Allegiance (41 page)

‘Do you remember exactly where this firm is? Would you be able to show us?’ Durant fidgeted with his pen. He couldn’t sit still.

‘This was a while back, dear. Kenneth would probably have remembered.’

‘Where can we find Mr Sandhurst?’ Durant was smiling now, the excitement too much for him to hide.

‘He’s at sea, dear, where he always wanted to be. He loved the sea.’

Durant was puzzled. ‘He’s left the country?’

Mrs Sandhurst laughed sadly. ‘His ashes. I scattered them off Cape Point six months ago. Bless his soul.’

Bless his soul indeed, Durant thought and leaned back in his chair. The worst terrorist attack in South Africa’s recent history and Kenneth Sandhurst had played a key role by supplying Ruslan the toxin. A weapon of mass destruction had been detonated and thirty people were dead. So far, the only person they could conceivably convict in this case was the 70-year-old woman sitting in front of him.

Berkeley took Masondo by the hand and helped him into a chair. It was after 7 p.m. and the restaurant should have been packed with the afterwork crowd, but it was quiet.

‘This was their aim, Ms Berkeley.’ Masondo sighed resignedly. ‘People are too afraid to go out at night. Everybody’s at home, huddled around their
TV
sets and watching the news, waiting for information, something that will reassure them everything will be okay.’

‘We’ve been through this, Mr Masondo.’ Berkeley lowered her voice. ‘It took us years after September 11 to move on. It’ll take a long time. You’re in for some tough times.’

A waitress appeared and took a drinks order. Masondo ordered a double whisky and Berkeley a light shandy. ‘I was called a terrorist a few times, many years ago.’ Masondo’s mind took him back to the dark days he spent as a guerrilla in the bush war. ‘Thought it was a bad label then, but after this, I realise just how insulting it is. Anyway, let’s not go back to the past. We need to know where we went wrong.’

‘I don’t know if we could’ve done anything differently,’ Berkeley said dolefully. ‘Let’s run through the sequence of events and see if we agree.’

‘This is how we understand what happened.’ Masondo referred to a page in his folder. ‘An unidentified person came to South Africa, probably about two or three years ago, and he acquired
M
99 from a Rhodesian called Kenneth Sandhurst. He stole this from a veterinary medicine warehouse in Durban. We’ve established that much.’

Berkeley raised her eyebrows. ‘Is Sandhurst cooperating?’

‘No. He died six months ago.’

Berkeley clicked her tongue. ‘Damn. Poisoning?’

‘Actually, he choked on a piece of pineapple. He was an epileptic.’

‘He stole the poison?’

‘Yes, but more importantly, he was the one who dealt with Ruslan. Well, before he became Ruslan – and it’s the only time we’ve picked up anything on this ghost before he assumed the identity of the immigrant.’

‘Are you sure?’ Berkeley looked up as the drinks arrived. ‘Thank you.’

Masondo waited until the waitress had left. ‘His wife recognised the picture of Ruslan. She didn’t know his name, but said her late husband had met him on two occasions.’

‘Okay, so that explains how he acquired the poison.’

‘This terrible stuff was used to kill a Russian immigrant called Ruslan Vakhayev, whose identity he then assumed.’ Masondo poured Berkeley’s drink. ‘He then recruited Tanveer around this time and got a job with the sheikh.’

‘Thank you. How did he do that?’

‘Our theory is they’d profiled the sheikh and knew he needed a new driver. His timing was perfect because it was probably he who neutralised the sheik’s previous driver.’

Berkeley shook her head. ‘They really planned this well.’

‘No question. We think Ruslan then used Tanveer to get Mariam close to your
RSO
Khalid, whom they knew was compromised. They also knew the sheikh was compromised and knew he was being handled by the Indian service.’

‘Which tells us they are obviously well connected internationally. How would they know all this otherwise?’

Masondo sensed the whisky dulling the pain in his leg. And in his head. ‘Of course they’re international. I think we might just be seeing the local chapter of something huge. Anyway, Tanveer was made to walk in, he came to us and we fell right into the trap. Small steps, subtle and cunning; he drew our attention to people he knew were connected to the
IAC
. Ruslan was already there and working for the sheikh when we started targeting the centre.’

Berkeley’s head was spinning in circles. It was all so clear now. How had they missed so many leads? She, all of them, were led into trap after trap, rushing headlong towards the enemy’s objective. ‘We were all fools, Mr Masondo. They had us from the get-go.’

