Деон Мейер - Cobra

‘Why, sir?’

‘Two things, Benny. The first one is that she tried very hard to have us believe that this is about terrorism, but she never actually said it. Her problem is that she is working in a foreign country, and she has to tread very carefully not to lie directly. Very bad for diplomacy, should things get out of hand later. She has to keep the back door open, the one that allows her to say: “Oh, you must have misunderstood, would you like to listen to the recording again?”’

‘I understand.’

‘The second is the channel she’s chosen. If this were purely about a potential terrorist act, their High Commissioner in Pretoria would have approached our Minister of Security. Musad and I would have been called by him, not by them.’

Burly Brigadier Musad Manie was the commanding officer of the Hawks in the Cape.

‘You think this is about something else, sir?’

‘All I know is that Adair probably is who she says he is. As for the rest, we’ll have to see.’

Griessel began to understand. ‘Is that why you did not just send me and Vaughn when they called, sir? You knew, when they called this late on a Monday evening . . .’

‘I suspected something might be brewing.’

‘And that’s why you did not tell her everything, sir?’

‘Yes, Benny. When you’re working with intelligence people, you should always have an ace up your sleeve. Always. We have a few, and I want to keep it that way. So, the first thing you do, is send her the wrong email address for Paul Anthony Morris. Just a small typo . . .’

He wondered whether he detected a note of nostalgia in Nyathi’s voice.

Griessel had always experienced him as a fair, thoughtful man, but quiet and modest, largely unreadable and enigmatic. Tonight he had also discovered a keen intelligence, a feel for this strategic game that Benny would have trouble matching.

The colonel had enjoyed himself in the Consul General’s office, that was clear to see. And now, here in the car, there was enthusiasm, a sparkle that he had not previously detected in the Giraffe. How had it felt after the adrenaline and excitement of spying in London, to fill a senior command – really mainly personnel management, administration, and strife from the higher-ups – in the SAPS?

Did he enjoy his job?

When they had gone past Canal Walk, Nyathi asked him to call Cloete, the liaison officer, and ask him to come in. And also Major Benedict ‘Bones’ Boshigo. ‘Tell Bones to come directly to my office, and not to talk to anyone.’

When that was done – and Bones had responded with a ‘that’s never a good sign, hey’ – he and the colonel decided what they would say to their colleagues.

14

‘Wait a minute,’ said Cupido in the big IMC room. ‘They let you ride all the way, this time of a Monday night, jus’ to tune you the passport is a fake? They could have told you that over the phone.’

‘It’s called diplomacy,Vaughn,’ said the much older and more experienced Frankie Fillander. ‘You should try it some time.’

‘Show me some love, Uncle Frankie. I smell a rat.’

‘What kind of rat?’ asked Griessel.

‘This was a professional hit, pappie, and jy wiet who sanctions professional hits. Gangstas and governments.’

‘That’s true . . .’

‘Any news?’ asked Griessel, to change the subject.

‘Nothing yet,’ said van Wyk. ‘And we’re still waiting for Ulinda and Lithpel. It’s going to be a late night.’

‘Then you’d better go home so long,’ said Griessel to the Violent Crimes detectives. ‘I’ll call if there’s anything.’

They murmured their thanks. Only Cupido stood a while and looked at Griessel. Then he nodded and left.

‘ Ja , I know about the Adair Algorithm. Maar dit maak nie sense nie , nè , it just doesn’t add up,’ said Bones Boshigo in his characteristic mix of languages, after they had told him everything. He owed his nickname to the fact that he was mere skin and bone, thanks to his murderous marathon-training programme. He was also one of the most intelligent detectives that Griessel knew, a man with a degree in economics that he had earned at the University of Boston’s Metropolitan College.

Behind his desk, Nyathi just raised his eyebrows.

‘Kidnap him, Colonel? Why?’ asked Bones. ‘Everyone knows what the algorithm does, even the terrorists, and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it. Al-Qaeda must have figured out long ago that moving money through conventional banking channels is pretty stupid. Last I heard about TFTP is that it helps to nail a few small operators. I think this is really about the Adair Protocol, nè ?’

He noticed his two colleagues hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about.

‘They didn’t tell you about the Adair Protocol?’

‘No,’ said Griessel.

‘ Nogal funny. This ou , David Adair, he wrote a paper on the use of his algorithm, about two years ago . . . early 2011, just after the EU joined TFTP. He basically said the scope of the programme was too small, and that his algorithm had the capability to do much more – the authorities had a moral obligation to employ it. He published the paper in a scientific magazine, and it became known as the Adair Protocol.’

‘The capacity to do much more what?’ Nyathi wanted to know.

‘Tracing other dubious financial transactions. His main argument was that the black market is worth about two thousand billion dollars per annum internationally, and tracking that money can have a huge impact on the containment and prosecution of organised crime.’

‘OK,’ said Griessel, struggling increasingly to keep up. The day was growing very long.

‘So they’re doing that now?’ asked Nyathi.

‘No, sir.’

‘Why not?’

‘The banks didn’t like it, nè. And you can understand – they’re making big bucks from black market money and the whole laundering process. If TFTP starts looking at their organised crime clients, they will lose them all, quickly, to obscure little off-line banks in the Cayman Islands. So they pleaded invasion of privacy concerns, and the EU Parliament and the British government sang the same song.’

‘Bones, I don’t understand, if TFTP isn’t being used against organised crime, why can this kidnapping be about the Adair Protocol?’ asked Nyathi.

‘Adair is an agitator, nè . Baie liberal, baie vocal. Hy bly nie stil nie , he makes a lot of noise. Two months ago, he was saying in The Economist that the British Conservative Party is in cahoots with the banks and basically assisting organised crime. He’s canvassing, Colonel, all the time. I think the gangstas would maybe really like to get rid of him, before he gets public opinion on his side.’

‘So you think they killed him?’

‘ Yebo , yes.’

Jy wiet, who sanctions professional hits. Gangstas and governments, Cupido had said. But Griessel also knew that Bones was in essence a numbers guy, not a homicide detective. ‘No,’ he said.

They waited for Griessel to explain. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. ‘Organised crime . . . Bones, when they order a hit, they want to make a statement. They would have left him dead at the guesthouse.’

‘No, Benny, not in the current political climate. Then the British press will say Adair was right, there will be big pressure on government to institute the Protocol. The way I understand this whole thing, nobody knows for sure that Adair came to South Africa. If they can make him disappear, nè , no names, no pack drill . . . Problem solved. And maybe they want him to suffer first, Benny. You know how the gangstas are.’