by Tony Park
‘Good morning, how are you?’ the man said as he stepped up to the high counter. He wore a blue cotton shirt, navy blazer and tan trousers.
‘Fine, and you?’ Goodenough said, taking the British passport and sliding it towards himself.
He looked at the photo and glanced up at the man. A match. He even had the same moustache. Goodenough checked the issue date. The passport was only a month old. He flicked through the pages. The man had been to South Africa once already since the new document was issued, only a few weeks ago. He used his barcode scanner and the man’s details flashed up on the screen in front of him. The green sticker in the passport was a three-month visa. It was still well in date, so the holder could pass in and out of South Africa as often as he or she wished during that period. Each time, the sticker would be scanned and the entry/exit date electronically registered on a computer.
‘Mr Daniel Carney, your visa is still valid.’
‘Yes,’ the man said, smiling.
‘How long do you stay in South Africa this time?’
‘Just three days.’
Goodenough looked at the white immigration arrival form which Carney had completed. ‘I see you are a freelance journalist. Are you here on business or pleasure?’
‘Mostly pleasure. In fact, I’m in transit. Though I might write a story on your country’s preparations for the soccer World Cup. I think it’s fantastic that Africa’s finally getting to host it, don’t you?’
Goodenough thought the man was trying to distract him. He nodded, and tapped the keyboard in front of him. He was actually doing nothing, but he wanted the man to think he was further checking him out. He glanced over at Mr Daniel Carney, who simply smiled again.
‘Where are you going to after South Africa?’
‘Mozambique.’
‘Do you have your onward air ticket?’
‘Um, no. I’ll be driving a rental car.’
Goodenough looked up and, for the first time, thought he saw a crack in the man’s facade. Carney scratched the back of his head. Most people experienced a degree of nervousness, no matter how mild, when dealing with people in authority. This he knew well. He’d had to deal with hysterical women, angry men, and crying children in his time. However, there was no reason for him to detain this man, even though his gut instinct told him that there was something not quite right about him.
He stamped the man’s passport and slid it back across the counter. ‘Enjoy your short stay in South Africa.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will.’
*
Sannie arrived at the headquarters of the South African Police Service Protection and Security Services at 218 Visagie Street, Pretoria, at seven-fifty in the morning and took the lift to her floor.
The General Piet Joubert building was not much to look at from the outside, or the inside. Its concrete facade was studded with panels of tiny blue tiles, which did little to enliven its drabness.
She greeted Lizzy, the receptionist, and grabbed a copy of the Citizen, one of the daily tabloids, as she usually did. On the way to the coffee machine she read the front-page story, which was about an operation by the Family Violence, Child Protection and Sexual Offences Unit to break a people-smuggling racket. SEX SLAVE TRADERS BUSTED, screamed the headline.
Sannie whistled softly as she took her coffee to her workstation. It had been a big effort, run in conjunction with police in England, Germany, Italy and Mozambique.
She sat down, sipped her coffee, and laid the paper down in front of her and continued to read.
Police spokesperson Inspector Martha Nel said the highly organised gang moved illegal immigrants from Mozambique into and out of South Africa by road in concealed compartments in shipping containers on long-distance freight vehicles.
Inspector Nel said: ‘Boys and girls, mostly orphans, as young as eight and nine years old, were transported illegally. Some of them were smuggled by ship from Mozambique to Europe.
Sannie shuddered. As if she couldn’t imagine the fate of the youngsters, the article went on to say that the victims, lured with promises of work and accommodation abroad, were sold into illegal brothels. Most of those transported, however, were young women in their late teens and early twenties.
From the article, Sannie gathered that the operation had gone down a few weeks ago, but details had only now been released to the press. She imagined it was because the investigating officers hoped to net more of those responsible after the initial bust, which had involved the interception of a container load of young people at the Komatipoort border post. The driver would have talked to minimise his sentence, giving detectives the name of the next person up the chain, and so on.
Sannie knew the woman quoted in the story. She and Martha Nel had completed their training together and had both been posted to the rough Johannesburg flatland suburb of Hillbrow, patrolling the mean streets and seedy hotels in the shadow of the landmark JG Strijdom telecommunications tower on their first assignment. They had followed separate career paths, though, when Sannie met Christo and applied for training as a close protection officer. Sannie opened her contact book and dialled the number for the child protection unit’s offices in the Southern Life building in Pretorius Street. She waited for a couple of minutes while the receptionist on the other end transferred her to Martha.
‘Sannie, howzit? It’s been what, five years? How are your kids?’
They exchanged pleasantries and Sannie accepted Martha’s condolences over Christo’s death. ‘Shame. I remember reading about it. He was such a good man.’
‘Martha, I’m sure you’re very busy today, but I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the people-smuggling operation.’
‘Ja, you’re right about being busy. I’ve done five radio interviews already this morning. The boss is holding a press conference at ten, so I don’t have long, Sannie, but I’m happy to help if I can.’
‘What’s the South African angle, Martha? They were bringing people into here, according to the article.’
‘Most of them were being sent abroad, but there were some Mozambicans brought into South Africa.’
