The rejection stung. She was old enough and knew herself well enough to acknowledge that Amahle’s rejection tapped into every feeling of insecurity she’d ever felt. It was rooted in her isolation as a child and her fierce independence as a grown woman. She was also self-aware enough to acknowledge that her dismissal was the cause of the itch at the back of her skull that made her need to solve this puzzle. She wouldn’t be written off so easily. She was not the powerless child she had been thirty-odd years ago. Now she was a force to be reckoned with and she would show them all. Amahle wanted her out of her way. No problem. She’d do this on her own. Just as she’d done everything else in her life.
Attraction, emotion, feelings were no longer relevant in this equation. Her dismissal gnawed at her sense of pride. She could’ve helped Amahle crack this open, and she wouldn’t be written off as an ally. That was a rejection her ego simply couldn’t take.
You don’t want to fuck me, that’s just fine. But I’m not someone you can fuck with, Ami. I deserve more respect than that. And I will bloody well show you that.
She grabbed her laptop and let it boot up while she dumped her bag in her bedroom and grabbed a notepad and pen. The first thing she wanted to know was as much about PharmaChem as she could find. She put a pot of coffee on to brew as she pulled up the company’s website and started reading. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Forty-four
“Stop it.” Claudia slapped a sheaf of papers over Amahle’s head and dropped them on the desk in front of her. “It’s been three days already.”
“What?”
“Stop moping.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You sent her away. If you want her back, do something about it. If not, wipe that miserable bloody look off your face and get on with it.”
Amahle bristled. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
Amahle picked up the papers and ignored her.
“How long have we known each other?”
“What is it now? Two years? Three?”
“A-huh. Long enough that we should know each other pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“Good. Now, I get why you sent her away. I get why you think it was your only choice. I disagree with you. But I get it. But I refuse to have to sit here and watch you revel in your loneliness anymore. It was your choice. So, as my Grandpops Johan used to say, shit or get off the pot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Get on with it and do what you need to, or move on.”
“I have.”
“Bullshit. You can’t concentrate. You don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You’re driving me insane. I’ve got too much work to do to be pandering to your lovesick backside.”
“I’m not lovesick.”
“No? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“What’s this?” She pointed at the report Claudia had just given her, hoping the change of subject would work.
“The report you asked for.”
“Which one? I asked for many reports.”
“Smart arse. The list of information I sent to Dr. Marais.”
“It’s been three days. Why have you only just finished it now?”
“I’ve had some trouble getting access to my files.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“There’s something wrong with the computers in the office, so I’m having problems getting a secure remote link to the server.”
“Was that in English?”
Claudia laughed. “Yes. Basically, your server system over at Parliament is compromised.”
“How compromised?”
“Ask Laura or Josh. They can tell you more.”
Amahle walked into the kitchen and spotted Laura. “Compromised how?”
“Huh?” Laura looked at her blankly.
“The computers.”
“Oh. Right. I was just going to come and see you about that.”
“Well, you can see me now.” The air between them was still strained, and had been since Monday afternoon, but she had neither the time nor the inclination to pander to the woman’s bruised ego. She’d overreacted and caused a fuckup. What more needed to be said now?
“As far as we can detect, someone has been accessing the information on your server since sometime on Sunday.”
“Whoever broke in?”
Laura shook her head. “From what we can see on the CCTV, the two men who deposited the box on your desk smashed the place up, but didn’t do anything to the computers besides smashing a monitor or two. They seem like thugs, with no more expertise than their fists.”
“Then who is?”
“We don’t know yet. Whoever it is has considerable skill covering their tracks, and they were already in the system before the thugs broke in.”
“What? How?”
“Claudia left a connection open between her computer and Dr. Marias’s when he contacted her on Saturday for more files. Not something she would normally do, but something that has left a door open for whoever stole the doctor’s computer before the house was torched.”
“So they have his work?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Shit. They know more about what he was up to than we do.” The odds were stacking higher and higher against them. “Why can’t we trace the connection back to the source?”
“We’re working on it, but the signal is being bounced all over the place, and they’re planting viruses as they go. We’re basically having to clear a minefield as we go to try to avoid tipping off the fact that we’re looking for them.”
“Because they’ll disappear as soon as they know we’re on to them.”
“Exactly.”
“Keep me informed. Anything else?”
“Not right now. Julius called earlier though. Wants you to call him back.”
“Thanks.” She picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Julius, you left a message for me.”
“Amahle, thanks for calling back.”
“No problem. How’s it going?”
“Slowly. Too slowly. I don’t like it.”
“Are you not able to verify the doctor’s results?”
“Not without his physical samples. I have no idea where they are.”
“Can’t you get more?”
“I’m a journalist. As soon as I ask for the samples people will get suspicious.”
