Allegiance (25 page)

‘Now we’re in the same box, Mr Suleiman.’

Suleiman flashed his best smile, which waned slightly as Masondo slid a large brown envelope over to him. ‘What is in the envelope, may I ask, Mr Masondo?’

‘It’s a small gift from the traffic department, Mr Suleiman. Your unpaid fines. They accept cash and cheques. Our country, Mr Suleiman, our laws. Respect them.’

The Japanese Gardens in Durban North brought a splash of green to an otherwise built-up and sprawling suburban neighbourhood. This favourite family picnic spot was uncomfortably close to the mangrove swamps and Khalid had deliberately taken a roundabout route to avoid driving past that place. His morning at the office had taken a sudden bad turn when a call came at 08:14 from a public telephone, and the unidentified caller had asked him to be at the gardens, at the public toilet next to the car park at exactly 9 a.m. He had raced from the consulate, not even telling the
CG
he was going out, his mind spinning wildly all the while.

He arrived there a minute late and walked around the small brick building on the south side, between the boundary fence and a picnic area. There was nobody around and he went inside the small building. Deserted. His heart was racing. Had he made a mistake by coming? What if it was a setup? He was desperate for answers. He was driven there by the hope that whatever awaited him would explain why he was being accused of killing Mariam. Perhaps he should have reported it. Maybe Fulham was there to investigate him; perhaps they already knew he was seeing Mariam. He didn’t like the
FBI
agent. His watch told him it was 09:06. He started feeling anger at having been lured to this place by someone he didn’t know. The police. Maybe he should have confided in a policeman. For an instant, he feared for his life. His official weapon was at the office. He thought for a moment that he should have carried it, and then dismissed the thought as being ridiculous.

A mop-carrying cleaner sauntered into the toilets and Khalid started feeling uncomfortable and nervous. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief and cursed the late-November sun. He cursed the woman, now dead, who had ensnared him like a piece of cheap bait and he cursed himself for having taken the lure. She hadn’t even been worth it. What the hell had he been thinking? He didn’t even get to sleep with her. 09:11. His phone rang and he answered it on the first ring.

‘Look in the cistern in the first cubicle. I will contact you again.’

It was an unknown voice and the words were spoken so softly he barely caught them.

‘Wait!’ he said, but his ear was greeted by silence. He pushed the phone into his pocket and entered the first cubicle after nodding a greeting to the attendant. He twisted the door lock and lifted the plastic lid of the cistern as quietly as he could. Screwing up his face, not for any reason other than the unpleasantness of the task, he reached into the water and felt around until his fingers touched a plastic bag. He shook off the water and dried the bag with his handkerchief. He replaced the cistern lid and slid open the zip on the plastic bag. He extracted a small, sealed envelope which he opened quickly, pulling out a photograph. He felt his legs sagging and had to brace himself against the partition for a moment before sitting on the toilet. The photo was stamped with a date and time, taken at the parking area outside the entrance to the mangrove swamps. Two people could clearly be seen standing next to his Volvo. He was one and Mariam was the other.

The city had a way of embracing the people who live in it, and in the years he had lived in Durban Durant had always felt as though the city had a rich cultural vibrancy to it which no other city in South Africa had. It was a melting pot of rich Zulu culture and traditions, colourful Indian influences, old colonial relics and an impassioned urban life which was characterised by a keen sense of industriousness and purpose. He had been shaped by the way he saw the city. Now he was starting to feel the darker side of Durban. Although the city had never looked cleaner, brighter or prouder, Durant felt indifferent to it. The flags and banners hailing visitors to the city didn’t stir up any sense of pride in Durant, only bitterness. In a few short years, he had lost his colleague and friend Mike Shezi and then almost lost his own life. Now another life had been sacrificed to a city which didn’t care. The cruelty was reflected in Tanveer as he approached, his head bowed, a broken man.

‘She wasn’t perfect, but I loved her,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have much to give, but I gave her everything I could from the little I had.’

‘I know. It’s a senseless loss, Arshad, absolutely senseless. Thanks for meeting me and sorry I couldn’t make the funeral, but you know it would have been awkward for me under the circumstances.’

