Cobra

by Deon Meyer

  ‘Well, Bones says he only found one reference, and that is perhaps significant too. He says there was so much on the Internet about Adair and his protocol, and his algorithm, and his other academic work, that he almost missed it. He came across a small item in a weekly scientific newspaper, in the USA. It reported that a group of British scientists attended a conference on the Association . . . no, the . . . Project for Government Secrecy. It was held by an association or a federation of American scientists at the end of last year in St Louis. The leader of the British delegation was a political scientist, who told the newspaper that they were planning to start a similar project in the UK. And that they were very worried about their government’s suppression of information, but also the hijacking of new technologies to infringe the privacy of citizens. The newspaper listed one of the British team members as a Professor D. P. Adair.’

  Griessel tried to fit this information in with what they knew, but it would not make sense.

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Benny, we know the UK ambassador has been talking to our minister of state security. And then MI6 and the SSA got involved very quickly, and we were taken off the case. So, now I wonder if this whole thing about Adair is maybe not about his banking software. I think it might be about government secrets. And with our government now passing legislation to be even more secretive . . . That’s maybe why they are cooperating so enthusiastically with the British.’

  Lillian Alvarez took a gulp of her whisky, and she said, ‘That really woke me up, so I said, wow, that’s a real surprise, it would be incredible, but don’t I need a visa or something? And he said no, US citizens don’t need a visa, and he will email me the ticket a little later. So, I asked him how long would I be staying, you know, I had to know what and how much to pack. But right then, he didn’t answer me, he just said there’s something else he needs me to do. So I said, sure, and he said, I should go to his office, and find a book. He told me where the book was on his shelf, and he told me where to look in the book, because there is a memory card, and I should take the card . . .’

  ‘What kind of book?’ asked Bones Boshigo.

  ‘On Numbers and Games. It’s the classic by John Horton Conway . . .’ She saw that they didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. ‘The famous British mathematician? He’s one of David’s – Professor Adair’s – heroes, it’s about game theory. The book, I mean. The memory card was stuck to the first page of the First Part, which is really the second part . . . Look, it’s one of those mathematical inside jokes that he loves.’

  ‘OK. So he said you must go fetch the card . . .’

  ‘Yes. He asked me to go early, before anyone else arrived at the office. And that I shouldn’t tell anybody about his call, or the memory card, he’ll explain later, but it was about his security work, and discretion is the better part of valour. He apologised again, and thanked me, and said he would call again later that morning. And then he rang off.’

  ‘Did he call you again?’

  ‘Yes, at . . .’ She suddenly remembered she could give the exact time, took out her phone again, and consulted the call register. ‘At seven minutes past ten.’

  ‘Yesterday morning?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘UK time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘From the same number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘OK, so after that first call, what happened?’

  ‘I set the alarm for six o’clock, and tried to go to sleep again, which wasn’t easy. I was pretty excited . . .’

  ‘And not worried?’

  ‘No, not at all. I mean, you know . . . I was getting this trip for free to a cool place, and it was helping this man I respect so very much with something very important and . . . well, interesting, you know? It was only later that I thought it was a little bit strange that he didn’t say anything about where I was going to stay, or how long the trip would be . . . He’s such an organised man, so very methodical . . .’

  ‘And then you went to his office?’

  ‘At seven sharp.’

  ‘How did you get in?’

  ‘I have a key.’

  ‘And you found the book?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the memory card?’

  ‘Yes. It was right where he said it would be.’

  ‘Could you describe the card?’

  ‘Well, you know, it was one of those SD cards, sixty-four gigabytes. Verbatim, blue and purple. Not the micro-SD. The regular size.’

  ‘What was on the card?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘You didn’t look?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And what did you do with it?’

  ‘I put it in my purse.’

  ‘And you kept it there all the time?’

  ‘Yes. Until this morning. The purse was in this bag . . .’ She pointed at the handbag that lay between her thigh and the armrest of the chair. ‘I thought it would be safe. I always keep the bag with me. Always. And then the asshole stole it this morning.’

  He smiled at the word. ‘Did anybody see you at Adair’s office?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Seven is early for the department.’

  ‘And you went home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he called again, just after ten?’

  ‘Yes. But before that, I received an email with the electronic ticket for the flight.’

  ‘From his usual email?’

  ‘No, it was from a Morris guy, which was kind of strange, but then I asked him and he said, don’t worry, it was just his security name.’

  ‘Paul Morris Fifteen at Gmail?’

  ‘Something like that. I can check . . .’

  ‘No, that’s fine. So you asked him this on the second call?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did he sound?’

  ‘More together, I think.’

  ‘What else did you talk about?’

