Trackers (37 page)

Working career

After
his full-time studies for B Agric degree at the UFS, Becker joined the Navy
again (Permanent Force), and worked at Simonstown from 1990 to 1994, achieving
the rank of Lieutenant. (Unconfirmed.) After that he worked overseas.

1 October 2009.
Thursday.

Past midnight, when he was deeply, soundly asleep, Quinn's
cellphone rang.

The noise - and his wife's elbow in his ribs - woke him. He
got up hurriedly, confused, fumbled for the phone twice, and scrambled groggily
down the passage peering blearily at the screen. It was his bureau chief in
Johannesburg.

'Yes,' he said.

'I'm really sorry, but it's Inkunzi Shabangu. He's been
killed. Massive bloodbath at his house. I thought you'd want to know right
away.' 'When?'

'About an hour ago.'

'How?'

'Looks like Shabangu was killed with a shotgun, some of his
people with a handgun.'

'How did you find out so quickly?'

'We were the first on the scene. One of our cellular
surveillance vehicles saw a white male coming past him at high speed in
Shabangu's BMW, and went to the house. Everything was open, the gate, the
garage door ... Then the security company arrived, and went in. My guy called
me, and I told him to follow the security man inside. They found three bodies,
Shabangu and two cronies.'

'Are the police there?'

'They arrived ten minutes later. Place is now swarming.'

Quinn was wide awake now. 'Tell me about the white male.'

'Not much to tell. He went past at high speed. Surveillance
guy can't give a description. There's a bulletin out on the BMW ...'

'OK,' said Quinn. 'How are your police connections?'

'Pretty good. I'll keep you posted.'

'Thanks.'

Quinn went to the kitchen, sat on the high stool in the
breakfast corner, his brain racing.

Ouboet,
should I rather come to your
house. I know where you live.
Becker had said something like that to
Shabangu last week over the phone.

Becker. He had phoned the number he got from Shabangu, day
before yesterday, the number for Supreme Committee member Shaheed Latif Osman.
And he had been told it was the wrong number.

Did he go to Shabangu's house last night? His patience
exhausted?

What had Shabangu said to him before The Bull was shot? About
Osman and the Committee.

Quinn picked up his cellphone and called the PIA office, got
the Ops operator on night shift. 'I want a general and comprehensive red flag
warning for a Lukas Becker, his ID and credit card details are on the system.
If he moves an inch I want to know about it. And phone the Bureau in
Bloemfontein. Tell him I want all his people on the Becker investigation. Now.'

Quinn propped his elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed
his eyes. This had suddenly become quite complicated. They had intelligence on
a serious crime. Someone would have to decide what they shared with the police.
And when.

Not his problem. Time to disturb the Advocate's sleep as
well.

The red flag was digitally hoisted at seven o'clock that
morning, at the Oliver Tambo Airport when Lukas Becker used his credit card at
the l time airline counter to buy a ticket for flight 1 T 103 to Kaapstad.

'It departs at 09.25 and arrives at 11.35,' Quinn told Masilo
over the phone, '1 time has agreed to an IFI, I'm sending my best teams to
begin observation once he lands.'

'Good,' said Masilo.

'And the police?'

'The risk to the operation is too great. We say nothing. But
you must not let Becker out of your sight. Not for a second.'

The air hostess on the l time flight did the IFI, the
in-flight identification, forty minutes after the jet had taken off. She consulted
the passenger list and saw there was only one Becker on the flight - a Mr L.
Becker in seat 11 A. She made certain that he was sitting in that seat by
asking a few passengers in Becker's area for their boarding passes, including
Becker himself. She memorised his appearance and clothing.

Just before Flight IT 103 landed in Cape Town, she looked at
the man, who was calmly reading, one last time.

When the plane stopped and she and a colleague opened the
door, she saw there were two extra, unfamiliar ground staff in l time uniforms
at the top of the stairs. One of them made eye contact and nodded at her.

She nodded back.

She waited until Mr Becker came past. She put out her hand in
a friendly gesture. 'Did you enjoy your flight?' and she touched the man's
elbow.

He smiled at her. It was a genuine smile. 'I did, thank you
very much.'

Then he was out.

She looked at the unfamiliar ground staff member who waited
until Becker had passed. Then he looked at her, and nodded again.

He walked after Becker.

Mrs Killian put the new information on the desk and said:
'Milla, the status of this report was raised this morning. In the next twenty-
four hours a lot of material will come in. I'm going to ask Theunie to help
you.'

'What did the guy do?' 'I don't know.'

Milla
looked at the new information. She saw there were four operators working on the
report now. There was an analysis of a bank statement and official documents
from the Navy and a hospital. There were also short snippets, taken from
websites, transcribed interviews, long and short, with acquaintances and former
friends and neighbours. One was an interview with an academic from
Bloemfontein, a woman who had been a student with Lukas Becker.

I
was his dance partner. He loved dancing.

And:

No,
we were just friends. We all knew, back then, Lukas was on the move. Always. It
was
safer...
to just be friends. I always wondered, was he running towards something,
something that drove him, or was he running away from his parents ...

She
worked through the documents systematically, quickly and efficiently, wholly
captivated. She added the new snippets of information to the report, making
changes where speculation became confirmation.