‘It was low key and private. I understand.’

‘Arshad, I have the post-mortem results and it seems Mariam was, well, the cause of death was by . . . she was actually strangled. There was also some evidence of resistance.’

Tanveer shook his head. ‘She was quite a fighter, my dear Mariam.’

‘I’ve spoken to the investigating officer again. There are a few leads. They’re trying to find witnesses, somebody who saw anyone going into the reserve, or a car parked outside. I don’t have much faith in the investigating officer, I’m afraid. He’s booked off sick at the moment. Stress, apparently. But we just have to hope and pray that he comes through for us. My boss doesn’t want
US
to interfere in the police investigation so my hands are tied. Have you got any idea who she might have been with?’

‘No. I only ever suspected. No proof. It’s been about a month.’

‘Have you got a detailed billing for her cellphone?’

‘She uses prepaid. I never see it.’

‘The investigating officer could subpoena it from the service provider, see who she’s been talking to.’

‘I just need some time to mourn, David. It has been a hard two days for me. She was my soul mate. I don’t know how I can live without her.’

Durant put his hand on Tanveer’s shoulder, but didn’t know what to say, so didn’t say anything. Perhaps he shouldn’t judge Arshad too harshly. His grief could be genuine, perhaps he should feel more sorry for the man – first his wife cheats on him, then she is murdered. If he had lost Stephanie, how would he feel? What could someone say to take away some of the pain? There was nothing to say.

It was close to midnight when a single ping indicated the arrival of an encrypted email. The centre was in darkness until a bedside lamp lit up a small room in the accommodation section close to the mosque. It took two minutes for Faizel Mohammed to decrypt the file and display it on the laptop’s screen:

‘You are not a coward, you who willingly and happily hands his soul to Allah, you who walk towards your faith with pleasure and face death with a smile – you are Shaheed Mujahideen, armed with the greatest and most feared weapon – your faith.’

The words brought a comforting smile. Shaheed – martyrdom – was the greatest sacrifice one could make to the Almighty and he had been chosen to this high calling. His allegiance was to Allah, and Him he would serve. Allah would bring life out of death, knowledge from ignorance and enlightenment from darkness. He was ready. The reply was formulated, encrypted and sent.

‘Insha ’Allah. The disaster’s disaster is a blessing; the reward is Eternal Peace.’

Durban is a coastal city and you’re reminded of this when you sit at Horizons restaurant and marvel at the number of ships waiting for replenishment at the outer anchorage, or waiting their turn to be piloted through the harbour mouth. Durant and Shabalala counted thirty-six ships that they could see from Horizons and spoke about the contribution Durban made to the economy of the country. They also spoke about economic sabotage and how sinking one ship in the channel would probably cripple South Africa’s economy for months and send the country into recession for years.

‘Terrorism is easy,’ Durant said. ‘Even if it doesn’t succeed completely, it’s still successful. It’s frightening how so few people could conceivably wreak so much havoc on the country.’

‘A few people, but they’re motivated. It’s not the numbers that count, it’s the commitment.’

‘We’re committed, we’ve got numbers and resources and a budget. Why’s it so difficult to nail these guys?’

Shabalala smiled bitterly. ‘We’re not willing to die for the cause. We go home at night and tuck ourselves into bed and think we’re safe, while these guys come up with plans that they take years to hatch. We can’t compete.’

‘The Americans with their budgets and numbers can’t stop terrorism; how are we going to do it? Look at us, Ced. Durant and Shabalala. If someone wants to commit some terrorist act in South Africa, we’re not going to stop them. Nobody is.’

‘I know. It’s not even our war, it’s somebody else’s.’

‘It’s a spiritual war. Establishing a worldwide caliphate and implementing Islamic law is a spiritual duty for all Muslims. It’s just that not all Muslims choose the radical path to achieve that objective.’

‘I know. A struggle is inevitable. The terrorists aren’t going to be happy until they’ve brought the world to its knees.’

‘And the world’s never going to accept it. I have to tell you, I’m worried about the visit of the Assistant Secretary of State.’

‘So am I.’

