Trackers

by Deon Meyer

  It meant 'admiral'. In Arabic. The origin of the word.

  She typed in the Google window: 'Significance of lion in muslim extremism'.

  She scanned the first results. Only one was of interest:

  Babur Cruise Missile Pakistan The Babur missile (Babur means lion in the Turkic language Chaghatay; it is also suggested that the missile was named after the first Mughal Emperor Babur) is the first cruise missile to be fielded by Pakistan. The Babur is capable of carrying either conventional or nuclear warheads and has a reported range ...

  Suddenly a new window popped up on the computer screen and hid the web browser: Command Prompt. Running email decryption script.

  She saw white letters on the black background, lines of code appeared rapidly, one after the other, then the window closed automatically.

  A small notification appeared at the right bottom corner. New Mail Message.

  Email. The computer must have downloaded mail automatically, since it was connected to the Internet now.

  She opened Microsoft Outlook.

  Right at the top, a new message, from Macki.

  She opened it.

  Allahu Akbar, amir al-bahr

  We agree with your assessment. Arrival of The Madeleine and Haidar now 24 hours earlier, at 02.00 (GMT +2) on Sunday 22 Shawwal 1430 A.H.

  They had moved the arrival time of the ship a day earlier. Then it hit her. That was tonight. Tomorrow morning. Her stomach contracted as she looked at her watch. Seven minutes past seven in the evening ...

  She heard a car door slam outside. Lukas. She would have to tell him right away. She jumped up, walked to the front door and opened it. She saw the Golf parked there, the boot open. Lukas was busy behind it. She walked out to meet him.

  A movement caught her eye, on the right, down the road. Men were running towards them from the gate 200 metres away.

  Then she saw they were carrying guns.

  'Lukas!'

  He appeared suddenly from behind the Golf, saw her pointing down the road. His head jerked around towards the men.

  'Inside, Milla!'

  She hesitated, frozen, her eyes on the young coloured men who sprinted faster, five, six, seven of them, Lukas pulled something out of the back of the Golf.

  He had a firearm in his arms, short and chunky. 'Go inside!'

  She saw the men lift their weapons, saw Lukas cock his. Shots, something smacked into the Golf, glass shattered behind her. She stood still, unable to move, a cry in her throat. Lukas fired. Two of the men fell, the rest swerved sharp right, looking for the cover of parked cars.

  'Christ, Milla!'

  This time she responded, turned and ran back to the front door, her legs like jelly.

  Shots thundered from the cars, a bullet smacked against the lintel ahead of her.

  Then she was inside.

  Janina Mentz sat at the back of the Ops Room and listened to the radio connection between Quinn and Major Tiger Mazibuko.

  'ETA five minutes.'

  'Roger.'

  She would wait. Until Mazibuko personally confirmed that they had Becker and the computer. Only then would she tell Masilo that he could inform the Americans.

  She got up and walked to Quinn, stopped beside him and said, quietly and firmly, 'Tiger has permission to use all necessary force. All we want is the laptop, undamaged.'

  Quinn nodded and switched on the radio microphone.

  She stood in the sitting room with a racing heart, her breath was shallow, hands instinctively shielding her head, knowing it must be Osman's men. Lukas rushed in, short rifle in one hand, a dirty canvas bag in the other.

  He turned around and pointed the weapon out of the door, fired off a burst.

  'Come, Milla.' He was next to her, grabbing her arm, pulling her towards the bedroom.

  'Get the rucksack.' He pointed the rifle barrel at the bag lying beside the bed and shoved the sliding door of the bedroom open.

  She grabbed the rucksack and her handbag next. He was outside already, looking back at her. 'Come!'

  She ran.

  Ahead of them was a wire fence, high. Behind that a big sand dune, densely overgrown.

  He hurled the grubby canvas bag over, straining with the effort, took the rucksack out of her hand and threw that after it. 'Climb,' he said, his expression fierce.

  She threw her handbag. Not hard enough, it hit the top of the fence and dropped back.

  'Fuck,' he said, picking it up and throwing it over the fence. 'Now climb.'

