Cobra (35 page)

‘I’ll do it myself, Benny.’ A brief silence, and then a deep sigh. ‘The question is, will they now kill Adair?’

‘Yes, sir.’ He knew they were thinking the same thing: if Adair’s body was found somewhere in the Cape, there’d be hell to pay with the media. And if they started digging, and found out about the SSA’s bullying tactics, and the Hawks’ attempts to suppress evidence, everyone’s name would be stinking mud, at home and abroad, all over again. And it always came out, because when there were slip-ups, there were always scapegoats and blame, to save other arses and reputations and careers.

‘Thanks, Benny. I’ll be here when you get back.’

They looked for a quiet corner in the lounge, on the modern sofas and chairs, and asked Lillian if she would like something to drink.

‘Oh God, yes, a whisky, please.’

Cupido beckoned a waiter nearer, and ordered the drink for her, and coffee for them.

‘We know you’ve been through a lot, Miss Alvarez,’ Cupido said sympathetically, as he took his notebook and pen out of his inside pocket.‘We know what happened this morning at the Waterfront. We know you work for David Adair, at the university. And we know he has gone missing. But we would like you to tell us . . .’

‘He’s gone missing? I mean, I know something’s not right, but I thought . . .’

She appeared agitated and looked to Cupido for an explanation.

‘If we can hear your side of the story, we might be able to explain,’ he said. ‘Could you tell us, please?’

‘You don’t know where he is?’

‘Not at this time. But perhaps you can help us find him. Please. Tell us what happened.’

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I . . . Professor Adair called me on Monday morning, very early . . .’

‘Ma’am, sorry, could you start with your . . . you work for him, is that right?’

‘Yes. I’m his assistant.’

‘Like a secretary?’

‘No, no, I’m his research assistant. I’m doing my Masters Degree in Applied and Computational Analysis. I’m a research fellow at the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics, where Professor Adair teaches. He’s my supervisor. But I also do research for him on some of his projects.’

Cupido noticed her leaning forward, focused and serious. And a little bit tense. And he thought, she keeps referring to the man as ‘Professor Adair’ in such a pointed way, every time the inflection just a little bit over-emphasised and forced. Or was that his imagination?

‘You don’t sound British at all,’ said Bones.

‘Oh, no, I’m from the United States.’

‘Where in the US?’

‘Kingsville in Texas. Small town, nobody’s ever heard of it. It’s near San Antonio.’

‘I ran the Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon in San Antonio,’ said Bones. ‘Pretty place. But the heat . . .’

‘You know it?’

Cupido knew Bones was going to use the opportunity to bring up his studies again. He pre-empted him, ‘If we can get back to Professor Adair?’

‘Sure. Where were we?’

‘How long have you worked for him?’

‘Since the beginning of the Lent term.’

‘When was that?’

‘This past January.’

‘And you see him every day?’

‘Well, not every day. He is a very busy man. Maybe two or three times a week, at the department.’

‘When did you last see him?’

‘On the Thursday of the week before last.’

‘Where?’

‘At DAMTP.’

‘On campus?’

‘Well . . . yes, at his office.’

In his eleven years as a detective,Vaughn Cupido had questioned hundreds of people – first at the Mitchells Plain police station, later with the Organised Crime Task Force in Bellville South, and over the last few years with the Hawks. Thanks to this experience, and the many lectures and courses with the SAPS Forensic Psychology section, he had learned a great deal about the art of lying. He knew the ability to tell an untruth varied radically from person to person. Some did it so naturally, skilfully, and smoothly that you couldn’t help but admire them, even after you had arrested them. Others telegraphed all the predictable signs of lying with an astounding clarity and awkwardness, but so totally oblivious to what they were doing, that they were still highly indignant if you confronted them about it. And then there were those who fell somewhere on the sliding scale between the two extremes. Lillian Alvarez was not an accomplished liar, but for an amateur she wasn’t doing badly. It was not her eyes, her body language, or gestures that betrayed her, but the timing and tone of her words. That over-eagerness to be helpful, to please, that touch too much obvious sincerity: ‘Look, see how honest I am.’

The way to handle people like this was to pretend you believed them, give them more rein, let them paint themselves into a corner.

‘And he was . . . Did you notice anything different?’

‘Not at all. He was his usual witty self. He can be very funny – he’s always making mathematical puns . . .’

‘I see,’ said Cupido, as if he understood. ‘And he didn’t mention that he was going to travel?’

‘No.’

‘So, the next thing you hear from him, is the call yesterday morning?’

‘No, Monday ... Yes, yesterday! It seems longer ... Well, I had an appointment with him last week, Tuesday, for a progress report, but he wasn’t at the office, and nobody seemed to know where he was. But it’s not all that unusual. Because of all the work he does for the financial industry, and the fight against terrorism, you know . . .’

‘You mean his algorithm.’

‘Exactly. Usually he’ll send me a text or an email to cancel. But still, I didn’t worry too much.’

The waiter brought the whisky and coffee. Bones reached for his wallet, but Cupido was faster. ‘Keep the change,’ he said.

When the man had gone, Cupido said, ‘OK. And before his call yesterday morning, nobody contacted you about him?’

‘No.’

‘OK. Now, yesterday morning . . . You said it was very early. Can you remember the time?’

‘It was around three o’clock in the morning. Maybe that’s why it feels so long ago . . .’

‘UK time?’ Bones asked.

‘Yes.’

‘About five o’clock South African time?’ said Bones.

‘I suppose . . .’

