‘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
SMS
s 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.’
‘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.’
Khalid stood up and looked at the door. ‘I can see the
FBI
has a way of really simplifying complex issues.’
‘That’s right, so here’s what I need you to do, Imraan. You and I are gonna figure out the sheikh’s little secrets, and then we’re gonna have a little chat with him and make him a partner – a partner against terrorism.’
Khalid smiled coldly. ‘George Bush must have liked you.’
Fulham rose to his feet. ‘That man was good for America.’ Khalid was dwarfed by Fulham. ‘He understood the importance of intel in the war on terrorism.’ He seemed to check himself and then frowned. ‘Oh yeah, before you go and on a more, er, awkward note Imraan, a little bird told me you like the ladies, or is it the ladies who like you?’
The strike hit Khalid in the bull’s-eye. He reeled momentarily before realising Fulham was a full six feet away. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’
Fulham shrugged and shook his head. ‘Whatever it is, I just want you to know we’re professionals and when we work on this case, you rein yourself in and you focus. Am I clear?’
Khalid’s eyes met Fulham’s momentarily and blazed. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m sure most of it is jealousy and perception.’
‘Be that as it may. I don’t want to have to worry about you.’
It was evening when Mariam arrived at the crèche and Amina had already locked up. Siraj was in her arms and she buzzed the gate as she saw Mariam arrive with a slightly harassed look.
‘I’m sorry, late again. But I have something for you.’ She passed an envelope to Amina.
Amina slipped it open with her thumb. ‘No, definitely not, no,’ Amina said, giving the envelope back to Mariam. ‘I’m not taking money from you.’
The young mother looked offended, Amina thought. Perhaps she’d worked hard to earn the money and felt she really wanted to pay the crèche fee.
‘Please, I feel I should contribute, I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity.’ She dabbed a thin line of perspiration on her forehead. It was a typically humid afternoon.
‘It’s an absolute pleasure; Siraj is a great kid. I’m so enjoying him. It’s tough to give him back at the end of the day. See what I mean?’
Siraj gripped Amina’s blouse so tightly, Mariam was afraid he’d tear it.
‘You’re such a blessing; I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.’
‘I’m just glad you found some work. What work is it?’
Mariam didn’t like lying, especially not to Amina, but she knew the truth was unpalatable. ‘I work for a research company; I type up their results, put them in tables and graphs and so on.’
Amina frowned. ‘Oh, that’s interesting. What’s the company called?’
‘It’s, um, Global Research.’ Mariam fussed with the baby bag.
‘Wow, never heard of them. Where are the offices?’
An empty baby bottle slipped out the bag and hit the ground with a clunk. ‘Oops, sorry, um, in Durban actually, around town.’
Amina picked up the baby bottle and put it back in the bag. ‘Okay, and is it a big company?’
Mariam was perplexed. Why was she asking so many questions? Did she suspect something? She would never forgive herself if Amina discovered the deceit. There was no ‘Global Research’. Arshad had persuaded her into befriending the wealthy and influential American. ‘Easy money,’ Arshad had said. Well, it wasn’t so easy pretending to be someone she wasn’t. But despite her reservations and her better judgement, she’d gone ahead with the plan. Not for Arshad. For her son. Amina raised her eyebrows and waited for an answer. ‘No, not really big, just a few people. I really have to get back. Arshad will be home by now.’