Masondo had to agree. ‘We helped them unwittingly, we can’t deny that. Ruslan knew attention would be focused on the sheikh and he knew he would also draw our attention because of his access. He dangled himself and we took the bait once again. Being handled by us gave him brilliant access because he could always stay ahead of whatever we knew and then adjust his plans.’

‘So he made the call to the consulate? The threatening one?’

‘Probably. He then set up Mohammed to look guilty to take attention off himself.’ Masondo looked at his glass. It had emptied quickly.

‘A brilliant diversion. Poor Mohammed.’

‘Poor Mohammed. We were focused on the obvious target. Tanveer was monitoring Khalid and Mariam, he must have been. Then, the first opportunity he had, he killed Mariam and blamed it on your
RSO
.’

Berkeley sighed wearily. Post-mortems were such a perfect science because you had a body to work with, to dissect, analyse, test, draw conclusions based on fact. They had bodies all right. They should have had this useful conversation before the killings started. ‘So Khalid is blackmailed to take the explosives on board, he places it in a position he thinks is unlikely to cause major damage, but it travels down a duct to an area where it causes major damage. Tanveer kills Khalid and all fingers point to the sheikh and his accomplice, Mohammed. All neatly set up.’

Masondo nodded in agreement. ‘And Fulham? What about Fulham? Was he sent?’

Berkeley shifted uncomfortably in her chair and lowered her voice. ‘Between you and me, there were concerns about Khalid. Had been for a long time. Fulham was sent to look into possible compromises. Unfortunately, we don’t have Fulham to brief us about his progress. But obviously, our fears were valid.’

Masondo needed another double. They had been so close to figuring it all out. They had so nearly not failed. ‘Indeed. So Ruslan either forces Tanveer to drink the poison or he does it willingly and then plans to kill himself and our member.’

Berkeley looked bewildered for a moment and pursed her lips. ‘So how did your man know not to drink the poison?’

Masondo smiled. ‘To my man, anything manufactured in a factory is poison. He sees preservatives as deadly, so he didn’t drink it. He poured it out.’

‘That’s an amazing story, Mr Masondo. I’m not sure if it’s true, but it really sounds like you’ve got a good man in there.’

Masondo nodded. ‘He’s a good man. Have we cut the head off this evil thing? Is there nothing left that can still strike at us here?’

‘Faizel Mohammed was clearly set up, so there’s no point in detaining him any longer. No group has claimed responsibility and Ruslan’s out of the picture – I don’t know if we’ll ever know who was behind this thing.’

‘It’s done a lot of damage to us as a country. The only comfort we can bring to our people is that the terrorists who did this won’t be able to do it again.’

‘No one can give that assurance, Mr Masondo. We invaded two countries after September 11 and we can’t even assure Americans that they’re safe. It’s a losing battle.’

‘Perhaps we lost this one. But we learnt a lot. We made mistakes, but we only make them once.’ Masondo’s phone buzzed in his pocket. It was the office. ‘Excuse me; I have to take this call.’ Masondo listened for a moment, and then nodded slowly. Presently, he put the phone away and beamed at Berkeley. ‘That was good news, for a change.’ He couldn’t tell her that Durant had successfully set up a meeting with Frost for the next day.

The Playhouse was hushed and the orchestra played softly as Henry V rallied his troops to his side and the follow spot fell on Shabalala as he gazed resolutely at the men who are fallen, wounded, outnumbered by their enemy five to one.

‘He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a tip-toe when the day is named, and rouse him at the name of Crispian . . .’

Shabalala stepped forward in his battledress, sheathed his sword and dramatically lifted the arm of his comrade, revealing a blood-drenched bandage. ‘Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say, “These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.” Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, but he’ll remember with advantages what feats he did that day; then shall our names . . . be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.’

The theatre was packed to capacity and as Shabalala delivered his line, the crowd exploded into rapturous applause that continued until there was no one left sitting in the auditorium. Only he knew how deep the wounds really were and how permanent the scars were that he, Durant and Masondo had taken for their country.

Durant took Stephanie by the hand and led her into the foyer of the Playhouse where they met Nandi and Masondo.

‘What did you think?’ Nandi asked. ‘Brilliant performance, hey?’

‘Ced’s wasted in the Agency. He should be on the stage permanently,’ Durant said.

‘It’s his passion,’ Nandi replied.

