Allegiance Page 2

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ Her voice was soft, pensive.

  ‘Salaam,’ he said.

  ‘Salaam. Please take a seat, sir; I’ll be with you in a minute,’ and she exited to the back room with a file.

  He took the minute to reflect on what he had to do. This was the first small step he had to take and he had to put all his preconceived ideas and emotions aside. Once he’d refocused on the goal, he felt his shoulders relax. Mariam returned.

  ‘Sorry about that. I’m all yours.’

  He smiled. That she would be. ‘Arshad Tanveer. Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I was told you could help me with my papers.’

  Tanveer noticed an almost imperceptible frown creasing the otherwise flawless skin of her forehead. ‘Of course,’ she said, opening a file on the desk without looking up. ‘When did you arrive and what papers do you need? You realise the Refugee Centre is up the road?’

  Tanveer smiled and leaned on the table, folding his arms. ‘I was there. They sent me here. They can’t help me. I don’t have a status. I was hoping you could change that.’

  Mariam shook her head and sighed impatiently. ‘You want refugee status? Where’re you from?’

  ‘Pakistan.’

  ‘Pakistan? That’s not a conflict country.’

  Tanveer cocked his eyebrow and smiled. ‘Do you treat all your clients this badly, or do you just not like Pakistanis?’

  Mariam leaned forward slightly and looked at Tanveer thoughtfully. ‘You came to me for help. This is an immigration consultancy. I’m giving you advice.’

  Tanveer shifted uncomfortably in his chair, momentarily aware that Mariam’s strong opinions could be both useful and troublesome. ‘The advice isn’t helping. You’re telling me I’m not welcome in your country. I have money from my parents in Pakistan. I’ve come here to start a small business and try to make a living. I don’t want to cause trouble here. You know what happens if they catch me without papers. I’m telling you the truth, please don’t chase me away.’

  Mariam Suleiman looked into Tanveer’s eyes for the first time. What she saw was passion and determination. He also looked a lot like Shahid Kapur.

  Tanveer reached for his top button again, and for a second he saw the moment of deliberation in her eyes.

  ‘It’ll take about three weeks, is that okay?’ she said with a shy smile that only just reached her eyes.

  Tanveer nodded. ‘That’s fine, Mariam, thank you.’

  ‘Give me your contact number and I’ll phone you.’

  ‘You want the cash now?’

  Mariam smiled and nodded. ‘Unfortunately, yes. The people who do this for me want cash up front.’

  ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ Tanveer asked, his eyebrow cocked but his smile giving him away.

  Mariam bit her bottom lip and stole a quick look at Tanveer. ‘This is my business. I’m not a thief, so don’t worry.’

  Tanveer looked at his watch. They were thirty seconds late. Timing was everything, the man at the shed had said. He stood up and extended his hand to Mariam. ‘Thank you so much for helping me.’

  As their hands touched, two men, one black, one Indian, in police uniform entered through the open door and pushed Tanveer against the wall, a small table with files crashing over in the process. Mariam put her hand to her mouth as one slapped him hard on the side of the head.

  ‘Stop that,’ she said firmly, involuntarily taking a step towards Tanveer.

  The larger of the two policemen, not willing to entertain her interruption, put his finger in her face. ‘You shut up,’ he said.

  ‘Get your finger out of her face,’ Tanveer said, trying to shake himself loose from the other policeman. The policeman twisted Tanveer’s arm behind his back and the Pakistani groaned with pain.

  Mariam stepped forward, her slender body stiff. In an instant, she had a stapler in her hand which she hurled at the Indian policeman. The other cop, enraged, grabbed Mariam, turned her around and tried to put handcuffs on her. Tanveer broke free and, though smaller than the policeman, dived at him and pushed him off his feet. He fell awkwardly and cried out in pain or perhaps embarrassment. His hand went for his gun holster and hovered over it momentarily as the room fell silent.

  ‘You going to shoot me?’ Tanveer said in a firm voice that mercifully cut through the silence and made the cop gesture rudely at him. ‘Leave her alone,’ he said, snatching the envelope with the R3 000 cash off the table. ‘Here. It’s yours. Go away now.’

