by Deon Meyer
'Hendricks.'
Inkunzi's voice, deep and authoritarian: 'I have a message for Inkabi.'
'Inka ...? Yes, Inkabi. What is the message?'
'Tell him he was right. Our friend in Zimbabwe is back in the export business, but he has new partners, and he wants to export to South Africa. Tell him this is ninety-nine per cent sure, but that is all we know. We will try to get more.'
'I will tell him.'
'OK, my friend. That's all.'
'Khuda hafiz.'
'OK.'
The electronic noise of a call being terminated. Quinn turned away from the screen and looked at Mentz and Masilo. '"Inkabi" is the Zulu word for "ox", "os" as in Osman, which of course, refers to the Supreme Committee member Shaheed Latif Osman. Most likely that is the code Shabangu and Osman agreed on during their meeting. Obviously, Shabangu has a sense of humour.'
Only Masilo smiled.
'Hendricks might be Supreme Committee too, or on the fringes. He's new to us. You can also pick up that he was taken a little by surprise. He didn't recognise the code immediately. We believe this is the first call from Shabangu to this number, the first time that he has used the code to report to Osman since they met in Johannesburg,' said Quinn.
'What does "khuda hafiz" mean?' Mentz asked.
'It's a Muslim greeting. Something like "may God protect you". As we could hear, Shabangu didn't know either.'
'Have we no idea who Inkunzi Shabangu's contact in Harare is?'
'No, ma'am. But we do know quite a few other things. We know why Osman went to see Shabangu.'
'Share your insights,' said Janina Mentz.
'It is still an incomplete picture ...'
'That I know, Quinn. And it's quite a muddled picture to me.'
'Take it from the top,' said Masilo. 'It is very important that we all understand exactly what's going on here.'
Quinn nodded, thought a moment before he came and sat down opposite them.
'Very well,' he said. 'Picture it as a drama, with two main actors and two supporting roles. Main character number one is Johnson Chitepo. He is Zimbabwe's Chief of Joint Operations Command, he was Mugabe's right-hand man, the man who negotiated the deal to acquire the diamond mine concessions in the Congo. He was also the one who sold the diamonds in the carefree years so that he and Comrade Bob could put money aside. Huge amounts of money. But that was then. Things are appreciably different now. Mugabe and Chitepo are slowly but surely losing their grip on power in Zim. Their diamond sales are curtailed by sanctions and international agreements, their bank accounts are frozen, for all practical purposes that money is lost. Chitepo's burning desire right now is to quickly build up a new nest egg. Before the end arrives, and the end will arrive, it's only a matter of time. He's sitting with at least a hundred million dollars' worth of diamonds. Multiply that by seven, it's a lot of rands ... And he can't sell them directly But now he seems to have found new partners. Someone in nature conservation, someone who can smuggle them out via the greater Kruger Park. Does that make sense?'
Mentz nodded.
'Our second lead actor is Sayyid Khalid bin Alawi Macki. He was the one who formerly helped Chitepo with the diamond sales, he was the one who converted the Congo diamonds into cash, laundered the money and deposited it in the Swiss bank accounts of Mugabe and his cronies. But once his channels were choked off, the big friendship between him and Chitepo soured. Before I go on, there are a lot of things we must keep in mind when it comes to Macki. One: his core business is money laundering, and he operates all over Africa. We know he does it for the pirates in Somalia, for the fraud and drug networks in Nigeria, and the car-theft syndicates in Mozambique. Two: the international economic crisis hit him hard. He lost huge investments in Dubai, his turnover is generally over sixty per cent down, he is battling at the moment. Three: he is a militant Muslim from Oman, currently the new and greatest growth point for al-Qaeda. And four: Macki has a soft spot for al-Qaeda. His success, his wealth und his support have given him prominence in those circles. Prominence that he badly wants to regain.'
Quinn gave Mentz a chance to take it all in.
