Allegiance (20 page)

Masondo shook his head. ‘I meant with Nandi. Mr Shabalala, have you chiefs found anything out about who she’s seeing?’

Durant and Shabalala looked at each other and then back at Masondo. ‘Nothing to report, sir,’ Durant said. ‘I don’t know if you’ve found out anything, Cedric?’ He couldn’t resist it.

Shabalala quickly shook his head. ‘Quiet on that front, but we’ve got the
SIM
card details.’ He pointed to the file.

Masondo nodded slowly as if in thought. ‘We’ll get to the
SIM
card details now.’ He frowned. ‘Something’s happening. Every Wednesday night. She goes out, and I swear by all the choirs of heaven, I will find out where she goes and who she’s with.’

There was silence, punctuated only by Shabalala’s breathing.

‘Well,’ Durant said, feeling the unease in the room, ‘we’re very excited about finding the
SIM
card. It links someone at the centre to a number we’re busy tracing.’

‘I have new faith in garbage. You’re right, it does deliver!’ Shabalala laughed. His nervousness wasn’t concealed by the laugh at all.

‘How are you tracing it?’ Masondo asked, scowling at Shabalala and then looking at Durant.

‘Well, we can’t get the judge’s authority because we can’t link the card to a specific person, so official means are out.’

‘So what are you saying? Are you part of something illegal here? Mr Shabalala?’

Shabalala quickly shook his head. ‘No, sir. What Mr Durant means is that we had to be more creative. Nothing illegal.’

‘Continue then.’

Durant smiled. ‘The
SIM
card had one number in its memory. We bought a prepaid card and used it to send a message to the number. Now we just wait.’

‘Should I ask what the message was?’ Masondo asked.

‘It was just to the effect that the subscriber had won an instant prize of R1 000.’

‘And this money will come from where?’

Durant pointed to the folder in front of Masondo.

‘There’s a claim in there for an operational expense of R1 000. It’ll be worth it, Chief, I promise.’

Shabalala leaned back in his chair, more relaxed now. ‘People don’t really throw
SIM
cards away unless they’ve done something with them that they don’t want people to know about. It’s unlikely, but we’re thinking just maybe the threat to the Americans was made from that number. Then we’ve got a definite link to the centre as opposed to an educated guess.’

Masondo smiled, a smile that could have been measured by a micrometer. ‘This is a break, chaps, well done. I’ll sign the claim. Let me know the minute you find out who was called from that
SIM
card. If it’s a relevant number, we can apply for a warrant and get a detailed billing.’

‘Exactly. I want to send Splinters in a few times more to scratch in the rubbish. I think it’s worthwhile – there might be more cards.’

‘Make it happen.’ Masondo leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘And while you chaps are on a roll, please find out what’s happening on Wednesday nights.’

Durant silently agreed to do just that.

Amina stood up and waved as Mariam entered the restaurant. It was a hot day and the air conditioning in the busy locale was struggling to keep the temperature bearable.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Mariam said, adjusting the scarf around her head as she sat down, but Amina still saw a bruise on her neck, just below her ear.

Amina immediately felt a pain inside because she knew the bruise was put there by a man’s hand. ‘It’s fine, Mariam, please sit down and relax, I’m just sorry it’s so hot in here.’

‘It’s okay, I’m not hot. I’m happy to be here, thank you for inviting me.’

‘Mariam,’ Amina said, pausing only to put her hand on Mariam’s arm, ‘you can to talk to me, I’m your friend. If you want to share, I’m listening.’

Mariam’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Thank you, you’re so kind.’

‘I mean it, Mariam. I can see something’s bothering you. Maybe I can help you. It’ll help just to talk about it.’

Mariam half-smiled and looked down at the tablecloth. ‘My life’s such a mess; I don’t know what to do.’

A waitress arrived and left two menus on the table.

‘Messes can be fixed. Don’t keep it all in, it just makes it worse. Trust me, I’m a good listener.’

Mariam put her head in her hands as if in prayer for a few silent moments, and then looked up. ‘Arshad was a big mistake. I know I’m not telling you much, but that sums it up.’

‘If he’s hurting you, we need to get you help.’

‘It’s more complicated than that. I’m sorry, Amina, I do trust you and you really are the only friend I’ve got, but I need to sort this out myself. I’m doing it for Siraj. I want him to have a better life than I had.’

