Shabalala frowned. ‘Do they use analogue or digital?’
‘Ced, what are you getting at?’
Shabalala pointed to the licence disc on the print. ‘I’m sure the technical guys can magnify this picture enough to read the VIN number on the disc. People who use false number plates usually don’t have false discs too.’
Durant nodded in agreement. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose. Some cars also have the VIN number just inside the windscreen on the dash. But it’ll take some technical wizardry magnifying that up.’
‘We’ve got better equipment than the metro police. I’m sure the technical guys can magnify it. Have you got the original pics in digital format?’
Durant nodded. ‘Want me to email it to them, give ’em a challenge?’
‘Let’s see them earn their salaries this month.’
EIGHT
The delay in communication between the two men speaking and the transfer of that data to a room-sized third-party server where it was digitally grabbed and stored was infinitesimal – measured in nanoseconds. But the conversation between Nathi and an unknown male only came to Durant’s computer as an audio file a few hours later, and he only opened the file the next day at 10:13.
Click. ‘Hello?’ It was Nathi.
‘Broer. That guy’s got a big parcel, about thirty units. He wants five kilograms. Straight swap.’
‘Five kilograms is a big load.’
‘But thirty units. We can resell them.’
Durant leaned forward towards his computer and clicked his mouse to rewind the conversation slightly.
‘Five kilograms is a big load.’
Durant picked up his phone and dialled Shabalala’s extension. Within seconds, Shabalala was there and they listened to the rest of the conversation together.
‘But thirty units. We can resell them.’
‘Is the guy a hundred per cent?’
‘Ja.’
‘What’s he want to use it for?’
‘We don’t ask that.’
‘Okay. When’s it gonna happen?’
‘Tomorrow at eleven.’
‘Where?’
‘We’ll do it at the dump.’
‘Okay, I’ll see you there.’
Durant stopped the conversation and looked at his watch.
‘Flip, it’s twenty past now. This meeting’s happening in a half an hour.’
‘You think the five kilograms is explosives?’
‘He’s an ATM bomber. What else can it be?’
‘Not drugs?’
‘I don’t know. But I think the thirty units they’re talking about are those weapons that were stolen.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because we know about forty units were stolen from that truck. Sell thirty and keep ten. I’m guessing, but it’ll be nice if it is.’
Shabalala looked at the map on the wall. ‘What dump are they talking about?’
‘Dunno. Like a landfill site? What dump sites do you know? I’ve got the one on the Bluff, there’s one in Mount Edgecombe, one in Wyebank . . .’
‘Big one in Shongweni . . .’
Durant lifted his phone. ‘Too much to cover, we don’t even know if it’s in Durban.’
‘So what do we do now?’
Durant spoke into the receiver. ‘Mr Masondo, we need SAPS to help US with something.’
Raj Doorasamy ground the Hilux into reverse and cursed as the old pickup jumped out of gear. He had to back up the trailer to the edge of the landfill site and he couldn’t do that until the stubborn old donkey cooperated. He would have overhauled the clutch if the gardening service was doing better, but competition was tough these days and his prices were so competitive there was hardly any profit. The old Hilux would have to soldier on. Another bone-wrenching grind followed by a thud and a jerk and the vehicle lurched backwards. Doorasamy edged the trailer between a bottle-green Audi and a double cab. Strange, these two vehicles didn’t have trailers. Doorasamy saw a group of men standing about fifty metres away, talking. Three men. There was no one else around. All at once, he felt silly for choosing a spot to dump the garden refuse right between the two vehicles, but he wasn’t going to move it now. He may not get her into reverse again. The Hilux door creaked open and Doorasamy’s shoes sunk into the spongy gunge that characterised landfill-site earth. He smarted at the stench of the place and wiped a handkerchief across his forehead. It was hot and he wanted to finish this drop as quickly as he could. Then one day he could afford a double cab like this. What a lovely vehicle. This one had a tarpaulin pulled over the bin. He shrugged his shoulders and began untying the net which held the branches together in his trailer. He was momentarily distracted by the voices. The men seemed to be arguing. There was waving of hands. Two black men and what looked like an Indian. Perhaps