by Brad Taylor
Armstrong took a sip of his coffee, then said, “He was a member of the LEKEM. It was an Israeli intelligence organization designed to ferret out nuclear secrets. Their whole purpose was industrial espionage in their quest for the bomb. And they were good at it.”
“Why does that matter? Some old gray dick from Israeli intelligence is supposed to be a guy I trust? Who do you know inside South African intelligence that you trust now? Nobody, that’s who.”
Armstrong said, “He isn’t South African. Israel is different. Because of his placement, and the sensitivity of the activities back in the day, he has plenty of contacts inside Israeli intelligence. They still call on him from time to time. Shit, he was the guy who helped us build our own bomb.”
Johan sat up. “What’s that mean?”
Armstrong put out his cigar and said, “You were young, but you remember when we gave up our nuclear weapons at the end of apartheid?”
Johan laughed and said, “Yeah. We were the great saviors. The first to voluntarily relinquish our nuclear weapons. You and I both know why that happened.”
Armstrong nodded and said, “Because we were afraid of who was going to take over after apartheid ended. Afraid of loose nukes. But that’s not the point. Getting the nukes is where our Israeli contact comes in. He—using LEKEM assets—is the one who gave us the technology. Project Circle.”
35
Shoshana continued slowly down Long Street, keeping an eye on the front door of the club in her rearview mirror, then heard, “This is Koko. I’ve got a parking spot. I’m foxtrot one block up.”
Pike said, “Koko, your target. Get in there. Blood, Blood, what’s your status?”
“One street over. Parking now.”
“Prep a Dragontooth. He’s meeting someone, and I want a beacon on that fucker. Break, break—Carrie, keep on the target car. Let me know where it goes.”
In spite of the fact that she was now out of the action, Shoshana smiled. Pike was working the problem better than most. She checked her rearview mirror, saw the vehicle coming, then said, “I’m on him.”
She followed the car down Long Street, watched it turn into a paid lot, and went past before pulling to the side of the road, wishing like hell she was in the hotel. Pike had planned it perfectly, keeping her out of the action. Keeping her from doing anything of substance.
Thirty minutes later, she was grinning again. Jennifer had said that Apple Watch had met a black man inside the bar and had been passed a key. From there, her target car had circled around and picked him up, and she was the only thing in play, as everyone else was on foot.
She’d followed the car to the V&A wharf and had decided to stick with Apple, letting the car go free. Someone else could track it. If they could get here quickly enough.
She trotted across the street, passing the lobby of the ritzy V&A Hotel and a host of taxis and tour cars, seeing the blond head disappear into the crowd.
She followed him through the tourists, passing beer gardens and restaurants, then hit the water of the harbor. He took a right, headed toward a pedestrian bridge that crossed a concrete canal of water leading to a marina. Before he reached it, a light started flashing, and a man prevented anyone from crossing. Shoshana looked into the harbor, saw a sailboat approaching, and realized the single footbridge was a miniature drawbridge. It began to swing away, letting the boat through, and she was stuck on the same side with her target.
She went to the breakwater, watching a mother and two kids feed the seagulls. She took a seat on a bench, trying to remain invisible.
She kept her eyes on the target and received a call from Pike. “Carrie, Carrie, what’s the situation? Last call was a dismount at the wharf. Give me a lock-on.”
Afraid he was about to pull her off, she said, “Crossing the footbridge. No clear direction or purpose. I’m still good. Heat state is ice.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Carrie.”
The bridge took an agonizingly long time to transfer back. She said, “I’m not, Nephilim. Have some trust.”
He said, “We’re at the wharf. We’re coming. Just keep him in sight and rotate out when I call.”
The light went off, and the pedestrians began to cross. She followed the target, saying, “Okay. As long as I’m not forced into something before you get here.”
She heard him panting on the radio, clearly running his ass off. “Don’t . . . You . . . Do . . . A . . . Fucking . . . Thing.”
The target passed the famed clock tower of the wharf, right in front of the gateway ferry to Robben Island, the location of the desolate block of granite on which Nelson Mandela had been imprisoned for most of his adult life. He reached the lower level of a two-story mall and walked in with a purpose.
It was a shallow opening, with few people. If she entered at his intrusion point, she would be burned. If she didn’t, he would accomplish whatever he was doing inside.
But he was boxed inside the mall. And she needed more manpower to continue the surveillance. She couldn’t do it alone, as much as she wanted to.
Every fiber of her being told her to follow, Aaron at the forefront of her mind, begging the target to give her reason to interdict him. But she did not. She deferred to the team. She called Pike, told him the status, and rolled off, going to the right of the building to a set of stairs next to a garish Ripley’s Believe It or Not! attraction. She went up them and then took a seat on a bench, waiting on the cavalry to penetrate the mall.
She heard, “We can’t get across. The pedestrian bridge is rotating for a boat.”
No sooner had that come across than the target exited right in front of her, moving to a placard on a wall, pretending to study it while glancing at the door.
The realization hit her immediately, along with how lucky she had been.
Surveillance-detection route.