Finances

Becker
has four accounts with Standard Bank, with current cash assets of R1,570
649.98. Transfers to and from a current account with Wells Fargo in the USA, as
well as income from at least two American investments indicate a net worth of
more than R2 million.

She
also added the information about his parents:

Becker's mother, Esther Debora Becker, was admitted to the
Witrand Care and Rehabilitation Centre on 17 April 1995 for observation and
treatment of a psychiatric disorder. She was transferred to the Janet Steinmetz
Private Clinic in Johannesburg on 1 December 1995, and was in treatment until
her death from natural causes on 27 September
1999.

Under
'Background':

During
his compulsory military service (1985-1986) Lukas Becker was trained as a diver
in the SA Navy at Simonstown. (The South African Diving Unit trains teams of
combat divers in mine-countermeasures, search and recovery and underwater
explosives as a wartime role - See references.)

And:

Becker
earned a Masters Degree in Anthropological Archaeology at the University of
South Florida (At St Petersburg in the USA) in 1996.

Below
'Working career':

After his full-time studies for B Agric at the UFS, Becker
joined the Navy again where he served from 1990 to 1994 as an instructor and
later training officer (Lieutenant) at the Diving Unit.

From 1994 to 1996 Becker worked part-time in the marina in St
Petersburg (USA) as deck hand, skipper and diving instructor to pay for his
studies at the University of South Florida. (Unconfirmed.)

From 1997 to 2004 he took part in various American
inter-university archaeological expeditions, including trips to Israel, Egypt,
Jordan, Iran and Turkey, while he worked extramurally on a thesis about Human
Prehistory, with specific reference to the Paleolithic period. (Unconfirmed.)

In
2005, he accepted a position with the American military servicing company
Blackwater (now known as Xe Services LLC), and has since worked for them under
contract in Iraq.

Two teams followed Becker from the airport. One took photos
as Becker collected a car from Tempest Car Hire, a white Toyota Yaris 1.4, and
noted the registration number.

They remained on his tail unseen on the M29 in the direction
of Parow, then along the Ml6 past Tygerberg Hospital, the Ml6 past Karl Bremer
and finally the M31 and Ml3 to Durbanville.

In the quiet suburban streets they had to drop back, nearly
missing him turning in at the Vierlanden Garden Cottage.

They stopped and consulted before
phoning Quinn. He gave one team orders to enquire about accommodation at the
guest house - and book in if there was room. He also gave immediate orders for
a new surveillance team to go to the address without delay.

'The piece about the parents is
superfluous,' said Oom Theunie.

'Don't you think a disturbed mother
has an influence on someone's psyche?' Milla asked.

'You only need one sentence to say
his mother was mad and his parents are dead.'

'OK.' With a touch of reluctance.

Then the photo came through.

The report was a live document in the
PIA database. Milla Strachan sat and wondered if anyone was reading her
updates. And why.

What had Lukas Becker, historical
anthropologist, done to make an intelligence agency interested in him? Was it
his contract work with Blackwater, now known as Xe Services? She had read up
about this company on the Internet. There was nothing under the new name, only
a website under construction. Under 'Blackwater' there was a lot, mostly
controversial. They trained mercenaries.

At 14.27, while she was rewriting the report, the software
indicated that someone had made an external update. Milla clicked the Refresh
icon. The new material was a photograph. She could not curb her curiosity, and
clicked on it.

The photo opened.

Caught in the bright sunlight, beside
a white Toyota, stood a man with dark hair in a brush cut. His body was lean,
his head turned half towards the camera, as he looked at a black man in a car
hire uniform.

There was something about the smile,
the good-natured eyes, his way of looking, that captivated her. In that second
something was said between two strangers, a moment of understanding and
recognition. She stared at it for a long time, looking for traces of
that
life on
this
face, the
unstable,
deceased parents,
the man who was someone's
dance partner at university,
the fascinating, exotic studies, the archaeological expeditions, the job as
soldier and later mercenary, but there was nothing. Just the smile and the
compassion. When Jessica the Goddess suddenly touched her shoulder and asked,
'Who's the dish?' Milla was brought back to reality with a bump.

Just before five Quinn walked into Masilo's office and said:
'We have trouble. Lukas Becker has just driven slowly past Shaheed Latif
Osman's house.'

'And then?'

'Then he drove off, towards the city.' 'Do we have a tracker
on his car yet?' 'Before the end of today.'

'And his cellphone?'

'We are listening. But that's not all, the Johannesburg
bureau has let us know that Julius Shabangu was shot with a MAG-7, an
automatic, short-barrelled shotgun ...'

'And ...?'

'It's a weapon with baggage. Smuggling and military baggage.
Becker was with Blackwater and in Iraq ...'

'What are you saying, Quinn?'

This guy is armed and dangerous ...'

'We are not sure it was him who shot Shabangu. The evidence
is circumstantial.'

'And if Osman is next on his list?'

Masilo
did the one thing Quinn did not expect. He shrugged. Quinn realised the
Advocate was hoping for exactly that. And Masilo still did not trust Janina's
motives.

Photostatic record:
Diary of Milla Strachan

Date of entry:
7
October 2009

Life is a four-letter word, without dimensions. You live. Or
not. Like a switch, on or off. The dimension comes from what we do with it.
That makes the difference between living, and a life.