“Because they want to cover all their bases. If Bull Shabangu does manage to hijack the stones, they buy it from him. If he doesn’t, they do a deal with the Ravens.”
Rajkumar is steeds nie oortuig nie. “But at what price?”
“You have to understand the nature of the game. Diamond smugglers all have the same problem: how do they get the most bang for their buck, because international agreements and law enforcement are making it very difficult to sell the stuff these days. The big money is now in India, where more stones are being processed than in Holland. But to sell to the Indians, you need to work through three or four middle men, each taking a cut. The Ravens will probably get forty cents on the Rand if they sell through their channels. But the Supreme Committee has a trump card: Sayyid Khalid bin Alawi Macki. Remember, he is a money launderer, and he probably has a direct line to the Indians. So they can offer the Ravens fifty or sixty cents on the Rand, and still get in excess of eighty cents in India. Keep in mind that we are talking about a shipment in the region of a R100 million. The Committee is looking at a worst-case scenario of at least R20 million clear profit. More, if Bull Shabangu intercepts, which still makes that first prize.”
“I did not mean the actual monetary cost,” sê Rajkumar gelate. “What about the cost of doing business with a crime syndicate, a drug organisation? I mean, Pagad will shit their pants. The whole extremist community will be up in arms.” Hy vat sy twee hande, vee sy hare terug oor sy skouers. “What I’m trying to say: The stakes are very high. Which means the ultimate goal is very, very important. Big. Bigger than the terms we’ve been thinking. So big that they will be able to say the end justifies the means. If this is going to be an act of terrorism, it’s going to be ugly. Which makes this really bad news.”
“Bad?” sê Masilo. “We’ll stop this thing. And you have to think like the Director, Raj. In terms of our future, I think it’s great news.”
* * *
Jessica kom haal vir Milla by haar lessenaar. “Walk with me,” fluister sy.
Milla volg haar, tot in die vrouekleedkamer. Die Godin haal lipstiffie uit haar handsak, gaan staan voor die spieël, doen restourasiewerk. “A friend of a friend is coming down from Jo’burg this weekend. He’s an article clerk at this big law firm in Jo’burg, beautiful guy, would love to have company.”
“Oh?”
“He’s twenty-four and …”
“Twenty-four?”
Die Godin lag vir haar, bêre die lipstiffie. “The perfect age. So much energy. Anyway, he’s an article clerk at this big law firm in Jo’burg – he’s down here for the weekend. And he’s beautiful …”
“Jess, I don’t know …”
“Just let him take you to a club, have a few drinks, dance a little, have some fun. If he’s not your type, you’ve had a great night. If he is, you fuck him blind.”
Milla bloos. “I …”
“Oh, live a little, Milla.”
Sy onderdruk die groot ongemak. “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
Mentz vra die een vraag wat hulle nie voorsien het nie. “Hoekom Terrence Baadjies, die enforcer?”
“Mevrou?” vra Tau Masilo, om tyd te wen.
“Waarom het Tweetybird de la Cruz sy generaal na die Supreme Committee gestuur? Waarom nie vir Moegamat Perkins, die geldman, nie?”
Hy moes geweet het sy sou die verslae noukeurig bestudeer het. Hy is vies vir homself, vir Quinn en Rajkumar, dat nie een van hulle dié vraag oorweeg het nie.
“Meer nog,” sê Mentz, “waarom sou die Committee ingestem het om met Baadjies te onderhandel? Hy is alles wat hulle verag, en volgens wat ek verstaan is hy ’n uiters gevaarlike man.”
Masilo weet hy kan haar nie om die bos lei nie. “Ek weet nie,” sê hy.
“Dan sal ons moet uitvind, Tau,” sê sy.
Hy sien die frons is terug.
* * *
Sy bel vir Jessica, halftien in die aand.
“I can’t,” sê sy. “He’s just a little older than my son.”
“That’s exactly why I never want children,” sê Die Godin.
En toe Milla afgelui het en teruglê op die bank, vermoed sy Jessica weet die waarheid: dis onsekerheid, oor haarself.
17
(18 September 2009. Vrydag.)
Vir Suleiman Dolly, ook bekend as die Shaykh, is dit die dag waarop hy in kennis gestel word van Die Datum.
Sy selfoon lui om 07:28. Sayyid Khalid bin Alawi Macki groet hom op die Moslem-manier, sê dan: “Shaykh, it’s been confirmed. 23 Shawwal 1430.”
Dolly se hart klop vinniger, en hy herhaal die woorde. “23 Shawwal 1430. Allahu Akbar.”
* * *
Julius “Inkunzi” Shabangu sal oor twaalf dae dood wees, in ’n plas bloed in sy slaapkamer. Maar vir dié twaalf dae sal hy 18 September onthou as “Black Friday”, want dit was die dag toe die Moslems hom bedrieg het. En toe daardie hond Becker oor sy pad gekom het.
Iewers ná nege bel Abdallah Hendricks, mondstuk van Osman. “Sir, there have been developments.”
Inkunzi bestuur sy BMW X5 in Sandton se spitsverkeer sonder ’n kopstuk vir die selfoon, sy fokus verdeel tussen die pad en die oproep. Daarom vermoed hy aanvanklik nie onraad nie. “What developments?” vra hy.
“Well, it seems that market forces are at work, if you know what I mean …”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Supply and demand, these things are always changing. I have been asked by Inkabi to renegotiate with you.”
“Renegotiate?” Shabangu se volle aandag is nou by die oproep, hy ruik lont.
“Yes, sir, we are unfortunately now only able to offer you thirty cents.”
“That’s bullshit …”
“I am really sorry, but that is my instruction.”
“We had a deal – you tell Osman we had a deal!”
“Please, sir, no names …”
“This is bullshit. Why is Osman doing this?”
“Please, sir, we have to stick to the agreed protocols …”
“Fuck the protocols, what is Osman doing?”
“Well, to be honest, sir, we have reason to doubt your sources. About the route.”
“The
