Деон Мейер - Cobra

For what felt like an eternity, Red Beret did not move. Then he walked away, to the left, with a smug swagger.

Tyrone looked anxiously at where Hoodie was standing.

Hoodie made Nadia hold the small laptop, right up against the row of bright yellow MTN logos of Hello Mobile’s display window. The man’s fingers were busy on the keyboard.

‘Can you see that the memory card is in working order?’

‘Wait,’ said Hoodie.

Tyrone saw Red Beret standing on the other side of the passage, arms crossed, watching him with a dissatisfied scowl.

I’m running out of time, the trains are coming. How long would it take to check the memory card?

He quickly looked at the cellphone’s clock: 15:04. Could it be? It felt like the whole thing had taken an eternity. He had nine minutes, maybe ten, before the Metrorail 3526 left for Cape Town. If the train was five minutes late. Please.

‘The card is good,’ said Hoodie at last over the phone.

‘OK,’ said Tyrone. ‘The first letter of the password is “Y”. Now tell Nadia to start walking towards the sports shop straight ahead. Sport Station. You can see it from where you are. And when she gets there, she must turn left, towards the station entrance. I can see her, and I will give you a letter for every step she takes, until she turns the corner. But you don’t move. You stay exactly where you are. Or I will stop giving you the code.’

‘OK.’

‘Tell her.’

Five schoolchildren in rust brown jerseys and blazers walked between them. Then he saw Hoodie had the laptop in his left hand, and he was talking into Nadia’s ear.

Nadia began to walk.

‘The next letter is the number zero.’

Griessel had forgotten about Radebe and Ndabeni, who’d been sent to O. R. Tambo Airport. In the mix-up of the Waterfront shooting no one had thought to recall them.

‘Ulinda sent a photo,’ said Mbali to him over the student’s phone, her voice excited. ‘Taken at the airport’s scanner. And it might be him, Benny. He arrived on Saturday morning, on a flight from Paris. He is wearing a grey baseball cap and dark glasses. A coloured man, very athletic. They matched the guy to the passport control records, and he is travelling under the name of Hector Malot, a French citizen. Vusi checked all the flights to Cape Town, and the same guy was on an SAA flight that arrived just after two on Saturday.’

‘That’s very good, Mbali,’ said Griessel. ‘Are Ulinda and Vusi still at O. R. Tambo?’

‘Yes, Benny. We had to recall them, of course. They’re waiting for their flight back.’

‘Tell them to cancel the flight. Tell them Cobra isn’t just one guy. There are at least three of them. We are going to need all their names.’

Tyrone gave Hoodie a letter for every step that Nadia took towards

him.

‘U.’

‘M.’

‘Zero.’

Hoodie wasn’t writing anything down – the laptop was folded shut under his arm. It didn’t make sense, but it wasn’t Tyrone’s problem.

‘T.’

‘H.’

‘The number three.’

‘R.’

Nadia was now in front of the door of Hair International, just five metres from the corner, only eight metres from him. She didn’t look up, not to the left or the right. Just walked, slowly.

‘F.’

‘U.’

‘C.’

That was when he saw Red Beret look at Nadia. Intently. And then he began to walk towards her.

37

Mbali asked him how he knew that the Cobra was not a single individual, and he said he was talking on a borrowed cellphone, he couldn’t say right now.

‘Oh. OK, Bennie, I will tell them.’

‘Get them to call you from a pay phone first.’

‘Of course.’

‘What did Bones say? Is he in?’

‘Yes, he’s in.’

‘Has Vaughn brought the phones yet?’

‘No, we’re still waiting.’

‘Please tell him I’ll be at Nadia Kleinbooi’s fl at. I’m going to try and find a caretaker to unlock the door, and then search it.’ Griessel saw the student beside him shake his head. He gave the young man a querying look.

‘You don’t know Oom Stoffel,’ said the student.

Red Beret walked right up to Nadia.

Tyrone knew why. She was moving like a sleepwalker, it looked as if there was something wrong with her.

‘What is the next letter?’ Hoodie asked over the phone.

Red Beret was next to Nadia. He said something to her, aggressively.

She looked at him in a daze.

‘What is the next letter?’ Hoodie sounded threatening.

Tyrone could not remember where he had been. ‘Wait,’ he said.

C. He had given the C last.

‘K,’ he said.

Red Beret gripped Nadia’s arm.

She was startled, pulled away and looked around her, confusion on her face.

Tyrone knew he could no longer just stand there.

‘The number three.’ And he began to walk towards Nadia. Hoodie was going to see him, but he had no choice. ‘There’s one more letter. I will give it to you when Nadia is safe.’

He was close enough to hear Red Beret say to Nadia, ‘Are you drunk?’

He reached them. ‘Leave her alone,’ said Tyrone. ‘She’s my sister. She’s sick.’

Nadia looked at him. That’s when he knew for sure they had drugged his sister. That was when his fear and anxiety gave way to fury.

‘ Boetie ,’ she said with a crooked smile.

‘ Sussie .’ He felt like crying.

‘She looks drunk to me,’ said Red Beret.

Tyrone put his arm around Nadia. ‘Come,’ he said.‘We must hurry.’ He pulled her along, they needed to get away. He knew Hoodie’s eyes were on them now, the train was already at the platform, they would have to run for it. But Nadia didn’t look like she could.

‘Hey, I’m talking to you,’ said Red Beret, and pulled his baton out of a ring on his wide black belt.

He wanted to tell the man to ‘Fuck off’, but he didn’t.

‘What is the last letter?’ asked Hoodie over the phone.

They were around the corner, out of sight.

‘R.’ said Tyrone and cut the connection. Then he reached his arm around Nadia’s back, took a firm grip of her shoulder, and pushed her carefully forwards so they could begin running.

Red Beret was next to them, the baton threatening. ‘Stop,’ he said.

And right in front of Tyrone stood the gunman from this morning, the guy from the Waterfront, the coloured one with the baseball cap and the eyes that made you shiver. He blocked the way to the station entrance. He had the same silenced pistol in his hand, and it was pointed straight at Tyrone’s forehead.

Weird, was the word that stuck in his mind at that moment. How did he get here?

He ducked, instinctively jerking Nadia to get her out of danger. But she stumbled and a knee gave, weakened by drugs and the heavy bag of textbooks and stationery and who knew what. She fell, pulling him down with her.

The pistol’s aim followed them. There was a shot, a muffl ed,almost apologetic noise, and his sister’s body twitched as she fell back onto him.

Griessel and the young man walked down the stairs.

‘Oom Stoffel is a drol ,’ said the student. ‘Difficult arsehole. He’ll never unlock for you. Unless you have ten documents saying you have permission from Nadia, her grandma, and the state president.’

‘We shall see,’ said Griessel.

‘You can always threaten to shoot him too,’ the student urged him on with relish.

Tyrone grabbed Nadia in his arms and screamed, all the fear, all the tension, all the despair released in a single, raging bellow.

People turned to look.

The gunman stood patiently, the pistol stretched out in front of him, waiting for Tyrone to keep still so that he had a clean shot.

Red Beret, hidden behind Tyrone and Nadia, stepped around them, his baton raised. He moved surprisingly fast for the somewhat plump body. He shouted a reprimanding ‘ Hhayi !’ The shooter’s response was smooth and skilful. He aimed the pistol at the guard. He fired, just a fraction of a second before the baton hit his right wrist. Tyrone felt the blood spray over his face, saw Red Beret sink down, and the pistol clatter on the brick paving. The gunman swore, bent down to the ground, trying to pick up the pistol with his left hand; his right hand hung limply.