Steenkamp could not wait to put him in cuffs and parade him around in front of the media. The entire country would bear witness that no-one was above the law. Staaldraad would, in due time, become Nathan Cohen's new home. His face would be forgotten and so would his failed rebellion. The reward for his arrest would be donated to a children's charity - Steenkamp had already decided which one. He too could use the media for his own good.
The next batch to Staaldraad would be arriving from Johannesburg in a week's time. By then he hoped that Nathan and his crazy followers would be safely locked up behind bars. They would have to be kept alive as all high-profile prisoners were of some use later on.
Yet, he still needed to trace down the documentary filmmaker who had shot the footage in the first place.
Staaldraad had been clearly identified; that was unfortunate. It only fueled more sparks that ignited the rebellion, but like all uprisings, in time it too would be crushed, he was sure of it. With the enforcement of the curfew, a golden opportunity presented itself to round-up all undesirables and hopefully, clear the streets of gangsters as well. Staaldraad would sort them out.
Yet, many law abiding citizens started to voice concern against the extreme security measures and expressed their desire to see Cape Town return to normality once again. They would embrace any policy that guaranteed their safety and way of life.
Surveillance drones had been deployed all over Cape Town to monitor the unrest, but the raging South Easters unusually strong winds, had blown some off-course and far out to sea. The smear campaign against the extremists had produced some results, yet the voice of the PRM still broadcast its filth and anti-government propaganda. They would need to be silenced very soon to quell any thoughts of ever joining the rebellion; it was only a matter of days before it would fade into a distant memory.
Steenkamp looked at the report from Modisa once again. He could not believe just how desperate the cult was becoming. Openly taking on the Police was a clear indication they had lost control; they were now criticizing the Police of brutality and corruption, causing more of an annoyance than anything else.
Never mind, Lutzville is a small area, they will be located within days and then the hammer would fall hard. Hijacking a Police vehicle, assaulting an officer, and stealing his fire-arm were not to be taken lightly.
It was if they wanted to pick a fight, Steenkamp thought to himself.
The Intel he got from Chantel before she disappeared, did help him a little with his investigation into the cult and the profile of its members. They had apparently kicked Kathryn Baxter out and she had since returned to Cape Town. She, undoubtedly, was using her time to inflame the rebellion; something far more dangerous than a few crazy cult members on the run in the wilderness. Miss Baxter would also be caught and paraded to the media; she would face treason charges which gave him the authority to silence her forever at Staaldraad. But he knew, unfortunately, he couldn't just yet.
Stupid little girl! Inciting open rebellion by defying the authorities was the same as instigating terrorism.
Steenkamp felt a little uneasy, he would have to resort to methods during his interrogation with Kathryn Baxter, that he had never used before on a woman. Perhaps someone else would be more suitable for the job. He had never interrogated a British girl before, especially a beautiful woman like her.
Steenkamp wondered if it would make any difference. Would he be softer on her or perhaps even more brutal because of her beauty? Yet, he did agree on one thing: He wanted to keep her around for as long as possible before disposing of her down a mine-shaft.
It was her media campaign that had inflamed the protests and had added thousands to the streets. The resulting protests indirectly caused untold millions of damages, including eighty nine deaths so far. Posters, graffiti and now leaflets appeared on the streets, as the PRM network grew and spawned into splinter cells, each in their own way contributing to the momentum of the movement.
What did she think was going to happen? Steenkamp thought.
The agent he sent to her apartment in Sea Point had sealed the door and placed it under investigation pending the arrival of a forensic team who would go over everything with a fine toothed comb. Perhaps there was something they could use to track her down. But he was sure she wouldn’t be so stupid as to attempt retrieving some of her belongings. He wanted to see the place for himself and perhaps he would get an insight into her personal life. Something he could use during his interrogation.
Steenkamp reached over for the phone just as his assistant knocked on his door.
"Sir, Warrant Officer van Breda is here for your 11h30 meeting."
Steenkamp did not feel like speaking to anyone this morning, but it was his duty to meet with the field agents who had gone undercover within the Zones to gather Intel on the rebellion. In the old days they relied on informers; now undercover agents had to take part in the mayhem themselves to infiltrate the underground networks.
He thought about Chantel often; he wanted to groom her for that role, but perhaps she was still a little too young. Yet, she would have been a fine asset in the fight against the rebellion. Pity she chose another path, and her actions had placed her back on the wanted list. It would only be a matter of time before she showed up; then he could reckon with her, in the way she deserved. After all, he had offered her something bigger than just the moment. In time he would have set her free to live a normal life.
She blew it!
In the doorway stood a woman in uniform; she was in her late twenties. Steenkamp had requested to select his own team who he could groom in the way he wanted. He needed at least a dozen undercover agents to fan out across the networks and to infiltrate any organization they could.
