial arts practitioners to be focused, controlled. But Botha had gone off the rails last week, damaging property and assaulting a woman at a bar. It was confusing that there could be such a different side to him. But then, everyone had different sides to them.

  “I used to compete,” Botha said. “But recently, I haven’t made as much time to practice as I should. I promised myself that when my contract at Inkomfe was over, I’d go back to training an hour a day.”

  “I run most days,” Jade said. “I prefer to do it without being chased.”

  She thought Botha might smile in response to that, but the moment passed. “For now, I guess a five-minute walk will have to do,” he said.

  They made their way around the small estate, which had just twenty units divided in half by the main street. There was no sign of the black SUV, and nowhere else in the complex it could have gone.

  “About Inkomfe, I believe the most vulnerable part of the plant is not the control room. It’s Inqaba, the security strong room,” Botha said.

  “Why?”

  “The strong room holds the dangerous materials. Seven bombs were built back in the 1970s. I’m no expert in nuclear technology, but I believe making them took great ingenuity. At the time, South Africa was under harsh sanctions. They had to manufacture most of the materials here. Others were smuggled in. Now nuclear bombs generally need to be made out of weapons-grade uranium.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s uranium that has been highly enriched through isotope separation. Uranium must be enriched for any nuclear use, but weapons require uranium with at least twenty percent of a special isotope—U-235, if I remember correctly. In apartheid South Africa, the scientists at Inkomfe had to learn how to enrich uranium on-site. They had the raw materials, and they learned to use them. South Africa’s nuclear weapons were eighty percent enriched uranium. It was produced in secret and put into the missiles.”

  “But the missiles were disarmed,” Jade said.

  “When you disarm a missile, you remove its capacity to be launched in an aerial attack. Disarming it doesn’t automatically dispose of all the dangerous materials—in this case, highly enriched uranium.”

  “So what happened to it?”

  They had reached the front gate, and there was no sign of anything untoward. The complex was quiet. Jade guessed that most of the residents had left for work. The patrol vehicle was crawling up the road, sunlight flashing off its windshield.

  “The weapons were melted down and formed into ingots,” Botha told her. “For a while, these bars were used to manufacture medical isotopes. But a few years ago, scientists switched to a lower grade of uranium—just as effective, but safer. The original stash was hardly touched, since a little of it went a long way. Nearly half a ton is still stored there in the form of small ingots in the maximum-security strong room.”

  “So why are they a problem? Do they leak radiation?”

  “No. But if they were stolen, they would represent a serious risk.”

  “Why?”

  “They are not detectably radioactive—you can’t use machines to pinpoint where they are, and you could carry them around in a backpack and probably come to no harm. But while it’s not very radioactive, this uranium is incredibly unstable. So much so that if you wanted to cause an explosion that could wipe out an entire city, you’d just have to shape two of the bars in the right way and bang them together with enough force.”

  Jade frowned. “I see why you wanted to upgrade the strong room’s security.”

  “This is a matter of national security, not just Inkomfe’s security. And like I said, our security measures are outdated. Codes can be cracked. Biometrics is far safer.”

  “And there’s no way of getting rid of the uranium? Can’t it be melted down again into a less lethal form?” she asked.

  “Well, it could.” Botha laced his fingers together and stretched his hands above his head. “There is technology that would allow us to do that, but it’s very costly. There are other alternatives as well. Last year, the president of the United States wrote an official letter to our president, explain
ing that if he was prepared to hand over the enriched uranium bars, the US would replace them with bars of less volatile, lower-grade uranium. It’s just as useful for manufacturing, but not as dangerous.”

  “So I’m guessing he refused the offer.”

  They turned to walk back.

  “He consulted with NECSA— the South African Nuclear Energy Corporation—and NECSA’s board refused. They said South Africa was perfectly capable of keeping their uranium bars properly secure, and that they were not prepared to hand them over.”

  “Why?” Jade asked, puzzled.

  “If there’s ever another commercial use found for highly enriched uranium, NECSA will be sitting on a gold mine. They’re not willing to give them up.”

  “And Loodts wouldn’t update the code system?”

  Botha shook his head. “I was hoping to persuade him otherwise at our meeting.”

  As they walked back, Jade thought about the many motives to kill Wouter Loodts. He didn’t sound as if he’d been well liked; Sbusiso had spoken of him with loathing, and she guessed there were many former Inkomfe workers who felt the same way. More recently, Loodts had clashed with Lisa Marais and been instrumental in her leaving. And his micromanaging hadn’t endeared him to Botha, either.

  “That’s everything, basically,” Botha said.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “What do you mean?” Botha sounded curious. “What else can I tell you?”

  “You said you wanted me to work for you. Doing what?”

  “Something that might be impossible. Finding someone’s identity.”

  “Whose?”

  “The blonde woman found dead in the motel room with Loodts.”

  “Her?” Jade blurted out, surprised.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I think it could be important.”

  “Her ID wasn’t in the room, and the car didn’t have license plates.”

  “I know. That’s why I said it might not be possible. But what if there’s something out there that can tell us who she is?”