by Deon Meyer
'But...'
'Ships must get serviced. Refurbished, repaired, in dry docks. That is only filed with the local harbour authorities.'
Mentz considered his argument. 'You do realise you are a brilliant man,' she said, eventually.
Rajkumar nodded, self-conscious. 'There are a number of ways to narrow it down. The Committee would have had to work with someone they know, and trust. The AIS will have to be attached to a ship with South African harbour clearance, which normally operates in the Indian Ocean, as far as the Arabian sea, and it would have to be a vessel of the same tonnage, more or less, preferably a fishing trawler.'
'So let's start looking.'
They drove in silence, only the noise through the windscreen and the open window behind. First along the R27 north, and then right at the Melkbos traffic lights, to the N7.
Milla stared out over the wheat fields in the twilight. She was empty, the emotion expended. On the other side of the eruption she had found calm, a small hard nucleus of indignation and determination. With her head turned away from Lukas, calmly and precisely and loud enough to be heard over the wind noise, she said, 'The ship is arriving early.'
He was slow to respond. 'No, Milla ...'
'Another email came for Osman. I connected my cellphone to his laptop. I also know what they are bringing in.'
'What?'
She played her trump card. 'I'm coming along.'
'No.'
She just stared at him.
His anger rose. 'Didn't you notice? They shot at us.'
'You don't have the right to decide about my life. No man has.'
'Christ, Milla ...'
'You are not going to shut me out.'
'When is the ship arriving?'
She ignored him.
He drove in silence for a long time. Then he said, 'OK.' 'Say it.'
'You're coming along.'
'I can't hear you.'
'You're coming along. We're going to get the money.'
'On your word of honour?'
'Yes.'
She waited until he looked at her, she gauged his sincerity. 'Tonight. Two a.m. Arrival of The Madeleine and Haidar now 24 hours earlier, at 02.00. At the same place, same coordinates. I don't know what OPBC means.'
'Nor do I. What are they bringing in?'
'I think it's weapons. Missiles. From Pakistan.'
Rajkumar turned the hard drive over in his fingers, a sceptical expression on his face. 'Maybe,' he said. 'But it's going to take time.' 'How much time?' asked Mentz.
'Five, six hours ...'
'That's more than enough. We have about forty-eight hours before The Madeleine arrives. And we might just find it before you're finished.'
75
For the first time he asked her advice, at the N7 junction - he wanted a back road to Parow or Goodwood. He drew her in with his explanation: they had to dump the car at an unobtrusive place, then get into the city.
She described the route via Philadelphia to him.
'What weapons did you get?'
'Assault rifles.'
'What are their names?'
Her attention to detail evoked a half-smile that came and went. 'The small one is a Heckler & Koch UMP, that's short for "Universale Maschinenpistole", because it's a German machine pistol. This one is adapted to shoot .45 ACP rounds, not the usual nine-millimetre. ACPstands for Automatic Colt Pistol, it has more stopping power than the nines. The other two are AKs, a 4B and 2A, I only wanted one, but they sold them as a parcel.'
'They...?'
'Nigerians. In Parklands.'
'How much did they cost?'
'The H&K was expensive. Four thousand. The AKs were seven- fifty for the two. The ammunition was included.'
'Seven hundred and fifty rand for two AK-47s!'
'I could have got them for 500 if I wasn't in such a hurry.'
'What happens after we ditch the car?'
At 19.37 came the news of the Nissan Sentra stolen at the Eden on the Bay shopping centre.
In the Ops Room, in front of the big team, Janina Mentz responded with stoic self-control - a small nod, a request for a wider search for the vehicle.
At 20.14 the agent phoned Quinn. 'I'm standing on the bridge of The Trident, it's a stern trawler from United Fisheries, it's been lying in the Robinson Dry Dock at the Waterfront since the thirteenth of September, total refurbishment. On the sixteenth of September someone broke in and stole all the electronics, radios, computers, navigation, the lot.'
'Excellent. Do you have the AIS identity?'