“I thought you had a scientist you were going to work with?”
“So did I. But right now, my guy says he’s too busy to help me now.”
“Has he seen the research?”
“Some of it. I’m looking into him. Don’t worry.”
“Just out of curiosity, where did your guy work?”
“In the Stellenbosch University Hospital.”
“Tygerberg?”
“Yes.”
“Too many connections to be coincidence. Dr. Marais was the CEO at Tygerberg.”
“I know. My feeling too. I want to start running a couple of opinion pieces, start asking questions of the Department of Health based upon the published statistics that originally aroused your suspicions. See if we can’t make the powers that be a little nervous.”
“We don’t have the answers yet to the questions that will be asked.”
“Maybe a little pressure will start to loosen tongues.”
“You know that isn’t how it works, Julius. Pressure makes evidence disappear and people turn up dead.”
“Then what do you suggest, Minister, because we can’t keep going backward and forward like this?”
“Do you know any computer hackers?”
“Excuse me?”
“Someone’s hacked my server at the ministry, and we need to figure out who it is and where they are. Do you know a good hacker? My security team don’t seem to be able to make a great deal of headway with this guy.”
“I’m sorr
y, no, not really. The only person I know who used to fiddle with computers was Roland. While we were at university, he was always messing around with that shit. Said his girlfriend’s sister was a real genius at that shit though. She taught him tons of stuff.”
“Roland? Roland De Fries?”
“The one and only. One time he hacked the administrator’s computer, and no matter what grade we got on our papers we got a hundred percent added to our scores. Upped our grades like you wouldn’t believe. He said it was the girl who showed him how to do that.”
“Is he good enough to help here?”
“I have no idea. If he was I wouldn’t imagine he’d be an accountant though. Would you?”
“No, I suppose not. What about the girl? Do you know who she is?”
“Sure, he was with Beth back in uni. They’re married now. You just need to find her sister and see if she can help.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Not sure, it was a long time ago, my friend. Claire or maybe Chloe. Something like that anyway.”
“Thanks, I’ll look into it.”
“We have to do something, Amahle. We can’t sit on this.”
“I’m not suggesting we do. I just want to make sure the bastards behind this are caught. That they can’t pull something else like this in the future.”
“Makes sense. But it doesn’t stop the threat right now. The longer we wait, the worse the outcry is going to be.”
“I know that.” She ran her hand over her face. “Okay, write the first piece, but let me see it before you publish it, please. Give me a chance to prepare a response.”
“No problem. I know you’re doing all you can.”
“Thanks. I just wish it felt like it was enough.”
“It will be. I’ll get that piece over to you this afternoon.”
“Thanks.” She hung up and started going over the list of information that Claudia had given her. “Hey, Claudia, did you ever finish that shareholders list for me?”
“I put it on your desk.”
“Thanks.”
Chapter Forty-five
Imogen scribbled on a sticky note and plastered it on the wall. She stood back to look at the tapestry of little coloured squares, the connecting lines she’d drawn across the white wall, and the pattern that was emerging. She didn’t like the path it was leading her down. Too many things were tentative and circumstantial. But too many of them set off alarm bells in her head.
The door opening startled her, and she grabbed the carving knife she’d taken to keeping beside her when she was alone.
“Whoa.” Greg held his hands out to appease her. “Sorry I startled you. I did knock.” He held up a package. “Postman left this on the stoop for you.”
“I’m sorry.” She put her hand on her chest and the knife down on the table. “Sorry. You startled me.” She could hear her heart pounding in her ears.
“No worries.” He pointed to the knife. “Glad to see you taking precautions.”
Imogen laughed. “Yeah.”
He pointed to the wall. “I didn’t realize you were into mosaics.”
“I’m not. Just trying to piece together a puzzle.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“Help yourself. Maybe you can tell me if I’m crazy.”
“Oh, you’re far too smart to be crazy, Ms. Frost.”
“I thought we agreed. It’s Imogen. Tea?” She held up the teapot. “I was just going to make a cup.”
“It’s not that red crap, is it?”
“Rooibos?”
He nodded.
“I can always change it.”
“I’ll have coffee if that’s all right.”
“Wuss. This stuff’ll put hairs on your chest, man.”
“My girlfriend prefers me smooth-chested.”
“I’ll just bet the lovely Laura does.”
“How did you know?”
“Eyes. I have two of them.”
“Hmm. So do I. So what happened between you and the minister?” he said as he followed one of her tracks along the wall, his eyebrow hiking as he reached the next sticky note. “Seriously?” He pointed. “James Wilson sat on the TRC?”
