African Firestorm

by Craig Reed

Keyster shrugged. "Other than the leg, I’m doing well. You still with the FBI?"

  "I'm freelancing now," Tanner said. "I have my own company, mostly security, with side jobs for a few select clients."

  "Ah. I've been approached by several private security companies myself, and what they're offering…." He sighed. "It's tempting. I may think about it next year."

  He motioned to a pair of chairs in front of his desk. "But sit! Would you like some coffee or tea?"

  Tanner took a seat. "We're fine. We won't be here long." He motioned to Liam. "Liam Reilly."

  Keyster nodded to Reilly and sat, easing his leg out to one side and smiling at Tanner. "So, what can this old boere do for you two larneys? I have a few minutes before my next meeting."

  "Larneys?" Liam asked.

  "The suits," Tanner said. "Jayden, we have a situation that we need your help with. You heard about the SeaStar attacks?"

  Keyster's smile turned to a scowl. "I'm aware," he growled. "The SeaStar offices look like a Skop, Skiet en Donner movie set, Aswegen is on a morgue slab, and the warehouse is a total loss. You didn't have anything to do—"

  "We didn't attack the offices or warehouse, but we did save the survivors at the office."

  Keyster leaned forward, his expression dark and angry. "What's going on?"

  "The Northstar Venture," Tanner began.

  "What about it?"

  Tanner leaned back in his chair. "It’s been seized by pirates, and the ship is suspected of carrying banned equipment to Iran. My team has been given the job of finding out whether or not that's true."

  "And your client shall remain nameless?" Keyster said in a mocking tone.

  "No, the client is Uncle Sam, and we were here just to talk to Aswegen."

  Keyster stared at Tanner for a few seconds, then leaned back in his own chair. "All right, tell me what happened at the offices and warehouse."

  Tanner recounted for Keyster the basic facts about the attack on the office, keeping the events as basic as he could. He then told the brigadier how Liam's team had been investigating the warehouse when an unknown group attacked, killing all the guards and burning down the warehouse.

  When Tanner was done, Keyster glared at the pair of them. "Kak," he growled. "I ought to klap the both of you and throw you and your team in jail!"

  "We saved lives," Tanner said evenly.

  “And we hope to save a lot more,” Liam added.

  "You went outside the law!" Keyster snarled.

  "Not by choice." Tanner leaned forward. "Those car bombs were a distraction for the attacks on SeaStar. You have a major threat here in Capetown, one that doesn't give a damn about innocents. Somebody doesn't want you or anyone else investigating SeaStar Ventures."

  "Tanner, I'm an officer of the law. I can't—"

  "Jayden, the dying man I spoke to last night spoke Arabic, English and Afrikaner. You have home-grown terrorists on your soil. Those thugs at the warehouse were untrained, but how long is that going to last? Have you picked up anything about Jihadist cells here in Capetown?"

  "No," he growled. "That's Internal Stability Division's responsibility, not mine."

  "But who are they going to blame?"

  Keyster shook his head. "Eish!" he said. "You're putting me into an extremely tough position!"

  "That's not my intention," Tanner said sympathetically. "But we're going to need your help. I think there maybe something more on that ship than missile parts, and someone's trying to eliminate the paper trail. Here’s something you probably weren’t aware of: the cargo was coming from North Korea."

  Keyster's eyebrows rose. "North Korea?"

  "No lie. That's why Uncle Sam sent us out here. We have no proof of anything nuclear, but I think last night proves they’re willing to go to great lengths to protect their interests regarding the Northstar Venture."

  The policeman nodded. "You realize this could cost me my job and send me to prison?"

  "If what we think is on that ship turns out to be true, prison is going to see like a minor problem."

  "All right, I'll help, but no cowboy stuff, all right?"

  "No promises, but I think we can keep the innocents out of any crossfire."

  Keyster sighed. "I'm trusting you. What do you want?"

  "All the data on the attackers at the offices last night. You've identified them?"

  "Most of them. But it's going to take a couple of hours to compile it."

  Tanner pulled out a business card and wrote something on the back. He placed it on the desk. "When it's been compiled, go out, find a telephone and call that number. Give the person who answers the file name, nothing else. We'll call you when and if we have new information to pass along or if we need new information."