  The policeman indignantly pulled himself up, looked at his partner and then motioned for him to take the envelope. Without another word the policemen left the office and closed the door behind them. The whole incident had taken less than a minute.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Tanveer asked, placing an arm on Mariam’s shoulder.

  ‘I’m fine. Are you okay? You didn’t have to do that for me,’ she said shakily, trying to regain composure.

  ‘It was the only way to get rid of them. I’ll replace that money, don’t worry.’

  Mariam sat down, still perplexed at the whole event. This had never happened before. Fortunately Tanveer was there otherwise she didn’t know what would have happened. In some way, he was a hero. She looked at him, a handsome man, a trickle of blood coming from a crack on his lip. He looked more like her Bollywood hero than ever. She took a tissue and touched it to his mouth.

  ‘Thank you, Arshad, you’re a gentleman. I don’t see many in this place.’

  Tanveer smiled and the crack opened up, spilling blood onto his chin. The first blood had been spilt in the operation.

  Christmas Eve 2008. Durban

  Kevin Durant kept telling himself Splinters was worth the thirty-minute drive down to the beachfront, even though it was close to midnight and a freak storm was lashing Durban. As he drove over the bridge that spanned the Warwick Road market, the city lights were barely visible through the torrent of rain. He didn’t mind the rain. It was better than the humidity they’d had over the past few days. His Land Rover didn’t mind the rain either, although the raindrops on the metal cab made it incredibly noisy inside. Durant twirled the volume knob. The radio was reporting some loss of life in the rural areas from lightning strikes and in Inchanga a roof had collapsed, killing a mother and two small children. His thoughts went to his wife and daughter. Alexis was asleep when he left, and Stephanie was not only awake, but had made her reservations known about his going out. She understood he was a field worker, he handled agents, but could anything possibly be happening on Christmas Eve at 11:30 p.m.? He couldn’t answer her because he didn’t know. He only knew that when Splinters contacted him and wanted a meeting, it was important. As far as informers went, Splinters was a benchmark lowgrade informer. Good access. Years of puzzling and using his twisted financial skills and contacts had built him a reputation which got him, and Durant, valuable information from the criminal underworld. That’s what intelligence was all about. And the best intelligence often came at inconvenient times. Durant wasn’t going to let the weather stop him. And Stephanie had given up trying to stop him years ago.

  Five minutes later, Durant had parked the Land Rover outside a residential hotel where the lighting was reasonably good, and sprinted across the road and down a narrow side street to the meeting place. He was soaked to the skin within seconds and by the time he got to Splinters, there was no doubt in his mind that he would spend Christmas Day in bed, dosed with foul-smelling medication and wishing he’d been more prepared for the weather.

  The rain was coming down like a solid sheet of water and the meeting place, a bus stop on the Victoria Embankment at the entrance to the harbour, was well chosen: exposed, isolated, dangerous. A warm coffee shop would have been better, but when it came to meetings with informers, Durant knew that the best-chosen spots were often the least comfortable. No active opposition or crooked contact of Splinters would risk going out in this weather, at midnight, on Christmas Eve. The meeting place was safe. No chance of surveillance.

 
Splinters looked bad at the best of times, and tonight, Durant thought, he looked at his worst. The few long grey hairs left on his head lay plastered across his wet face, his eyes barely visible through the dark folds which surrounded them. An ugly scar ran from his forehead to his chin. The life of an informer was a precarious one. Constantly living in fear of detection, running with the dregs of society while secretly reporting valuable information to the Agency, Splinters had had his share of trouble. But he had also secreted invaluable street-level intelligence to Durant which had led to major breakthroughs. The scars were trophies, earned on the street, and Durant knew he was proud of them.

  Splinters was shivering and the thin coat wrapped around his skeletal frame did little to keep the rain out. He wasn’t afraid of the rain, or the cold, or the police or any of his many enemies or confederates. His only fear was that Durant would one day find he was no longer useful and terminate his services. Durant was more than his handler – he was brother, friend, fellow spy. He loved Durant. He had no one else.

  ‘Kevin, sorry, it’s raining like hell, man.’

