Trackers (52 page)

'Nor do I. What are they bringing
in?'

'I think it's weapons. Missiles. From
Pakistan.'

Rajkumar turned the hard drive over
in his fingers, a sceptical expression on his face. 'Maybe,' he said. 'But
it's going to take time.' 'How much time?' asked Mentz.

'Five, six hours ...'

'That's more than enough. We have about forty-eight hours
before
The Madeleine
arrives. And we might just find it
before you're finished.'

For the first time he asked her
advice, at the N7 junction - he wanted a back road to Parow or Goodwood. He
drew her in with his explanation: they had to dump the car at an unobtrusive
place, then get into the city.

She described the route via
Philadelphia to him.

'What weapons did you get?'

'Assault rifles.'

'What are their names?'

Her attention to detail evoked a
half-smile that came and went. 'The small one is a Heckler & Koch UMP,
that's short for "Universale Maschinenpistole", because it's a German
machine pistol. This one is adapted to shoot .45 ACP rounds, not the usual
nine-millimetre. ACP
stands for Automatic Colt Pistol, it has more stopping
power than the nines. The other two are AKs, a 4B and 2A, I only wanted one,
but they sold them as a parcel.'

'They...?'

'Nigerians. In Parklands.'

'How much did they cost?'

'The H&K was expensive. Four
thousand. The AKs were seven- fifty for the two. The ammunition was included.'

'Seven hundred and fifty rand for two
AK-47s!'

'I could have got them for 500 if I
wasn't in such a hurry.'

'What happens after we ditch the
car?'

At 19.37 came the news of the Nissan
Sentra stolen at the Eden on the Bay shopping centre.

In the Ops Room, in front of the big
team, Janina Mentz responded with stoic self-control - a small nod, a request
for a wider search for the vehicle.

At 20.14 the agent phoned Quinn. 'I'm
standing on the bridge of
The Trident
, it's a stern
trawler from United Fisheries, it's been lying in the Robinson Dry Dock at the
Waterfront since the thirteenth of September, total refurbishment. On the
sixteenth of September someone broke in and stole all the electronics, radios,
computers, navigation, the lot.'

'Excellent. Do you have the AIS
identity?'

'No, we will have to get it from the
United people, there are only guys here from the refurbishment company. He gave
me the numbers, but it's Saturday night, there's no one in the office.'

'Give me the numbers,' tossed over
his shoulder as he hurried across to Janina Mentz.

They left the Nissan Sentra in Dingle
Street in Vasco, in front of a church, and walked to the minibus taxis at the
station two blocks away. He carried the rucksack and gun bag, she had only her
handbag. He held her hand.

They travelled along with nine
coloured passengers down Voortrekker, Albert and Strand Street. The atmosphere
was dampened
by
their presence at first,
inquisitive, fleeting workmen's
eyes were cast at Milla's soiled blouse and grazed arms, and Becker's shoulder.
Until one of the men asked: 'Wicked weekend,
bru
'?'
and Lukas
grinned and nodded, Milla laughed. Then came the wisecracks and speculations
and stories, and by the time they stopped at the station, one woman said
seriously: 'Go well, you two.'

They took a taxi to the Waterfront,
just before the shops closed. They only bought the bare essentials - a small
rucksack for Milla, shirt and blouse, dark anoraks, toiletries. They put on the
new clothes in the public restrooms, then they walked through the Red Shed to
the outside, up the stairs, to Portswood Street and the Commodore Hotel.

Rajkumar put down the phone and said
to Mentz and Quinn, 'He says they've cancelled the Lloyds account for
The
Trident,
because it's a waste of money while they're waiting for the
new AIS equipment. So we won't be able to track the ship through them.'

'And the electronic ID?'

'He's on his way to their offices, we
should have it in an hour.'

'And then?'

'Then we will have to talk to the
Yanks.'

'Is that our only choice?'

'Yes.'

