To the thousands of people rushing through the shopping complex in Pretoria’s Menlyn Park, two unexceptional men sitting at a corner table in one of the restaurants wouldn’t warrant a glance. The discussion between the two men was of biological weapons, arms dealers, spies and mass destruction, but it was lost in the frenetic noise of children and the everyday conversations of shoppers rushing to get on with their ordinary lives.
Daniel Baker ordered filter coffee with hot milk and Paul Scott opened a file. ‘Joe Vitoli met Ali at the Cape Town Waterfront today,’ Scott said.
‘How’s old Joe doin’? He’s a damn fine man, Joe.’
‘He’s doin’ okay, I guess. We just spoke shop; he gave me a heads-up on the meeting.’
‘Yeah, what’s up? Is there progress?’
‘Hell, yeah, boss. Said Ali told him the Libyans made contact with him.’
‘Libyans? Those guys just don’t give up. Who’d he speak to? Anybody we know?’
Scott flipped a black-and-white photograph to Baker. ‘We believe she’s a procurement officer – Leila Elhasomi – she’s based at the Libyan embassy, or People’s Bureau as they call it, in Valletta.’
‘She’s a honey. Do we have a bio on her?’
‘Yeah, I ran the name. She’s come up before. We’ve even tried to recruit her at a couple of dip parties, but nothing’s worked. She’s a relatively junior player, even a bit amateurish.’
‘So what’s the deal?’
‘The Libyan service uses her because she’s westernised – fits in nicely, speaks English. Very pretty.’
Scott motioned to the photograph of Elhasomi Baker held in his hand.
‘Pretty? She’s damn beautiful.’
‘Yeah, well, she’s getting Gaddafi WMDS. That’s a bit of a turn-off for me.’
‘What’s the deal with Ali?’
‘She’s made contact with him and says she’s in Durban and wants to give him something. Probably not a personal meeting – normally a dead drop – a piece of paper with a list of items on it. Ali sources these items from overseas suppliers, takes payment from the Libyans, then delivers to a forwarding address.’
‘What are the items?’ Baker asked, smiling at the waitress as she delivered the coffee.
Scott was silent while the waitress arranged the cups and coffee pot on the table. He spoke again when she moved off. ‘No. She didn’t say anything about the items.’
‘Are we assuming it’s nuclear or biological material?’
‘No question. Libya’s been trying for years to develop a capacity. We’ve had the chemical plant in Rabta—’
‘And there’re still reports coming in of weapons-grade plutonium purchases through front companies in Italy and France. Paul, when’ll Joe get the list?’
‘Dunno, boss, but I think soon.’
‘Can we share this with our friends at NIA?’
Scott sighed and shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t call them friends, boss. You develop a kinda gut feel about folks in the profession, and my gut feel is they’ll take our info to the other African services. Damn it, the whole op could be compromised.’
‘Not so fast, Paul. You can’t assume that.’
‘Vitoli’s got brilliant access now; we can’t jeopardise all his good work just to be politically correct.’
‘Paul, I know these guys. I don’t see any problem with a short note, releasable only to South Africa, just giving the basic info.’
‘They don’t need to know, boss. There’s a very short road between Zimbabwe and Libya.’
‘You’re wrong about the South Africans. They take counter-prolif seriously.’
‘Counter-proliferation issues are sophisticated, boss. You need a first-world agency looking into it.’
‘Paul, my understanding is that South Africa’s helped us in the past. You should know that; you’ve been at the Post longer than I have.’
‘Boss, if there’s a direct threat to South Africa, no question, but I mean South Africa’s just a transit point – the end destination’s Libya.’
‘Paul, I—’
‘And, you know, I’m still not entirely comfortable with the South African government’s relationship with Libya. You saw at the African Union launch. They rolled out the red carpet for Gaddafi – he’s a hero to some of these old ANC guys.’
‘But that’s pragmatism, Paul. You know it. I think South Africa’s got to prove to the world that dialogue solves problems – they’ve proved it themselves. If old enemies didn’t start talking we wouldn’t be sitting here having coffee. We’d be bunkered down in the embassy basement with a civil war going on above.’