‘The call, was it from his own phone?’ asked Cupido.

‘How do you . . . ? Oh, you mean, did it show on my phone that it was him?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s a good . . . I can’t remember. I don’t think I looked. It was . . . He woke me up, so I was a bit sleepy.’

‘Could you take a look now? On your phone?’

‘Sure, I should have thought of that.’ She opened her handbag and took out the phone. Her deft fingertips managed the screen with practised finesse, till she found what she was looking for.

‘No,’ she said in surprise. ‘It’s from a different number . . . And it was at seven minutes past three in the morning.’

‘Could you read the number to me?’

She read out the number, which began with a +44. Cupido scribbled in his notebook.

‘Do you recognise the number?’

‘Not at all.’

‘OK. So what did he say?’

‘He apologised for the time of the call, and I said it’s not a problem. Then he asked me if I could do him a big favour . . .’

‘How did he sound?’

‘Apologetic.’

‘Not stressed?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say he was stressed out . . . He’s very calm, always, so I . . . No, not stressed out.’

‘OK. And then?’

‘Well, I said of course I would do him a favour. And he said he’s in a bit of a bind, it’s very embarrassing, so it’s a really big favour, and it’s going to mean I have to travel halfway around the world, but he’s asking me because I’ve said more than once that I would love to visit Africa, and if I don’t feel comfortable, I should just say so, he would fully understand. So I said, wow, that sounds exciting, when did I have to go? And he said he’s booked a flight for me . . . Well, you know, in that very polite British way, he actually said he really hopes I don’t mind, but he’s taken the liberty of booking a flight for me, and it leaves at seven thirty on Monday night, from Heathrow, for Cape Town in South Africa.’

43

Griessel was still eating, without enjoyment. Mbali pushed her empty plate away, wiped her fingers with the paper serviette, and said, ‘Bones has found something interesting about David Adair.’

‘Yes?’

‘It might not . . .I’m trying to figure out what it means. Adair apparently belongs to a group of British scientists who are starting a protest group against government secrecy, and invasion of public privacy.’

Griessel raised his eyebrows, and Mbali continued, ‘Bones and I thought it was strange too. Because Adair’s algorithm does exactly that. It infringes on the privacy of anyone who uses banks.’

‘They are
planning
to start a protest group?’

‘Well, Bones says he only found one reference, and that is perhaps significant too. He says there was so much on the Internet about Adair and his protocol, and his algorithm, and his other academic work, that he almost missed it. He came across a small item in a weekly scientific newspaper, in the USA. It reported that a group of British scientists attended a conference on the Association . . . no, the . . . Project for Government Secrecy. It was held by an association or a federation of American scientists at the end of last year in St Louis. The leader of the British delegation was a political scientist, who told the newspaper that they were planning to start a similar project in the UK. And that they were very worried about their government’s suppression of information, but also the hijacking of new technologies to infringe the privacy of citizens. The newspaper listed one of the British team members as a Professor D. P. Adair.’

Griessel tried to fit this information in with what they knew, but it would not make sense.

‘I’ve been thinking, Benny, we know the UK ambassador has been talking to our minister of state security. And then MI6 and the SSA got involved very quickly, and we were taken off the case. So, now I wonder if this whole thing about Adair is maybe not about his banking software. I think it might be about government secrets. And with our government now passing legislation to be even more secretive . . . That’s maybe why they are cooperating so enthusiastically with the British.’

Lillian Alvarez took a gulp of her whisky, and she said, ‘That really woke me up, so I said, wow, that’s a real surprise, it would be incredible, but don’t I need a visa or something? And he said no, US citizens don’t need a visa, and he will email me the ticket a little later. So, I asked him how long would I be staying, you know, I had to know what and how much to pack. But right then, he didn’t answer me, he just said there’s something else he needs me to do. So I said, sure, and he said, I should go to his office, and find a book. He told me where the book was on his shelf, and he told me where to look in the book, because there is a memory card, and I should take the card . . .’

‘What kind of book?’ asked Bones Boshigo.

‘
On Numbers and Games
. It’s the classic by John Horton Conway . . .’ She saw that they didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. ‘The famous British mathematician? He’s one of David’s – Professor Adair’s – heroes, it’s about game theory. The book, I mean. The memory card was stuck to the first page of the First Part, which is really the second part . . . Look, it’s one of those mathematical inside jokes that he loves.’

‘OK. So he said you must go fetch the card . . .’

‘Yes. He asked me to go early, before anyone else arrived at the office. And that I shouldn’t tell anybody about his call, or the memory card, he’ll explain later, but it was about his security work, and discretion is the better part of valour. He apologised again, and thanked me, and said he would call again later that morning. And then he rang off.’

‘Did he call you again?’

‘Yes, at . . .’ She suddenly remembered she could give the exact time, took out her phone again, and consulted the call register. ‘At seven minutes past ten.’

‘Yesterday morning?’

‘Yes.’

‘UK time?’

‘Yes.’

‘From the same number?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK, so after that first call, what happened?’

‘I set the alarm for six o’clock, and tried to go to sleep again, which wasn’t easy. I was pretty excited . . .’

‘And not worried?’

‘No, not at all. I mean, you know . . . I was getting this trip for free to a cool place, and it was helping this man I respect so very much with something very important and . . . well, interesting, you know? It was only later that I thought it was a little bit strange that he didn’t say anything about where I was going to stay, or how long the trip would be . . . He’s such an organised man, so very methodical . . .’

‘And then you went to his office?’

‘At seven sharp.’

‘How did you get in?’