'The main intrigue of our drama is Chitepo's desire to sell diamonds, and Macki's view that the little stones belong to him, or that he has at least a fifty per cent share in them, according to the original agreement. Somehow or other, Macki heard of Chitepo's plans, and he is determined to intercept the booty. The so-called "shipment". His problem is that he no longer has friends in Zimbabwe, and he is sitting in Oman. So, what can he do? His only recourse is to talk to his contacts closest to the action, his Muslim brothers.'
'The Supreme Committee,' said Janina Mentz.
'Here in the fairest Cape,' said Advocate Tau Masilo.
'Exactly,' said Quinn. 'That is why Macki called the first supporting actor on the stage. Suleiman Dolly, Chairman of the Supreme Committee.'
'The call that our mole, Ismail Mohammed overheard.'
'That's right. Macki knew Dolly and the Supreme Committee needed funds urgently for the project they are working on.'
'The local project, which according to Ismail Mohammed is the smuggling in of weapons.'
'And now, the entrance of our second supporting actor, Julius "Inkunzi" Shabangu. My gut feeling is that Macki recommended Shabangu. Remember, Macki is a money launderer. Through the Mozambican car syndicates he would be at least aware of Shabangu, but more likely he has done business with him directly already ...'
'We also know,' said Tau Masilo, 'that Inkunzi Shabangu has a lot of Zimbabweans working for him in Gauteng. Car hijackers.'
'Exactly,' Quinn agreed. 'And according to the Scorpions' dossiers he is also suspected of supplying false passports to Zimbabweans and Nigerians. So he will have good contacts in Harare ... In any case, when Macki talked to Suleiman Dolly, ten to one he recommended Inkunzi as a possible partner in the whole scheme. And Dolly sent one of his Supreme Committee members to consult with Inkunzi. Osman, in the guest house in Johannesburg. Inkunzi will be keen to keep Macki happy, but above all he is a businessman. He will take a percentage of every transaction. Osman's suggestion of a cooperation was entirely acceptable to him.'
'Mmm,' said Janina Mentz.
'Inkunzi and his strange new associate, the Supreme Committee, want to intercept Chitepo's new parcel of diamonds,' Tau Masilo said.
'The shipment,' said Quinn.
'And Inkunzi has to find out which route it will take. Which South Africans are involved.'
Both men looked at the Director. She pushed up her spectacles and stood up.
'I think this will make a very interesting report,' said Tau Masilo. 'For the President.'
Mentz took her time. The men waited in suspense. 'You are making one cardinal error,' said Mentz. 'Allocating roles. The report will be a failure if you present Chitepo and Macki as lead actors.'
Advocate Tau Masilo was quick to understand. 'For our purposes the main role will be played by the Supreme Committee and their weapons deal.'
10
7 September 2009. Monday.
Milla was dressed in her black dress and boots, with the short blue denim jacket. She felt comfortable, as though she were developing a style, the working woman adapted to the informality of the Report Squad. She sat behind her computer at a quarter to nine, reading her first News This Week, the titbits from Limpopo and Mpumalanga. There was an air of expectation in the office. Theunie, one of the two bald men who were both very comfortable with the respectful Afrikaans address form of 'Oom', had said there was Something Big brewing, because Bigfoot had summoned Mother, a definite omen.
Oom Theunie and his nicknames. 'Mother' was Mrs Killian, 'Bigfoot' referred to Rajkumar, the fat Indian, whom he also called 'AS', short for 'Abominable Snowman', or 'The Incredible Bulk', or sometimes just 'The Bulk'.
Milla he called 'Carmen', Jessica, 'Freia' (or 'The Goddess' when referring to her in the third person), Don MacFarland, the other old man in the team, was 'Mac' of' Mac the Wife'. 'Why
"Mac the Wife"?' she had asked.
Don answered her himself. 'Because I'm gay, my dear.'
At a quarter to nine Mrs Killian hurried in and called them together with a bundle of thin folders in her hand.
'The Bulk has spoken,' said Oom Theunie.
'Theunie, you are going to write the executive summary, the rest of you will be doing addenda.' She handed Milla a folder. 'Your subject is Johnson Chitepo, see if you can find something more recent on the Internet, and let Theunie explain how the format works. Jess, you will be doing Sayyid Khalid bin Alawi Macki...'