he should go over and see if he could assist. No. Too dangerous. Let them sort it out. He had grandchildren. He could see another vehicle now, a white car. No number plates. Strange. The knots were giving him trouble. He pulled a pencil from his shirt pocket and tried to manoeuvre it into the knot to loosen it. The two black men were now walking towards the double cab and he felt his chest tighten slightly. These guys were well dressed; one was talking on his phone. Surely they weren’t going to hijack him? Hadn’t they seen him struggling with the Hilux’s gears? In the distance, the Indian man had walked back to his car. The black men were metres away now, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. Doorasamy raised a hand and greeted them. ‘Sanibonani.’ He’d loosened the knot and the net was free. He wanted to get the load off and be on his way as quickly as possible. The one on the phone waved at him, but didn’t look at him. Doorasamy saw the white car speeding off and that was the last thing he ever saw. A millisecond later, the double cab disintegrated. The explosion lifted the chassis and spun it sideways, causing the burning hulk of metal to land upside down on Doorasamy’s Hilux. The old man need not worry about the grinding gearbox any more. His body was flung ten metres into the air and landed close to where the bodies of the two black men lay, among the smoking debris scattered around them.
Durant gunned the Land Rover’s engine and swung the big vehicle onto the Mariannhill toll road heading towards the Shongweni landfill site. He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen that one, but he had a good feeling about it. It was already 11:15 and too late, but no one had phoned him with the news he wanted – that they’d spotted Nathi Khoza. He hoped SAPS had managed to deploy to all the dumps quickly enough, but at the same time he knew that there were just too many of them and too little time. His phone beeped and it was Masondo. An explosion. In Pietermaritzburg. SAPS got there a minute after it happened to find three burning vehicles and at least three bodies. It was a disaster of epic proportions. They were too late.
Durant was back in the office thirty minutes later and an operational assistant, who had been tasked to quickly go through the latest calls on Nathi’s intercepted phone, handed him a file as he walked through the reception area. He started reading the written transcript before he got to his office. The expletives had been deleted by the transcriber as was common procedure, as it didn’t add any value to the information contained in the conversation.
11:12: Nathi Khoza to unknown male.
Khoza: Nathi here, where’s Bheki?
Unknown male: Why?
Khoza: (Deleted) We’ve got a problem here. We’ve given these (deleted) guys the (deleted) parcel, and they’ve brought the (deleted) hardware.’
Unknown voice in background: Sanibonani.
Khoza: It’s in the double cab. I don’t trust this guy. Foreigner.
They’re driving off. (Voices arguing in the background, unclear.)
Unknown male: What’s (deleted) happening there?
Khoza: Don’t like this (deleted) scene any more . . .
The transcriber wrote ‘call terminated suddenly’ and Durant realised that at that moment, Nathi Khoza himself was terminated by whoever had taken the commercial explosives and disappeared wit
hout a trace.
Masondo flipped a tablet into his mouth and downed a glass of water.
‘Vitamin C,’ he said, ‘1 000 mg a day.’
Shabalala shook his head. ‘Your body only absorbs forty per cent of those synthetic tablets,’ he said. ‘Rather have some cinnamon and raw chillies, it’ll do you more good.’
Masondo took a deep breath. ‘Shabalala, can anything pass into my body without your commenting on it? Anything?’
Shabalala shrugged. ‘Just trying to help, sir.’
‘You’re not. You’re just annoying. Now tell me what’s happening.’
There was a brief knock on the door and Durant entered.
Masondo lifted his eyes above his glasses as Durant slunk to the vacant chair next to Shabalala.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said sheepishly.
‘Thank you for finally joining us. You missed a fascinating lecture on the futility of drinking vitamin C tablets. Now tell me what went wrong.’
‘It was an exchange that went wrong,’ Durant said. ‘Nathi’s boys swapped some of their commercial explosives for guns.’
Shabalala shook his head. ‘No honour amongst thieves. Whoever bought the explosives decided he didn’t want to do business with Nathi again.’
