Деон Мейер - Cobra

The veranda was secured with heavy-duty, white-painted burglar bars, and the door to the street was protected by a security gate. Apparently to keep thieves out. But also to allow for time, should the SAPS appear with a search warrant. Because PC Technologies belonged to Vincent Carolus, a specialist in the handling, cleaning, and fixing of new, second-hand and stolen computer and related equipment.

Carolus grew up in Begonia Street, Mitchells Plain, only three houses from where Tyrone and Nadia lodged with Uncle Solly. Nobody knew how he acquired his first personal computer, but everyone knew that at fourteen he was already a technology wizard. He had been called ‘PC’ ever since.

He was one of only five people at this present moment who knew what Tyrone’s true occupation was. The other four were also dealers in stolen goods.

Tyrone stood gasping for breath at the steel door. He pressed the button under the video camera, hurriedly and perhaps a touch too hard.

It took fourteen seconds before the electronic lock opened.

29

The owner of the big house in Ella Street wept unashamedly, uncontrollably. Mbali sat beside him. She held the man’s hand tightly, her face twisted with sympathy.

‘How am I going to tell my wife?’ the man kept asking.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Mbali every time.

They waited for him to calm down a little, then asked him the usual questions.

In Cape English he told them that his daughter had been studying fashion design. She had so many plans. She was only twenty-four years old. ‘And now she’s gone.’

Mbali comforted him again.

They asked him whether anything was missing from the house. He said nothing that he had noticed.

They asked whether his daughter had been to the Waterfront today.

‘No, she was home. She would have called if she . . . She did not go out much.’

Griessel took out his cellphone, retrieved the photo of Knippies, and showed it to the man.

‘Do you know this person?’

‘Was it him?’ he asked, shock and horror in his voice.

‘No, sir, we don’t think it was him. Do you know him?’

‘Yes, he is my tenant. Why are you showing me his photograph if it wasn’t him?’

‘We think the person who came into your house might have been looking for him. He rents a property from you?’

‘No. Yes . . . He lives out in the back. In the servants’ quarters. What has he done?’

‘Right here? At the house?’

‘Yes, behind the garage.’

Cupido moved towards the door. ‘I’ll go and look.’

Griessel nodded. ‘Does he work for you?’

‘No, we are renting it as a flat . . . What has he done? What is he mixed up in?’

‘Sir, please,’ said Griessel, ‘at this stage we know very little. And we are hoping you can help us.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just . . . I always thought . . . I never believed him.’

‘We want to know everything, but right now, can you please tell us his name?’

‘Tyrone Kleinbooi.’

‘Do you know where we can find him?’

‘I don’t know. He is . . . He says he’s a painter. He does contract work, all over. We . . . I hardly see him.’

‘OK. How long has he been renting from you?’

‘From the beginning of the year.’

‘Do you have a prior address for him?’

‘He used to live somewhere in Mitchells Plain. I don’t have the address.’

‘Do you have any information about his family?’

‘I don’t know if he . . . I . . . I don’t know. We advertised the fl at, last year in November. And he came to see us. He was very well mannered, looked like a good boy. He told us this story, about him being an orphan. Him and his sister, they were . . . they lived in Mitchells Plain, with old people who brought them up, and then they died. And he said his sister was going to university to become a doctor, and he was a painter, and most of the work was in and around the city, so he wanted to rent. He had the deposit, he paid on time, every month. My wife . . .’ He began to sob again, they could see him struggling to bring himself under control. ‘My wife really liked him. He would come and talk to her. Just talk. Like he wanted . . . like he would to a mother . . .’

‘Sir, do you know at which university the sister is studying?’

‘Stellenbosch. That’s what he said. But I . . . I thought it was a little too sad to be true, being orphans, you know. And her studying medicine. I thought he just told us all that to get the flat, because there were other people who wanted it too. But my wife said we must help the less fortunate, and that he’s a good boy . . .’

He began to cry again, then said, ‘How am I going to tell my wife?’ ‘That’s heavy encryption, my bru,’ said PC Carolus. He was two years older than Tyrone, but short and swish – always decked out in modern labels. Even the big black-rimmed glasses were fashionable.

‘How heavy?’ asked Tyrone in the dusky room. They were both staring at the computer screen where PC had opened the memory card.

‘AES heavy. 128-bit heavy.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘AES is Advanced Encryption Standard. That’s way heavy.’

‘But you can do anything.’

‘No, not that. Maybe if I had months.’

‘So what is it?’

‘It’s an encrypted ZIP file,Tyrone.’

‘Like I know what that means.’

‘It’s like . . . a ZIP file is like a box. Something is stuffed into the box, but you don’t know what the contents are until you open the box. And this box can’t be opened because there’s a lock on it. A heavy lock, that’s the 128-bit encryption. And you can only open it if you have the key. And I’m assuming you don’t have the key?’

‘I don’t.’

‘I rest my case.’

‘So what do you think is in there?’

‘Tyrone, wiet jy what’s in a box if you just look at the box?’

‘Well, if it says fragile on it, then you know . . .’

‘But here’s fokkol written on the box. It can be anything – a few porn movies, a shit-house full of documents, pirated software . . . anything digital. You understand?’

‘OK. But you can copy it?’

‘Now let me get this straight. You come in here, it looks like you’ve been beaten up real good, you walking funny, and with all due respect, you look kwaai jumpy to me. But you say nothing and you know I won’t ask. Now I scheme you want to pull a digital scam. You, who don’t even know what a ZIP file is?’

‘It’s not a scam, PC, it’s an ace in the hole.’

PC shook his head. ‘ Wiet jy wat jy doen? Do you really know what you’re doing?’

‘ Ek wiet, ja .’

‘And you’re not going to tell me?’

‘Not now.’

‘OK, cool, my bru’, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Ja , you can copy it. Anybody can copy a ZIP file. You just can’t open it if you don’t have the decryption key.’

‘OK, and you can substitute it, so no one can see the difference?’

‘If you decrypt it, yes, you will mos see it’s not the same stuff in the box.’

‘I understand that, but sê nou you make a box that looks just like this box. And when the guy looks he just sees a box, but he doesn’t know there’s other stuff in the box. Can you do that?’

‘Of course. If you make the file the same size, and you make the file name the same, and you push it through 7-ZIP for AES encryption, nobody will know the difference. But if they try to decrypt it, then you’re in your moer .’

Tyrone thought for a moment.

‘Maybe if you tell me what you want to do, I can help you,’ said PC Carolus.

Tyrone hesitated, weighed up the possibilities. He said, ‘Here’s the deal. There’s a guy who wants this card with a sore heart. But he owes me. And if I give him the card, he can take it and run. And I don’t get what I want.’