Allegiance (32 page)

‘Will someone else ever shoot you?’

‘Never, sweetheart. I promise. Nobody will ever shoot me again.’

‘Mom says in New Zealand we’ll be safe.’

Durant sighed. ‘Well, I heard about someone in New Zealand that tripped over a flower pot and banged his head on a lamp post – dead. I don’t know if it’s safe anywhere.’

‘That’s why we must love Jesus, hey?’

‘He’ll look after us. Wherever we are. Now come snuggle old Mushkie Bear, it’s half past seven and time to say goodnight.’

‘Night, Daddy.’

Durant felt Alexis’s cheek against his and closed his eyes. The events of the day before replayed in his mind and a scene that kept reoccurring was the interview with Mohammed. Something didn’t seem right. The man started by pleading innocence and by the conclusion of the interview, Durant felt his words were confirming his guilt. What had changed? The more he was backed into a corner, the more radical he seemed to become and the more determined he was to defend his faith. And stammerers, he thought, stammered more when they were anxious. Mohammed seemed to relax as the interview questions grew in intensity and pertinence. Almost as though he was telling the truth. Alexis was asleep and Durant kissed her lightly on the forehead and said a little blessing over her. He went to the lounge and dialled Shabalala’s number. The wall clock gave the time as 19:45.

At 19:45 Shabalala and Nandi were walking back to his car when his phone rang.

‘Ced, I was thinking. Sorry to disturb, by the way.’

‘What’s up?’

‘When I spoke to that Mohammed guy yesterday at the prison, he said he told the truth when he answered my three questions.’

‘So? I don’t know if you can take him at his word.’

‘But listen. Why lie about two things and the third, probably the most crucial, tell the truth. He said he didn’t make the call and he didn’t handle explosives. But he said he would die for his faith. He said he answered all these questions truthfully, and I actually believe him.’

‘He wouldn’t lie about dying for his faith, and that was the answer that would have implicated him the most.’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘Exactly. So if Mohammed was framed the real bad guy is still out there. We were fooled into a false sense of security. Where are you now?’

‘With Nandi, just had a cup of coffee with her.’

‘Sorry, man. Any chance of getting hold of Ruslan?’

‘Why? He’d be at the reception already – he would have driven the sheikh there.’

‘Ruslan pointed out Mohammed. Isn’t it possible he’s involved somehow?’

Shabalala felt his blood run cold. ‘I checked him out thoroughly – he’s as clean as a whistle – I did background checks, travel checks, nothing came up.’

‘I’m worried, Ced. The boss is also at the reception, but let’s try and meet him and figure this out.’

‘Meet . . . I can’t, Kevin, I’m with Nandi. How am I going to explain that?’

‘Okay, that’s true. Do me a favour and phone Ruslan. Tell him we think Mohammed was set up. See how he responds. Will you do that for me?’

‘It’s done.’

‘And tell Nandi sorry I spoilt her date.’

Ruslan touched a button and the driver’s seat of the Mercedes silently inclined so that he could lie back comfortably and still see through the windscreen. He switched the car’s music centre off and marvelled at how insulated and quiet the car was. The warship crouched at its moorings, like a colossal iron monolith trying to break free. It was base, monstrous, a gargantuan killing machine, designed for overkill and he guessed it was good at it. The festive coloured lights that flickered over it were an obscenity. It was dressed up to look like a mercy ship, a cruise ship, an amusement ride at a kids’ fairground. Its helicopter gunships had probably taken hundreds of innocent lives, the marines in its belly the same, or more. These same marines in full camouflage fatigues stood in pairs on the jetty around the ship, five metres apart, weapons facing outward. It really was an impressive show of defence and only a lunatic would think of trying to penetrate that wall of firepower. Even the sheikh had commented on the security precautions. He’d joked with Ruslan and said it would be suicide to try to get on board the ship with as much as a nail clipper. A few minutes earlier the sheikh had been escorted on board. It was 8 p.m. and he could hear the sirens as the Assistant Secretary of State’s cavalcade approached. First the motorcycle outriders and metro police vehicles drove past the parking area where his car and many other dignitaries’ cars were parked. Then luxury black
SUVS
with blue lights came past, followed by an armoured Suburban and then more police cars.

Ruslan’s phone rang. ‘Salaam?’

‘It’s Reno. How things there?’

‘Fine, Reno, fine. The principal has just arrived, so there’s a lot of action. I’ll give the sheikh a call just now to check if everything is okay inside.’