‘What’s Nathi’s sister telling your agent?’ Masondo asked. ‘Or hasn’t she heard yet?’
‘Splinters hasn’t called yet. He will when he has that information.’
‘My contact at SAPS tells me it was Powergel,’ Masondo said. ‘Commercial explosives. It doesn’t take a lot to cause that amount of damage.’
‘It was a big bang,’ Durant said.
‘Well, the shock waves travelled all the way to Pretoria because I got calls from some heavyweights up there wanting to know what happened.’
‘Weapons were apparently found in the debris, same as the type from the stolen consignment. At least some of that’s off the street now. Maybe console the big chiefs with that thought.’
Masondo leaned forward intently. ‘So who blew them up?’
‘We have no idea. The transcription says Nathi mentioned a foreigner.’
‘This is bad,’ Masondo suggested.
‘We’re putting the cellphone data onto Analysts’ Notebook to see if we can find a link to the contact,’ Shabalala said. ‘We haven’t had the intercept long and this thing might have been set up some time ago. Also these guys probably used once-off SIM cards to do the deal. They’re professionals.’
‘Stay on it, Cedric,’ Masondo said. ‘I don’t like what’s happening here. Somebody’s making a fool of us. They’re plotting right under our noses and we haven’t got a clue who they are. We’re under pressure here, Cedric, right from the top, we need to make progress.’
Shabalala knew it. He wanted to solve this case more than anything. ‘I’ll brief Ruslan on this thing and see if he’s picked up anything at the centre. If there’re people involved there, he should come to hear of it.’
Masondo shook his head and slipped his finger under his collar. It was hot in his office. ‘I’m worried about that source’s last report. He says the sheikh’s a lamb and might be cooperating with the West. Will he cooperate and at the same time allow people at the centre to plot an attack? This whole thing doesn’t make sense to me. You need to explain it.’
‘I hear you, Mr Masondo. We’re trying to figure out the relationship between the sheikh and the guy in the BMW. Once we’ve confirmed that, we’ll be in a better position to understand what’s motivating the sheikh.’
‘Fine. Just make all this happen fast, we can’t afford any more big bangs in this province.’
Shabalala led the way into his office and motioned to Durant to sit down.
‘What have we got?’ he asked.
Durant gazed inquisitively at the hourglass on Shabalala’s desk.
‘We’ve got threats against the Yanks coming from an Islamic centre run by a rich Saudi Arabian; we’ve got some nutcase running around with weapons and explosives; we’ve got a source in the centre and a source at the periphery and we still haven’t got a clue what’s going on. We’re fumbling in the dark, Ced.’
Durant absently picked up the hourglass and held it to the light.
‘Stop playing with it,’ Shabalala said. ‘You’re putting your fingerprints all over it.’
Durant rolled his eyes and put the hourglass down on the desk. ‘It’s crying out to be played with. I mean what’s the point of having an hourglass if you can’t turn it over and watch the sand run through it?’
‘It’s symbolic,’ Shabalala said.
‘Symbolic of what?’
‘Of how short time is and how we’ve got to make the most of it.’
Durant smiled mischievously, picked it up again and turned the hourglass over. ‘The symbolism only works when the sand actually runs through it. Otherwise it’s just a piece of glass.’
Shabalala pursed his lips. ‘Don’t touch it again, I mean it.’
‘Why’re you so touchy about this thing? ‘
‘I told you, it’s a gift from someone.’
‘And what’s she trying to tell you? Your time’s running out?’
‘Very funny.’
Durant cocked his eye. ‘Or only three more days till Wednesday?’
‘Just leave it alone, okay?’
‘Come on, Ced, when you gonna open up? Time’s short—’ Durant flipped the glass over again, a little too fast this time, and it clipped the edge of Shabalala’s computer monitor. The glass was so fine, the sound of it breaking wasn’t nearly as spectacular as the sight of the orange sand exploding onto the desk, nor as gut-wrenching as the cry that came from Shabalala’s mouth.
