Trackers

by Deon Meyer

  'The ashtray ...' He pointed at the coffee table in front of me, where there was a heavy glass one.

  'Use the carpet.' I didn't want to give him anything he could throw at me.

  He blew smoke through his nose. Angry.

  'How did you know about the diamonds?'

  He drew deeply on the cigarette, stared at it, seeming deep in thought. 'I hear a lot of stories.'

  'It's a story you must have heard in great detail, because you knew exactly where to find us.'

  'There are Zimbabweans on my team.'

  My team. The sport of organised crime.

  'And they heard about Flea and Johnson Chitepo?'

  He gave me a look, impressed. 'You know a lot.'

  'Not enough.'

  He rested his elbows on his knees, bent over away from me, as if he were thinking. Drew on his cigarette, blew the smoke out in a long slow stream. 'We heard about a deal. Chitepo and some others. The first story was it was coming through the Kruger Park. Then, a day before the time, we heard it was one Cornel van Jaarsveld behind the plan, and they were coming across the border near Musina. In a Bedford truck. Later that night, they said no, it's a Mercedes.'

  'How did they know?'

  'The man who Cornel hired to drive the Bedford. But first he had to get away from you before ...'

  The driver of the Bedford, the man in the yellow vest, muscular arms, cigarette in his mouth. I put two and two together. 'She made him wait in Kwekwe so she could stick the diamonds on the rhinos first. That's why you didn't know.'

  Inkunzi just nodded.

  'And you heard nothing else? Who were the people Chitepo made his deal with?'

  'I don't know.' But he was lying. I let it go for now.

  'And then you just let us go, without encouraging Flea to tell you where the diamonds were? It doesn't make sense to me.'

  He shrugged.

  'Come on, Julius. Why didn't you shoot me? Why didn't you torture Flea just a little? You're not the kind of guy who has a problem with violence.'

  He had finished the cigarette. He looked around for a place to dispose of the stub. He wasn't keen to answer my question, which confirmed my suspicions.

  'You knew who the final buyer was, Julius. You knew where she was going. And the only reason you were prepared to let us go was so you could put Plan B into action. But Plan B was not as profitable or as easy as Plan A ...'

  'I want to put this down,' he waved the stub at the bedside cabinet.

  'Slowly.'

  He stretched out an arm, put the stub down carefully beside the bunch of keys so that it stood upright, the glowing end upwards. Then he pressed a finger on something in the bunch of keys and the alarm began to wail in the roof above us and he looked at me and said, 'You're fuckin' dead.'

  He threw the keys at me and jumped up, moving towards the wardrobe.

  I ignored his projectile, pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  48

  Unless one is an excellent marksman and knows exactly when and where to shoot an animal, it may be better not to shoot at all, since there is nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal.

  The Art of Tracking: Dangerous animals

  The MAG's safety catch is on the left of the trigger, but it also has a locking catch on the grip below the barrel. That is the one I had forgotten, accustomed to my missing Glock, which has no safety mechanism bar the stiffness of the trigger.

  In feverish haste I press the chunky shotgun's locking catch as I jump up, aim, see Inkunzi jerk open the louvre door to the wardrobe. He dives, I shoot, too soon. Splinters, dust, big hole in the wood. Run, have to get him before he opens his gun safe, precious seconds.

  Must count my shots, just six rounds in the magazine. Five to go.

  He's at the door, big Smith & Wesson Model 500 in his hand, I drop flat, he shoots. Ear-splitting thunder, a miss. He must have had it hidden under a shirt. I dive, roll, aim for the light in the centre of the ceiling, pull the trigger, keep rolling.

  Four left.

  Still too light in the room. The TV. I turn, shoot it out, roll.

  Sudden darkness. Three left.

  The telephone starts ringing. Security company.

  His revolver thunders, bullet cracking beside me. I roll towards the bed, knowing I'm in trouble, both his companions will be coming, the passage door is not an option, the security company will be on the way if no one answers the phone. Only one choice: take Inkunzi out, use the sliding door to the swimming pool.

  They hammer on the door to the passage, shouting. I turn, shoot through it, a henchman screams on the other side, falls.

