Trackers (7 page)

Milla wondered why she couldn't aim a bit higher,
fictitiously speaking, at the editor's job itself.

Just before lunch she met her new boss, Mrs Killian, the
manager of the 'Report Squad' as her induction official called it. Milla
recognised her, she was the one sitting quietly against the wall at the last
interview, the kind-looking one, everyone's grandma. There was only time for a
brief handshake with her other colleagues - the spectacular Jessica, wild red
hair and a magnificent bosom, and two bald old men whose names ran by her too
quickly.

She
realised she was dressed too smartly, because Jessica was simply wearing an
old, outsize jersey and jeans, while one of the old guys had on a cravat, with
a checked sleeveless pullover.

2
September 2009. Wednesday.

Janina Mentz stared at the article in
Die Burger
for a long time. It was titled '
Nuwe vrae duik op oor wapens
': New questions about
arms emerge.

With a small smile she took a pair of scissors from her desk
drawer and cut out the article.

Before she filed it in a new folder, she read it through again.
Especially the fifth paragraph with the quote from David Maynier, Member of
Parliament for the Democratic Alliance. 'What is happening, is wrong. We are
about to supply flying suits for pilots to President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad of
Iran, we have already sold grenade launchers and missiles that could be used
to launch nuclear weapons to Colonel Muammar Gaddafi of Libya, as well as guns
to President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela. The government should explain why they
are selling weapons to a string of pariah states - and illegally to boot.'

At around 10.14 on the Wednesday morning of the second of
September, the red Toyota Corolla with an Eastern Cape registration number
stopped in front of 16A Chamberlain Street. The house was one of six
single-storey semi-detached houses, each painted a different bright colour.
Number 16A was an indescribable pinky-purple, with red-painted tops on the two
pillars of the equally red garden gate. A coloured man and woman in their
thirties took their time getting out of the car, stretching, as if the journey
had been long and wearying, before approaching the little gate and entering.
The young man took keys out of his pocket and opened the front door. Both
disappeared into the house, which had stood empty since the previous day.

About a quarter of an hour later a lorry stopped in front of
the house. The lettering on the sides read
Afriworld
Removals, Port Elizabeth.

The coloured couple came out of the front door, greeted the
driver and pointed at the house.

Diagonally opposite, Baboo Rayan, dogsbody of the Supreme
Committee, kept an eye on proceedings from the top window of number 15 - the
opening of the lorry doors, the transfer of simple, middle-class furniture.

During the late-afternoon meeting, Advocate Tau Masilo reported
that the two operatives were successfully installed opposite the house of the
Supreme Committee. (Masilo had banned the word 'agent' from the PIA lexicon.
'We are not selling insurance.' His standpoint was not negotiable. 'The
operatives will maintain a very low profile for the next week or two, ma'am.
Tomorrow the man will begin work at a spare parts company in Victoria Street.
For now the woman will play the apparent housewife and start photo-surveillance
of 15 Chamberlain Street. We hid the voice and cellphone monitoring equipment
in the furniture. He will set it up tonight and we should be operational by
tomorrow. Then it just leaves the insertion of the electro-acoustic microphone,
but we will only do that once we are absolutely certain of their movements ...'

'Good work, Tau.'

'Thank you, ma'am.'

She looked to Rajkumar. She knew the Indian had good news.
Since the start of the meeting he had had that self-satisfied smile on his
face. 'Raj?'

'Julius Shabangu, our crime kingpin in Jo'burg. We have very
interesting insights ...'

Mentz lifted her eyebrows.

'We've had two vehicles, disguised as private security
patrols from the Eagle Eye company, in Shabangu's neighbourhood for the past
week,' Rajkumar paused for Janina Mentz to appreciate the wit and irony.

She just nodded.

'Anyway, they've been monitoring cellphone traffic. We've
been processing a lot of data, and the good news is, we have two cell numbers
that probably belong to him or his people ...'

'Probably?'

'Madam, we have more than twenty houses in the block, and a
lot of cellular traffic. But the calls in question correspond to the times
Shabangu and his staff have been at home. We have now isolated them, and will
eavesdrop as from tonight. But here's the interesting thing. They've been
talking to Harare. Two calls, from two different cellular phones, to the same
number in Zim.'

'My, my,' said the Advocate.

'But we don't know who the Harare number belongs to,' said
Mentz.

'We don't have access to infrastructure in Zim. But we will now
start listening to any future calls from those numbers ...'

Mentz gave him a full-blown smile. 'Raj, that is good work.'

'I know,' the Indian said.

Photostatic record:
Diary of Milla Strachan

Date of entry:
2
September 2009

Exhausted. What a day. Nine hours of training - Computer
Literacy, Internet Skills, Search Procedures, Report Writing, Writing Style,
everything in one room in front of one computer, with four different, equally
soul-destroying instructors.

Photostatic record:
Diary of Milla Strachan

Date of entry:
3 September 2009

Highlight of the day:
for the first time I saw the words 'Spy the Beloved Country'. The words marched
slowly across the computer screen of Oom Theunie, my bald colleague. His screen
saver.

He smelled of pipe smoke, like my father.

4
September 2009. Friday.

They sat in the Bizerca Bistro, the elegant black Advocate
Tau Masilo, and the crushproof white woman, Janina Mentz, heads together like
lovers. They were an island of solemnity in the light-hearted lunch hour.