Amina leaned in and spoke in a hushed voice. ‘But listen to me, look at me, Mariam. If you’re being abused, let me help you stop it.’

‘I’m really just afraid something will happen to me. And then what about Siraj? I’m trying to deal with it in my own way.’

Amina took in the sadness reflected in Mariam’s eyes. ‘Sometimes that’s the best way to deal with these situations. You’ve got my number. You must call me if ever you need help. Please, any time, night or day, I’ll be there for you. Promise me you won’t try to handle this by yourself?’

‘I promise.’

The Saturday morning had been relatively uneventful. Durant had changed a sticking door lock at home and then tried, unsuccessfully, to repair the printer Stephanie wanted to use to print a bunch of forms she’d downloaded. He’d just washed his hands and promised Alexis he’d play with her when the prepaid cellphone from which he’d sent the bogus competition message rang.

He panicked for a second, then ran to the bedroom and closed the door. He didn’t want the caller to hear Alexis in the background.

‘Ebony Promotions, can I help you?’ he said.

‘I’m calling about the prize,’ a female voice said.

‘Madam, you were randomly selected to win a R1 000 prize by our computer, for being a loyal prepaid customer. Congratulations. Please can you spell out your name for confirmation purposes?’

‘Nomusa Radebe.’

‘Ms Radebe, we would like to hand over the cash prize to you at your convenience. Which area are you closest to: Johannesburg, Durban or Cape Town?’

‘Durban.’

‘We would like to present you the cash at your home if I may take down your address.’

‘I can come to your office . . .’

‘Um, we would prefer to do the handover at your home, madam.’

The caller named a shopping mall in Durban and Durant agreed reluctantly.

‘Okay, we can meet there at 3 p.m. today. Please bring your id book for identification purposes.’

When Durant threw the phone down on the bed, he realised how tight his shoulders were and rolled them to try and ease the pain. He then used his cellphone and dialled Shabalala’s number.

‘Okay, it’s happening at three today.’

Durant scanned the people standing around the fountain, but nobody there had that confused look that characterised strangers meeting other strangers blindly. He hung back because he wanted to identify the woman first before she saw him. The surveillance unit had deployed members around the area who blended in seamlessly with the crowds of people in the shopping mall. Durant clutched the folder containing the envelope with the R1 000 and sat on a small ledge close to the fountain. He noticed Shabalala on an upper balcony, peering over the edge. A black female, approximately 30 years old, sauntered towards the fountain looking around uncomfortably and then looked at her watch. In her hand, a green id book. Durant stood up and walked up to her.

‘Ms Radebe?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Erik Robson.’ He shook her hand. ‘Congratulations, Ms Radebe, for winning the R1 000, and thank you for being a loyal user of our network.’

‘I’m so happy, thank you,’ Ms Radebe said, eagerly eyeing the envelope.

For the first time since he’d hatched the plan, Durant felt uneasy. He was handing over R1 000 of taxpayers’ money. He needed more than ‘I’m so happy, thank you’ from Ms Radebe. He needed to know how her cellphone number was on a
SIM
card that had been discarded into the
IAC
’s trash. ‘Do you load new airtime regularly?’ Durant asked, trying to elicit more from the woman.

‘Yes,’ she said, but Durant was aware that her feet were already pointing away from him. She wanted to go.

Durant gave her the envelope. ‘Can I ask you to sign for it, please, and may I just verify your
ID
number?’ He let her press onto his file while she signed a receipt.

‘It was my boyfriend’s phone, so I brought his id book. I’m sorry; he’s late.’

‘Late? You mean . . . he’s still coming?’

The woman shook her head and held out the
ID
book to Durant. ‘I mean he’s passed away.’

He flipped open the
ID
book. The R1 000 of state funds had not been wasteful expenditure at all. It was in the name of Nathi Khoza.

It was dark by the time Durant and Shabalala arrived at Masondo’s house. He’d insisted they come over after they had debriefed the surveillance team and update him on the events of the day.

Durant led the way in when Masondo opened the front door.

‘Come in, chaps. Welcome, sorry to take you away from your families.’

‘What a great day, sir,’ Durant said. ‘It was worth the time and money spent. Is Nandi in?’

Shabalala scowled at Durant as Masondo turned to close the front door.