Durant caught some of the orange sand in his hand, in some vain hope that by so doing he might save the whole delicate instrument, but it was beyond saving, scattered across the desk and the floor, the symbolism of the precariousness of life and time even more evident in its destruction than in its former existence.
‘I’m so sorry, that was an accident,’ Durant murmured. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen.’ He took a step back and cringed at the sound of glass crunching under his shoe.
Shabalala sat down slowly, a look of utter shock on his face, shock mixed with disbelief and both of these giving way to anger.
‘Get out of my office,’ he said quietly, and Durant would have felt better if he’d shouted it.
‘Sorry, Ced, really sorry. I’ll replace it, I’ll get you another one.’
‘Just leave. I don’t want to see you.’
‘At least let me clean it up then,’ Durant ventured, realising at that moment that Shabalala clearly didn’t want it cleaned up. He wanted to mourn the loss of the hourglass. He wanted to run his fingers through its fine orange sand and gather the broken pieces to his chest and just hold it.
Shabalala’s eyes were now screwed shut and his head was bowed. ‘You’ll understand if I never speak to you again?’
‘Completely. Again, I apologise, from the bottom of my heart. I’m such an idiot.’ Durant backed away to the door. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’
‘You want to make it up?’
Durant stopped. ‘Of course, I mean it.’
‘Close the door and sit down.’
There was a thirty-second silence, penetrated only by Shabalala’s breathing and the creaking of Durant’s chair as he shifted uncomfortably.
‘It’s Nandi,’ Shabalala said simply.
Durant smiled. ‘Nandi Masondo? Oh, okay, I get it. No problem. I’ll talk to her for you, put in a good word.’
‘I don’t need you to put in a good word, Kevin. It’s already a done deal.’
‘What? You and Nandi? Never!’
‘You always complain I never share with you and when I do you don’t believe me.’
Durant shook his head incredulously. ‘No way. Not you and Nandi.’
‘Why’s it so impossible?’ Shabalala asked indignantly. ‘You think I’m not worthy of her?’
&
nbsp; ‘It’s not that,’ Durant shrugged, ‘not that at all. I just think you’re either incredibly brave or really stupid. I mean, the boss’s daughter. And he’s on to you. He’s already asked me to find out who’s pursuing his only child.’
Shabalala put his hand on his forehead. ‘Really?’
‘He’s the ops head, Ced; you can’t keep secrets from him.’
‘So you owe me, Kevin. She gave me that hourglass, you broke it. Your loyalty’s to me now.’
Durant frowned and then smiled. ‘So the broken hourglass buys my silence? I don’t tell Masondo and you forgive me?’
‘Exactly. If he finds out, I don’t know what he’ll do.’
‘He’ll kill you, Ced. Nandi’s his pride and joy. He’s got very high expectations for her—’
‘Which clearly I don’t meet.’
‘Well, not in his eyes, Ced. You’re an intelligence officer, she’s a doctor. Spot the odd one out.’
‘Intelligence is a noble profession, Kevin, don’t diminish it. Anyway, when you’re in love, these things don’t matter.’
‘How long?’
‘How long have we been seeing each other? About three months.’
Durant did a quick calculation in his head. ‘I knew it! The car encounter! You greasy scoundrel, you.’
‘I’m an intelligence officer. I’m trained to exploit opportunities.’
‘Man, you’re good. I’m starting to think you might’ve disabled her car in the first place. And you go out every Wednesday night?’
‘Nandi’s got nothing to do with Wednesday nights, Kevin. Leave Wednesday nights alone, okay?’
Durant shook his head and let out a yelp. ‘Nandi Masondo, wow. I’ve got new respect for you, brother. If you survive this, you could be a happy man; I mean she’s a lovely lady.’
‘And now it’s our secret. Actually, now that we’re talking again, you can clean up the mess.’
The safe house door swung open and Ruslan stepped in.
‘I couldn’t find parking. I apologise.’
‘No problem, please, sit down and let’s talk.’ The office was looking cleaner this time. Shabalala had used his own money to have it serviced. ‘Your message said it was urgent.’
Allegiance Page 13