  I only have two shots left.

  Roll behind the bed, jump upright fast, beam of light through the hole in the door, see Inkunzi as he sees me, no choice, shoot him in the chest. He falls, pulling off a shot, it hits the ceiling.

  I swing the MAG at the passage door, there is one more out there.

  One shot left.

  I hear Julius choking, gurgling. This is not what I wanted.

  Voice from down the passage. 'Inkunzi?'

  I crawl over the bed.

  The Bull lies there, big hole next to his heart, blood pumping onto the carpet. That terrible rattling in his throat.

  Then he is quiet.

  'Inkunzi?' Urgently.

  I point the gun at the door, nothing to be seen.

  He would crouch or kneel, stay out of sight.

  I have to get away from here. I clamber over the bed, take the Smith & Wesson out of Inkunzi's hand, can't remember how many times he fired. I jump up, towards the curtains, pluck them aside, unlock the sliding door.

  The passage door splinters behind me, I spin around, shadow rolling in, I shoot. He bellows. Got him.

  I throw the empty MAG to the right, against the wall. He shoots at it. Swap the revolver to my right hand, lift its weight, see him struggle upright. I pull the trigger, two shots. He drops.

  I run to the sliding door, push it aside. The alarm and the telephone clamouring inside. How much time do I have?

  Stop and think. Black bag still in the toilet. Inkunzi's keys on the floor. I snap the Smith & Wesson's cylinder open. All five rounds fired. Throw it down, go back in the room. Silent inside. I climb over the bodies, slipping in the blood. Find the keys, pick up the henchman's handgun. Smaller revolver, looks like a Colt. Out through the passage door. The one lying there is not dead. His right arm is shot away, he holds the stump with his left hand, trying to stem the blood.

  'Help me.'

  It's the one who helped kick me during the hijacking. He stares at me, his eyes narrow. He recognises me. Reaches quickly for his pistol on the carpet.

  'No,' I say.

  He knows this is about survival, his fingers wrap around the grip.

  I shoot him in the heart.

  Then I throw the Colt away in revulsion and rage, because I didn't plan it like this, this is not what I intended.

  I run down the passage, into the toilet, grab my bag, head out. Look for the garage, find a door leading out of the spacious, modern, spotless kitchen.

  Telephone stops ringing. Bad sign.

  Look for the remote control on the keys. Four buttons. Press the red one. Alarm stops.

  Press the other buttons one by one. Hear the gate slide open. Then open the garage door. I jump into the BMW, push the key in, switch on. Automatic gearbox, put it in reverse. Drive.

  Unarmed. If the response team arrives ...

  Out of the gate, jam the X5 into gear, pull away, accelerate.

  A security van approaches from the front, siren wailing.

  I put my foot down. Pull my cap down.

  Past them.

  Watch him in the rear-view mirror.

  He turns in at the Bull's house.

  'Fuck,' said Jeanette Louw. Disgust in her voice.

  In my hotel room I held the cellphone to my ear, but said nothing.

  'Where is the fucking BMW now?'

  'In front
of the Bull Run.'

  Her voice softened. 'You know you're trouble.'

  'I know.' But I don't go looking for it, it comes looking for me.

  BOOK 3: MILLA

  (A Theory of Chaos)

  19 September to 11 October 2009

  We must live so that we leave tracks on every day

  Photostatic record: Diary of Milla Strachan,

  27 September 2009

  49

  Photostatic record: Diary of Milla Strachan

  Date of entry: 19 September 2009

  My book is not progressing. The story is insignificant, too careful, fearful, just like my life.

  From: t.masilo@pia.gov.org.za

  To: quinn@pia.gov.org

  Cc: director@pia.gov.org.za; raj@pia.gov.org.za

  Sent: Sat 2009-09-21 11.31

  Marked: Urgent

  Operation Shawwal

  Quinn

  Please note that the surveillance of the Supreme Committee, the Restless Ravens, Julius Shabangu and our fishing expedition in Walvis Bay will henceforth fall under the auspices of 'Operation Shawwal'. It shall enjoy the utmost focus, and the highest priority. Brief daily reports are essential. Furthermore:

  1. Please ensure that Reinhard Rohn understands the urgency. He has six operatives at his disposal, but is there a detailed plan? Let him draw one up, and supply him with everything he needs. We absolutely have to intercept that arms shipment.

