Trackers (13 page)
Authors: Deon Meyer
He should have known she would study the
report in detail. He was annoyed with himself, with Quinn and Rajkumar, that
not one of them had thought of it.
'And more,' said Mentz, 'why would
the Committee agree to negotiate with Baadjies? He is everything they despise,
and he is, I understand, a very dangerous man.'
Masilo knew he couldn't fool her. 'I
don't know,' he said. 'Then we must find out, Tau,' she said. The frown was
back.
She phoned Jessica at half-past nine that night. 'I can't,'
she said. 'He's barely older than my son.' 'That's exactly why I never want
children,' said the Goddess. When Milla had rung off and lay back on her couch,
she suspected Jessica knew the truth: it was lack of confidence. In herself.
18
September 2009. Friday.
For Suleiman Dolly, also known as the
Sheikh, it was the day he would be informed of The Date.
His cellphone rang at 07.28. Sayyid Khalid bin Alawi Macki
greeted
him in the Muslim manner. He said,
'Sheikh, it has been confirmed. Twenty-three Shawwal 1430.'
Dolly's heart beat faster, and he repeated the words.
'Twenty-three Shawwal 1430
. Allahu Akbar.'
Julius 'Inkunzi' Shabangu would be dead in twelve days, in a
pool of blood in his bedroom. But for those twelve days he would remember 18
September as 'Black Friday', because that was the day the Muslims cheated him.
And the day that dog Becker crossed his path.
Some time after nine, Abdullah Hendricks, spokesman for
Osman, phoned. 'Sir, there have been developments.'
Inkunzi drove his BMW X5 in Sandton's peak traffic without a
hands-free set for his cellphone, dividing his focus between the road and the
call. So he wasn't alert to trouble initially. 'What developments?' he asked.
'Well, it seems that market forces are at work, if you know
what I mean ...'
'No, I don't know what you mean.'
'Supply and demand, these things are always changing. I have
been asked by Inkabi to renegotiate with you.'
'Renegotiate?' Shabangu's complete concentration was now on
the phone call and he smelled a rat.
'Yes, sir, unfortunately we are now only able to offer you
thirty cents.'
'That's bullshit...'
'I am really sorry, but that is my instruction.'
'We had a deal, you tell Osman we had a deal.'
'Please, sir, no names ...'
'This is bullshit. Why is Osman doing this?'
'Please, sir, we have to stick to the agreed protocols ...'
'Fuck the protocols, what is Osman doing?'
'Well, to be honest, sir, we have reason to doubt your
sources. About the route.'
'The route? I said from the beginning, it will take time,
it's a process ... Wait a minute ... you bastards ...'
'Excuse me?'
'You fucking bastards. It's Tweety the Bird, isn't it. You've
done a deal with him. That's why you know about the route.'
'No, sir,' Hendricks remained calm, courteous. 'It's simply market
forces, our buyer has made a lower offer, and we have to ...'
'You are fucking screwing me ...'
Hendricks tried to say something, but Shabangu shouted him
down. 'I'm telling you now, I'm going to get the diamonds, and then we'll see
what price you pay. I'll find out what fucking route they are going to use, and
I'll hijack the whole fucking lot!'
'Please, sir, you are using your
cellphone ...'
'Fuck you,' Inkunzi shouted, and killed the call with a hand
shaking in fury. He cursed for ten minutes solid, hitting the steering wheel,
glaring at the traffic around him. Then he called both his lieutenants to
discuss the Muslims' treachery, and then his chief informer in Harare.
'Why the fuck do I pay you?'
'Inkunzi?'
'Why the fuck do I pay you? You have the route all wrong, and
I'm telling you now, if you don't get the right one in time, I'm going to cut
out your fucking balls personally, do you understand me?'
By eleven, Inkunzi Shabangu was back in his luxury home, in a
slightly better mood thanks to the assurances of his lieutenants, his informer
and his other Zim contacts that they would pin down the route, come what may.
Then his cellphone rang again.
'Yes?'
'Ouboet
, my name is Lukas Becker, and you
accidentally stole my money. I'm not angry,
bro\
but I want it back.'
The laconic style and slow rhythm of the voice was so strange
and unexpected, the choice
'ouboet',
meaning
elder brother in Afrikaans, the suspected source - a white Afrikaner - that
Shabangu burst out laughing.
And Becker said, 'I can work with a
man who can laugh,
Ouboet.'
A surveillance operator sent for Quinn shortly after the
conversation between Shabangu and Hendricks, and he listened to the recording
at the operator's computer, requested that it be placed in the shared folder on
the server and transcribed, and went to Masilo's office to tell him.
The Becker conversation was sent to him later by email - two
audio files attached. The operator wrote:
Thought
you'd enjoy this. Pretty amazing.
Quinn listened to it.
(Shabangu laughs uproariously.)
I can work with a man who can laugh,
Ouboet.
Who the fuck are you?
Lukas Becker. Your guys hijacked my
car yesterday. I rented it,
Ouboet,
so you can keep it. But my money was
in it. Now I'm asking you nicely: I want my money.
Money? What money?
A lot of money. In pounds Sterling.
Cash.
My guys? Why do you say they were my
guys?
I've got one of them here with me.
