An Ordinary Day

by Trevor Corbett

  Durant looked down at Stephanie’s hand on his arm and bit his bottom lip. He couldn’t look into her eyes.

  ‘Look, I know this is important, Steph. This must be life-and-death or Amina wouldn’t have done this.’

  Stephanie let go of his arm. ‘It’s okay.’ Her voice carried a mixture of sadness and anger.

  ‘I’ll drop you off quickly, we can catch up later.’

  ‘It’s our time, but you can go if you want.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart; I wish I didn’t have to go. Can it wait, Amina?’

  Amina shook her head solemnly and avoided Stephanie’s gaze. ‘If it could’ve waited, I wouldn’t be here. I think it’s the end.’

  Salem finished his coffee and reached into his wallet to pay the bill. The departure of his flight to Johannesburg had just been announced and he was confident everything was going according to plan. He removed the oversized horn-rimmed glasses and laid them briefly on the table. He couldn’t see much with them on, but he knew they were a distinguishing feature, along with the pencil moustache, which the border police would focus on when comparing a face to a passport picture.

  Salem picked up his passport and air tickets, which lay on top of his briefcase. He quickly opened the passport and smiled when he stared at the face of the man he’d become, Anatoly Kovashov. Salem flipped through the El-Al air tickets. Once he was in Johannesburg and had boarded the Israeli plane, he’d be safe.

  In an uncomfortable moment, he thought that the old man, dressed in a drab grey suit and wearing a baseball cap, had accidentally sat at the wrong table. Before Salem could say a word, the old man took his cap off, and laid it on the table in front of him. Salem hesitated, not knowing whether to stand up and walk away, or to humour the old man. He looked around nervously.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ Dahdi’s voice was commanding, but not threatening.

  Salem shook his head imperceptibly. ‘I think you’re mistaken.’

  ‘Not at all. This is the right table.’

  ‘Please excuse me, then.’ Salem stood up.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Salem.’

  Salem sat down. His eyes widened, and his voice, when he spoke, wavered slightly. ‘My name is Anatoly Kovashov. I think you are mistaken, sir.’

  ‘Not at all, Mr Salem. I know who you are. The question is, what are we going to do about it?’

  Salem shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Who are you, sir? Do I know you?’

  ‘I’m a lot like you, son. I’m also a man of his convictions.’ Dahdi extended his hand and Salem hesitated for a moment, then slowly reached forward and shook it.

  ‘Emile Dahdi at your service.’

  ‘What do you want from me, Mr Dahdi?’ Salem’s body leaned awkwardly to one side, as if he was ready to leap out of the chair and run.

  Dahdi smiled and he focused his gaze on something on the distant horizon. He carefully flipped open his wallet and put a small blackand-white photograph on the table. ‘You must recognise her?’

  Salem’s eyes widened. ‘The painting in the apartment. And you, you’re in some of those pictures.’

  ‘I was sitting in a restaurant like this at Heathrow once.’ Dahdi’s eyes welled up with tears and he made no attempt to hide it. ‘I waited a long time. Then a lady and a man from Pan Am walked up to me, and I could see in their faces before they said a word that Rachel was gone. I remember looking at all the people going by, carrying on with their ordinary lives, while mine had just fallen apart. I remember them saying the plane had been blown up over a place in Scotland called Lockerbie that I had never even heard of. Something in me died that day. We had been married for thirty years and had never spent more than a day apart from one another.’

  Salem seemed to relax slightly. He glanced at his watch and then at the old man.

  ‘What’s this got to do with me, Mr Dahdi?’

  ‘Two Libyan intelligence officers blew the plane up over Lockerbie. My wife was on Pan Am 103.’

  Salem nodded and smiled without speaking.

  ‘She became part of history. I was left a lonely old man, bitter and thinking every day about how I could avenge her death. How I could ever get closure on this dark time in my life. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Every fibre of my being cried out for revenge. But how?’

  ‘How indeed, Mr Dahdi?’

  ‘But now I know how.’

  Salem leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m starting to understand now.’