From the first moment he laid eyes on her he knew she was perfect. Perhaps a little plain at first, but that was exactly what he was looking for….. Just a normal, everyday girl-next-door, who could blend in without being noticed too much and hopefully stay under the radar.
Steenkamp continued to look at her file in front of him while she stood at attention.
"So, why do you want this mission, Warrant Officer, Anel van Breda?" he asked as he gazed up.
She stood there thinking for a moment; he liked that.
"I believe it's important to know the kind of terrorists we are dealing with. To know why they think and behave the way they do. Only then can we properly react to their threat and remove them from society."
Steenkamp smiled.
"Yes, exactly, and I see you majored in Criminology and Political Science at Stellenbosch University. Impressive!"
"Yes, I did. Thank you, Sir."
"When are you due for officers training?" he asked.
"I have already requested it, but they couldn’t fit me in for this intake, Sir. I’ll have to wait until next year."
Steenkamp had found his jewel; he knew instinctively she was the one he had been looking for.
"Sit down, we have much to discuss."
There would be other threats besides the radicals, the extremists and the religious fanatics.
"So, you chose a career in the Police; a very wise decision, especially in this day and age."
"Yes, Sir. My father and grandfather were both members of the South African Police Force, so you can say it's in our blood.
Steenkamp looked at her and in his heart he felt a great comfort and knew they would work well together. For she was the type of daughter he had always wanted to have, such a pity his own flesh and blood did not turn out like this. Activating the plasma screen in his office he brought up the file on Kathryn Elizabeth Baxter.
"They call her Kate Baxter," he said.
She stared at the display, analyzing the image.
"This woman is now the primary target of Operation Clean Sweep, study her file well. I will see you get the correct security clearance for this mission," he said as she continued to read the information on the screen.
"Is she to be detained or eliminated, Sir?"
> That statement intrigued Steenkamp as he wondered if she was up for the job.
"Miss Baxter is to be detained and interrogated at all costs; high profile, you understand?"
They both looked at the screen.
"I have heard about PRM - I take it she's the leader."
Steenkamp decided his interviews for the day were over; he had finally found what he was looking for.
"She's the one who started it all, so yes, she's the big fish. Do you think you can infiltrate the organization and find this troublemaker for me?" Steenkamp asked.
"It will not be a problem, sir" she answered.
"Then may I welcome you to Operation Clean Sweep. We need to get you kitted out so meet me at Medical after lunch."
"I have already had my medical this year, Sir," she replied.
"I know, but all my operatives have a tracking chip inserted. You don't have a problem with that, do you?" he asked.
"Not at all, Sir. I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to complete the mission."
Steenkamp couldn’t believe it. He had found his protégé.
He just wondered how she would do in the interrogations.
Perhaps he should take her to Staaldraad, for a test!
Chapter 38
"Religion is what keeps the poor from murdering the rich."
Napoleon Bonaparte
Exposing government corruption and abuse of power was madness in a society where the powerful never played by the rules. The whistle blowers did so knowing full well their lives and the ones they loved would be at stake. Lawyers were bought and paid for by the supremely wealthy; any threat to the status quo would result in trumped-up charges and a lengthy jail term. For that reason alone most journalists toed the line; they too had a vested interest in the media machine that kept everyone in its place, and to distract the population from the main issues at stake. But every now and then a maverick would come along, brave enough to reveal the truth.
Yet, for the last few weeks Kathryn Baxter had somehow resurfaced in Cape Town to spearhead the uprising herself. Photographs had been circulated, showing her in locations all around the city, taking part in street protests and even spray painting red stars on Government buildings.
CCTV footage had captured a woman matching her description in various locations. Yet, little did they know that Neliswe herself had been instrumental in maintaining the hype around the persona of the most wanted activist in the resistance movement.
A resistance leader, who rebels far away from the danger zone, is no leader at all, Neliswe thought. It was the same as a freedom fighter that never stood side by side with those fighting on the streets. Within the inner circle of the PRM, it was believed that only a few had access to Kate, so Neliswe became her personal spokesperson to the faithful followers. Carefully doctored images showed Kate and Neliswe together.
As the security around Cape Town had been intensified, Kate, for all purposes, was embedded deep underground in a basement and only came out at night wearing a disguise to avoid capture. Neliswe had even recruited a double to assist in the scam.
Martin had been Neliswe’s saving grace, even through all of the upheaval he always remained positive and kept her as sane as he could. She needed his calmness and grounding. They both realized the moment would not last forever, but each and every day there was hope they would last a little longer, as the connection between them grew.
"Hey, babes, we're moving out within the hour. Do you need anything?" Martin asked from across the room.
"It's okay; I have a meeting so you go ahead," Neliswe said while updating a blog page. "You can get me a cranberry juice, if you can," she shouted to him as he departed.
He knew her favorite brand…….. He knew far too much about her. Martin was the only one she trusted these days since she went underground.