‘I don’t mean to demean your operation, but that’s hardly big news, is it? I mean, we’ve got Mozambicans crossing every day.’
‘You’re right, Sannie, but it was just kids coming into South Africa with this gang. We think they were being brought to individuals, to paedophiles, rather than to brothels, as was the case in Italy and Germany. This was almost like people getting cars stolen to order. We think the offenders here would ask for a boy or girl of a particular age, and pay big money for them.’
‘So we’re not talking about guys who would go to the local brothel or try to entice kids into their car?’
‘You got it. Wealthy people. Businessmen, professionals, that sort of thing. Very discreet. The kind of pigs who would have a respectable image to protect.’
‘Have you made any arrests in that group?’
‘Not yet. The guys we’ve picked up in South Africa so far aren’t talking. The money and the power of their clients has got them scared. We had better luck with the Germans and the Italians. The middlemen squealed and the police over there have raided half-a-dozen brothels in both countries.’
‘And in England?’
‘Good and bad luck. We got the names of two Pakistani gentlemen and passed them on to the English. It turned out they were already under surveillance for people smuggling, though the pommies were more interested in them for moving possible terrorist suspects. The sex trade victims were a bonus.’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘The surveillance team was caught out when they entered the men’s home to download files off their computer. The suspects returned and set off a remote-controlled bomb that destroyed the computer, killed the IT guy downloading the files and burned the house down.’
‘Jeez,’ Sannie said. ‘Sounds more sophisticated than just people smuggling.’
‘The English were probably right ab
out some terrorist link, but any information that might have been on that computer was fried. We held off releasing any information while the British tried to find another link to the people smuggling, but they eventually came up with nothing, so we went public today. Sannie – sorry, hey, but I’ve really got to run . . .’
‘Oh, that’s fine. Thanks so much, Martha. Sorry, one more question.’
‘Okay.’ Sannie heard the impatience now in Martha’s tone.
‘The people you’ve picked up here in South Africa . . . do you think they’ll talk eventually – give up the names of the paedophiles they were supplying?’
‘You can bet on it. We’ll break them down, one way or another. Even if we have to give the bastards witness protection and exemption, we’ll get the main men.’
‘I’m sure you will. Before I go, can I give you a name? Doctor Pervez Khan.’ Sannie gave Martha the doctor’s home address. ‘He’s listed as a missing person, but you might want to mention his name in your questioning of the subjects.’ She said goodbye and hung up.
Sannie had come into work early to ensure she could get onto one of the few computers in the office. She turned on one of the terminals, finished her coffee and skimmed the rest of the newspaper while she waited for the ageing thing to boot up. When it finally came to life she logged in and checked her emails. There were two belated replies to the enquiries she had started in relation to Daniel Carney. Sannie had followed up her theory that Carney might be a South African expat living in London.
The first message was from the South African embassy in London. The senior press officer there replied that she had no knowledge of a South African journalist named Daniel Carney. A search of their log of media calls over the past year had turned up no mention of anyone named Carney. ‘Damn,’ Sannie said as she closed the message.
The next was from the South African Union of Journalists. Again, it contained no news. There was no record of a Daniel Carney ever registering as a freelancer, or joining the union. She had already received replies from all of the major newspapers in South Africa saying they had never heard of the man.
So apparently he wasn’t an accredited reporter. Who was he, then?
Sannie decided she would check with the Department of Home Affairs whether anyone by the name of Daniel Carney had entered or exited South Africa in the last few months. She checked her contact book again and called a man who had helped her with such queries in the past. It was a long shot, but she could think of no other avenue at the moment.
Her contact was out of the office, so she asked for and was given his email address by the operator. Sannie typed a brief message and sent it off.
Elise pressed the button on the remote control and the security gate rolled open. ‘Christo, stop it. Don’t pull your little sister’s hair!’
‘But she bit me, Ouma!’
‘Don’t tell tales. You’re bigger than her, my boy. You must look after her.’
‘And she must not bite me!’
The kids, normally so well behaved, had been being a handful this afternoon since she’d picked them up from school. Perhaps it was the heat, or maybe they were unsettled because of the disruptions to their routine. Elise believed the latter was more likely.
Sannie’s trip to England, the coming of the Englishman to stay with them, and then his departure just as the children were warming to him, was all too much for them, Elise thought. Although she wouldn’t admit it to Sannie she, too, had felt her initial dislike of the foreigner weaken a little as she got to know him better. He was a good man, she supposed – otherwise, why else would Sannie have taken to him? Yet he was obviously not the sort who could commit to family life. Why, she wondered, would he up and take off into the bush by himself? From what she had gathered, the man was still on the trail of the bloody terrorists who had killed his boss. That was fine, if you wanted to act like some action movie star, but she was worried that he might try to drag Sannie along with him, as he had done in Mozambique.
Elise was not sure Sannie was smart enough not to be enticed on some foolish adventure again. For all her academic ability at school and dedication at work, Sannie had always had a wild side. She’d grown up like an African kid on the farm, despite Elise’s best efforts to civilise her. Pierre, Sannie’s father, had been too soft on the girl. She hadn’t been promiscuous as a teenager – at least, not as far as Elise knew – but she was concerned that she had obviously been having sex with the Englishman. Elise was not happy about any sex out of wedlock, though she knew standards were different these days. In any case, it came down to whether the man was right for her daughter, and her grandchildren. The Englishman could be charming, but he wasn’t the kind to stick around, as he had just proved.