  2. I am not satisfied with our intelligence on the Restless Ravens, and need a plan of action before the end of Monday 21 September to dramatically improve this.

  3. We cannot afford to lose three days of calls on the Shabangu wiretap every week, especially in the next two to four weeks. How do we rectify this?

  4. Please report in full, before Wednesday 23 September, on the security measures for the Cape Town Stadium, re the Fifa visit on 12 October.

  21 September 2009. Monday.

  'The American soccer team? Pure speculation, Tau. Where is your proof?' Janina Mentz asked.

  'We can't just do nothing, the risk is too great.'

  'So what do you want to do? Talk to the newspapers?'

  'We will have to inform the Commissioner of Police, take him into our confidence.'

  'That is as good as going to the tabloids.'

  'Ma'am, we can't simply do nothing.'

  'What do you want to do, Tau?'

  'Arrest the Supreme Committee. Take them out of circulation, tie them up in court appearances, put them under a spotlight so bright that this whole affair burns clean.'

  'No,' she said.

  'Why not?' Masilo asked.

  She was annoyed. 'We'll end up looking like fools, Tau. You're the lawyer, you should know. What do we do when the judge dismisses the case, because he will, you know that very well. Where does that leave us? With disaffected friends in the Middle East, a President who will have lost all faith in us, and Muslim extremists going deeper underground. Is that what you want?'

  'I want to prevent the attack, the far greater damage of an act of terror.'

  'In an idiotic way?'

  'That's unfair ...'

  'If your people had done their work, we wouldn't be in this position.'

  'My people do their best...'

  'Their best? Sorry for the bloodbath, Mr President, sorry for the humiliation and the shame, but we did our best. You might as well merge us, we are just as useless as National Intelligence.'

  'Is that what this is about?'

  'May I say something?' said Raj. He had never seen the phlegmatic Masilo like this. It made him uneasy.

  'What are you insinuating, Tau?' Mentz asked.

  'I'm not insinuating, I'm asking ...' 'I have an idea ...' said Rajkumar.

  'And what are you asking?'

  'I am asking what is most important to us.'

  'We can track the ships,' said Rajkumar.

  'You're implying that...' Suddenly she looked at Rajkumar. 'What did you say?'

  'We can track the fishing vessels of Consolidated. In Walvis Bay.'

  'How?'

  'We've done some probing into their systems, their digital security is pretty ordinary, which is not really surprising, I mean, they catch fish, after all...'

  'Raj ...'

  'They use Lloyd's MIU, specifically the Automatic Identification System Fleet Tracker, or AIS. It's a real-time system, they log onto the Lloyds website with a password to see where their ships are, at any given moment. It's satellite based, sort of like GPS tracking for grown-ups, very sophisticated, very accurate. If we can get in, we can see where their vessels have been, where they are at any given moment, and, hopefully, plot where they are going. Of course, we need to get the password. And then we simply mask our IP, or we use theirs.'

  'How do we get the password?'

  'We'll have to plant a key logger. But I'm thinking, let's do more. I mean, with all due respect, we now have six operatives there, but no guarantees. Let's go the whole hog. Let's get a pipe into their system. Let's see the whole damn picture.'

  Mentz thought for a long time. Eventually she nodded. 'OK.'

  Rajkumar glowed.

  Just before they walked out, she said to the Advocate, 'I'll talk to the Minister. About October twelfth.'

  50

  25 September 2009. Friday.

  Operation Shawwal

  Transcription: Audio surveillance, J. Shabangu, cellphone conversation

  Date and Time: 25 September 2009. 12.42

  (Unknown): Mhoroi, Inkunzi, how are you?

  JS: You tell me.

  (Unknown): I have big news, Inkunzi.

  JS: Yes?

  (Unknown): It is not Kruger Park, Inkunzi, it is Musina, and it happens tomorrow, Inkunzi, maybe tomorrow night...