‘Boss, the point is—’
‘Let me finish, Paul. Mbeki’s reaching out to the unreachable leaders, making them feel part of the African renaissance. And you know what? It’s changing them. Look what Mandela did – he actually persuaded Gaddafi to turn in his intelligence officers responsible for Lockerbie.’
‘Lockerbie. Yeah, I thought that would come up.’
‘Who else would have been able to do that?’
‘I hear you, boss, but I’m still not comfy with this one. Let’s see how it pans out first. I know the South Africans won’t deliberately compromise the operation … but, you know, with the African Union and these new movements of African nationalism and African renaissance, loyalties get a bit twisted.’
‘Paul, I sometimes think you’ve been in the CIA for too long. You’re starting to become a conspiracy theorist. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Don’t let me label you Afro-pessimist; if you work here, you have to believe in Africa and its potential, and you have to help it reach its potential.’
‘I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk to our hosts. I just think we mustn’t give them the scoop on this thing. We’ve got the agent in place; we’ve got the access, so let’s run with it for a while and see where it takes us.’
‘Paul, wherever it’s taking us, it better get us there soon.’
Shezi took both of Thandi’s hands and looked into her tearful eyes with a gaze he hoped didn’t give away the desperation in his heart.
‘I know I’ve made stupid mistakes, my baby, but I need your help. Only you can help me.’
Thandi’s eyes fell to the empty spaces where, until a few minutes earlier, their lounge furniture had been. She looked up at the walls that had needed painting for the past two years and reminded herself that it was only a house, it wasn’t that important. The lack of money had led to a lack of maintenance which had, in turn, led to a type of reverse synergy: the whole had become rather less than the sum of its parts.
‘We can’t carry on living like this,’ she said. ‘It’s driving me insane.’
‘I know it’s a big disappointment, my baby. I know I can try harder. But it’s only furniture. We’ll be able to get it back.’
‘Every day when you’re at work I have to answer the doorbell and it’s people we owe money to, or people who’ve come to repossess our belongings. I’ve got to face these people. I tell them you’ve gone away and left me without money and food. It’s not a lie. It’s the truth, Mike; there’s hardly money for food.’
Shezi put his hand on Thandi’s cheek.
‘Don’t cry, baby, I can get us out of this mess. I’m a problem-solver; I know what to do. I solve problems every day at work.’
‘I don’t know how, Mike, because at home, you are the problem. Your salary I don’t even see, you expect me to provide a nice comfortable home and cook food for you, but you don’t give me the means. I feel so helpless.’
‘Thandi, I promise you, I’ll get the furniture back.’
‘It’s not just the furniture. I want you back, the real you, the Mike I married, the one who promised to take care of me. You’re not taking care of me. Look at this house, look at my life. All the money you earn, so little of it comes back to this house.’
‘Thandi, I care about you. I also worry about how we’re going to make ends meet. I said I would take care of you and take c
are of the family. I will.’
‘Michael, I think we must talk to Kevin.’
‘No, please, I don’t want him to know, he’s got enough problems as it is.’
‘He’ll understand. It won’t be embarrassing.’
‘I need to protect us, our family name. No, not Kevin. I promise you, I’ll think of a way and you’ll be proud of me.’
Thandi looked at Shezi and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘Promise me you won’t do anything silly.’
Shezi laughed. ‘Like rob a bank? Baby, don’t insult me. I’m a responsible citizen, I’ll earn the money, don’t worry.’
Anja spoke softly into the radio concealed inside a cellphone casing. ‘Groundcrew, Kiteman. Located subject, Arab female, 1.83 m, black hair, burgundy dress. She’s carrying a shopping bag. Will advise if contact is made.’
‘Roger that, Groundcrew,’ Durant said, swivelling around in his office chair to his ringing telephone. It was Stephanie, crying. The baby hadn’t stopped crying since he left home. Should she take her to the doctor? Could he come home?
‘Groundcrew, Kiteman. Subject’s entered a supermarket and handed in the parcel.’