  Dahdi nodded. ‘I am a Jew, just like you, Mr Salem. I believe my wife and all those other people died because of the hatred people feel towards our people. So many have tried to crush us, so many have tried to decimate us. Gaddafi longs to see the day the Jewish people are swept off the face of the earth. We know he has missiles pointed at Israel today. From the moment I understood what your mission was, I knew I had to protect you.’

  ‘You understand? You understand why I did this?’

  ‘You did what any Jewish person would have done. You acted in self-defence. You’re protecting Israel’s children from extermination. No more bombs and no more gas or biological agents. This must stop.’

  ‘And there are few willing to stop it, Mr Dahdi. God alone knows what horrific biological materials Libya would have cultivated in that fermenter. I have nothing left to live for, other than my country. My child died because she was Jewish and for no other reason. She was a child. She hated nobody. I hated nobody. Hatred and violence has a way of replicating itself.’

  ‘You are a hero to me, Mr Salem. You have saved our children from another holocaust.’

  ‘I am a soldier, Mr Dahdi. I’m just fighting this war in a different arena. The theatre of war against Israel extends past her borders to the four corners of the world. I carry different weapons, use different strategies, but I am as important to Israel’s survival as the watchmen on the walls of Jerusalem. We defend the land; we protect our people.’

  ‘All Jews are soldiers, Ben. We can never let our guard down. It’s God’s will that Israel lives. Am Yisrael chai. If Israel is destroyed, there is no God.’

  ‘Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad. The Lord our God is one. Mr Dahdi, you know the girl, Leila Elhasomi, a beautiful woman, gentle, kind, loving. She’s also been Libya’s chief external WMD procurement officer for years.’

  ‘I know, Ben. She’s my enemy too.’

  ‘It was hard spending time with her, hating her while pretending I loved her, having her kiss me, hold me, say she loved me, meanwhile knowing her business was killing Jews. When I killed her, I thought only of this: hundreds of thousands of our children slowly choking to death from this poison.’

  ‘You have done our people a brave deed, Ben. And you have avenged my Rachel. She watched you do it.’

  ‘And Ali: he was the worst type of living specimen. He would sell his soul for a hundred dollars. His motivation was somewhat less noble. Not for Allah or for the sake of Palestine. He was driven by his own greed. And his greed killed him. These people deserved to die, Mr Dahdi. Your wife didn’t. Aliyah, my daughter, my sweet innocent girl, didn’t. I’ve taken two or three lives, but I’ve saved hundreds of thousands of others. Do you understand why I have done this? Can you, as a Jew, understand why this is necessary?’

  ‘I didn’t know about your daughter. I’m sorry about her. But let me tell you what I know. I know the local police are looking for you. It’s just a matter of time before they figure out where you are as I figured it out.’

  ‘How? How did you figure it out?’

  Dahdi smiled. ‘They found your chai in Elhasomi’s hand when they pulled her from the river. I hope the irony isn’t lost on you, Mr Salem. The Arab woman you killed held the Jewish symbol of life in her hand.’

  Salem shook his head. ‘My mistake. I only remembered the next day.’

  Dahdi nodded. ‘I knew you’d need to get another one before you left South Africa. There’re only a limited number of shops in Durban which sell chais. You paid with a credit card
in the name of Kovashov. We already had the name. When you bought your air tickets using the same card … well, you would have been doomed if it wasn’t me who figured it all out.’

  ‘You’re too old to be in the police service.’

  ‘I’m a functionary, that’s all. A minor one at that. I work independently of anyone else. I tell them what they need to know.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘The money. Where’s the cash?’

  Salem smiled. ‘You’re a mercenary. Now this is making more sense.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In a safe account, most of it. The rest travels with me.’

  ‘I want a million dollars sent to a nominated account in return for your freedom.’

  ‘I’ll need some time.’

  ‘Very well. You have five minutes and then my offer expires.’

  ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’

  ‘Would I lie and risk losing a million dollars? What are your alternatives? The police will be here soon.’

  ‘How’re you going to help me?’