  Shots from behind in the flat.

  She scrambled up the fence, propelled by adrenaline, a part of her amazed that the wire didn't hurt her hands, that she could be so quick. Then she was at the top. She swung her leg over, and slid, so that she dropped into a thick green bush on the other side, the smell of wood and leaves suddenly filling her nostrils, sharp points jabbing into her. For a moment she felt disorientated, tried to stand up, her blouse ripped.

  Lukas was with her. He pulled her up, shoved her handbag into her arms, grabbed his rucksack, swung it onto his shoulders, took the canvas bag and wormed his way into the shrubbery. 'Just stick with me.'

  She pressed the handbag tightly against her body.

  Shots cracked, she heard the whine of bullets, looked back, could see nothing, just the greenery; looked forwards, Lukas crawling along like a snake under the branches.

  She dived in after him.

  73

  'Shots being fired, repeat, shots being fired, it's a hot zone,' Mazibuko's voice was high-pitched and excited over the radio.

  'They're shooting at you?' asked Quinn.

  'Negative, we're at the gate, no visual, we're going in ...'

  The drone of the military vehicle's engine filled the Ops Room.

  'Two down, middle of the road, two coloured men ...'

  'Shit,' said Quinn.

  'Terror's men,' said Janina, standing beside him now.

  Shots sounding across the ether, unimpressive, like crackers.

  'Taking fire now,' said Mazibuko. 'Combat deployment...'

  Janina Mentz took the microphone from Quinn. 'I want that laptop, Tiger. I want it intact.'

  'Roger. Out.'

  They heard the shooting escalate when they were halfway up the slope of the dune, invisible in the depths of the bushes and trees. Lukas was right in front of her, she could see the soles of his boots, he lay still suddenly, listening to the clatter, back and forth.

  'Christ,' he said, looking back at her. 'Are you OK?'

  'Yes.' Her voice sounded peculiar and shaky. 'Yes,' she tried again, more firmly, and that gave her something to cling to, a consciousness that penetrated the fear and shock, so, this is what it feels like, mortal danger.

  He looked ahead again, moved with increased urgency, and Milla slithered after him, with thin bloody scratches on her hands and arms.

  Deadly silence in the Ops Room, minutes ticking away.

  Then static filled the room, a wave of sound. Mazibuko's voice, excited: 'Number twenty-seven is secure, we have one man wounded, seven bogeys accounted for, five are dead, two wounded, one seriously, they're fucking teenagers, Quinn, coloured kids with semis ...We have one laptop, all shot up, no sign of Becker and the woman, but they must have been here very recently, there's leftover food, some clothing, a cellphone, I think they went out the back, we are securing the whole complex now, over ...'

  'The laptop,' said Mentz. 'I want to know how badly damaged it is. But get Raj here first.'

  She saw Becker stand up at the crest of the dune, and survey the surroundings. He spotted something to the right.

  'There,' he said, muted.

  She stood up, looked in the same direction. Between the branches she saw the shopping centre 500 metres to the south, the big red and white logo of Shoprite high up on the wall. And down below them, a sandy footpath like a snow-white snake, winding down the flank of the dune.

  He took her arm and looked at her with great intensity.

  She tried to smile.
'I'm fine,' she said.

  He waited another moment, and nodded. 'We'll have to run.' He turned away and moved down the dune, weaving through the bushes.

  'It's got three nine-millimetre rounds through it,' said Major Mazibuko.

  'Can you see if the hard drive was hit?' asked Rajhev Rajkumar.

  'I don't know ...'

  'It's about six or seven centimetres, by four or five, it should be the biggest thing you see in there ...'

  'Shiny metal casing?'

  'That's right.'

  ' Yebo, it took a hit.'

  'Shit. Right through?'

  'No, sort of on the front end, where the little wires connect, only, they're not connected any more.'

  'Is that it, just the wires gone?'

  'No, it's sort of bent as well. The casing.'

  'Just in the front?'

  'Yebo.. :

  Rajkumar looked up at Mentz. 'Maybe,' he said. 'If we're lucky.'