Durant keyed the mike twice in acknowledgement and tried to refocus on Stephanie. Why couldn’t he just come home, she said sobbing, she couldn’t manage everything by herself. The baby was always hungry and wouldn’t settle. She was exhausted. Durant knew the feeling. He had only had three hours’ sleep the night before. Alexis wanted to feed every two hours.
‘Groundcrew, Kiteman.’ Anja’s voice had risen in pitch and volume. ‘Roger, parcel has been picked up by an Asian male, known target. Confirm which target to stay on, over?’
Durant hesitated for a second, waiting for a brief pause in Stephanie’s crying to tell her he would call her back in a minute, but there was no respite. She was angry with the baby and felt that they hadn’t been ready, that the baby sensed this and had rejected her. Durant put his hand over the telephone mouthpiece and spoke softly into the radio: ‘Kiteman, Groundcrew. Can you split the team, over?’
‘Negative, Kiteman, we’re only seven members – the rest are on another operation.’
Durant put his elbow up on the desk and rested his forehead on his open palm. ‘Take the male subject, Groundcrew, copy that, take Ali!’ In his excitement he’d said the name of the target, but he didn’t care. He put the telephone back to his ear, but Stephanie had hung up.
The streets and buildings were dirty in Isipingo, and the landscape had a sombreness to it that Shezi could see reflected in the faces of the working-class people who laboured in the many factories there. He parked his car in a narrow one-way street and walked towards a street market adjacent to the taxi rank, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure he didn’t have a tail. He hesitated at the door of a small grocer’s shop, looked around and then entered, feeling uncomfortable as the shopkeeper, a bespectacled youth dressed in a white garment, glared at him. Shezi bent down beside the baskets of fruit close to the counter, and then pulled a small plastic bag off a hook. He picked up two bananas, inspected them briefly, and put them into the bag. He then stood up awkwardly, steadied himself on the counter and, without looking at the shopkeeper, said quickly, ‘I’ve got a meeting with the boss. Tom’s the name.’
The shopkeeper nodded, picked up a telephone and spoke a few words which Shezi couldn’t catch. He pointed to a door at the back of the shop and with a jerk of his head motioned to Shezi to proceed to it.
Shezi took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, wiped his forehead twice, replaced it and walked towards the door. He looked around at the shopkeeper who was still staring at him, opened the door, and walked into a small, dark space that smelt of old vegetables. A dull lamp above his head caught his eye and he noticed a narrow flight of metal stairs going up towards a small landing. His legs were shaking almost uncontrollably as he climbed the staircase in near darkness until he reached the metal landing. Through an opening he could see a small windowless area with a low ceiling and a single incandescent lamp burning. He crouched down and entered the area, terrified at the sound of his own breathing echoing off the bare brick walls.
Instinctively he reached up and grabbed the arm that fastened tightly around his neck. He tried to remember what he’d learnt at the unarmed combat techniques course that he’d done during training, but it was hard to think with a brain starved of blood and oxygen, and anyway the grip was far tighter than he’d imagined a grip could be. Everything was starting to fade out and he couldn’t feel his body, and then he collapsed on the floor and the room came rushing back. He felt himself being dragged to his feet and bundled into a chair. After what seemed like minutes, but was probably no more than a few seconds, Shezi became aware of a voice close to his ear and realised someone was sitting opposite him and leaning towards him. The voice was almost a whisper.
‘You must understand, Mr Shezi, I’m an important person and important people usually evoke feelings of unrepentant jealously amongst unimportant people. I haven’t any friends, only associates with interests, and people who can further my interests. So why are you here?’
‘Mr Ali,’ Shezi’s voice was still hoarse. He felt as if his Adam’s apple had been compressed into a wafer. ‘Thanks for seeing me. I appreciate that you’re a busy man.’
‘So make this interruption worthwhile.’
‘I’ve got a proposition for you,’ Shezi croaked.
Ali moved his face closer to Shezi’s ear and whispered ‘I hope it’s a business proposition, because I don’t find you attractive at all.’
