Deadly States (Seaforth Files by Nicholas P Clark Book 2) (14 page)

When Jack had first dipped his toes in the murky world of international espionage back in the seventies, things were very simple. Hewas
told to keep his head down as far as possible and that way he stood at
least a slim chance of not having it blown
off. His early
battles with
the IRA, and skirmishes with KGB agents, conditioned him into believing that the advice that he had been given was sound. For much
of his working life he had lived by that simple rule and he went
out of
his way not to draw attention to himself. The 1990s stood that advice
on its head, and Jack did not like having to make the adjustment as it
was completely at
odds with not
only
his training,
but also his
own
instincts. To Jack, a spy should always adopt the mentality
of an unfaithful husband. If the husband bought a new sports car, new clothes,
new aftershave and so on, the wife would notice something was amiss.
In seeking the right kind of attention from his mistress he also gets the
wrong kind of attention from his wife.

In South
Africa promiscuity was not
only tolerated; it was expected. Everything about the powerful in the country was
over the top
and oozing with new
money. That new money had come flooding into
the country from outside governments and some from private foreign
investment. The politicians in South
Africa, and corrupt
officials at
every level, wanted to get their hands on some of that very large cash
pie, and they wanted to show the world that they had the cash once
they got their hands
on it—I have made it; I am someone. They had
been living in servitude to an
oppressive regime for so long that all
sense
of
proportion went
out the window
once freedom and
power
was handed to them. They wanted to overthrow their
old masters by
in many ways becoming just like them.
And so the greed, corruption,
and a lot of the violence moved seamlessly from one ruling elite to the
next.
Wealth
meant
power, and
power
meant respect. With respect
came security. No
one
messed with
powerful
people as they
could
make life very uncomfortable for anyone who did try.
And if
one or
two troublemakers vanished without trace, it wasn’t the end
of the
world and such crimes went largely uninvestigated. Jack needed to
be
standing on the powerful side of the social divide and that meant
that
he had to be seen.

Jack had to fit in with this world. If he was not like the others then
they would treat him like an outsider; and in the new South Africa all
outsiders, regardless of status, were tarred with the same brush.
As an
outsider he would never gain the kind of access to the rich and powerful ruling class that he needed in
order to continue with his
open
ended mission. The new rich in South Africa were modern day princes
and there was no amount of business, no matter how big or how small,
that could be carried out without their say so. Money, justice, life and
death; they controlled all
of it and if Jack wanted access to them he
had to make some pretty big sacrifices in terms of his own gut feelings.
The
many
luxuries that were
on
call to take
him to wherever
he
wanted to go, day
or night, were a far cry from dodging British Army
patrols
talking
barn in the badlands of Ireland.

The cars, as impressive as they were, were nothing compared to the
house that Her
Majesty’s Government
paid for. The ten
bedroomed,
mini palace, was situated on the North side
of the city; as far away
from the townships as it was possible to get and still live within the
city. The house was at the centre of a small, gated community
know
as the Wallington, or the Wall, as it was known locally. Twenty other
luxury
homes
made up the rest
of the small community. With the

exception of two of his neighbours, all
of the other homes were occupied by foreign nationals.
All were affiliated to international companies and at least seven
of them had direct links to espionage. Jack
had run as intensive a
background check
on
each
of his neighbours
as he possibly could without raising too many
questions. Those who
worked in similar sectors to his company were not a major problem as
no official who he approached gave a second thought as to why Jack
was trying to gain an advantage over a competitor. To find an excuse
to enquire after those who he had no links in business with were not
so easily explained away. The services of other British agents and a few
American agents were put to good use in trying to check up
on the
other neighbours;
but
even this
extra support left
enormous gaps in
his
knowledge. The best Jack could do was leave them well
enough
alone and hope that they would be wise enough to extend to him the
same courtesy.

The only thing that he liked about living in the complex was the
high level
of security that came with it. Guards on the gates and patrolling the complex; cameras looking at
every
car as it approached
from
outside. It was about the protection
of wealth rather than the
protection
of the individuals living in those houses, and in a country
obsessed with protecting the rich and powerful, this really was the safest
place for him to live. There were no pets, and although children
were permitted to live there, Jack had never seen a single child
out
playing. Then again, who in their right
mind would bring a child to
live in such a
country as this?
And the kind
of
people who
owned
those homes could have their children living wherever they wanted in
the world.

Crime in the townships was high. Crime against the middle class
was also high, with home invasions and kidnappings for ransom being
a very
commonplace
occurrence. Not so with the rich. The previous
year there had been a number of robberies in another complex similar
to the one Jack lived in. A few days later several men with records for
robbery were found dead in the desert. They had their hands and feet
chopped off and they were left
out there to die slowly. The men may
have had nothing to do with the robberies at the housing complex,
but the message their deaths sent out was clear enough—if you need