  ‘Trust me. I have a driver waiting below who will take you to a place where you’ll be safe until we can move you out of the country. I’m connected in this city. I can get you a new identity, travel documents, anything you need.’

  Salem smiled. ‘Our motto is “Without subterfuge, our nation falls”.’

  ‘It’s my motto too. We need to move fast, Mr Salem.’

  It took Salem six minutes and two calls to have the money wired from an account in the Cayman Islands to a Jerusalem bank via Zurich.

  Dahdi walked briskly beside Salem to the big glass doors of the terminal exit. A black Mercedes with tinted windows was idling outside, and Dahdi opened the door for Salem. He hesitated for a moment, looked around and climbed in. Dahdi closed the door for him and climbed into another waiting car.

  The cars moved off and Salem watched as the terminal buildings flashed past. The Mercedes turned up a road and sped towards the cargo area of the airport. Salem looked a little perplexed, but he remained quiet.

  The car came to a standstill beside a seemingly deserted airport building in the cargo area. ‘Driver, what are we doing here?’

  The driver turned around. Durant’s face was tired and drawn, but his eyes could not contain the excitement he felt.

  ‘We’ve arrived, sir.’

  Salem appeared bewildered now, and looked out each window as if he was missing something nobody else had. ‘I … don’t understand.’

  ‘We’ve arrived at the end of the road.’ Durant smiled for the first time in what seemed like weeks and said simply, ‘Ever heard of cadaveric spasm?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the intense muscular contraction of the hands at the moment of death. In her final seconds of life, Elhasomi was in extreme emotional and physical distress. It caused her hands to tightly close around the piece of jewellery in her hand. That small object is what led us to you, Benjamin Salem. It means you killed Elhasomi in cold blood.’

  Salem’s face turned pale.

  ‘This is my country, Salem, and you can’t do that here. I’ve promised to protect all people in South Africa – local or foreign – from hostile forces and Leila Elhasomi depended on me for protection. I just wish I’d been able to save her.’

  Salem’s eyes widened and beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead. All the while, he was thinking of escape.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘You can’t expect to just walk away.’

  Salem looked through the rear window of the Mercedes. ‘Where’s Dahdi?’

  Durant sighed. ‘Sorry, Dahdi’s with us. He’s Jewish, like you. He even agrees with some of your sentiments, but he absolutely doesn’t agree with your methods.’

  A heavily armed task force police officer pulled open the car door from the outside and forcibly jerked Salem out. Two other task force members leapt onto him as he fell onto the concrete and rolled him over. As they handcuffed him, Salem tried to lift his head, but was prevented by a combat boot.

  He became aware of a face close to his ear.

  ‘I’m Inspector Heath of the South African Police Services. Benjamin Salem, I’m arresting you for the murders of Farouk Ali and Leila Elhasomi.’

  Durant looked up and saw Amina running towards the car. She hugged him and laughed. ‘You’ve just got your life back. Congratulations.’

  ‘Teamwork,’ Durant replied, and felt the adrenalin pumping through his body.

  ‘What a day!’ Amina said. ‘The hardest part was getting you to the office when Dahdi phoned and said he’d found Salem. I felt terrible.’

  ‘Dahdi did well. Since I’ve known him he’s been trying to make peace with himself.’

  ‘We wouldn’t have done it without him.’

  ‘Delivering Salem to us was his ultimate sacrifice – betraying one of his own. Don’t you love this job, Ami?’ he said bitterly.

  She smiled sadly at the pain behind Durant’s words. ‘I wish Mike could have been here with us.’

  Durant nodded. ‘Salem probably won’t be charged for murder. The only real evidence against him is the video tape. And that can’t leave my safe. The state would rather let a murderer go free than suffer the embarrassment of admitting to bugging a diplomat.’

  ‘Was it all worth it, Kevin?’

  ‘Of course. The objective was achieved. A crime boss, WMD procurer and a spy and his network have all been neutralised. I think South Africans can sleep better tonight.’

  ‘And how about you? Will you sleep better tonight?’

  Durant half smiled. ‘Ami, I never sleep well at night. This operation cost a lot. I’ve got many debts to repay, most of them to my family.’