Masilo's voice was quiet. 'My source says our Minister's
recommendation is that we be left in peace in the amalgamation, but there are
other cabinet members who differ.'

'Who?'

'The Minister of Defence, apparently, and the Minister of
Home Affairs.'

Senior cabinet members, Mentz realised. She digested the
information before asking, 'Who else supports us?'

'The Deputy President.'

'Is that all?'

'You must understand, the information is second-hand, and I
suspect much of it is speculation. But the important thing is, the President is
not yet certain that we are included.'

They ate in silence. Masilo enjoyed his food with visible
pleasure.

Eventually he put his knife and fork down. 'No wonder the
Minister of Finance eats here too. Ma'am, may I make a suggestion?' he asked.

'Of course, Tau.'

'Now is the time to make a fuss. To convince the
President...'

'How?'

'With what we have. I know, I know, seen objectively, it's
not much. But a short report, cleverly written ...'

'It's dangerous.'

'Why would that be?'

'Tau, how much credibility will we lose if the Muslim affair
is completely off-target?'

'Will it matter, in a month or two?'

'We simply don't have enough yet,' with disguised regret.

'I don't know if we can wait much longer, ma'am. It's a
window of opportunity, and it won't stay open for long. The President could
make his decision any day now ...'

Janina Mentz adjusted her spectacles. Unconvinced.

Masilo's cellphone rang. He answered and listened. Spoke into
the instrument: 'From where?' Then again: 'I'll be there now.' -

He put the phone away. 'That was Quinn. I think the cellular
taps in Gauteng have borne fruit.'

Quinn, the Chief of Staff: Operations, in a black turtleneck
sweater and khaki chinos, caressed the facts with his quiet voice: 'Inkunzi
Shabangu and his people are clever, as befits members of organised crime. Every
week they replace their cellphone SIM cards. It takes Raj and his people three
or four days to isolate the new numbers, because we can monitor Shabangu's
house, that is our one constant site. That leaves only three days of
surveillance before we have to start all over again. Incidentally they never
use the same SIM card twice, and we suspect every new number is SMSed to
important contacts on Sunday evenings. This was recorded this morning. One
voice is Shabangu himself. The call came from Harare, it is a typical Zim
accent...'

Quinn clicked on the mouse. The sound was excellent on the
impressive system.

'Hello.'

'Mhoroi,
Inkunzi, how are you?'

'I am very well, my friend, and how are you?'

'Not so well, Inkunzi, times are tough over here.'

'I know, my friend, I know, the newspapers are full of it.'

'What can you do ...?'

'So, my friend,
ndeipi?'

'The news is that you were right, Inkunzi. Chitepo is working
on a new route, and it will go through South Africa.'

Quinn paused the recording for a moment. 'Most likely that's
Johnson Chitepo, head of Zimbabwe's Joint Operations Command, and Mugabe's right-hand
man. But listen to this ...' and he reactivated the recording.

'And you are sure?' said the voice of Julius Shabangu over
the speakers.

'Almost sure. Ninety-nine per cent. But it looks like he is
keeping Comrade Bob in the dark.'

'Chitepo?'

'
Yebo.
'

'He's stealing from Mugabe now?'

'He is looking after himself.'

'OK. So when is it going to happen?'

'Soon, I think. But we will try to find out more.'

'And the route? How does it work?'

'All I know is, he's working with a South African. Someone in
nature conservation. So it could be through Kruger, you know, the transfrontier
park. They are connected now, Gonarezhou and Kruger. That is what we think,
they will take it through there.'

'OK. My friend this is very good. But we need the details.'

'I know, Inkunzi. I will keep listening.'

'Tatenda,
my friend.
Fambai zvakanaka'

'Fambai zvakanaka,
Inkunzi.'

Quinn paused the recording again. 'That just means "go
well" in Shona. The conversation is quite typical, they keep it short,
just like the following one. This is Shabangu phoning, the number he called is
a house here in Cape Town, in Rondebosch East, which we'll naturally monitor
from now on. The house belongs to one Abdullah Hendricks. Up till now he has
not been on our radar at all.' He clicked on a new electronic folder.

'Hendricks.'

Inkunzi's voice, deep and authoritarian: 'I have a message
for Inkabi.'

'Inka ...? Yes, Inkabi. What is the message?'

'Tell him he was right. Our friend in Zimbabwe is back in the
export business, but he has new partners, and he wants to export to South
Africa. Tell him this is ninety-nine per cent sure, but that is all we know. We
will try to get more.'

'I will tell him.'

'OK, my friend. That's all.'

'Khuda hafiz.
'

'OK.'

The electronic noise of a call being terminated. Quinn turned
away from the screen and looked at Mentz and Masilo. '"Inkabi" is the
Zulu word for "ox",
"os"
as in Osman, which of course, refers to the Supreme Committee member Shaheed
Latif Osman. Most likely that is the code Shabangu and Osman agreed on during
their meeting. Obviously, Shabangu has a sense of humour.'

Only Masilo smiled.

'Hendricks might be Supreme Committee too, or on the fringes.
He's new to us. You can also pick up that he was taken a little by surprise. He
didn't recognise the code immediately. We believe this is the first call from
Shabangu to this number, the first time that he has used the code to report to
Osman since they met in Johannesburg,' said Quinn.

'What does "
khuda hafiz
"
mean?' Mentz asked.

'It's a Muslim greeting. Something like "may God protect
you". As we could hear, Shabangu didn't know either.'