Shezi managed a nod. ‘It’s business. I’ve come across some information I think you might be interested in.’
Ali leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. He frowned and said, ‘Go on.’
Shezi lifted his head as high as he could from the table and tried to look into Ali’s eyes, but the lighting seemed to fall short of where he was sitting and he appeared as a dark shadow against the brick wall.
‘My name’s Michael Shezi. I’m with NIA.’
There was silence for a moment while Shezi thought Ali would respond, but he didn’t. ‘I’ve got something to give.’ There was still silence. ‘I’m risking everything by talking to you.’
Shezi never saw the blow coming, and as Ali’s fist hit his ear he yelled in pain and fell backwards off the chair. In an instant, burly hands hoisted him back onto his chair.
‘Get this straight, Shezi,’ Ali said. ‘You’re nothing. You come to me making these demands and saying you’re risking everything? You’re only here because you need money. Don’t pretend you’re doing me any favours. I’ll decide if you’re worth anything. I can make you disappear so completely, it will be like you never existed at all. Do you know who you’re dealing with here?’
Shezi nodded. ‘I’ve read the profiles on you. I’ve written some of them. You’re the …’
‘I’m not sure we’re on the same page. I don’t think you can offer me anything, you’re wasting my time.’
‘They’re bugging your phone, doing surveillance on you, investigating you.’ Shezi closed his eyes and let his head fall into his arms.
‘Tell me something new, Shezi, something that’s not obvious.’
Shezi kept his head in his arms, as it felt too heavy to support itself. ‘They also know about Elhasomi and the deal with the Libyans.’
Ali diverted his gaze to the unseen figure behind Shezi and nodded. The figure stepped back through the opening and descended the stairs.
There was a moment’s silence and then Ali spoke softly, politely. ‘Shame on me, Mr Shezi, shame on me. I would hate future profiles on me to reflect that I’m inhospitable. I must apologise. I’ve sent Mojo to get you a Coke.’
Durant was in his office when Thandi called the next morning. ‘Kevin, it’s Thandi Shezi here. How are you?’
‘Good, and you?’
‘Fine. Look, I’m just phoning to excuse Mike from work today. He had a
slight accident yesterday …’
‘Is he hurt?’
‘He just bruised his head; it looks worse than it is.’
‘What happened?’
‘A ladder. He fell off it. He was trying to clean the gutters around the house, and he fell off.’
‘Sure he’s okay? Want me to come over?’
‘No, thanks, Kevin, it’s fine. He’s lying down. I’m sure he’ll be better tomorrow.’
‘Sure, no problem. How are things otherwise?’
‘Well, you know, life has its problems.’
‘Life doesn’t have problems, people do.’
‘I know, Kevin, you’re right, I shouldn’t blame things out there … It’s, well, it’s Mike, Kevin.’
Durant leaned back in his chair and took his hands off his keyboard. He owed it to Thandi to listen. ‘I’m listening, Thandi.’
‘I know he’s your friend and colleague, but I’m so, so tired of his excuses. We’re really at an all-time low.’
‘He’s seemed fine to me. Have I missed something, Thandi?’
‘Well, you know, we’ve got big problems – financial – and I think that’s the cause of all the other problems.’
‘Hey Thandi, we could all do with a bit more cash. I’ve just—’
‘I don’t want to burden you with all the issues, but Mike spends a lot of time away. I don’t know what to think. He doesn’t say much.’
‘Well, we’re really working flat-out at the moment. I’m sure it’s just for a time though.’
‘I checked his account and there are so many withdrawals. We’re in desperate trouble. I’m worried. Does he talk to you?’
‘He doesn’t really talk about personal issues, Thandi, and as I say, we all have money problems in our line of work.’
‘Please, Kevin, can you talk to him? I would really appreciate your help. I know he really respects you and whatever you say, he’ll do.’
Durant rubbed the back of his neck with his hand to relieve some of the pain. ‘It’ll be difficult, but I promise I’ll try. I’ll take him for a coffee and try to find out what’s on his mind.’
An Ordinary Day Page 8