He’d entered the mall solely to pick out anyone following, taking the escalators to the second floor, then rapidly exiting. Anyone who did the same would clearly be on him. And she’d beaten his game, all because she wanted to prove to Pike she wasn’t a lone wolf.
She smiled and clicked her radio. “He’s back on the street, and I’m on him.”
“Shoshana, back off. Your heat state has got to be molten by now.”
She said nothing, letting the target go by her, not moving at all as long as she had him in sight. He walked about a hundred meters, leaving the tourist area and entering the working port. He took a left at a jetty full of warehouses, and she stood. She walked for about thirty meters, making sure he wasn’t doing more countersurveillance work, then sprinted to the corner of the warehouses.
She heard, “Shoshana, we’re coming across. Give me a damn status.”
She pulled up short, then stuck her head around the corner. She saw the target seventy meters away, unlocking a door on the row of warehouses, then disappearing inside.
She said, “I’ve got him. He’s on the jetty past the tourist area. He’s inside some shipping warehouse, but I can’t get close.”
Pike said, “Pull off. We’ll meet you at the clock tower.”
She saw the target appear again, closing the door. She said, “He’s out. He’s out. He’s headed back my way. I’m off.”
She slipped around to the other side of the jetty, where the boats docked and unloaded. She ignored the looks of the hard men on the dock, waiting on the target to pass. When he did, she called Pike, telling him Apple was on the way and running right into him, and that he had control.
“What are you going to do?”
“Check out that warehouse.”
She slunk down the jetty, trying to look like she belonged, dodging forklifts and staring eyes. She reached the door she’d seen Apple exit, glanced left and right, then turned the handle. It refused to move.
Shit.
She considered picking the lock, but one look at t
he activity around her and she knew that would be a nonstarter. She studied the lockset and then had an idea. It was a six-pin restricted-key cylinder built by the Swedish lockmaker Assa Abloy. Something she knew about from her work in Israel. She took a knee, set her cell-phone camera on macro, and took a frontal shot of the keyhole.
If Pike’s vaunted Taskforce didn’t have the ability to do anything with the photo, she knew a group that did.
36
The mention of Project Circle only increased Johan’s unease about the mission. He’d been deceived plenty of times in the past, all to get him to ply his skills. The last man who’d done it was the American he’d worked for a year ago. The one who’d given him his H-1B visa, which had caused the Lesotho security men to spike. That American had caused the death of many, many innocents and had attempted to use Johan to cover up his transgressions. Johan had unfortunately done so before learning the truth, and then had slaughtered the man in his office, leaving his broken body as a warning to others.
What does South Africa’s nuclear program have to do with Lesotho?
“So this guy, our mundane contact in the diamond exchange, was intimately involved in our development of nuclear weapons?”
“Yes.”
“And that doesn’t give you concerns about what happened in Tel Aviv?”
“No. It gives me confidence. He would know if it was anything more than bad luck and unforeseen skill.”
Johan nodded, saying nothing. Armstrong said, “What’s going through your mind?”
“It just sounds more complicated than a simple coup in Lesotho. More in play here.”
Armstrong leaned over the table, getting eye to eye. He said, “It is more complicated, but not for you. You do your mission, and don’t worry about the rest. That’s my problem.”
Johan nodded, now wishing he had two fingers of scotch instead of coffee. He said, “Who’s taking over in Lesotho? Why are we being hired?”
“The diamond merchant hired us for the oldest reason on earth—money. As for who’s taking over, it’s nothing but more of the same from all over the continent. Someone wants power. The prime minister is as corrupt as a rusty nail. His deputy will assume the position, with General Mosebo remaining as the true power as the head of the LDF, and the king will remain the king. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. A transfer from one asshole to another.”
“And the country? What will happen when we’re successful?”
Armstrong looked at him with true mirth and said, “Seriously? Don’t tell me Lily Boy is now concerned with the local population.”
Johan glanced away and said, “I’ve seen bad go to worse.” He turned back to Colonel Armstrong. “And so have you.”
Armstrong slapped his shoulder and said, “Don’t worry about it here. The government will function just like it did. All we’re doing is replacing one man with another.”
Johan nodded, then said, “What about the man we captured? The Israeli?”
“What about him?”
“I wanted to keep him alive for bargaining in case something went wrong, but given this information, I think it’s a risk. I say we smoke him.”
Armstrong considered, toying with his cup. He said, “No. We leave him in Mosebo’s hands. Right now, we’re cut from him. If things go well, we’ll let Mosebo deal with him. If they go wrong, we still have a bargaining chip with the Israelis.”
Johan glared at him and said, “I thought the Israelis didn’t matter.”
Armstrong slapped a hand on the table in irritation, causing the coffee cups to jump. Johan didn’t react, keeping his stare. Armstrong said, “Just do what I ask. You’re hired for a single mission. A tactical mission. Get me the plan, and execute.”
Johan nodded, took a sip of his coffee, and said, “Okay, sir. I can do that. How are we looking for armament?”
A couple took a seat at the table next to theirs, and Armstrong rose, saying, “Come. Follow me back to my car.”
