Деон Мейер - Cobra

But before he could respond, Nyathi said, ‘I’m reading between the lines that you are willing to trade information, should we be willing to divulge details about the case.’

The Consul General got up from her chair.‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to call my family to tell them I’ll be home soon . . . No, please sit down, gentlemen . . .’ She walked slowly to the door, and closed it behind her.

Maybe he should hold his tongue and let Nyathi talk, since he had missed the subtle message entirely.

‘I have to tell you that the Consulate cannot officially comment on an identity based on a fake passport, unless we’ve had time to thoroughly examine the document in question,’ said Graber.

‘And unofficially?’ asked Nyathi.

‘I’ve been known to speculate, should a conversation catch my interest . . .’

‘And how do we obtain your interest?’

‘That would depend.’

‘We’d consider lending you the passport, in a day or two . . .’ said Nyathi.

‘I’d surely appreciate that, but . . .’

‘You want it sooner?’

‘That isn’t my strongest need.’

‘You want details of the case?’

‘Now that would be immensely helpful.’

‘We could provide them, if we were properly motivated,’ said Nyathi with a faint smile, and Griessel realised the colonel was good at this sort of thing. The rumour was that he had been in the intelligence wing of Umkhonto we Sizwe, in the old days. Perhaps it was true.

‘I’m a firm believer in motivation,’ said Graber, ‘but as you know, speculation is not fact. And the idea of speculative information reaching our friends in the media is too ghastly to contemplate.’

‘I absolutely share that fear,’ said Nyathi. ‘That is why, despite tremendous pressure, the media is still very much in the dark about the details of this case.’

‘How do we ensure that it stays that way?’

‘By giving you our word that Captain Griessel and I will not divulge any speculative information, unless third parties are mutually agreed upon.’

‘Does that include your colleagues at the Directorate of Priority Crime Investigation?’

‘It does.’

Graber gave a slight nod. ‘Has this “Morris” committed a crime?’

‘No.’

‘Has he been the victim of a crime?’

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘We have a very strong suspicion.’

‘How?’

‘The photograph.’

‘He resembles someone your government is looking for?’

‘He does indeed. Is he the victim of a crime?’

‘He is.’

‘A serious crime?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has he been killed?’

‘Who?’ Nyathi smiled again, as if he were really enjoying this.

‘Paul Anthony Morris.’

‘Is that his real name?’

‘No.’

‘Who do you think he is?’

‘Has he been killed?’

‘No.’

‘Is he in your custody?’

‘No.’

That silenced her. Her face was expressionless, but Griessel could see the gears turning.

‘Who do you think he is?’ asked Nyathi.

‘Do you know where he is at this moment?’

Nyathi did not reply.

‘Has he been kidnapped?’ asked Graber.

‘Who is he?’ asked Nyathi.

‘Colonel, I really need to know whether he has been kidnapped.’

‘We really need to know who he is.’

She looked at the photo of Queen Elizabeth on the wall, then back at Nyathi. ‘We think he is David Patrick Adair.’

Griessel took out his notebook and began to write.

‘Why are you so concerned about Mr Adair?’ asked Nyathi.

‘Has he been kidnapped?’

‘Yes,’ said Nyathi. ‘All evidence points in that direction.’

‘Shit,’ said Emma Graber with that mouth which Griessel found so lovely.

She asked them to excuse her for just a minute.

They stood up when she left the room, and sat down again when she closed the door behind her.

Griessel looked at Nyathi. The colonel waved an index finger at the ceiling, then in a circular motion, in the end placing it in front of his mouth.

Griessel nodded. He understood. They were probably being listened to.

Odd world this. He wondered what Nyathi’s role in Umkhonto had been. And what Emma Graber’s job at the Consulate was. He suspected her interest was not criminal by nature, but political. He wondered who David Patrick Adair was, and why Graber was so careful – yet keen at the same time. And what she had gone to do now. Consult with the Consul General? Or with someone else who might have been eavesdropping on their conversation in an adjoining office? Or was she sitting there herself listening, in the hope that he and Nyathi would start talking?

As if this case needed further complications.

Seven minutes passed before she returned. ‘I do apologise,’ she said, and sat down. ‘Now, gentlemen, if you Google the name “David Patrick Adair” you will eventually establish that a man by that name is a King’s Fellow in Computer Sciences at Cambridge University, and Professor at DAMTP, the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics, at the same institution. The DAMTP website will furthermore show a photograph of Adair which is almost identical to the one in the counterfeit passport.’

There was a subtle shift in her attitude, businesslike, a greater urgency.

‘Last week Tuesday, Professor Adair failed to deliver his usual lecture at the Department. Because of his varied commitments and hectic schedule, this in itself isn’t unusual. But he has never failed to let his personal assistant know about such an absence before. She reported this to one of his senior colleagues. Upon investigation by this colleague, it was finally established that there had been a burglary at Adair’s house in Glisson Road in central Cambridge. A back door was forced and the interior left in complete disarray. Adair was nowhere to be found. Given the sensitive nature of his work, this colleague had the good sense to notify the right authorities, thereby keeping the matter contained . . .’

‘So it was never logged on Merlin,’ said Nyathi.

‘That is correct,’ she answered, without a hint of remorse.

‘What is the nature of his work?’ asked Nyathi.

‘Therein, Colonel, lies the rub.’

13

‘For starters, you should know that Adair has been divorced for nine years. He is completely estranged from his ex-wife. The marriage was childless. His next of kin is his younger sister Sarah, lecturer at the School of Mathematics at the University of Birmingham. By all accounts she is an extremely competent academic, but alas, not quite the genius her brother is. We have made highly discreet inquiries as to her knowledge of her brother’s whereabouts, and it is clear that she has not heard from him since his disappearance. In other words, there is no need for you to contact her.’

‘Ah,’ said Nyathi. ‘I’m assuming that you have also been . . . monitoring her communication channels since last Tuesday?’

‘We are positive that no attempt has been made to communicate with her about her brother since that time.’

‘May I ask to which “we” you are referring?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You said “we are sure” . . .’ said Nyathi patiently.

‘The British authorities,’ she said, with an ironic smile herself now.

‘And the nature of Professor Adair’s work?’

She nodded. ‘Now please bear with me, because this gets a little complicated. But I want to get it right, not least so that you will also understand the great need for circumspection in this matter.’

‘Please,’ said Nyathi.

Griessel said nothing, just listened.

‘An Internet search of his name will eventually lead you to the good professor’s responsibility for the so-called Adair Algorithm. To save time, and to enunciate the necessity for discretion, I would like to explain what that is. Have you heard of the Society for Worldwide Interbank Financial Telecommunication, or SWIFT?’