'Who?'
'It's all in here, but it's badly dated. Interesting man. Don, I'm giving you the important stuff.'
'Of course you are.'
'Qibla, the Supreme Committee, al-Qaeda, and a brand new subject. A Mr Julius Nhlakanipho Shabangu, aka "The Bull".'
'Because he has such a big horn?'
She didn't laugh. 'It's big and it's urgent. Let's get going.'
On her couch, the adrenaline of the day still coursing through her, the pleasure of camaraderie and the learning curve and fraternal witticisms still warming her, with sudden impulsiveness, she phoned her son.
'Hello?' he said, teenage suspicion at a number he didn't recognise.
'Barend, it's me.'
'Ma?' Dumbfounded.
'I just wanted to hear your voice.'
'Where are you, Ma?'
'I'm at my new house. How are you?'
'Ma ... Jissis, Ma ...'
'Barend ...' Sorry she had phoned. Realising that her euphoria was hers alone.
'You've got a house, Ma?'
'Just a little flat. Could we just talk?'
Her son hesitated before he answered, a tentative 'OK.'
'How are you?'
'Ma ... Do you really want to know?'
'Yes, Barend, I really want to know. You know I love you very much.'
'Then why did you run away?'
Run away. 'Did you get my letters?'
'Are we really that bad, Ma?'
Something in the words and the way he said them made her think they came from Christo's mouth. Suddenly she didn't want to talk any more, but she had no choice now. She sat up straight and concentrated. 'I tried to explain this clearly for you, that it's not you ...'
'Ma ...'
'Just listen. Please. I had to get away, precisely because I love you, Barend, I don't know if you can understand that.'
He said nothing.
'Can I tell you something? I have a job, I had an amazing day today, I felt I meant something ...'
'You could have stayed and still got a job. Why did you have to run away?'
She was about to fall into the old rut, but stopped herself in time. 'How is your school work?'
'How do you think? We have a maid now, I have to come home to a bloody black ...'
'Barend!'
He mumbled something.
'Where did you learn that?' But she knew where. Christo, the covert racist, bemoaning his lot in front of his son: 'Now we have to come home to a bloody black. Thanks to your mother.' Without wondering for one second whether he shared the blame for it.
'Ma, what do you care?'
Milla reached for her cigarettes. She must keep her cool. 'I had hoped we could talk. Without blame. I thought if we talked often, we could try to rebuild our relationship.'
'So / drove you away.'
'Barend, our relationship was totally wrecked. I am prepared to try and fix it. If you are.'
'Will you come home?'
'Maybe we shouldn't talk about the future. Let's take it day by day. Let's just try to fix it first. What do you think?'
He was silent for a long time. 'OK.'
11
8 September 2009. Tuesday.
In Rajkumar's office Janina Mentz put the Report Squad's work down in front of the fat Indian and said, 'It's not good enough.'
And then she told him what changes she wanted, more emphasis to be laid on possible weapons transactions. She did not enlighten Raj as to the source of her inspiration. Only an hour before she had read the latest article in Die Burger describing the parliamentary storm that had erupted over the DA MP's allegations that the ANC government had been selling weapons to so-called pariah states. 'National security has been jeopardised. Maynier could be criminally charged,' a member of the ruling party had said.
Janina Mentz was delighted at this turn of events, the whole question of arms deals brought back into the spotlight. She knew that was the last thing the President wanted, given the stigma that clung to Mo Shaik, likely candidate to head the new intelligence superstructure, even if only by association with his convicted brother.
If she handled it right, this offered her leverage.
9 September 2009. Wednesday.
D-Day for Operation EAM.
Quinn sat at three monitors wearing a communications headset. He was alone; they wanted no witnesses if this went awry. He was tense, this operation had been his idea and it was risky. A small error could be glossed over, managed as a temporary setback. But if things went badly pear-shaped, the whole Supreme Committee project would be down the tubes.
The goal was to plant an electro-acoustic microphone (EAM) in the wall of 15 Chamberlain Street. Also known as a concrete microphone, the device was sometimes used by plumbers to detect water leaks in walls.