  ‘It’s okay, Splinters, it’s not your fault.’ He didn’t mean it to sound facetious, but it did anyway. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Hey, Kevin, my face hurts in the cold. You still don’t smoke?’

  ‘No, but if I did, I would be lighting up about now.’

  Splinters fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a single cigarette, which he held for a second in his shaking hand, and then shrugged as the rain all but destroyed it. He tossed it onto the pavement. ‘Bad habit anyway. It’ll kill me one day.’

  Durant smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He slipped Splinters a twenty.

  ‘Thanks, Kev. I’ll give it back to you, I promise you.’

  ‘It’s fine, don’t worry. What’s happening? Must be important.’

  Splinters coughed violently for all of thirty seconds, spat on the pavement, apologised; spat again, coughed again. ‘I met someone I thought you might be interested in.’

  Durant was cold and wet, and he wanted to get home to Stephanie. Alexis was six years old and he wanted to wake up on Christmas morning with her and watch her open her presents. Christmas morning. It was only five hours away. ‘I’m interested, go on.’

  ‘You know Frank?’

  ‘Nigerian Frank?’

  ‘No, the panel beater guy in town, the ugly guy who steals cars, strips them down, I’ve mentioned him before. Burnt his workshop down for insurance, remember?’

  ‘No, but anyway, what about him?’

  ‘He came to me at about six. Said there was a guy looking for papers. You know, they always come to me first, they know what I can do for them.’

  ‘You’re the best, Splinters, no question.’

  Splinters used his finger to flick a long strand of wet hair off his face and smiled proudly. ‘That means a lot to me. I always think of you first, Kev, when this happens. I think, “Can Kevin benefit from this thing?” I swear that’s my first thought before anything else.’

  Durant nodded and smiled, but was certain it didn’t come out as a smile. ‘So what did Frank have for you, and me?’

  ‘Well, Frank said that this guy came off a ship this morning and had some US dollars. Wanted a temporary residence permit. So I said no problem, Frank brought him over and I bought him a beer.’ He dug into his pocket and brought out a crumpled piece of wet paper that he handed to Durant. ‘Here’s the slip. Sorry it’s wet. And sorry it went to four beers, and a few whiskies; it was cold and the guy was talking, I knew you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ll cover it. What’s his story?’

  Splinters smiled again, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, apologised, and put his hand on Durant’s shoulder. ‘Well, now it gets interesting. The guy is a Filipino; he was hired to load cargo onto a ship in China. He was supposed to stay in China, but he stayed onboard. A couple of days later, the crew finds him and wants to throw the poor guy overboard. He runs and hides in a paint locker for four days. The ship docks here in Durban harbour, and he jumps off and runs for it.’

  Durant rubbed the back of his neck; the cold rain seemed to have stiffened every muscle in his body. ‘Okay, well, thanks for that. We’ll let the Immigration guys know and they’ll have him deported. Is that it?’

  ‘Am I finished, Kevin?’ Splinters asked indignantly. ‘Would I bring you out here in this weather, at night, away from your family, to meet me, to tell you that? On Christmas Eve?’

  Durant was embarrassed and frustrated. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude.’

  Splinters seemed really offended. ‘You know, Kevin, other people maybe give you that kind of rubbish information, but not me, hey, you know me to be better than that.’ He paused for a moment to compose himself. ‘Okay, so he tells me some really first-class stuff, and that’s why I had to buy the whiskies, he just kept talking. He said earlier today he’d met up with some Zimbabwean guys, the bomber guys, you know, ATMS.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘They wanted a contact for US dollars. He asked me if I could get. Can you get?’

  ‘Hang on, so these guys blow up autobanks, and exchange the cash for dollars?’

  ‘I know. I also had questions. The good news is, I persuaded him to meet you.’

  ‘Really? Okay, well let’s set up a meeting, maybe . . .’

  ‘Kev, I mean now, he’s here.’

  ‘You brought him here?’ Durant felt his jaw clench a little, this time not from the cold.

  Splinters looked puzzled. ‘Did I mess up?’