  'Tell him to get it here.'

  They ran down alongside the wall of the shopping centre to the edge of a big wide street that bordered it. Becker stopped, put down the canvas bag and then the weapon he was carrying. He unzipped the bag. Milla saw more guns inside, two large automatic rifles, and Lukas's pistol.

  He took the pistol out, tucked it under his belt behind his back, zipped the bag closed again.

  Then he peered around the corner of the wall.

  'We're going to walk calmly now. We don't have much time ...' He held his left hand out to her.

  'Where are we going?' She took his hand.

  'We need a car. We have to get away from here.' He began walking up the pavement in the direction of the shopping centre.

  'Where will you get a car?'

  'We're going to steal one, Milla.'

  'Oh.'

  Quinn pointed the laser at the big screen, on which a map of the area was projected. 'This area is dune veld, up to the R27, about a kilometre away. Here is a shopping centre, here is a town house development. His other option is north, there's a small residential area next to the Big Bay Beach Club. Tiger will try to cover the residential area, we have asked the police to close off the town house complex, the R27, Otto du Plessis north and south, and Cormorant Avenue east. They say it will take a while to close all the gaps, however.'

  'A while? How long is a while?' Mentz asked.

  Quinn shrugged. 'Ten, fifteen minutes ...'

  'He knows what's on that computer, Quinn. He told Osman over the phone ...'

  'We'll have to get helicopters in too. This whole section, up to Melkbos, is dune veld. And not much daylight left.'

  Becker decided on an old white Nissan Sentra from the early nineties, dented in the front mudguard.

  Sirens were wailing in the distance.

  He stopped beside the car's rear door and looked around.

  Milla saw the nearest people were a hundred metres away.

  He took the pistol out of the back of his belt, banged it hard against the window.

  It broke with a dull crack. He reached inside, unlocked the door. Milla ran to the front passenger door, watched Lukas take the rucksack off and toss it on the back seat, then the canvas bag, before he unlocked the driver's door and got in. He leaned over, unlocked her door. She got in.

  He put the pistol down in the foot well in front of his seat, gripped the plastic under the steering wheel with both hands and jerked. It came free. His fingers searched frantically through the tangle of wires that hung there, followed it to the ignition. He picked a wire, ripped it loose, bent, bit the insulation off. Then another wire.

  Milla looked up towards the shopping centre.

  There were people approaching, a man and a woman with a full shopping trolley.

  The Nissan's engine turned, and fired.

  Lukas took the steering wheel in both hands, and jerked it hard and suddenly to the right.

  Something snapped and broke.

  He put the car in gear, and pulled away. The tyres screeched. They shot past the couple with the trolley, watching them wide-eyed. The sirens were louder now, closer.

  Lukas raced to the exit, hesitated for a second then turned left away from the sea, in the direction of the R27.

  74

  The roar and whistle of the wind through the broken window, the high, determined revs of the engine, the sun-cracked plastic of the instrument panel, the musty smell inside, the fine network of bloody scratches on her forearms, handbag clamped on her lap. A swinging, silver cross hung by a string of beads from the rear-view mirror, the radio was missing the knob on the volume dial. Lukas crouched forward, concentrating hard, the fabric of his shirt was torn, there was a small, dark red mark where a bullet had grazed him.

  It was surreal.

  In this instant she remembered The Bride at the dance classes. A lovely young blonde woman, about twenty-three, slim, athletic and graceful, who had come to Arthur Murray with her fiancé to learn the steps so the bridal pair could open the dance floor at their reception. The aspirant bridegroom was somewhat shorter than the young woman, with a chunky farmer's build. His face, Milla had thought at the time, was that of a cartoon character, one of the smaller creatures that provide comic relief. And he had absolutely no coordination, his movements across the floor were rigid, clumsy, stiff, despite the enthusiasm, the frowning dedication. While the instructor patiently coached him to one side, The Bride went through the steps flawlessly in front of the large mirror - but lost in her own world, a flight of fantasy about The Great Day, wishful

  thinking of how it could be, her arms bent as though a dream prince were leading her.