  JS: No maybe, I don't want any maybe, I want definite.

  (Unknown): Inkunzi, they will be coming down from Kwekwe tomorrow morning, definitely, in an old Bedford truck. Colonel van Jaarsveld, a South African, is the smuggler. My man is the relief driver, he says they have to take the back roads, they have to keep away from the roadblocks, so it will take all day to get to the border. They can't be there before five o'clock at the earliest.

  JS: And they are coming through the Musina border? Beit Bridge?

  (Unknown): No, Inkunzi, they are smuggling, they won't go through the border post. My man says, some illegal crossing, somewhere between Beit Bridge and the Botswana border, we think Mapungubwe National Park, it is the obvious place.

  JS: You think? You fucking think?

  (Unknown): Please, Inkunzi, this Colonel did not tell my man where. But there are not many roads for a big truck on your side. Look at the maps.

  JS: You sure it's a Bedford?

  (Unknown): Dead sure, Inkunzi.

  26 September 2009. Saturday.

  Once everyone had taken their place in the Ops Room, Masilo said: 'Listen to me very carefully We have only one goal - to intercept the diamonds. And we have only one chance. The operators in the field are totally dependent on us. They cannot intercept Julius Shabangu and his troops unless we tell them exactly where to go. So I want absolute professionalism, absolute focus. If you get tired, if you lose concentration, come and tell me and we will bring in a relief. There is a great deal riding on this. A great deal.'

  Then they set to work. The audio feed was relayed so they could listen to Julius Inkunzi's cellphone when he used it, so they could keep in contact with the seven teams of PIA operators - a team for each possible route in the Musina area, and an extra team as backup.

  They listened to Shabangu directing his people and their vehicles like a general.

  'He has ten vehicles,' said an audio surveillance operator.

  'He wants the diamonds real bad,' said Rajkumar.

  At twelve-thirty p.m., after a one-sided telephone conversation, Quinn reported: 'There is no South African who goes by the rank and surname of a Colonel van Jaarsveld who has entered Zim in the past six months. We have twelve van Jaarsvelds crossin
g the border, nine men, three women.'

  Advocate Tau Masilo murmured something inaudible, took a deep breath and said: 'Bring me the original sound file.'

  Wearing earphones, Masilo sat in front of the laptop, writing pad beside him. At a quarter to one he took the headset off and asked: 'I want the details of all the van Jaarsvelds with names starting with a "C" or a "K".'

  'I'll print it,' said Quinn.

  Everyone in the room looked at Masilo expectantly.

  'Might not be a rank, might be a name, badly pronounced,' he said.

  'Aah,' said Rajkumar.

  At one o'clock Masilo looked up from the list of names and asked Rajkumar: 'The Afrikaner guy on the Report Squad, what's his name?'

  'Theunie.'

  'What's his extension?'

  'You want to talk to him now?'

  'Yes.'

  'Hang on,' said Rajkumar, then dialled Mother Killian and asked to talk to Theunie. He held the receiver out to Masilo.

  'Theunie ...? We have a woman with the name of Cornelia Johanna. Is it possible that she would be called Cornel? Or something?' Masilo listened a while, said, 'Thank you,' and put down the phone. 'Cornelia Johanna van Jaarsveld. Her ID number is on the list. Get a home address, get people there. I want to know everything there is to know.'

  The day was a slow poison, gradually paralysing everyone. Tension, boredom, frustration. At ten past three, a little excitement.

  Over the loudspeaker, Shabangu's voice as he answered his cellphone: 'Stop fucking calling me.'

  'Ouboet, I am just as tired as you are. Let's get this thing behind us ...'

  'Fuck you,' said Shabangu, and ended the call.

  The operator who had sent Quinn the original sound files, looked up and grinned. 'Becker,' he whispered.

  Quinn nodded.

  'Who?' Rajkumar and Masilo asked in unison.

  Before they could answer, there was another call. Becker again. 'Ouboet, I'm not going to stop calling until this thing ...'

  Shabangu: 'Where did you get this fucking number?'