He had come up with the plan himself a week ago, to use an existing structure to plant the microphone deep within the brick and cement of No 15's front wall - the TV satellite dish, which a former owner had bolted to the exterior wall just to the left of the front door.
Step two was the preparation. The PIA's technical division, led by an enthusiastic Rajkumar, had made an identical replica of the dish and supporting arm, based on photos taken through the window of the house opposite. One of the four bolts now housed the microphone. A radio transmitter and battery were built into the pipe of the support arm. The radio receiver was already installed in the surveillance house at 16A Chamberlain.
Step three would begin now. This was the risky part. They must replace the original dish with a new one. They had nine minutes in which to do this.
Nine minutes, that was how long Baboo Rayan, Supreme Committee dogsbody and watchman, left the premises every morning to buy milk and a newspaper at a cafe in Victoria Street. Sometimes it was longer, depending on the traffic in Mountain Street, but it was never less than nine minutes.
On the monitors in front of him were three different images. The middle one came from number 16A, a video feed showing the Supreme Committee house across the street, where Baboo Rayan's white Hyundai Elantra was parked. The second monitor, to the left, was from inside the panel van around the corner and showed the driver's view of the street. The third, on the right, showed the front of the cafe where Rayan did his shopping every morning without fail.
There was no video in the old, beat-up bakkie on the corner of Chamberlain and Mountain Street. It was Quinn's crisis management, his plan B - a way to block off the street and delay Rayan. He did not want to use it, because it could easily create suspicion among the extremists, who had been hyper-suspicious and extra cautious over the past weeks. About everything.
On the centre screen the front door of 15 Chamberlain opened and Rayan appeared.
'Stand by,' said Quinn into the small microphone in front of his mouth.
He watched Rayan stop on the pavement and look up and down the street, as he always did. Then he unlocked the door of the Elantra and got in. He adjusted the car radio first. He started the car and shifted gears.
Rayan began to drive.
Quinn pressed the button of the stopwatch. 'OK, Handyman, it's a go,' Quinn said.
The panel van began to move, the one with the fictitious TV installation company logo on its sides.
Rayan's Elantra disappeared from the centre screen.
Quinn checked the image on the left. The panel van turned into Chamberlain Street. Rayan's car approached from the fro
nt. Rayan ignored the van and drove past it.
'Let's speed it up.'
Central monitor. 15 Chamberlain. He waited for the panel van to appear. Seconds ticked away.
'T minus eight,' Quinn read the time from the stopwatch.
The panel van made a U-turn and parked so that the video camera faced down the street and the front door and satellite dish were visible from number 16A.
The technician and his assistant jumped out and jogged around to the rear doors.
'Take it easy. Don't rush. Act normal.'
They moved a little more calmly. Opened the rear doors, removed the first ladder and the toolbox.
Nervously Quinn checked the video footage of the cafe, although it was far too early for Rayan to be there.
His team carried the ladder and toolbox to the gate of number 15. One of them opened it. They began unfolding the ladder, as the dish was set up high. Leaned the ladder against the wall. The technician climbed up and carefully examined the bolts, called down to his colleague below, 'Thirteen socket.'
Rayan had not yet reached the cafe.
The technician loosened the TV cable and began unscrewing the bolts, while his assistant walked back to the van to fetch the new dish and foot piece.
'T minus seven.'
Rayan's Elantra stopped in front of the cafe.
'He's a little ahead of schedule, let's focus,' said Quinn.
'Bolts are rusty,' said the technician on the ladder. 'Pass me the Q20.'
Quinn said nothing. Just watched. The assistant was on his way back to the panel van to fetch the second ladder. All according to plan.
Rayan got out and walked into the cafe.
Please let there be other customers, Quinn thought.
'Bolts are a bit of a problem,' said the technician.
'What?'
'Rust. Can't move two of them.'
Rayan had disappeared into the cafe. Quinn checked the stopwatch. 'You have one minute to make the abort call.'
'Roger.' Quinn saw the technician spray more Q20 on the bolt. The assistant put the second ladder next to the first.
The technician struggled to loosen the bolt. Strained at it.