Says his name is Enoch Mangope, the one with the white eye. He says he works
for you.
I don't know anyone like that.
Ouboet,
he didn't want to say anything at first, but when we stopped
in front of the police station, he started talking. I don't think he's lying.
Listen, let's keep this simple. I just want my money.
I know nothing about your money.
I believe you,
bro',
but your people will know. The money was in my rucksack, the
rucksack was in the boot. You can keep the rucksack too, just give me my money.
Or?
No, let's not talk about 'or' yet.
Here's one for you: or you can fuck
off.
Ey,
Ouboet,
that attitude will only make trouble.
Trouble? Who the hell do you think
you are?
Lukas Becker. I thought I told you
that already.
(Shabangu laughs curtly.) You must be
joking.
(Call terminated.)
End of the first audio file. Quinn grinned and activated the
second.
Ouboet,
I understand how you feel, a white guy just calling you out
of the blue, but I'm not joking. I just want to sort this thing out in a
civilised manner. What do you say?
(Shabangu laughs incredulously.) Do
you know who I am?
I don't know you,
bru,
but your man Enoch-One-Eye here says you're an
Inkosi.
A
dangerous
oke.
That's right. I'm not your
fokken bru ...
That's just the way I talk ...
...
and if you phone me again, you will
find out just how dangerous I am.
I believe you are very dangerous,
bru,
but I also believe you are a man who will understand. I worked hard for that
money.
I don't give a fuck.
Ay,
Ouboet,
don't say that.
What will you do? Come hit me?
I'm going to keep asking you nicely,
Ouboet.
Until it won't help any more.
(Shabangu laughs.) You're fucking
crazy.
Not
yet...
Listen, get off my back. And tell
Enoch he doesn't work for me any more.
Tau Masilo did not concern himself much with dates that lay
in the past. His focus was mostly on the future. But he left a trace of 18 September
in his appointment book.
Ever since Janina Mentz had caught him unawares with the question
about Baadjies, it had bothered him. In the first place it was a matter of
honour to the Advocate; to be prepared and informed, to consider every angle and
perspective and understand, to give a well thought-out and even-handed opinion.
That was why Mentz had appointed him in the first place.
He knew why he had been caught napping with the Baadjies
affair - there was simply too much happening, too fast. But he didn't believe
in apologies and excuses. It was afternoon before he had a chance really to
think it through, after all the excitement of the recorded conversations and
the interception of email. He read the Report Squad document on organised crime
again, he looked at all the relevant transcriptions, he allowed himself to
speculate. In his mostly illegible handwriting he scribbled quick keywords in
the open spaces of this Friday's appointment book.
Using this process he systemically developed The Supposition.
That the Supreme Committee knew more about the inner working
of the Ravens than the Presidential Intelligence Agency.
That it was not the decision of Tweetybird de la Cruz to send
Terror Baadjies to negotiate with the Committee.
That it was all important, one way or the other. That he
would have to get to the bottom of it.
Janina Mentz and Rajhev Rajkumar would remember that day
because of the email Raj's team intercepted.
Masilo was in Mentz's office informing her of the Shabangu- Hendricks
conversation. The Indian steamed in holding a sheet of paper. 'You won't
believe this, you just won't believe this ...' At first Mentz was just vexed.
'What, Raj?'
'One of these apes made a mistake. He forwarded an
unencrypted mail with the date in it.'
'You're not serious,' said Masilo.
'Look at this,' Rajkumar slapped the email down between them.
'The original email came from the Supreme Committee, all secure and encrypted.
And then one of the recipients had a brain freeze ...'
Mentz slowly read through the very short email and looked up
at the excited man in front of her desk. 'It's a date?'
'Twenty-three Shawwal 1430 is the Muslim calendar date for 12
October 2009.'Then, as though she were incapable of working it out herself, he
added, 'That's less than a month away.' 'I know that, Raj. But what does it
mean?' 'It's when the thing is going to happen.' 'Which thing?'
'You know, the transaction. The weapons.'
'According to Ismail Mohammed, that's happening in
September.' 'Maybe they've changed ... Shit. You think it might be the day of
the attack? The act of terrorism?'
'We had
better find out, don't you think?'
Advocate Tau Masilo was at the office from nine o'clock,
where it was Saturday-quiet. Only key personnel.
First he read the report from Reinhard Rohn, their man in
Namibia. Nothing new. He was worried.
Then he reread his notes about the Restless Ravens from the
previous day. He felt the same unease.
He looked at Rajkumar's report. Twenty-three Shawwal. 12 October
2009.
He pushed everything aside and moved his fingers over his
laptop keyboard. He opened his web browser. He typed:
12 October 2009, Cape Town
He scanned the list of possibilities. The sixth description
attracted his attention. He clicked on it. It was a story from a local daily,
and his heart went cold.
Cape Town. The American soccer team
taking part in the World Cup 2010 will pay a brief visit to the new Green Point
stadium in Cape Town.
Their arrival coincides with FIFA's
inspection of building progress on the 12 October, when Mr Sepp Blatter, boss
of FIFA, and a delegation of some sixty officials will supervise a sod-turning
ceremony.
'Jesus,' said Tau Masilo.
He stared at the screen for a long time. Then he printed out the
article. And phoned Janina Mentz.