‘Apparently not his only passion,’ Masondo put in, awkwardly adjusting his crutches.

‘Dad, will you leave it alone already? Just admit you made a mistake.’

‘I didn’t say you and Cedric couldn’t date. In fact, I encouraged him. I even advised him how to approach you.’

‘I think you’re a great couple,’ Stephanie said. ‘You’re both so talented.’

‘I’ve got new respect for that man,’ Durant added. ‘And here’s the man now, ladies and gentleman.’

Nandi ran up to Shabalala and her hug was greeted with a full 360-degree swing. He put her down and laughed. ‘Please, I don’t sign autographs in the foyer.’

Durant slapped him on the back. ‘So I guess this explains Wednesday nights, huh?’

Shabalala nodded and winked.

‘The things I was imagining,’ Durant said with a shy smile. ‘I’m actually too embarrassed to mention.’

‘Mr Shabalala, you’re in trouble for lying to me,’ Masondo said seriously, although it wasn’t heard that way.

‘What, sir? I never lied.’ Shabalala had the look of a teenager who had been accused of disappearing into the barn with the farmer’s daughter.

‘Then why wasn’t I aware of this acting talent? Why were you hiding it from me?’ Masondo grinned widely.

‘From everyone, sir, not just you.’ Shabalala tried to act calm, but his rapid speech gave him away. ‘I don’t know, I guess I thought it’s embarrassing to be an actor. But obviously not.’

Masondo put his hand on Shabalala’s shoulder and squeezed, not too gently. ‘Well, your little act of pretending not to be Nandi’s boyfriend was pretty convincing.’

‘Dad!’ Nandi’s hands were on her hips.

‘It was,’ Masondo retorted. ‘But you don’t have to prove yourself to me any more. You can have my blessing. But don’t abuse it.’

‘Of course not, sir.’ Shabalala lowered his voice and spoke sincerely. ‘And thank you.’

‘Let’s get some coffee,’ Durant said as Stephanie detoured to the restroom. ‘And let me tell you how you nearly lost me.’

Masondo frowned. ‘Nearly lost you?’

‘New Zealand. We decided to go and then – well, we decided not to.’ Durant felt embarrassed as he spoke.

‘Of course you decided not to, Kevin.’ Masondo knitted his brows and Durant felt the conviction behind the words. ‘Because if you leave this country, I’ll never forgive you. Your sweat and blood are in the soil of this land as much as mine. You leave your soul in Africa when you leave here, and you can’t live without a soul.’

Shabalala smiled. ‘The wounds you have are your rite of passage. A small band of brothers took the wounds of the whole nation. That’s us.’

Masondo held onto Durant’s arm as he lowered himself into a chair. ‘We’re all battle-weary. We’re tired warriors, but we’re still strong. Now more than ever we need to be strong. Our people need to believe in heroes, in guardian angels.’

Durant nodded sombrely. ‘I don’t feel much like a hero any more, but I know what you mean.’

‘Losing a bit of blood or muscle or bone is nothing compared to losing your passion for this country. I assure you, it’s worth it, Kevin.’

Durant looked at Masondo, a man in his late-fifties, twice blown up and brought to the brink of death, but undefeated. His hand rested on his daughter’s arm and she smiled at him, her eyes glistening in the soft light of the restaurant. A beautiful woman, Durant thought, and also a soldier, fighting resolutely for the man she loves. She had also won her battle. Durant watched Shabalala rub his eyes; they looked sore and tired, but looking deeper, he could see they had never looked more alive. He’d got his girl and the lead role in a performance and no terrorist bombing was going to take that joy from him.

Durant’s cellphone beeped and he read the message from Amina. ‘I’m doing it tonight. Say a little prayer for me.’

Amina was on the bed, cradling Siraj in her arms. It was close to 11 p.m. and his eyes were glazed over, but locked onto hers. She couldn’t comprehend the love she felt for this child, a deep love which had grown so quickly. The clatter downstairs told her Ahmed had arrived home – the third night that week he’d come home late.

‘I want you to leave, Ahmed,’ she said and was stunned at the calmness of her voice.

‘What?’ Yusuf threw his jacket on the bed. ‘Leave what?’

‘Leave me,’ she said simply. ‘And if you don’t, a friend of mine will see to it that you’re arrested for drug dealing.’

‘What?’ he said again, the words as sharp as his stare. ‘What are you talking about?’