'No, we will have to get it from the United people, there are only guys here from the refurbishment company. He gave me the numbers, but it's Saturday night, there's no one in the office.'
'Give me the numbers,' tossed over his shoulder as he hurried across to Janina Mentz.
They left the Nissan Sentra in Dingle Street in Vasco, in front of a church, and walked to the minibus taxis at the station two blocks away. He carried the rucksack and gun bag, she had only her handbag. He held her hand.
They travelled along with nine coloured passengers down Voortrekker, Albert and Strand Street. The atmosphere was dampened by their presence at first, inquisitive, fleeting workmen's eyes were cast at Milla's soiled blouse and grazed arms, and Becker's shoulder. Until one of the men asked: 'Wicked weekend, bru'?' and Lukas grinned and nodded, Milla laughed. Then came the wisecracks and speculations and stories, and by the time they stopped at the station, one woman said seriously: 'Go well, you two.'
They took a taxi to the Waterfront, just before the shops closed. They only bought the bare essentials - a small rucksack for Milla, shirt and blouse, dark anoraks, toiletries. They put on the new clothes in the public restrooms, then they walked through the Red Shed to the outside, up the stairs, to Portswood Street and the Commodore Hotel.
Rajkumar put down the phone and said to Mentz and Quinn, 'He says they've cancelled the Lloyds account for The Trident, because it's a waste of money while they're waiting for the new AIS equipment. So we won't be able to track the ship through them.'
'And the electronic ID?'
'He's on his way to their offices, we should have it in an hour.'
'And then?'
'Then we will have to talk to the Yanks.'
'Is that our only choice?'
'Yes.'
In the big hotel room Becker put the bags down, wrapped his arms around Milla and held her tightly, not speaking. They stood that way for a long time, until he said: 'You'll have to eat something.'
With his hands on her shoulders he looked at her, his eyes searching her face, for something.
She stroked his cheek with her fingers. Then she said: 'I want to have a quick bath. I won't be long.'
He let her go reluctantly.
Then he ordered sandwiches from room service.
'Jesus, Janina,' said Bruno Burzynski, indignant, astounded.
'Let's try and stay calm ...'
He rose from his chair in the coordinating office, cracking his knuckles on the table, his face reddening. 'I just don't get you,' he said in a monotone, straining for self-control. 'Honest to God, I just don't get you.
You've just wasted two hours, we have little more than one day left, and you're still playing games. Have you got any idea what's at stake here?'
'Despite my third-world simplicity and my gender, I think I can grasp the stakes, Bruno.'
'Can you? Because I'm starting to think that chip on your shoulder is seriously impairing your ability to grasp anything ...'
'The chip on my shoulder? How about the monkey of superiority on your back ... ?'
'Enough,' barked Tau Masilo and stood up. 'That is more than enough.' He walked between them. 'Now, sit down, both of you.'
He gave Milla a short course in the use of the AK-47. He pressed the rounds out of the magazine with his thumb while explaining to her that it was a simple weapon, robust, reliable, but not very accurate. He showed her how to click home the magazine, how to
cock the rifle, and push the safety catch down.
He explained the settings for semi-automatic and automatic fire, he showed her how to hold it, how to lean her body forward, how to press the trigger rather than pull it.
He made her do it over and over, until he was satisfied.
Burzynski was the first to react. He took a deep breath, sat down slowly, his face still red.
Mentz remained standing.
'Janina, please,' said Masilo.
'I grasp things better when I stand,' she said, with thin sarcasm.
Masilo visibly gritted his teeth, addressed himself to Burzynski. 'We would be very grateful if you could pass on the new information, and help us find the ship.'
Burzynski nodded, put out his hand to his cellphone.
'And then, I think it's time to put our cards on the table,' said Masilo, without looking at the Director.
'It doesn't make any sense,' said Becker. 'There are too many people here.'
At 21.38 they were standing in front of the Radisson Hotel, looking out over Granger Bay harbour, brightly lit. There were peopleeverywhere: on the balconies of restaurants, on the walkways of the long, narrow quays, on the decks of the yachts that lay in long rows, masts and tackle in line.