They left the restaurant’s patio and circled around the statue of Cecil Rhodes, seeing the gang from earlier lying in the grass like a pack of mongrel dogs.
They entered a secluded path on the edge of the wood line, and Armstrong said, “Andy just went to get the key for the warehouse. He’ll report back, but I don’t see any hiccups.”
Johan said, “Who’s he getting the key from? Who else is involved?”
“It’s the same guy who got us the safe house in Durban. He works for the man providing the weapons and equipment.”
Johan glanced at the colonel but said nothing. Armstrong said, “What?”
“Do you trust this American?”
“He’s done what he’s said he’d do so far.”
Johan broke a stick off a tree and tossed it. He said, “I don’t like working with him. What’s he gaining? Why’s he involved? Money makes people do strange things.”
Armstrong said, “He’s not getting money.”
“What, then?”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s my problem.”
“Come on, sir, what’s he getting out of this?”
Armstrong stopped on the trail, looked at Johan, and said, “He’s getting something from my connections in the South African Defence Force. Something that they no longer need but he can use.”
“You have the SANDF involved in this? How?”
“I had to get the SANDF involved precisely to prevent them from invading Lesotho because of our coup. They’re worried about the interruption of the flow of water. I’m working with the army headquarters, just letting them know what we’re doing and assuring them that that won’t happen. Using my connections to prevent mission failure. The American is greasing the skids with money.”
Johan nodded, saying, “Okay, sir, that makes sense, but I wish you’d include me on the overarching plans.”
Armstrong chuckled and said, “Johan, you’re good, but you’re only a tool. Let me worry about the bigger picture. You just execute your plan. That’s all you’re being paid for, and all you need to worry about.”
Johan bit out, “Fine, but my tactical operation is predicated on your strategic decisions. You didn’t answer the question. What is the American getting from them?”
Armstrong sighed and said, “Look, Johan, not everything is black-and-white like you want. Sometimes we have to do what we don’t like, but if it’ll alleviate your angst, I’m meeting him tonight. Why don’t you come as well? Feel him out. Get some confidence in the mission.”
Johan said nothing for a moment, then, “Okay. Where?”
“The old castle. The ceremonial guard out there is actually active-duty army recruits. There’s a SANDF recruiting station in the back.” Armstrong laughed and said, “My SANDF contact didn’t want to be seen with me on the streets. Imagine that.”
There was a rustling in the brush, and the mongrel pack of youths appeared, led by Nike Sweats. Armstrong became quiet, waiting on them to pass. When they didn’t, he said, “What the fuck do you kaffirs want?”
Nike Sweats nodded at Johan and said, “He knows, old man.”
Johan said, “I paid you. I’ve already paid.”
“Yes. You have. But he hasn’t.”
Johan said, “You remember what I said earlier? That not everyone is prey? You’re looking at it right now.”
Nike Sweats said, “Yeah, I heard you. I just didn’t believe it.” The men circled around them, and Johan knew they were committed, but he still believed there was a way out. He looked at Armstrong and saw the violence beginning to build just below the surface. He said, “Sir, don’t.”
Nike Sweats and one other closed in tight, the rest remaining in a loose circle, sure of their numbers. Armstrong shook his head and said, “Lily Boy, like I said, sometimes we do things we don’t like. Distasteful things.”
He curled his knuckles into a flat ledge
and lashed out, his fist striking as fast as the head of a snake, spearing into Nike Sweats’s throat. Johan heard a hoarse bark, and the man dropped to the ground, rolling and attempting to scream. All that came out was a guttural moan.
Armstrong turned to the man next to him. The boy brought his hands up in a pathetic attempt at defense, and Armstrong grabbed the lead one, twisting his hand backward and locking up the joint. Armstrong looked into his eyes and said, “Jump, kaffir,” then rotated the wrist in a circle, against the way it was designed.
The boy felt the pain like an electric current and literally leapt off his feet to stop it. Armstrong rotated forward and down, and the boy flipped over, hammering the ground on his back. Armstrong let go of his wrist and slammed his fists into the man’s face, once, twice, three times. Johan saw his head snap back, bouncing off the gravel, and his eyes roll in his head.
Armstrong stood, turned to the remaining youths, and said, “You fucks want to die today, keep pushing.”
They ran, exploding away like confetti out of a popped balloon.
Johan said, “That wasn’t necessary.”
Armstrong said, “Bullshit it wasn’t. There was a time those kaffirs wouldn’t have dared to even approach. I saw it in Rhodesia, and I see it here. They need to learn who’s the boss. Something you failed to show them.”
Johan simply nodded, but he saw another side of the man he worked for.
And he didn’t like it.
37
I heard the rapid knocking, turned back to the computer, and said, “Creed, someone’s banging on my door. I’ll call you back.” I disconnected, blacked out the camera, and went to the peephole of our door. I saw Shoshana, showing up forty minutes early. It was starting to become a trend.
I let her in, and she immediately started looking around for Jennifer. Since our room doubled as our tactical operations center, or TOC, I always rented a suite, which meant Shoshana couldn’t see everything from the doorway.