In the big hotel room Becker put the
bags down, wrapped his arms around Milla and held her tightly, not speaking.
They stood that way for a long time, until he said: 'You'll have to eat
something.'

With his hands on her shoulders he
looked at her, his eyes searching her face, for something.

She stroked his cheek with her
fingers. Then she said: 'I want to have a quick bath. I won't be long.'

He let her go reluctantly.

Then he ordered sandwiches from room
service.

'Jesus, Janina,' said Bruno
Burzynski, indignant, astounded.

'Let's try and stay calm ...'

He rose from his chair in the
coordinating office, cracking his knuckles on the table, his face reddening.
'I just don't get you,' he said in a monotone, straining for self-control.
'Honest to God, I just don't get you.

You've just wasted two hours, we have
little more than one day left, and you're still playing games. Have you got any
idea what's at stake here?'

'Despite my third-world simplicity
and my gender, I think I can grasp the stakes, Bruno.'

'Can you? Because I'm starting to
think that chip on your shoulder is seriously impairing your ability to grasp
anything ...'

'The chip on
my
shoulder? How
about the monkey of superiority on your back ... ?'

'Enough,' barked Tau Masilo and stood
up. 'That is more than enough.' He walked between them. 'Now, sit down, both of
you.'

He gave Milla a short course in the
use of the AK-47. He pressed the rounds out of the magazine with his thumb
while explaining to her that it was a simple weapon, robust, reliable, but not
very accurate. He showed her how to click home the magazine, how to cock the
rifle, and push the safety catch down.

He explained the settings for
semi-automatic and automatic fire, he showed her how to hold it, how to lean
her body forward, how to press the trigger rather than pull it.

He made her do it over and over,
until he was satisfied.

Burzynski was the first to react. He
took a deep breath, sat down slowly, his face still red.

Mentz remained standing.

'Janina, please,' said Masilo.

'I grasp things better when I stand,'
she said, with thin sarcasm.

Masilo visibly gritted his teeth,
addressed himself to Burzynski. 'We would be very grateful if you could pass on
the new information, and help us find the ship.'

Burzynski nodded, put out his hand to
his cellphone.

'And then, I think it's time to put
our cards on the table,' said Masilo, without looking at the Director.

'It doesn't make any sense,' said
Becker. 'There are too many people here.'

At 21.38 they were standing in front
of the Radisson Hotel, looking out over Granger Bay harbour, brightly lit.
There were people
everywhere: on the balconies of restaurants, on the
walkways of the long, narrow quays, on the decks of the yachts that lay in long
rows, masts and tackle in line.

'Is this the right place?' Milla
asked.

He looked at the cellphone again.
'According to the GPS coordinates. It's here. Definitely.'

'They'll only be here at two. That's
another four hours ...'

Becker pointed at a party on the deck
of a yacht. 'Those people will still be here at two o'clock... I should have
written the coordinates down.'

'OPBC,' said Milla. 'Is that a
navigational term?'

He shook his head. 'I don't know. Let
me Google it.'

She watched him connect via his
cellphone, and search.

The very first result was 'Oceana
Power Boat Club'. He activated the link. A website opened, a small photo of the
sea in the foreground, cranes and the buildings of Sea Point in the background.
The accompanying text was barely readable it was so small on the screen. 'The
Oceana Power Boat Club (OPBC),' he read, 'located at Granger Bay within the
V& A Waterfront environs, is the only slipway for small craft in the Cape
Town precinct. It has provided a valuable service to boaters for more than
twenty-five years.' He studied the photo, then looked up, towards the sea.
'This is Granger Bay. It must be here.'

'Wait,' said Milla and walked down
the steps to the wooden deck, where two men with beers in their hands stood at
the gangway of a yacht. She heard them speaking English. 'Could you tell me
where we can find the Oceana Power Boat Club?'

The Oceana Power Boat Club was an
ugly dark lump of coal between the diamond clusters of the Victoria and Alfred
Waterfront and the Granger Bay yacht marina.