  Keyster placed his hand on the card and slid it toward him. "Try not to make a big mess."

  "That's up to the bad guys."

  Tanner stood, and he and Liam started for the exit. Near the doorway, Tanner stopped and looked back at Keyster. "What does Die Handelaar mean?"

  The brigadier's face screwed up in puzzlement. "It means 'The Merchant.' Why do you ask?"

  "Something one of the attackers said last night. Whoever this Merchant was, it sounds like he or she hired them."

  Keyster's eyes narrowed. "That changes things." He took a sheet of paper and wrote on it for fifteen seconds, the pen moving quickly over the paper. He folded the sheet and pushed it across the desk toward Tanner.

  "You are in dangerous waters, my friend. Shark-infested waters."

  Tanner moved back to the desk, picked up the paper and put it into his jacket pocket. "I hear shark diving’s a big thing down here in South Africa. We’ll put on our chainmail suits and get into a cage before we expose ourselves."

  "You do that."

  * * *

  The paper remained in Tanner's pocket until he and Liam reached their car and climbed in. Tanner started the car, took out the paper and opened it while Liam retrieved their pistols.

  "What did he write?"

  Tanner handed him the paper and pulled out his cell phone. Liam took the paper and read it. "The Merchant is Kamal Hassan, a well-known businessman and suspected crime lord," he read aloud. "He has several high-ranking police and government figures in his pocket. He is ruthless and has an extensive network of contacts. Be careful, my friend."

  He looked at Tanner. "Why didn't he just tell us?"

  "So he can say truthfully that he didn't say a word to us about Hassan." Tanner hit speed-dial. "I think Jayden suspects that his own superiors are on Hassan's payroll."

  "Can we trust him?"

  "We can trust him enough to pass the name onto Danielle and see what she can find out."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Camps Bay, Capetown

  Capetown's Atlantic seaboard boasted some of the most expensive real estate in the city, and Camps Bay was a prime example. Sandwiched between Table Mountain and the ocean, the area was characterized by large houses on small, mostly walled plots of land on narrow streets.

  Naomi frowned as she stared out the window. "I guess I was expecting something a little more… "

  "More what?" Stephen asked from behind the wheel, driving slowly.

  "More like home. Large estates with mansions."

  "Well, it’s all about location, location, location." Stephen motioned to a grayish, two-story house that was all angles, concrete and glass that took up the entire lot. "We're here."

  They parked in the driveway and got out.

  "Nice place," Naomi said.

  "Well, Nigel's always had a taste for nice things," Stephen said. "He grew up in an affluent family, went to all the best schools."

  They walked to the front entrance and knocked. After a minute, the door opened and a tall, muscular African in a white shirt and pants stood there.

  "Yes?" he asked in a deep voice.

  "We're here to see Mr. Ashcroft," Stephen said. "Is he here?"

  "Who is calling?" At second glance, the man had flecks o
f gray in his hair as well as faint crow's feet in the corner of his eyes, but he still looked a man not to get into a fight with.

  "Who is that, Mandlenkosi?" a clipped voice with a British accent called out from behind the African.

  "Visitors, sir," Mandlenkosi replied.

  "And what are they selling?"

  "Nigel!" Stephen called out. "We need your help!"

  "The voice sounds familiar but— Wait, Stephen, Stephen Shah?"

  "Yes, and I need to talk to you!"

  "Mandlenkosi, let them in. Let them in!" Ashcroft's voice brimmed with excitement. "Go ask Busisiwe for tea and those some of those freshly-baked biscuits."

  The African smiled at Stephen and Naomi and stepped back, motioning them to come in. They stepped into a foyer that was white with a few African accents, such as dark wooden statues on tall narrow tables, and a Zulu cowhide shield with a pair of short, stabbing spears on one wall. Stairs to the right ran up to a balcony overlooking the foyer.

  A slim, neat man with gray head of closely cropped hair and a short Van Dyke strode toward them, a wide smile revealing even, white teeth. He was dressed like Mandlenkosi in white, accentuating his deep tan.