Part of creating a believable lie was to make it personal, so others could relate to the truth. The nickname Neliswe used for Kate was Barbarella - this was her code name and only a few knew this.
Neliswe had fled her apartment in Claremont and moved in with Martin, who lived in the up-market area of Newlands. No one would have guessed that the brain behind the Peoples Resistance Movement was a black girl, who ran the operation from her white boyfriend's spare bedroom.
Truth and fiction merged into one as stories of her courage and wit had elevated Kate Baxter to an almost iconic cult-like status. Her followers now hung off every word she blogged and some had even started splinter groups in towns far away. Within the PRM a guideline document was formulated with codes and ethics - it could be downloaded and used to entice more followers to join.
Regardless of all the hype created around Kate, it was Neliswe who ran PRM like a structured organization. Yet between herself and Kate they really didn’t know who was really in charge. Neliswe however needed to maintain the illusion that Kate was in charge and active in Cape Town. The lie would someday surface; it was just a matter of time. Not to mention she was tired of being the one who actually got things done, and without her it would have all fallen to pieces long ago.
In a way, it was important that Kate remained out of reach to the street level activists. That way Neliswe could make decisions and implement them and thus stay in control. However, she had no illusions what so ever that when the hammer fell, she would feel its blow the hardest.
In the cyber world of social media, footage was paramount, and with so many activists posting video updates an endless stream of video footage was available to analyze showcasing Police brutality. A new law was implemented, prohibiting any filming by private citizens of Police or UWN forces without the proper authorization. It became a crime just to take a photo of a Police officer. But that made very little difference as people actively defied the law and continued to film them. Human nature and determination will always prevail against those who tried to limit freedom, and so the resistance activists merely found other ways to spread the forbidden footage. They resorted to distributing the footage through underground smuggling networks.
Kate, however, was three hundred kilometers away, safely hidden from danger, where she would formulate her letters to the PRM members and cells via the social media networks. Neliswe and Kate worked as a team, and they needed to be in contact on a daily basis.
The news stories of members who had been killed resisting the authorities only inflamed the volatile masses, encouraging more people to join their ranks. Already they had far too many members to control. Some had been arrested and interrogated but they had no information that was of any use to the authorities. The cyber war had also been diversified to involve the distribution of thousands upon thousands of propaganda government pamphlets.
Cell Group leaders began working on their own agendas, trying to disrupt the authorities in any way they could. It had developed into open street conflict and rioting.
This concerned Kate, as many had already died at the hands of the Security Police who mercilessly patrolled the Zone and implemented street justice as they saw fit. They preferred to always shoot first before asking questions. Yet, many simply began to bypass the authorities and turned to older methods of communication. Coded letters delivered by a complicated courier system had been developed. It evolved from the ground level up as members took initiative developing their own system within a system. Bypassing the ISIS security platforms had been achieved rather simply, by avoiding the usual methods of electronic surveillance.
"The courier with the package is here. Can I send him in?" Sandra asked Neliswe, who was still sending her latest update to Kate.
She took a moment to answer. Sandra was Martin's cousin; totally trustworthy. Only family members this close to the core - that was the safest way.
"No, it’s okay, I am coming now. Give him something to drink or eat if he wants," she told Sandra.
What Neliswe didn’t know was that Kate was having problems with her ISIS unit, and could only be online for short bursts at a time before her battery ran flat.
&
nbsp; But besides that, she was in good spirits as they were now only a few days away from something exciting. Neliswe had asked about it but Kate had somehow dodged answering.
"I will be off-line for about a week but don’t worry; as soon as I am able to, I will contact you with all the details. One thing is for sure though; you will have heard about it before the Government acknowledges it," Kate replied.
It was half an hour later when she finally stepped outside to take a break. Neliswe had spent all morning at her terminal, updating and researching. From all accounts the situation on the streets had worsened as Zone checkpoints closed down in preparation for a security sweep. Thousands of additional troops had been deployed to patrol the streets and began with random searches of private residential homes. If they raided their neighborhood and did a sweep of the houses then Neliswe would definitely be found and arrested. For the time being though, she had nothing to worry about as the sweeps were focused primarily around the trouble areas.
Stepping out into daylight, Neliswe made her way to the patio where the courier was waiting. He was young and athletic. Dressed in cycling gear no one would pay much attention to him as he went thru the checkpoints on his bicycle. Even if they searched him, they would never find the messages rolled up and inserted into secret compartments inside his bicycle frame.
"Hey, your name is Sean is it not?" Neliswe asked, not sure if she remembered his name.
"Yes, that's correct."
She looked at him for a while; he was in his early twenties.
"You ok? Do you want something else to drink?" she asked.
"No, it's ok, I’m fine thanks, just very tired from all the studying," he said.
He had been recruited by Martin a few weeks ago at an underground student meeting in Woodstock.
"So, I heard you have something for Kate?" Neliswe asked.
Dawn of Defiance Page 31