  Durant looked around. The streets were empty. It was quiet, other than the sound of the rain falling. Across the road, a prostitute walked towards a low wall and leaned against it. Durant felt a disturbing sense of unease.

  ‘I don’t know if it was wise to bring him to this meeting. What if he was followed?’

  ‘Kev, how long have we known each other? You think I would take chances? I was trained by the best, my brother. You trained me.’

  Durant nodded, but still felt troubled. Splinters had brought a third person he didn’t know to the meeting. He didn’t want to be within a hundred kilometres of the Filipino on this rainy night.

  ‘Relax, Kev; I can see you’re tense now. Want me to rub your shoulders?’

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Durant tried to hide the annoyance he felt. ‘Where’s the guy?’

  Splinters whistled and a figure stepped out of the shadows from behind an electrical substation. He motioned to the figure and he stepped forward hesitantly, nervously bowing his head and wringing his hands together.

  Durant looked around again, but the streets were still quiet. ‘I think we should move somewhere else. I feel uncomfortable here.’

  The Filipino stopped when he got within five metres of Durant and Splinters. In the distance, the low rumbling of a car engine, but no lights. They motioned for him to come closer, but he stood frozen. Durant felt a burning sensation in the small of his back and saw the Filipino half turn. White sparks flew off the electrical substation equipment and for a brief second Durant thought that lightning had struck the transformer. There was a deafening burst of popping sounds, and Durant was confused; there was the surreal sensation of floating in space for an undecided period of time, and then he felt he was falling. An action he hadn’t initiated consciously, but which was started by an autonomous processing subsystem of his brain which produces automatic reactions. It felt as if someone was throwing pieces of wet paper at him. Two chemicals flooded Durant’s body from his adrenal glands – adrenaline and noradrenalin, increasing his heart rate and breathing to ensure delivery of extra glucose and oxygen to the muscles. He felt the warm gum that he knew was blood but felt no pain. Adrenaline is a natural anaesthetic and pain is irrelevant to survival so the brain usually suppresses it while it deals with more pressing damage-control issues. Durant put his arms out to protect himself from falling, a superfluous exercise. The prostitute stood frozen against the wall a
cross the street with both her hands over her mouth, and Durant knew something terrible had happened.

  TWO

  Stephanie Durant awoke to the telephone call just after 2 a.m.

  Alf Masondo, operational head at the National Intelligence Agency and her husband’s boss, didn’t say a lot, and this worried her more.

  She could see the skin over her knuckles going white. Biting her fist had been a completely involuntary reaction. ‘It’s Christmas,’ her voice crackled. ‘I don’t want my husband to die on Christmas Day.’

  Masondo’s voice was firm, but not comforting. ‘He’s not going to die, I’ll see to that.’

  Stephanie’s voice quivered. ‘How can you be sure?’ In her mind she went over what Masondo had told her. Kevin had met an agent in town. She knew this because he’d reluctantly left home at about 23:30 after getting a call on his cellphone. A witness saw a car slow down and someone shooting from the window. She saw three people go down and while she was phoning for an ambulance, paramedics arrived.

  ‘He’ll have to take some time off work,’ Stephanie sobbed. She didn’t know what she was saying; she didn’t know what to do. Her daughter. What about Alexis? How would she cope? She couldn’t do without Kevin, not for a day. She hadn’t told him that she loved him before he’d left. She’d been angry that he’d had to go. She hadn’t even kissed him goodbye.

  ‘I can understand how you must feel now,’ Masondo said gently. ‘We all need to be strong and have faith. Kevin is in good hands, the best hands, and I have every hope that he will pull through this thing and I want you to believe that too.’

  Stephanie sat on the bed and cried. ‘Stay with me, Mr Masondo. Don’t leave me, please, just don’t leave me alone now.’

  ‘Stephanie, as I’m talking to you, I’m driving to your house to fetch you and we’re going to the hospital together and we’ll stay there as long as we have to.’

  She looked at her hands and they were shaking uncontrollably. Next to the bed was a notebook and pen which her husband had left behind when he got the phone call. He’d written at the top ‘Things to do tomorrow’. He hadn’t written anything else.