‘No, I mean besides the fact that she’s one of the top five American lawmakers, she’s also female. These guys have a big problem with women in places of authority. When the American government is the authority, it’s an added insult. I just think they’re tempting fate by allowing her visit to go ahead in the face of a credible threat.’

‘It’s two weeks till Christmas, Kevin. Try to think happy thoughts.’

Arrangements for the arrival of the uss
Endeavour
at the busiest port in Africa were well underway. The
NCIS
had reviewed the security measures at Durban harbour as a routine safety protocol years ago. They had done the same to all harbours across the globe where
US
ships would berth. Minimum security requirements were recommended and implemented, following negotiations with the host country. American warships visiting foreign ports were seen as particularly vulnerable targets since the attack on the
USS
Cole
in Aden, and additional security features had become mandatory after the event.

Special Agent Fulham loosened his collar and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘Man, this humidity’s killing me. How do you guys work under these conditions? I’m from upstate New York and we rejoice when it stays above freezing point for longer than a month.’

Khalid had made some notes on his clipboard page while a member of the police’s harbour unit had taken them on a tour of the secured area around the passenger terminal.

‘You get used to the heat. You get used to everything in this damn country.’

‘Try not to be negative, Imraan. Your tour of duty’s only just begun; make the most of it, brother. Fortunately for me, when the Assistant SecState flies safely outta here, I’m pretty close on her tail.’

‘Yes, lucky you. I made some notes on some things I’m not so happy with. I’ll give it to the
CBP
attaché and the Homeland Security boys. We don’t have the resources or the time to deal with physical security issues here. Not while we still got this damn threat from the centre.’

‘Yeah, look, we got to be honest with ourselves, I don’t think we’re going to make too much progress in the next week. Not unless the
NSA
gets the comint boys to retask a satellite for dedicated communication intercepts over this area. And I dunno if that’s going to happen in a week. I think they’re kinda relying on us to run this thing to ground.’

Khalid hid his contempt well. He should have stayed in Kabul. He felt safer there. If they were relying on him and the meddling Fed to neutralise this thing, then Washington had to seriously review its training regimen. ‘I think it’s asking for trouble to still let the Assistant Secretary visit while all this is going on.’

‘You know the policy, Imraan. Giving in to a terrorism threat is the same as being defeated by terrorism. State ain’t gonna compromise. She’ll come, host the reception, smile and wave, and that in itself is showing the finger to the terrorists, beating them.’

Khalid shook his head. ‘It’s playing poker with people’s lives. What if the terrorists call our bluff?’

Fulham laughed. ‘What? Nah. Not here. That threat was some lowechelon fundamentally deranged attention-seeker wanting to tell his buddies he’s given the mighty
US
a big “up yours”. It’s never gonna happen.’

‘Why are you here then?’

‘I’m here so that if that fundamentally deranged attention-seeking squat actually does blow something up, then our government’s got someone to blame.’

Splinters was particularly upbeat when he met Durant just before lunch in the underground parking lot of a hospital. He beamed from ear to ear when he climbed into the Land Rover and shut the door.

‘It’s a miracle,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Hello, Kevin, you okay, man? How’s the family?’

‘Fine, thanks. But I’m eager to hear about the miracle, because I need one or two right now.’

‘Then I have one to share. Kevin, I know I’m old and ugly and poor, but I still got something, man, I got charm.’ He smiled and the few teeth he had left in his mouth looked like pieces of grey coral.

‘No question,’ Durant said.

‘I’ve still got it, my brother. Kevin, charm, you never lose it. I know how to make the women eat out my hand, broer.’

‘That is a miracle, Splinters.’ It was also a miracle that Durant didn’t gag. The Land Rover had shrunk to half its size and Splinters’s breath reeked of whisky and garlic.

‘No, that’s not the miracle. The miracle is Tamara opened up to me. Remember Tamara?’

‘I remember. What did she tell you?’

‘I’m trying to build up to that, Kevin, please, man, just give me a few minutes to bask in the glory. Okay, I’ll tell you now. I took her for some drinks. Um, it was quite expensive, Kev, you mind?’

‘I’ll cover it.’