‘Ruslan, we chatted to Mohammed yesterday. We think he was set up, that he isn’t involved at all.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘Just from things that he says.’

‘You believe him?’

‘I don’t know, we’re not sure. We’re just a bit worried, a bit jittery, that’s all.’

‘Don’t be worried, Reno, everything will be okay. It’s quiet here. Security is tight. Nothing will happen. I’ll let you know if anything changes.’

Silently, Ruslan knew
everything
was about to change.

In the ship’s helicopter hangar, Fulham pulled Khalid aside. ‘I’m wearing a suit today. Do I look more
FBI
to you?’

‘I’m impressed.’

The Assistant Secretary of State walked in briskly, smiling and waving, clearly confident the venue was sterile and the suspected terrorist was behind bars. The guests applauded as she made her way to the central table, stopping along the way and greeting dignitaries.

‘She looks taller in real life,’ Fulham whispered.

‘I guess.’ Khalid nodded towards where U-Haq was standing. ‘The sheikh’s grinning from ear to ear. He’s obviously pleased to be rubbing shoulders with the Secretary.’

‘Mr Khalid, a rather disturbing piece of information came to me from an anonymous source earlier. I’m ordering a polygraph on you just for peace of mind.’

Khalid felt his body sway involuntarily as his limbic system responded to the threat and blood was diverted from his legs to his upper body. ‘Whose peace of mind?’

‘Mine. It’ll clear you, just like that.’

Khalid knew a poly would sink him, as sure as hell it would expose his lies and his betrayal. ‘Whatever you think, Mr Fulham.’

‘I haven’t discussed it with anyone yet. I thought I’d bounce it off you first.’

‘What kind of information came to you, may I ask?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it now, but I’ll leave you with a name to think about. Mariam.’ Fulham walked away and stood beside Agent Carter as the Assistant Secretary of State rose to speak.

Khalid felt weak. It may have been the movement of the ship in the water, that slight rocking, which made his feet feel unsteady, but it was more likely Fulham’s mention of Mariam’s name. What if the blackmailer had told Fulham already? His eyes drifted involuntarily to the area where he’d left the package earlier. A table of gifts had been placed over the vent and he knew there was no way of retrieving the parcel. Perhaps it would disappear into some lost part of the ship’s ventilation infrastructure. In a couple of months or years, or if they ever found it, there would be no way of linking it back to him. The cellphone he’d handed in at the security counter earlier reminded him of his only link to the blackmailer and the instruction that he should dispose of the phone. He would feel better once that had been done. Secretary Conroy hailed the cordial relations that existed been the
US
and South African governments. Social spending was on the up and up and the
US
-funded
PEPFAR
programme to counter the spread of Aids was a flagship success story. Fulham seemed to be captivated by Conroy’s words. Khalid had to get out. Beside two Secret Service agents at the exit stood Gunnery Sergeant Garcia, a welcome sight.

‘I don’t feel well at all, Rosetta. I need to go above decks for some fresh air.’

Garcia saw the beads of sweat on Khalid’s forehead and remembered how long it had taken her to adapt to the gentle movement of the ship. ‘Wow, to me it feels like this boat’s fixed to concrete. I can’t leave my post, so you go ahead.’

Durant stopped the Land Rover at the port entrance and rolled his window down as a policeman peered in. ‘I need to get to the ship – the
US
navy ship.’

‘Accreditation card?’ the policeman asked.

‘I don’t have an accreditation card. I need to speak to my boss. I can’t get hold of him by phone.’ Durant held up his phone as if to reinforce the point.

‘And you are?’

‘Kevin Durant.’

‘From?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Can you radio the
SAPS
command post there and ask them to call out Mr Alfred Masondo – he’s a close protector for the Minister.’

‘Where is he? If he’s on board, our people can’t call him off. Is it urgent? Is it a security issue?’ The policeman was nervous and he was making Durant more nervous. He realised that he just looked like a crazy citizen looking for trouble.

‘Can I speak to someone at the command post?’

‘Sir, I don’t know who you are. You haven’t identified yourself; you’ve just given me the name of a person I don’t know. I can’t give you access to our radio.’ Durant noticed the policeman’s hand resting on his service pistol and without saying as much, the policeman had made his point. ‘Sir, unless there is a specific threat, I can’t even radio the command post. We’re just doing perimeter security. So please move your vehicle, sir, you’re blocking the entrance.’