'Is this the right place?' Milla asked.
He looked at the cellphone again. 'According to the GPS coordinates. It's here. Definitely.'
'They'll only be here at two. That's another four hours ...'
Becker pointed at a party on the deck of a yacht. 'Those people will still be here at two o'clock... I should have written the coordinates down.'
'OPBC,' said Milla. 'Is that a navigational term?'
He shook his head. 'I don't know. Let me Google it.'
She watched him connect via his cellphone, and search.
The very first result was 'Oceana Power Boat Club'. He activated the link. A website opened, a small photo of the sea in the foreground, cranes and the buildings of Sea Point in the background. The accompanying text was barely readable it was so small on the screen. 'The Oceana Power Boat Club (OPBC),' he read, 'located at Granger Bay within the V& A Waterfront environs, is the only slipway for small craft in the Cape Town precinct. It has provided a valuable service to boaters for more than twenty-five years.' He studied the photo, then looked up, towards the sea. 'This is Granger Bay. It must be here.'
'Wait,' said Milla and walked down the steps to the wooden deck, where two men with beers in their hands stood at the gangway of a yacht. She heard them speaking English. 'Could you tell me where we can find the Oceana Power Boat Club?'
'You've got it wrong,' said Bruno Burzynski. 'They are not after our soccer team. It's a coincidence of dates. Our intelligence indicates something entirely different.'
'And what would that be?'
For the first time Burzynski looked uncomfortable. 'I'm sorry, but I'm not at liberty to share that with you.'
Mentz made a sound of scornful disgust.
'So we can call off Tuesday's security measures?' asked Masilo. 'You don't want your soccer team protected?'
'Go ahead.'
Masilo shook his head in bewilderment.
Mentz broke the silence. 'Let me try and figure this out. You were very keen to talk to us when you thought we had Osman,' she said.
Burzynski did not react.
'And the only thing you really want now, is the new electronic identity of The Madeleine. Which means you don't need us once you've found the ship.'
Burzynski stared at the table. Mentz walked towards them slowly, with growing certainty in her voice. 'You've got a boarding team standing by, haven't you? What are they, Bruno? Navy Seals? Did you bring in your own little fast boats, or did you buy them here? Chartered a few choppers? Because you're planning on taking the ship. And telling us about it afterwards.'
'That's absurd.'
'No, it's not,' said Janina Mentz, and sat down at the table. 'And that begs the question: what is on that ship that is so valuable that you would risk a huge diplomatic row, that you would sacrifice your relationship with us and with our government?'
'You've got it wrong,' he said, but she heard the faint traces of discomfort in his voice.
'I've got it right. At last.' Janina reached for the telephone, drew it closer and called a number. Burzynski followed her movements with his eyes. 'Raj,' she said into the instrument, 'we've just given the new AIS identity to the CIA. How long would it take them to find The Madeleine?'
She listened, then said, 'I see. You have four hours to decode the hard drive. Can you do it? ... Good.'
Mentz slammed the phone down and smiled at Burzynski.
'Hard drive?' asked Burzynski.' What hard drive?'
'What's the cargo on The Madeleine?' Janina Mentz shot back.
76
The Oceana Power Boat Club was an ugly dark lump of coal between the diamond clusters of the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront and the Granger Bay yacht marina.
There were three identical OPBC signboards in white on the high, neglected wire fence, as though one was not enough to convince visitors.
It did look temporary, primitive, shabby, like a hidden building site - bare gravel, ships' containers scattered randomly, a long, nondescript flat-roofed building with a single light burning at one corner. Right at the back, a high breakwater of concrete dolosse, huge jumbled Xs like a giant child's carelessly thrown jacks, outlined against the phosphor glow of the sea. The double gates were locked, all was quiet and deserted.
They stood in the deep shadow just to the left of the gate. Milla watched Lukas's body change subtly, his shoulders and neck and head, as though he were making himself smaller, hiding, alert. His eyes took in everything, in front of them, around them, assessing and measuring.