‘Yes, I’m sure she’ll be down now. Come in, please, sit at the dining room table. I’ll ask Nandi to make us something.’

Masondo ushered the two into the dining room and then left, closing the door behind him.

‘You couldn’t resist that, could you?’ Shabalala whispered.

‘Resist what?’ Durant whispered back. ‘Asking about Nandi? What’s wrong with that? It would have looked strange if I didn’t ask.’

‘You made it obvious. She probably wouldn’t have come down anyhow if you hadn’t—’

The door swung open and Masondo entered with a notebook in his hand. ‘You boys don’t have to whisper, it’s fine. I’ll keep the door closed. I can feel the excitement in this room; I look forward to hearing what you have to say.’

Shabalala cleared his throat. ‘Let me kick off then.’ The words had barely left his mouth when the door opened and Nandi stepped in, smiling.

‘Hello, Uncle Kev, Mr Shabalala. How are you two doing? Working hard, I see? My dad doesn’t let you have weekends, huh?’

Shabalala seemed to have frozen in his chair, so Durant said, ‘We don’t mind. You’re looking great, Nandi, really great.’

At the words, she seemed to curve her body cheekily and seductively behind where her father sat, but clearly in view of Durant and Shabalala. ‘Aw, thanks man. Tea, coffee or juice?’

‘Coffee for me. Ced? He’s a bit fussy. You don’t have some freshly filtered rain water?’

Nandi laughed. ‘You’re such a funny guy! Are you fussy, Mr Shabalala?’

Shabalala still seemed paralysed and Durant was starting to worry. He gave him a kick under the table.

‘Why are you kicking me?’ Masondo asked, giving Durant a glance.

‘Excuse me, Chief, just trying to uncross my legs. Pins and needles. Ced, come on, order so we can get on with the work.’

Shabalala tried to avoid her gaze. ‘I’ll just have – nothing thanks.’

‘Nothing it is then,’ and Nandi glided out and shut the door.

Masondo frowned and then nodded slowly. ‘At least she appreciates your sense of humour, Kevin. Show me what you got, Cedric.’

‘It’s a breakthrough, Chief. The only number dialled from the
SIM
card we found at the centre was that of Nathi Khoza.’

‘Nathi Khoza?’

‘Khoza was one of the
ATM
bombers who was blown up in that weapons deal that went bad.’

Masondo raised his eyebrows and then sat forward in his chair. ‘Someone at the centre had contact with Khoza so that means someone at the centre could have arranged for the explosives. Is this true?’

‘That’s what we think,’ Durant said. ‘But now Khoza’s dead so we’re still none the wiser who he was talking to.’

‘Where exactly did you pick up the garbage?’ Masondo asked.

‘The asset says he looked in the bins at the main administrative building at the centre. That’s the area where the majority of activity is,’ Durant replied.

‘The sheikh’s office garbage?’

‘Would have been in that lot. That’s maybe about ten or fifteen people’s garbage,’ Shabalala said. ‘I’ll ask my guy to give us an indication of who’s in that part of the centre and maybe for profiles.’

‘The
SIM
card would have been linked to a phone. Any chance of seeing what other cards were used in the phone so we can start linking other people in?’ Masondo asked.

Durant answered. ‘We’ll need a warrant. We’ll put our heads together and try to come up with a good motivation for the judge.’

Masondo frowned. ‘Didn’t we have Khoza’s phone wired? How come we didn’t pick up the call from this number?’

‘The calls were made before we had the authorisation,’ Shabalala said. ‘We only had Khoza’s cell for three days before he was blown up. The calls from the centre were made a week before.’

The door opened and Nandi walked in, tray in hand. She set it down on the table and Durant watched her eyes to see if there was any clandestine eye contact with Shabalala. There wasn’t any. Durant was impressed. Nandi left the room and closed the door behind her.

Masondo looked at Shabalala. ‘You think you might have a chance with my daughter, Cedric?’

‘Not at all, Mr Masondo. I’m sure I’m not her type.’

‘You’re right you’re not her type. I’m not sure if anybody out there is.’

Durant smiled. ‘Her type, or your type, Chief?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I mean, are you deciding for her, or does she get to decide her type?’

‘That’s a pointless argument, Durant, because you already know what the answer is, and I won’t engage you on it. So let’s get back to business.’

Shabalala kicked Durant under the table and sneaked a smile at him while Masondo opened his flip file.