As he reversed out of the access control point, Durant tried Masondo’s number again, but was greeted by voicemail.

Masondo was watching the sheikh closely. He sat at the table of mainly Indian dignitaries and businesspeople and seemed quite relaxed. Masondo couldn’t get too close – he wasn’t a guest, he was a bodyguard. It was ten minutes into Conroy’s speech and Masondo felt himself beginning to relax. He felt safe on the warship. It felt like the inside of a bank vault; impenetrable and indestructible. Nandi was up to something. He knew she’d left the house just after him because when he’d phoned her on his way to the ship, he could hear she was driving. To the shop, she said. It was 20:22. He would try her on the home phone and make sure she was home. He slipped out of the reception hall and walked ten metres to the security counter where he asked to use a phone.

Nandi answered the phone as she kicked off her shoes. ‘I’m home, Dad, of course I’m home. How’s the function? What time are you coming home?’

‘Okay, my baby, I’ll be home by eleven. Make sure the front gate’s locked. I don’t have my phone on me, so be safe. Love you, baby.’

‘Love you too, Dad.’

Nandi replaced the receiver and smiled at Shabalala. ‘He’s only back at eleven.’

Khalid walked across the flight deck, escorted by a marine, to the handrails.

‘Sorry, marine. Haven’t found my sea legs. I don’t want to throw up on American government property. He slipped the cellphone from his pocket and simultaneously heaved a gut-wrenching, but convincing retch over the side and let the phone drop silently into the dark sea, almost eighteen metres below.

Tanveer looked at his watch. It was 20:24. It was a magnificent view from the esplanade. Many people had gathered along the quay side to see the American ship berthed at N-shed, its square stern facing the city. It wasn’t a sight you saw every day, a mini aircraft carrier with planes and helicopters on the deck and lit up like a veritable Christmas tree. The might of the American government, it projected power and strength. A Christmas tree, Tanveer thought, a huge Christmas tree sending a message of peace to the world. He shook his head bitterly. 20:28. It was almost time.

Amina kissed Siraj on his forehead and switched off the light. Ahmed wasn’t home yet, but she didn’t expect him before ten. She went upstairs to the lounge and slid open the balcony doors to let some fresh air in. It was a warm evening and some of her neighbours were on their balconies celebrating Christmas. The smell of braai fires was in the air and Amina heard the laughter and banter of people and she felt lonely. She stared out across to the city and could make out the harbour with its dazzling lights in the distance. Kevin was probably working out there somewhere, making a difference. She missed that. She missed being part of events that changed lives and made the country a better place. She desperately wanted to go back to the Agency; she belonged there. She silently prayed that God would give her a sign.

At 20:29, Masondo saw the sheikh excuse himself from the table and slip to a side door beside the Christmas tree where he answered a call on his cellphone. Strange, Masondo thought. He’d had to leave his phone with security – perhaps his
RAW
handlers had a special arrangement with the American security officials. Masondo saw the sheikh speak briefly and then balance the phone against his ear while he wrote something on a piece of paper. He then put his glasses on, looked at the piece of paper, and dialled a number.

Khalid strolled back across the flight deck, feeling slightly better having disposed of the cellphone, but still fighting to control his anxiety about Fulham knowing about Mariam. He could tell Fulham he was seeing Mariam, but he didn’t kill her. He could mention the masked man who had held him at gunpoint, and how he’d fled.

Then something happened. The ship shuddered violently, throwing Khalid and the marine escort to the deck. A deafening bang, then another a split second later, the second much louder than the first. An alarm sounded. Thick black smoke billowed from two vents on the superstructure and then – shouts, screams, chaos.

Masondo felt the blast rather than saw or heard it – he felt it as a searing, instantaneous and shocking pain in his head, followed by blackness, then orange light. There were sounds, but they were muffled, distant. In a terrifying moment, he thought he had permanently lost his hearing. His breathing was frighteningly rapid, he could feel his lungs fighting for air, but there was none. He had never felt heat like this before. The hangar had become an incinerator. It was surreal – from normality to this. The pain, the confusion, the fear. What had happened? The ship would sink; he’d never learnt to swim. Debris rained down on him. What was it? Fire. The place was burning. Thick black smoke, as thick as cotton wool, tore into his air passages and immediately he knew what suffocation felt like. He fell to the floor gasping for air.