Ruslan sat down. ‘Yes. I took the sheikh for his meeting last night. It was at a different place this time, and then we had to stop for him to use the ablutions at a restaurant. He left his briefcase behind.’
‘You opened it?’
‘I tried, but one side was locked. But I could take a picture inside with my cellphone.’
He held up his phone and Shabalala squinted his eyes at the small screen. ‘I’m sorry; I can’t see what it is.’
‘Keep looking. I also couldn’t see in the beginning.’
‘Is it – money?’
‘Yes. Dollars, cash, lots of it.’
‘He picked up cash?’
‘He did.’
‘So the sheikh’s a puppet? Great, there goes our prime suspect.’
Ruslan shook his head. ‘You’re wrong, Reno. Remember Bin Laden worked for the Americans at one stage too. This is a war. There’s a battle for loyalties and everyone has a price.’
Shabalala shrugged. ‘So what do we do with Sheikh U-Haq now?’
‘Do you know what “Haq” means? It means “divine rights”. Isn’t that sad?’
Durant turned the aircon knob up a notch until the fan noise, combined with the roar of the Land Rover’s diesel engine, all but drowned out the radio news. It was old news anyway. The media had been told the ATM bombers had mistakenly blown themselves up. That was easier to explain. A 57-year-old man had tragically also been killed in the blast. There was an interview with Raj Doorasamy’s widow. Sad news.
The humidity was still oppressive even though it was after six and long shadows began falling over Westville. Durant swung the Land Rover into the entrance of the plush suburb, with its set-back houses and landscaped gardens, and drove through heavy traffic until he reached the part where house prices maxed out around the million-rand mark and bargains were still to be had. Durant remembered when Masondo bought the house. He’d even helped him move. Nandi had been a gangly-legged teenager who fussed about the valuables and wanted everything to be perfect. Masondo had lost his wife around that time and Nandi was everything to him. Nothing much had changed in the years that had passed. The house still needed that touch of paint and the intercom at the gate was still temperamental. Nandi, however, had changed. She’d matured into a prize any man would desire. Shabalala had chosen well.
Nandi showed Durant in.
‘My dad’s not home yet, Uncle Kevin. Can I make you a cup of coffee while you wait?’
‘Don’t worry, thanks, Nandi; I’m just leaving this envelope for him. I’m not going to stay. Can I have a quick word with you?’
Nandi showed Durant in and motioned for him to sit on the couch. She sat opposite him, legs crossed and leaning forward. ‘What’s up?’
Durant lowered his voice. ‘It’s a bit awkward. I don’t want to ruin our friendship or anything.’
‘This sounds serious. What have I done?’
‘I’m sorry. You haven’t done anything, don’t worry. I just wanted to let you know that I’m aware of you and Cedric.’
Nandi lowered her eyes to the coffee table, sighed and then fixed them back on Durant’s. ‘I won’t deny it if you know.’
‘But don’t worry, I won’t tell your dad, I promise, your secret’s safe.’
‘Thanks. He won’t approve.’
‘I know. Ced told me, but swore me to secrecy. I just wanted to know why you think your dad won’t approve of Ced.’
Nandi smiled. ‘He irritates my dad. My dad sees him as a youngster with no experience. Academically he is more than qualified, but he can’t measure up operationally. My dad judges everybody by their struggle credentials. He accepts you because he sees you as a veteran too – you fought for a cause and were willing to sacrifice your life. Cedric never got his hands dirty. He holds that against him.’
‘That’s unfair. Ced doesn’t have to prove himself by your dad’s standards, it’s impossible anyway.’
‘My dad doesn’t know everything about him, and I haven’t told him everything I know. Cedric’s embarrassed about his past. To me, it doesn’t matter, but to him, it’s a big thing.’
‘I don’t know much about him at all. I know he studied at university, but I don’t have any detail. I know he’s 28.’
‘He lived in a shack in an informal settlement for the first seventeen years of his life. I’m telling you this because I know you won’t treat him any differently and I know you won’t tell him I told you.’
‘Of course not. I thought he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. I assumed that.’