  ‘He said he would make a deposit for me, to pay for my accommodation in Cape Town, and asked me if I could do the hotel booking myself. And he said, if I wanted to, I could stay for the week, he’ll deposit one thousand five hundred pounds into my account, which should cover a good hotel, and some spending money. Then he said my flight would arrive in Cape Town just before eight o’clock in the morning, and that when I got off the plane, I had to switch on my phone and check that it was working on the local networks, and send an email to the address from which the ticket was sent, the Gmail address. Just to say that I had arrived. He said this was very important, and that I should then take a cab to the V&A Waterfront directly, not go to the hotel first. And when I got to the Waterfront, I should put on something bright red, like a jacket or something, and find the amphitheatre, and he described it to me, he said there was a stage, and I should go and wait at the foot of the stairs leading up to the stage. And I shouldn’t talk to anybody, just wait, a guy will come and meet me, and ask me for the memory card, and I should give it to him. But only if he specifically asks for the card. And then I could go to the hotel and have a nice little holiday.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘No. I . . . I asked him . . . how I would know if it is the right guy, and he said I shouldn’t worry, only a few people know I’m coming, so as long as the guy specifically asks for the card, I should give it to him. And then he again said, remember to test your phone, send the email, and go straight to the Waterfront, and wear something bright red. He thanked me again, and then he rang off.’

  ‘Did he transfer the money for the hotel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘From his usual account?’ asked Cupido.

  ‘Actually, no. It was from his security name. Morris. And a bank in Zurich.’

  ‘I see,’ said Cupido, and he knew he had her.

  ‘Do you know which bank?’ asked Bones.

  ‘Well . . .I can check . . .’

  ‘Perhaps later,’ said Cupido. ‘OK. So what did you do? After the last call?’

 
‘I went shopping. For the trip. And then I took the Tube to Heathrow. And the flight was delayed. So I started worrying, will the guy still be there if I was late? But the delay was only twenty minutes, so I thought it would be OK. And when I arrived, I sent the email, and I changed two hundred pounds into rands in order to pay the cab, and then I took the cab, and I got to the Waterfront. And then I realised, I had to do something with my suitcase, I had no idea how far it was to this amphitheatre, and I didn’t want to lug the suitcase with me. So I spoke to the cab driver, and he said he’ll take it to the hotel for a hundred rand, which is like ten dollars, so I said OK. And after that, everything just went haywire.’

  44

  ‘Could you tell us exactly what happened at the Waterfront?’ asked Cupido.

  ‘It happened so fast,’ she said, and shifted to the edge of her chair. ‘I asked the cab driver where the amphitheatre was, and he didn’t know, so there was this security guy, and I asked him, and he directed me. So I was walking, there were lots of people, which was a real surprise, so many white people, I mean, you know, you expect ... No offence, but you know, when you come to Africa . . . Anyway, so I saw the amphitheatre, and I was almost there, when this asshole started bugging me about a hairpin, and I was in a hurry, I was a little worried, because there had been no contact from Professor Adair, and I was about half an hour late because of the flight delay, and getting off the plane, I wasn’t thinking—’

  ‘Did you expect the professor to contact you?’ Cupido interrupted her deliberately. He could hear her anxiety from the quickening pace of her narrative, her rising tone. He thought this part was probably the truth, but she was providing unnecessary detail – he suspected that since yesterday she had been replaying the incident over and over in her mind, to try to make sense of it, to rationalise.

  ‘No, no, I mean, yeah, I suppose, sort of. Here I was, having fl own halfway around the world, I thought, maybe, if he got the email, he would call . . .’

  ‘And he didn’t contact you again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No email, nothing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Even after the Waterfront? This afternoon?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you are hoping he’ll call?’ Cupido pointed at her cellphone.

  ‘Well, you know, I got worried, after what happened . . .’ She flipped her hand palm upwards to emphasise that it was a natural response.

  ‘OK. Please continue.’

  ‘Right. So this guy is bugging me, and for a minute there, I thought he might be the guy, you know, for the card, and then he wasn’t. And I was thinking: David said, don’t talk to other people, it sort of . . . I think anybody, under the circumstances, would have felt . . . Look, I’m not stupid, but maybe I did get a little carried away with the whole clandestine thing, sort of cloak and dagger, you know, and I thought this guy might be, like, the enemy, a terrorist, you know? So I got a little panicky, and I tried to get rid of him, and the bastard stole my purse, and I didn’t even know it. So, the thief walks off, and I start jogging, I’m late, I can see the amphitheatre, I’m looking for the steps to the stage, but I’m still ten yards away, and the next thing I know, there’s this guy with a baseball cap and shades, and he’s really in my face, he says, “Do you have the card?” I mean, I’m not even near the steps yet, it’s right after the hairpin guy, I’m still a bit disoriented, I suppose, but he says, “Do you have the card?” and I’m sort of anxious, and I say, “But this is not where I’m supposed to give it to you.” I was . . . You have to understand, I was on the plane all night, thinking about what Da— Professor Adair had said I should do, I was all geared up, and I was expecting a . . . I’m really not racist, my granddaddy on my father’s side came from Mexico, so please, don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s just that I expected, you know, an English guy, a white guy—’

  ‘Miss Alvarez,’ Cupido interrupted her.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want you to take a deep breath.’