  Now, in the valley of an adrenaline low, Milla saw a vision of her own life, unexpected but clear as crystal, her self-deceit, her acting out of how-it-ought-to-be, her blindness to reality. The disillusionment was massive, it flooded and overwhelmed her so fast, it made her feel useless and lost, so many years wasted. She longed, inexplicably, for Barend, with a painful intensity, she wanted to go to him now and say she was so terribly sorry, without knowing why she felt she should apologise to her child.

  Lukas spoke. She came back to herself in the Nissan, realised her eyes were wet, tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand and said: 'What?'

  'They saw you.'

  She didn't understand, looked at him in question.

  'Osman's people saw you, Milla. We'll have to drop this. Until... Until it's safe.'

  Her understanding came slowly. 'Until it's safe?'

  He took his gaze off the road for the first time and looked at her. 'Are you OK?'

  'Until it's safe? Until it's safe?' indignation exploded. 'Safe? What kind of word is that, Lukas, what kind of word? What does it mean, in this country? Where do you find it? Safety?' Tears of rage, she couldn't stop them. 'How could you say that? It doesn't exist. You know that, you know that, but you talk of "safe", it's empty, it's a naked word ...'

  He put out his left hand, but she slapped it away, her voice jumping half an octave higher. 'Don't, Lukas, don't try to console me, don't...Why do you do it? Why do you try to exclude us, why do you deceive us, we have a right to know ...'

  He tried to protest, but she drowned him out with her dark flood of words. 'You hide it from us, you men, who have created this world. You, who made this country, this mess of hatred and envy, crime and violence and poverty and misery. And now you're trying so hard to cover it up, to disguise it behind stuff. You think you can give us shiny trinkets, glitter, shops, magazines, hiding our heads in the sand, just don't see the truth. It's lies, it's all lies and now you are lying along with them. Safe! "Until I'm safe," is what you mean to say. Do you want to go and pack me away somewhere, Lukas? Do you want to take me somewhere and brainwash me and calm me down behind high walls and alarms and then you go creeping back to their world? You want to drop this thing, because you have a woman in your stolen car? It's not your choice. You are not going to drop it and you are not going to dump me somewhere, I wan
t to see it, I want to see everything ...'

  She became aware of the pistol that lay beside his feet, she reached down and picked it up. 'Look,' she said, 'I'm not helpless, I can ...'

  'Milla!' He grabbed her forearm with his left hand, pushed it so the barrel swung away from him, she tugged, but he was too strong. She pulled the trigger, nothing happened. 'Let me go,' she screamed, wild, furious. She saw the safety catch, pressed it with her thumb, pulled the trigger again. The shot boomed deafeningly, a star in the window, and she squeezed it again. 'You see, I can shoot too,' but he braked hard, she fell forward, he held onto her arm, the Nissan's tyres squealing off the tar onto the verge of sand and grass. He let go of the steering wheel, took the pistol in his other hand, twisted it out of her fingers and she hit out at him with her fists balled, a lifetime of rage behind her actions as he raised his arm to shield himself.

  She wept and hit and screamed, deep, unearthly cries that boiled up and out of her, filling the interior of the car. And he just sat there and endured it.

  'I think I know how they did it,' said Rajhev Rajkumar. 'They're using another ship's LRIT and AIS transmitters.'

  'How can they do that?' asked Mentz.

  'The SOLAS treaty has a few loopholes. The major factor to keep in mind is that the ship owners do the actual tracking of their vessels, the SOLAS authorities just verify signal authenticity against global position. So, let's say you're a ship owner in ... Durban, for argument's sake, running a few boats in the greater Indian Ocean. So I approach you, and I say, my Muslim brother, I want to borrow the AIS identity of one of your ships for a month or so, and I'll pay for the pleasure. So, I install the equipment on The Madeleine, and you turn a blind eye to the movements of your tracking signal. SOLAS won't know a thing, because the signal is for the route you filed with them, everything looks kosher ...'

  'What about my original ship? It will show on the system, because it's not transmitting. The CIA would have picked it up.'

  'Only if your ship is actually in the water.'