‘Everyone assumes that, but he didn’t. I’m proud of him and I want you to be proud of him too. He was gifted academically and his parents got him a scholarship at a private school. I think he’s such a private person now because he learnt to hide his private life so well.’
Durant nodded slowly, his eyes falling to Nandi’s hands resting on the table. ‘He does that. Never speaks about his private life.’
‘He couldn’t have friends around at his house, because his house was a shack. His classmates always assumed he also came from a middle-or upper-class family background and accepted him on that basis. In the holidays, he went back to the shack. I think that’s why he’s so anti-dirt and germs nowadays.’
‘So he’s really risen above his circumstances. He doesn’t have to stand back for anyone.’
‘My dad has a way of making people feel inferior sometimes. I’ve even felt like that. He pushes and pushes. Maybe I needed it. I don’t know if I would have finished my medical degree without him pushing.’
‘Your dad’s an awesome man; I have the greatest respect for him. I didn’t think he judges people, but I get the impression he either likes you or he doesn’t and he doesn’t make a secret of it.’
‘Well, unfortunately he doesn’t like Cedric. Never mind that he got his master’s degree cum laude.’
‘It’s obviously not about what he’s achieved. Maybe if your dad takes the time to get to know him better, he might start liking him.’
‘The problem is Cedric keeps everything in. He should show off his achievements, but he doesn’t talk about them. It counts against him.’
‘And Wednesday nights? You guys go out?’
‘Why?’
‘I just noticed he’s always busy on Wednesday nights.’
‘I go with him sometimes, sometimes he goes alone. But it’s something he really doesn’t want anybody to know about. Sorry, Uncle Kev, that’s going to stay a secret, even from you.’
Durant walked into Shabalala’s office holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other.
‘Technical hit a blank with the VIN number,’ Durant said, carelessly slopping some coffee onto Shabalala’s table when he put the cup down.
‘Careful with that! Do you ever listen to yourself speak?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘“Technical hit a blank.” I mean, English is the language of Shakespeare, and you’re using words that are all wrong. It’s not my first language and even I can hear that.’
‘I do apologise,’ Durant said in his best English accent. ‘The technical department informs me that they were unable to establish with any certainty the precise identity of the number in question.’
‘That’s better. Now clean the coffee you spilt on my desk, please.’
‘Certainly. Might I also inform you that—’
‘I get the point, Kevin; you don’t have to push it. So technical couldn’t determine the VIN number off the licence disc?’
‘Yip. They said the disc’s been altered and the VIN number didn’t match anything. Also couldn’t get it off the dashboard plate.’
‘So it’s a dead end?’
Durant smiled. ‘Not really. They’ve given us a partial address from a glasses case in the centre console of the vehicle. Just the number and street name, but it’s pretty easy to find. So I found it.’
Shabalala was impressed. ‘Great! So who’s the guy?’
‘
According to Water and Lights, Imtiaz Suleiman. Mean anything to you?’
Shabalala shook his head. ‘Nothing. You?’
‘Nah. Obviously they mean something to each other. Why else meet at night inside a building’s fire escape?’
‘We can always send the metro police to go and collect all the traffic fines from him.’
‘But we don’t want to show our hand, of course, as tempting as that is. He’s obviously going to great lengths to conceal his identity and it looks like a professional setup.’ Durant stood up and sent the coffee cup tumbling off the edge of the desk and shattering into pieces on the office floor.
Shabalala knocked briefly and then went into Masondo’s office.
Masondo scooped a handful of raisins into his mouth and offered Shabalala his lunchbox. ‘Close the door behind you. Here, Cedric. Have some raisins. Surely you have no objections to raisins?’
‘Raisins? They’re dead grapes, sir.’
Masondo raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. ‘I want to ask you something and I want you to think hard before you answer me.’
Shabalala’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down rather obviously as he swallowed nervously. ‘Of course, sir.’
‘Are you aware of who in this office is seeing Nandi?’
Shabalala’s hand moved fractionally to scratch the back of his neck which prickled, but he knew this non-verbal cue would quickly give away the fact that he was lying. ‘Nandi? . . . Oh, your daughter, sir?’