  She stared at him, not understanding. Then she took a deep breath, and said: ‘I was going a little fast, wasn’t I?’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘And you don’t have to worry about expecting a white guy,’ said Bones. ‘We understand.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She sipped some more whisky, gave a small, self-conscious smile, and took another deep breath. ‘It’s just that, right then, it got really weird. I mean, this guy is all over me, he’s in my face, and he has this strange accent, and when I say, “But this is not where I’m supposed to give you the card,” the guy in the cap takes a gun from his pocket, with this black silencer, and he sticks it in my ribs, and there’s this commotion behind us, people giving little yelps, and I want to look, and . . .’

  She realised she was talking too fast and too anxiously again, and she reined herself in. ‘Sorry,’ she said, taking another gulp of whisky. When she did continue, she was more measured. ‘. . . And I was completely freaked out and scared. And he says, “That man stole something from you, do you have the card? Look. Now.” And he looks over my shoulder at the commotion, and when I want to look, he jams the gun into my side again, and he says, “Look at me.” So I froze, I just completely froze. He grabbed my arm and he shook me, and he asked for the card again, and I stuck my hand in my handbag, and the purse was gone, and I thought I was going to faint I was so scared, and he said, “Do you have it?” and I said, “My purse is gone,” and then he said, “It was in the purse?” and I say, “Yes,” and he says, “Are you sure?” and I was busy looking in my bag, and I nodded, and I started to cry like a damned baby, and then he ran, and the next thing I know I’m just standing there, amongst all these people, and nobody knew what had just happened . . .’

  Tyrone lied.

  He had got his story right on the train, thought through everything he must say, just to be on the safe side.

  He walked into the Cape Calm B & B in De Waterkant, wearing his new jacket, with his new little suitcase. He looked legit, he had checked that in the mirror of the men’s room at Cape Town Station. He had washed his face, combed his hair. OK, maybe he didn’t smell like a rose garden, but he was a traveller, after all.

  He said to the Cape Calm B & B aunty, a kindly lady, of the type with the exaggerated friendliness that comes from white guilt: ‘Hi. My name is Jeremy Apollis,’ in his best white English. ‘I’d love to have a room for the night, OK, if I pay cash in advance?’

  And Uncle Solly was right, the jacket was the ticket, and the cash in advance did not hurt, she came back daatlik with: ‘Of course, of course, where you from?’ He had that worked out too. ‘Johannesburg, but I’m from here originally. I lived up in Schotsche Kloof.’ He pronounced it ‘Scots kloef’, the way he heard English people say it.

  She asked, ‘Here on business?’

  He’d anticipated this and wanted to contain the lie – too much detail is a dangerous thing – so he said, ‘No, just came to spend some time with my sister. I’m flying back tomorrow night.’

  He signed the register and he paid the six hundred and fifty rand and thought that the bed and the breakfast better be blerrie lekker, it’s a lot of money. She took him to his room, and after she had left, he locked the door and put the case on the bed. Then he took out the gun and silencer, and the three cellphones. Put them on the bed, neatly in a row. He took off the jacket, hung it up in the wardrobe. Stood in front of the bed, looking at the cellphones. And he thought, he must concentrate. Use one at a time. And remember which one he was using. Where and when.

  He got undressed, went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full, a blast of hot, soothing, beautiful water, and he stood like that for a very long time, so that it would wash away all the day’s troubles, would soothe the pain across his back.

  It didn’t really work.

  Griessel felt he should encourage Mbali. He wanted to tell her that at least one good thing had happened – she and Vaughn Cupido had found each other in some way, the antagonism betw
een them was gone. He wanted to tell her that life and the world worked in cycles. Things would come right again, the wheel would turn. It always did.

  He wanted to tell her the downturn of the wheel was more frequent than the up, but you had to ride it all the same.

  But he didn’t, because he thought, why on earth should she believe a middle-aged white drunkard from the apartheid era?

  He had no credibility.

  And he thought he should phone Radebe at O. R. Tambo Airport to hear if they had found anything more, because the more names they had, the easier it would be to arrest the Cobras at a border post. But he couldn’t phone Ulinda, because the SSA were monitoring Radebe’s cellphone too, and he thought: Fuck cellphones. Jissis, they managed without them for so many years, and they arrested just as many criminals. If not more. Using the old methodology. They investigated. Built dossiers bit by bit, with thorough footwork. They used their heads, thought and pondered and argued amongst each other, and debated, tested theories, outmanoeuvred suspects with clever tricks and snares in the interrogation rooms. They learned to spot a lie a mile off, just by watching and observing.

  And now? Now technology had to do everything. And when it failed, then so many of the young detectives sat there saying, no, this case can’t be solved.

  He didn’t like to be reachable everywhere, all the time. He didn’t like trying to type a text on a tiny keyboard with his out-sized fingers. People sent messages for any shit that came into their heads, in a language that took you half an hour to decipher, and if you didn’t answer, then they wanted to know why.

  And the SSA could eavesdrop on you, track you, follow you, because the technology worked both ways – if you could catch a criminal, then someone else could find you.

  He sighed, and tried to think of something else, but all that popped into his head, was his Alexa dilemma.

  And it was not something that he could discuss with Mbali or anyone else, no matter how oppressive the silence was, here at the table.

  When he saw Sister Abigail Malgas approaching, he felt relieved.