  "Stephen, my boy!" he began excitedly. "It's good to see you! It's been what, four years? We haven't seen each other since that little incident with those Stinger missiles and that Russian arms merchant in Morocco!" He took Stephen's hand and pumped it vigorously.

  Naomi noticed that the servant had closed the front door, disappearing from the foyer.

  "Good to see you, Nigel," Stephen returned pleasantly.

  Ashcroft looked at Naomi and his smiled widened. "And who is this enchanting Nubian Princess?"

  Naomi cocked an eyebrow, then smiled. "Naomi Washington. You must be Nigel Ashcroft."

  Ashcroft took Naomi's hand and kissed the back of it. "Guilty as charged," he said cheerfully.

  "Nigel used to be with the British Secret Service until he retired."

  Ashcroft shrugged. "Well, semi-retired. I still keep my hand in the game, much to London's displeasure. That and the novels I write."

  "You write novels?" Naomi asked.

  "Ever hear of Julian Steelwight, International Secret Agent?"

  "You write those?"

  The Englishman shrugged. "Of course, they're all rubbish, unrealistic, and have absolutely no relationship to real espionage, but I make five times as much off of them then I do from my government pension." He motioned toward the back of the house.

  "Come, let's adjoin to the living room. I have a spectacular ocean view."

  He led then to a wide, oval-shaped room, with the outside wall composed of tinted glass, revealing the promised view that was only slightly marred by the busy highway just a few feet from the windows. Ashcroft waved Naomi and Stephen to a couch and took an overstuffed chair for himself. He leaned back, still smiling.

  "Now, what can I do for the Tea and Biscuit Company?"

  Naomi blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

  "He means the CIA." Stephen shook his head. "I'm not with them anymore. I'm working for a private contractor these days."

  "Oh?" Ashcroft's eyes narrowed. "And what sort of private contractor needs someone of your skills and abilities?"

  "One that needs to operate outside normal channels. And we're doing red, white and blue work."

  "I see." Ashcroft steepled his fingers. "So what does your Uncle need from this magnificent land?"

  "It involves SeaStar Ventures and one of their ships that's been captured by Somali pirates."

  Stephen gave his host a brief outline of the last twelve hours. Ashcroft listened, not moving or saying anything. After Stephen was done, Ashcroft nodded, just as Mandlenkosi entered, carrying a try with tea and biscuits. He placed it on a table next to his employer, bowed and left.

  Naomi watched him leave, then looked at Ashcroft. "Can your staff be trusted?"

  Ashcroft smiled. "Mandlenkosi was the first agent I recruited when I arrived here in South Africa. I ran him for nearly twenty years. I introduced him to the woman who became his wife, Busisiwe. I'm the godfather to all three of their children, and made sure all three graduated from college. One's a medical doctor, one's a lawyer, and the third is a member of the National Assembly. When London decided they didn't need him anymore, I took him and his wife on. They're more my friends than staff."

  He picked up the teapot and poured the steaming contents into three teacups. "We have sugar and cream, and the biscuits will melt in your mouth."

  Once they were settled back in their seats, Ashcroft sipped his beverage and said, "You mentioned that one of the office attackers spoke English, Afrikaner, and Arabic?"

  "Yes," Stephen answered. "We also found cards for a mosque and an Islamic center on several of the bodies." He took a clear plastic baggie from his pocket and handed it to Ashcroft.

  The retired agent studied them for a few moments. "I thought so," he muttered, handing them back to Stephen.

  "What?" Naomi asked.

  "A strong suspicion. Do you have anything else?"

  "Just the words 'Die Handelaar'" Stephen replied.

  Ashcroft grinned. "'The merchant'? Yes, I know who fits that description. Mandlenkosi!"

  The African appeared again, so quickly that he could not have been far away. "Yes, sir?"

  "Go up to my office, access the black files, and pull the folder for Kamal Hassan."

  "Yes sir." The African left the room once again.

  "Kamal Hassan?" Naomi asked.