  Amina looked around as Salem was pushed unceremoniously into the back seat of a police car. ‘Masondo phoned while you were busy.’

  ‘To congratulate us?’

  ‘Ah, no. He said if he sees you at the office next week, you’re fired.’

  Durant raised his eyebrows and shook his head. ‘Then I’m fired. Our work’s never done. Mojo’s already taken over Ali’s operations, and we suspect he killed Mike. We owe it to Mike to wrap up the investigation we started. You in?’

  Amina shook her head. ‘I’m out.’

  16

  11 JULY 2003

  Thandi Shezi was in the yard, staring at the never-ending green hills and valleys beyond with a deep calm. Her pregnant body was uncomfortable and weighty, but the life she felt inside energised her. The doctor said it was a boy and she knew Mike had always wanted a boy. She didn’t remember even taking the decision to have children; the days before Mike left and never came back she had felt a sense of foreboding about the future which made her scared. An extra mouth to feed. How would it be possible? Mike’s optimism had always inspired her and made her believe in the impossible. It had been a leap of faith. It had been an act of God.

  She had so much to thank God for, but most of all, for Kevin and Stephanie. They had treated her like a sister and had helped her through her grief. Kevin had vowed to find Mike’s murderer and she graciously encouraged him, knowing full well that he never would. Perhaps the effort, the investigation, the pursuit of the ideal would give him closure. As for her, she already had it. Finding the note Mike left her brought her to an emotional and moral crossroads. The note had been just a few words: ‘My love, this is the only way. I promised you and your family a better life, and now you’ll have it. Forgive me. I love you more than you’ll ever know.’

  She had stared at the handwritten note for the entire day, hoping the words would make sense, hoping there was a deeper meaning to what she saw, hoping it was all just a bad dream and that there wasn’t a note, or it was part of some deception, or a fake. It would have been easier to live with, easier to accept if there wasn’t a note. It would have been easier if Mike had been murdered. Murdered by the vicious criminals he had dedicated his life to neutralising. Durant would find the mur
derers. They had the motive; Mike had plenty of enemies. When she touched the burning edge of a match to the note and watched it burn into thin slivers of charred paper and blow into the air, Thandi felt a great sense of relief and irrevocability. It made the interviews with the police that much easier. No, he would never kill himself. Did she suspect he was murdered? Yes, he had many enemies. No, there was no suicide note. There was never a suicide note. Yes, he died a hero.

  25 AUGUST 2003

  ‘Freeze!’

  Mojo didn’t freeze; instead he leapt up onto a catwalk running between two containers and then turned and fired two shots. The first one caught the task force policeman in his bulletproof vest and sent him stumbling backwards. The second went wide and struck the metal of a shipping container close to where Durant and Heath took cover. Durant fell backwards, grazing his elbow on the tar and Heath grimaced in pain as a shard of metal tore into his left eyebrow. There were four more bangs, this time louder; clearly a heavy-calibre rifle. Durant rolled over in time to see Mojo’s body fall sideways, first against the catwalk railings, and then off the catwalk onto the tarmac five metres below. Durant saw a task force officer’s smoking rifle still on his shoulder and there were a few seconds of silence.

  ‘Damn!’ Durant shouted as he ran towards the body.

  ‘Get down!’ someone shouted, but Durant kept running. The officer who shot him got to Mojo at the same time as Durant. The back of Mojo’s skull was missing, and the officer lowered his weapon.

  ‘He’s dead,’ Durant said simply. ‘Alive would have been better.’

  Heath and another plain-clothes detective ran up to where Durant was kneeling over the crumpled form of Mojo. Heath’s forehead was bleeding copiously now, but he seemed oblivious to it. Durant felt cold and his head was pounding. A green key ring shaped like Africa hung on a chain around Mojo’s neck. ‘Mike’s! That’s Mike’s!’

  Heath lifted the key ring with his pen. ‘You sure?’

  ‘He had Mike’s key ring! He had to take a damn trophy.’

  Durant dialled Masondo’s number.