‘Ouma, please, please, please, can I go in the swimming pool?’
Elise felt sorry for Christo but, while his swimming was quite good, it was a firm rule in the household that the children could only use the pool if their mother was present. ‘No. You must wait until your mother comes home.’
Christo grizzled and Ilana yelped again. Elise parked the car and turned the engine off. ‘Help me take the shopping inside,’ she said to Christo, who frowned but obeyed, and went to the car boot. The phone started ringing. ‘Grab two bags and bring them,’ she said, rushing to the house and fumbling with her keys.
‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Van Rensburg?’
‘Mrs De Winter, actually,’ Elise said to the English-speaking man on the line. It sounded like he was on a cell phone. ‘Who’s calling?’
‘Mrs De Winter, my name is Daniel Carney, I’m a journalist, from England – a friend of Tom Furey. I wonder if I might have a word with Tom, please? I understand he’s staying with you.’
Elise frowned. She was naturally suspicious of any strangers – one had to be, with the crime rate the way it was in Johannesburg these days. But the man was English, and he knew Tom had been staying with them. She relaxed a little. ‘He’s not here.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Has he left on his trip already?’
So, Elise thought, the man at least knew of Tom’s movements. ‘Ja. A few days ago.’
‘Again, I’m sorry to hear that. I’m only in Johannesburg for a couple of days and I wanted to catch up with him. I’ve got some information – some documents – that I brought with me from England. They’ll be of great help to Tom, but it seems I’ve got no way of getting the information to him.’
‘Well,’ Elise paused. She could tell the man to drop the papers at the house. Sannie would know what to do with them.
‘Perhaps I could just drop the documents with you. Sannie would be interested in them, as well.’
‘Where are you, Mr . . . ?’
‘Carney. As a matter of fact, I’m just up the road from your house, driving towards it now. I rang the bell before, but there was no one home, so I waited until I saw your car come in.’
Elise licked her lips and ran a hand through her grey hair. ‘Um, my daughter will be home from work in a couple of hours. Perhaps you can . . .’
‘I’m on a flight in two hours’ time, Mrs De Winter. How about I just drop the papers off with you, and I’ll call Sannie later tonight?’
‘Ouma! There’s a car at the gate,’ Christo sang out.
She supposed it would be all right. The man obviously knew Tom, as well as having mentioned Sannie’s name. Elise picked up the remote control for the gate from where she’d dropped it on the kitchen counter, and pressed the button.
Sannie had gone out late for lunch and when she returned, there was a yellow Post-it note with a phone message on it. Jay Suresh, her contact at Home Affairs, had returned her call and said to call him urgently. If it was urgent, why couldn’t the receptionist have called her on her cell phone? Sannie sighed. She dialled Suresh and, while she waited on hold, logged in again to the shared computer and brought up her emails.
There was also a message from Jay, which she opened while still waiting to talk to him in person.
Hi, Sannie. You must be psychic! Daniel John Carney, British Citizen, dob 21/7/64 arrived OR Tambo International Airport on the BA flight from London this morning at zero-eight-hundred. He had an existing visa and this was his second entry. Suresh also gave the date of Carney’s first arrival. She checked her calendar. It was four days before Greeves and Joyce had been abducted from Tinga.
‘Sannie, hi. Sorry, I was on another call,’ Suresh said. ‘Sannie? Are you there?’
‘Hi, Jay. Sorry, I just read your email.’
‘Hey, did you know this guy was going to arrive today?’ ‘
No. No, I didn’t.’
‘Weird, hey?’
‘Terrifying, more like it. Flag this guy, Jay. It’s important. We can’t let him leave South Africa without talking to him.’
Sannie thanked him for his help and strode into Wessels’s office. The captain, who was also eating a late lunch, at his desk, motioned for her to sit down. She hadn’t told him anything about Daniel Carney or Precious Tambo and her affair with Robert Greeves, so it took a few minutes to explain.
‘It’s the closest thing to a new lead we’ve had in the Greeves case,’ Wessels said when she finished. ‘Get on to it. We need to check hotels and guesthouses, car rental places – the lot. I’m afraid it’s going to be a late finish for you today.’
‘That’s fine. My mom’s with the kids. I’ll call her.’
Sannie went back to her workstation and called home. The phone rang and rang until finally she heard her own voice on the answering machine. ‘Mom? Mom, if you’re there, pick up. Mom?’
There was no answer and the machine timed out. She dialled again and called down the line once more. She wondered if her mother had taken the kids out somewhere. She tried her cell phone but that, too, went through to voicemail. Sannie chewed her lower lip. Her mother had lost two cell phones already, so it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that she and the kids were out getting ice cream and she’d left her phone in the car.
Sannie busied herself calling the major hotels in Johannesburg, starting with those closest to the airport. After calling six, with no luck, she tried her home and her mother’s phone numbers again. Nothing. She started to worry.