  The retired spy nodded. "The files have all the details, but Kamal Hassan is a businessman with connections across Africa. He was born in Syria, got out one step ahead of Assad's blood-work team, and made it to South Africa and became a naturalized citizen about ten years ago. Officially, he dabbles in a little bit of everything, a friend to everyone, has established himself in the Muslim community, and is considered a success story."

  "Unofficially?"

  "Unofficially, Kamal Hassan is probably the biggest criminal in the Western Cape. Drugs, weapons, prostitution, and lord knows what else. Those business cards you showed me are fronts for several of Hassan's 'legal' businesses. He has eyes and ears everywhere."

  "Has anyone built a case against him?" Stephen asked.

  Ashcroft shook his head. "He has enough senior officials in his pockets at any given time that no investigation ever gets started." He took a sip of tea, then continued. "In addition to being a crime lord, Hassan also has ties to different Islamic terrorist groups, including ISIS and the ICA."

  "ICA?" Stephen asked.

  "Islamic Caliphate Army. It acts as a special force of sorts for ISIS, mostly staffed by people with military backgrounds or experience. Ruthless, competent, and a nasty bunch of arseholes."

  "You think Hassan might be involved with the ship's hijacking?"

  "It's possible. Hassan has a profitable smuggling business with all sorts of unsavory clients, including Iran, North Korea, Burma, and Pakistan. He doesn't have any ships of his own, so it stands to reason that he has connections with shipping companies."

  Naomi stood and put her teacup down. "I'm going to call this in to Dani. She can start tracking down all she can on Hassan."

  "You're not liable to find much," Ashcroft warned. "Hassan is a bit paranoid when it comes to computers, so I doubt he has an electronic bread crumb tail for you to follow."

  "Won't know until we try," Naomi countered. "Be right back."

  When she returned several minutes later, she found Ashcroft telling Stephen about an assignment involving a French pole dancer, three million dollars’ worth of diamonds, and several murderous Egyptians who wanted the stones. The story got wilder with each passing second, climaxing in a race across the roofs of Cairo with the Egyptians in hot pursuit. Finally, with the pole dancer saved, the diamonds retrieved and the Egyptians dead or in prison, Ashcroft explained how he had to fit all that into the report using bureaucratic double-speak. All three of them were left chuckling.


  "I talked to Dani," Naomi said, settling down again. "Hassan's name was mentioned by another of our contacts, so it might be a good lead."

  Just them Mandlenkosi returned, carrying a file folder and looking concerned. Ashcroft's smile faded. "What's wrong?" he asked.

  "Someone has the front of the house under surveillance.”

  Ashcroft rose. "Where?"

  "Across the street, two houses up, on Sedgmore. Blue 2005 BMW X3, two occupants. Hood's up and they're faking car trouble."

  "Let's go take a look, if you'll follow me?"

  Lead by Ashcroft, all four took the stairs to the second floor and made a right into a large office. The room was mostly dark, with only a small amount of light penetrating through the slats of the floor-to-ceiling Plantation shutters that occupied a quarter of the wall space.

  "Stay by the door," Ashcroft directed, then went over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a pair of binoculars. He moved toward the half-opened shutters, but stopped a couple of feet away and stared out. After a few seconds, he said, "Yes, looks like someone is interested in our happy little home. Stephen, Miss Washington — please come over here and take a look."

  They both came over and looked through the binoculars, Naomi going first. The car was right where Mandlenkosi said it was, on a side street just across from Ashcroft's house, with the hood up and one person twiddling with the engine. However, he kept glancing toward the Ashcroft house, too many times for it to be natural.

  "Definitely surveillance," Stephen said, handing the binoculars back to Ashcroft. "But on who, us or Nigel?"

  "They were not there earlier," Mandlenkosi confirmed.

  "I made sure we weren't followed," Stephen said.

  Ashcroft raised the binoculars and stared at the car. "They're probably watching me," he said. "I've been used more than once by the South African government on counter-terrorist matters. I think you might be an accident."

  "We can't afford to be followed," Stephen said.

  "Mandlenkosi," Ashcroft said slowly. "Do you happen to know if the Watt boys are home? I think school's out of session right now."

  "Not off the top of my head, but I can find out."

  "Please do so." Mandlenkosi nodded and left the office once more.