'I need to know what it looks like inside,' he murmured. He started walking along the fence to the right.
'Tell Tiger to split his team in two,' Janina Mentz told Quinn. 'I want half of them at Ysterplaat, the helicopters will be ready in an hour. The other half must go to Simonstown, the captain of the Corvette SAS Amatola is expecting them. Raj says he should have the information ...' she checked her watch, 'by two o'clock.'
Quinn wanted to ask her how sure she was that the ship was coming to Cape Town, but he assumed it was a calculated, optimistic guess. The Americans had the same dilemma, if they traced the ship first, they had to cover the same distance.
'Anything on the stolen Nissan?' Mentz asked.
'Nothing,' said Quinn. 'Absolutely nothing.'
They followed the fence for a hundred metres down to the sea. The wire ended there, before the steep slope down to the water and the chaos of the heaped up triangular dolosse. To the left was a way through to the Oceana Power Boat Club - a narrow sill, overgrown with weeds, along the short side of a ship's container. He began to shuffle along it, chest against the container, using the metal ridges for hand grips. He looked back at her. 'Come. It's easy.'
She followed him.
On the other side of the container there was a small, sheltered bay. The slipway into the sea was barely ten metres across, the bay itself just big enough to accommodate six or eight motorboats at a time. In the middle there was a narrow quay of cheap wood, floating on steel drums. Beyond that, a concrete surface with a gradual upward slope away from the water.
From here the club's shabby simplicity formed an even greater contrast. To the right the highest levels of luxury apartments were visible at the yacht marina, to the left the glow of the Waterfront. To the south, 500 metres beyond a grass bank on the other side of Strand Road, the new soccer stadium towered, spectacular, surreal, a glowing spaceship floating against the darkness of Signal Hill.
He stood considering it with a calculating eye. 'They know what they're doing,' he said.
'Why?'
'This is an almost perfect smugglers' cove; looks like something about to be demolished, no one would look twice if they drove past it. If your boat comes in here - you are practically invisible. But y
ou have a good view over everything, you can see anyone coming 200 metres away. And you're five minutes from the Nl, ten minutes from the N2, you're right in Sea Point and the city, get in quick, get out quick ...'
'How are we going to ... ?' She didn't know how to complete the sentence, because she didn't know how you would steal a missile and exchange it for money.
'It's nearly perfect. Look there ...' He pointed at the two half-moon arms of the dolosse-breakwater. 'Easy to hide there. From that point you control the whole area. The big problem is there are only two exits, and both are narrow: the gate, to the street, and the slipway, to the sea.' He checked his watch, suddenly hasty. 'We have nearly two hours. Let's go and get coffee.'
'Another four hours,' she said.
'No.' He walked back to the narrow ledge.
On the table between the computers, tools, and equipment, the hard drive lay, incredibly small, connected to two thin wires.
'The drive is slightly buckled, so we had to get it out of the casing first,' said Rajkumar, and he picked up the dented black metal box, showed it to Mentz. 'And then we built a new, modified casing, to accommodate the warp, because the drive still needs to spin. It's the only way to get to the data quickly. Problem is, the disk is definitely damaged ...'
'How much?'
'We just don't know. Depends on how full the disk was, how often he defragged ...We're going to need a bit of luck.'
Mentz looked at him without expression.
'Wheel of fortune's got to turn, ma'am. Sooner or later, wheel's got to turn.'
They sat in the Mugg & Bean and drank coffee. She asked: 'Why do we only have two hours?'
'The rendezvous is at two o'clock. If they arrive too early, the wait is long, the people get bored and impatient. Careless. The risk is greater - security patrols, the police, a club member who has forgotten something. You send a couple of men around about one o'clock to secure the place, to have eyes on the look-out. And the rest of the team, along with the trucks or bakkies or whatever they use, only turn up at a quarter to two. But these are Muslim extremists, extra cautious, since their laptop has been stolen. They might send their eyes from twelve o'clock. Maybe earlier. We shall see.'