She nodded. It had been a shock to her too. It seemed like an odd path for someone to take. But the more she learned of James Wilson’s history, the more his career made sense. A judge of the appeals court for fifteen years before he was brought into the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Wilson presided over some of the most horrific amnesty trials brought before them.
The commission had sought to bring about a lasting peace in the wake of the crimes committed by both sides of the apartheid fight. Murder, rape, torture, mutilation, the horrific deaths brought about by necklacing—the act of putting a tyre over the victim’s head, filling the well with petrol, and setting his “necklace” alight. Every repulsive transgression was to be brought before them, admitted to, missing people or bodies returned to their families, and honesty was to be rewarded with amnesty. Only a full and frank disclosure of your deeds would absolve you of facing prison for the crimes. Everything had to be admitted to in front of those you had wronged—if they were still alive, or their families if not. More than seven thousand petitions were made. Eight hundred and forty-nine people were granted amnesty.
“It’s the only link I can find.”
“How did you know where to look?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t. Not till I looked closer into PharmaChem. But I looked at the transcript of the De Villiers hearing. Given his confession, his amnesty should never have been approved. There were several comparable cases, and all of those were refused amnesty under the terms of the commission.” She pointed to the picture she’d managed to find. “His wasn’t.”
“Why not?”
“At a guess, the panel or the chairman of the hearing was bought off.”
Greg whistled. “That’s going to be a tough pill to swallow. Peace, as it is in South Africa, is built on these hearings. Finding out there was corruption in them…You’re lighting a fuse, Imogen.”
“I know. But it fits. Look at it all.”
“I see it. But just because this fits doesn’t mean there isn’t another equally likely and more plausible scenario out there.”
“Don’t play devil’s advocate. I know that. I need to know if this theory is crazy. Not whether or not it’s worth the fallout.” She sat down again, tore open the package, and tipped the contents onto the table. “Oh fuck.”
“What? What is it?” Greg looked over her shoulder.
“A pen drive.” She flipped it over and whistled. “A big one too.”
“Who’d send you a pen drive?”
“Someone I asked to send me one and then forgot all about it,” she said as she plugged it into her laptop and opened the directory.
“Can you stop talking in riddles?”
“It’s from the doctor.”
“Doctor who?”
“Marais.”
“Imogen, he’s dead.”
“I know. He sent it on Saturday night when I spoke to him on the phone. When we found out he was dead the next day, I forgot all about this.” She scanned the files in the directory and noted something she hadn’t expected. “Video files? No wonder he said it was too big to send electronically.” Her phone rang. She reached for it without taking her eyes off the screen. “Yeah?”
“Imogen. Roland.”
“Oh, hi.” She leaned back from the screen. “What can I do for you, Roland?”
“Jim asked me to call. He wants to know if you want him to pursue the sale with Pienaar for you?”
“Sale?”
“Yes, we talked about it on Sunday, I think it was. Or was it Monday?”
“Monday.”
“That’s right. He’s interested in buying the vineyard as a going concern just like you wanted. Jim wants to know if you want him to follow that up.”
“It’s only Thursday, Roland. What’s the rush?”
“Piena
ar’s an impatient guy.”
“Mr. Pienaar asked my father to sell the land to him at least once a year for the past fifteen years. I’ve been talking to my staff here. He’ll wait until I’m ready to talk about this deal.”
“Imogen, alienating a man like Pienaar, or Jim for that matter, won’t make your life any easier. You wanted to sell from the beginning. Hell, you didn’t even want to be in Africa at all. Why are you dragging your heels now? Jim says he’s offering a very fair price.”
Imogen felt her ire rising. She didn’t know if she could trust Roland or not at this point. There was pretty damning circumstantial evidence pointing toward not, but even if he was trustworthy, he was in far too deep with all the wrong people for her to be playing bosom buddies with him anymore. “Well, I tell you what, Roland. You can tell Mr. Pienaar that I’ll meet with him on Friday, next week, to discuss it. Have him call my secretary in England to set up a time. Bye.” She hung up.
“In England?”
“He was pissing me off. And if that’s right, I don’t know that I can trust him as far as I could throw him.”
Greg nodded. “That wouldn’t be very far at all.”
“Exactly. Now let’s see what the doctor has on these video files.” She clicked on the one dated earliest and crossed her arms on the table.
“My name is Dr. Derek Marais. I have decided to keep a video log of this investigation to corroborate and record my findings. If you are watching this now, it means one of two things. My suspicions have been corroborated and this record is being used in evidentiary hearings, or I’m no longer around to corroborate my results myself. If that is the case, it is my sincerest hope that my death has not been in vain and that the perpetrators of this vile act of sabotage against the South African people have been brought to justice.”
*
“Now tell me I’m crazy?” Imogen said to Greg. “He came to the same conclusion with different facts.”
The Chameleon's Tale Page 25