‘Don’t play dumb with me, Mr Shabalala. I know my daughter. She’s sending SMSs late at night, goes outside to talk on the phone, suddenly very secretive and defensive. I’m an old spy; I know how to read the signs. Something’s happening, and I don’t like it.’
Shabalala felt his heart pounding, but didn’t show his anxiety.
‘I’ll see if I can find out anything. Sure it’s someone in the office?’
‘Convinced. Since that time she came here when her car broke down. You were here; didn’t you notice her talking to anyone else besides you?’
Shabalala shook his head calmly, relieved at the fact that he was obviously not even low on the suspect list. ‘No, sir, I didn’t really notice.’
‘When I find out who it is, and I will find out, I promise you that person will have to deal with me when I’m very angry, and you’ve seen me angry, haven’t you, Mr Shabalala?’
‘Oh yes, sir.’
NINE
‘I ran Imtiaz Suleiman through our database. Suleiman’s suspected RAW, Research and Analysis Wing.’
‘Indian Intelligence?’
‘Yes. Here’s a profile of him.’ Shabalala put a small folder down on the table.
Durant started reading.
‘“Imtiaz Suleiman, 41, suspected RAW member.” That picture’s definitely him, no question. Address is the same as the one we’ve got and, bingo, there’s the real registration number of his BMW. Couldn’t exactly use his diplomatic number plates.’ Durant shrugged his shoulders. ‘Okay, pretty clear cut. Diplomat involved in covert activities, he’s not declared, we can have him persona non grata in twenty-four hours.’
‘And then we’ll never know what his relationship with the sheikh was.’
‘I didn’t say we must do it, I said we could do it. Obviously we must milk it first.’
Shabalala rubbed his chin. ‘Mr Masondo called me in earlier.’
Durant smiled. ‘Don’t tell me you confessed?’
‘You crazy?’ Shabalala said loudly. ‘I just acted dumb. He doesn’t suspect me at all.’
‘That must make you feel great,’ Durant said sarcastically. ‘I mean, you’re so not a possible candidate for Nandi that he doesn’t even remotely suspect you. I mean, that’s an insult, isn’t it?’
‘It suits me. She loves me, that’s the main thing.’
‘But when you marry someone, you marry the family. You’re gonna have to call Masondo “Dad” sometime. That’ll be a laugh. “Dad, we need to do some surveillance. Can you authorise it, Dad?”’
Shabalala’s mouth curled up in what may have been the beginning of a grin. ‘Shut up, Kevin, you’re not making sense.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve also got family issues. Stephanie wants to move, and I don’t want to.’
Shabalala looked shocked. ‘What? You can’t leave the Agency!’
‘I know, I don’t want to, she wants to move.’
‘And do what?’
Durant shrugged his shoulders and checked his phone nervously. It would have been good if it rang and he didn’t have to have this conversation with Shabalala.
‘I don’t know. Something less dangerous. Maybe work at a nursery or something.’
Shabalala put his hands up in frustration. ‘You’ve got a career here, man; tell her you’re not going.’
‘It’s not so easy, mate. Maybe in your culture the male can do that, but not in mine. I have to be understanding, sympathetic and supportive.’
‘Haai, no, Kevin, be a man and stand up for what you believe in.’ Shabalala chuckled. ‘Even though I don’t practise what I preach.’
‘It’s okay, Ced, no worries, I’m sure she’ll come around.’
Shabalala looked out the window and then back at Durant. ‘This is the best place to be, and we’ve got the best job in the world. It’s one place where you really can make a difference.’
Durant was looking through the emails on his phone. He didn’t look up. ‘I know. You don’t have to convince me. I’m fighting this thing, don’t worry.’
Shabalala felt his discomfort and paused for a moment. ‘I think my thing with Nandi is a lot harder to solve. You won’t betray me to Masondo?’
Durant looked up. ‘Hey, Ced, I’m a man of my word. I think Nandi could do worse.’
‘Really? I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘It was meant as a compliment. Maybe let Masondo see you differently. Maybe don’t always criticise what he eats or drinks. I think you annoy him. Work on him a bit. See it as a recruitment attempt; treat it like a project with a definite goal.’
Shabalala smiled. ‘Getting Alfred Masondo’s approval could be my toughest assignment yet. But I’m up to it.’
Khalid rose as Maia Berkeley entered his office with a bespectacled, tall and gangly character who reminded him of an internal auditor he’d once met when posted in Amsterdam.
‘Mr Khalid,’ Berkeley said, ‘may I introduce Special Agent John Fulham, the FBI legal attaché.’
Khalid shook hands. ‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’
‘Please, call me John. The cg told me a whole lot about you and I look forward to working with you on this case.’
‘Strange, John. Ms Berkeley didn’t tell me nothing about you.’
The cg looked uncomfortable for a second and then laughed. ‘I didn’t want you to think the FBI was taking over your job, Imraan. Just see the Special Agent as backup, that’s all.’
‘I don’t remember calling for backup, Ms Berkeley,’ Khalid said, his body stiffening.
‘She means we got more resources to throw at the problem, that’s all. This is a big one, Imraan, there’s no way we can let you run with the ball all by yourself. Teamwork’s the name of the game.’ Behind Fulham’s smile was a measure of loathing towards Khalid. He’d read the report. He knew that if he was a young blonde woman in a tight skirt, Khalid would have been more receptive to help. ‘Perhaps you can start by giving me a headsup on this son of a gun up north – the sheikh?’
Berkeley interrupted. ‘If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a speech to prepare for tonight. Feel free to use the boardroom if you want. John, if there’s anything you need, just holler.’
Fulham smiled. ‘I need the case solved, that’s what I need, but I thank you, Maia, I sure will.’
Khalid motioned to Fulham to sit. ‘Well, John, I thought the FBI guys always wore suits. This is quite disappointing.’
‘Yeah, but this is Durban in the summer. I think I’ll be forgiven. Anyway
, they’ve become a tad more relaxed since the Hoover era. Tell me what you know about the sheikh.’
‘I thought you might know more than me, being the FBI and all.’ It wasn’t meant to sound snarky, but it did nevertheless.
Fulham laughed. ‘You overestimate us. We ain’t got much.’ He held up a file. ‘Only what you’ve given us. We got the intel from the local boys – the call came from the IAC, right?’
Khalid sighed and sat on the table. ‘Well, yeah, close to. I don’t know why everyone’s assuming the call was made from the centre.’
‘Probably ’cos that’s the most likely target, isn’t it? We’ve sent you profiles of the sheikh. Red flags all over him.’ Fulham lowered his voice and when he leaned in, Khalid smelt an expensive aftershave. ‘Doesn’t appear radical, kinda likes the West, not all that sold out, flies under the radar. But that’s how we missed the damn 9/11 guys. We were always looking at the obvious, the loud-mouthed fanatics.’ He paused and looked at his fist which he held up in front of him. ‘He’s the dragon head, Imraan. We cut it off, the threat goes away. It’s easy, we’ve done it before.’
Khalid shook his head. ‘I dunno if it’s that easy. The sheikh’s a prominent local figure, well loved by all. When you talk about cutting off the head of the dragon, I’m starting to think – rendition.’
Fulham laughed. ‘Haven’t heard that word in a while.’ Then his eyes darkened. ‘And I don’t want to hear it again. Especially not in this building, Imraan. Nah, we don’t have to disappear the sheikh, that’s not an acceptable method any more.’ His voice was almost a whisper now. ‘We just gotta talk to him nicely. Make friends with him. That’ll discredit him and it’ll disarm him. We’re more subtle these days, huh?’
Khalid was feeling claustrophobic. The office walls were pressing in on him and he felt like a trapped animal in a cage with a dangerous creature bent on teasing him before delivering the death blow. ‘I don’t know if he’ll want to talk to you.’
‘Then we’ll talk to our friends – the Brits, the Aussies, the Pakistanis, Indians. Here’s a thing: someone’s talking to him, we just gotta find out who, and when we do, we join the party and he belongs to us.’ Fulham clicked his fingers. ‘Bingo! No more threat.’
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