Cape Town
On the way downtown, Hayden Stone encountered heavy traffic and had trouble finding a parking spot, all of which accounted for being almost a half hour late. Inside the white one-story South African National Gallery, he found Jacob in the African wing studying a tall standing figure made of dried grass and feathers.
The only other visitor in the room was a middle-aged, well-dressed black woman who left the room, her high heels clicking on the polished oak floor. The skylights in the high ceilings softened Jacob’s features, but not the tension around his eyes.
“You’re late,” he said, turning toward a foot-high ebony figure standing on a pedestal. “You should wear a hat to cover those bandages.”
Stone remained silent, pretending to be interested in the sculpture. Jacob would voice his concerns, afterward Stone would see if they could find a solution to the problem of the bomb.
“Time is not on our side, Stone. These people are an unknown quantity. They’ve split from al Qaeda.” Jacob turned his attention to the cream-colored walls as if he was about to comment on the choice of color. “This Nabeel Asuty wants to be the new idol of the worldwide jihadist movement. So he wants to outdo them.”
“The plane is somewhere over the Congo River,” Stone said in a low voice. He noticed an echo in the gallery. “Frederick and others assume Asuty is headed for Libya, but I’m not convinced.”
“Neither are my superiors in Tel Aviv.” Jacob started moving to the far end of the gallery. “What does Frederick have you doing now?”
“Nothing. I think I’ve been dumped, but that’s not stopping me from making amends, as it were.” Stone looked around to see if they were still alone, and then he related what Lange had told him about Cameroon. “My hunch is that’s where they’re headed.”
Jacob nodded. “Good choice. Ever been to Douala?”
“Yes. A steamy, dirty, dangerous seaport. It’s the end of the line. A perfect place to find some tramp steamer to take on cargo with no questions asked.” A thought occurred to Stone. “Let’s go talk to Abdul Wahab if he hasn’t already disappeared. By the way, the South Africans have him under surveillance.”
“I know, and he’s not disappearing.” Jacob smiled for the first time. “He’s about to see the light.”
Stone let that statement settle. “He’s being pitched by your side and the South Africans?”
“Both, and also your side.”
“The agency wants to recruit Wahab? The man instrumental in the deaths of two young CIA officers three months ago?” Stone knew his anger showed. “I can’t believe it.”
“Hayden. Try to understand.”
“The FBI doesn’t rest until it nails those who kill one of its own.”
Jacob held up his hand to calm him down. “You must learn that this is a different ball game. You’re in the spy business. You are no longer someone trying to catch spies like the FBI does.”
“It takes a thief to catch a thief. It takes a spy to catch a spy.”
“Abdul Wahab is more valuable alive than dead,” Jacob said. “At this time he has information and contacts we can use long term.”
Stone paced the wooden floor. Two college-aged girls with notepads stood at the entrance to the room studying the paintings on the walls. He let what Jacob said sink in. Evidently Abdul Wahab had offered his services, and the way the world had evolved since 9/11, the intelligence community couldn’t pass up the opportunity.
“Do you plan to go to Douala, and if you do, who will go with you?” Jacob whispered as the two girls made their way into the room.
“I’ll hold off going there until I hear something from Frederick, but I’m not waiting too long,” Stone said in a low voice. “Sandra would want to come, but she’s hurting. There’s Dirk Lange—”
“Lange is about to part from the secret service. In fact, he has a position with the Scorpions.”
Stone gave him a quizzical look.
As Jacob motioned they should leave, he explained, “The Directorate of Special Operations. It’s a unit formed to fight the South African crime syndicates.”
“So he’s no longer in the business?”
“No one ever leaves our business,” Jacob said. When they reached the gallery’s foyer, he tugged Stone’s sleeve. “I guess it’s just the two of us. Have any contacts in Douala?”
“This should be interesting, the two of us working together.” Descending the entrance stairs, Stone said, “We have a CIA station in Yaoundé. Surely they’ll be in the loop.” He thought a moment. “France has a close connection with Cameroon. Three months ago on the French Riviera, I met a guy in French intelligence. He might help us. Tonight I’ll get his number from a friend.”
The late afternoon sun came in through the louvered blinds and brightened the library in soft yellow light. Abdul Wahab always felt at peace here, even when he entertained difficult guests. Lady Beatrice and he sat patiently for the arrival of two individuals who would determine his future.
“When did you say they would be here?” Wahab asked.
“Momentarily. Dingane has been told to show them in.”
“I know this Dirk Lange fellow. He’s a South African intelligence agent, but Patience St. John Smythe. Why is she coming? She was at the Van Wartts’ party we attended recently, wasn’t she?” Wahab felt warm. Maybe he should remove his jacket. No, he must give a dignified appearance to these people. “She’s involved with the American ambassador.”
Lady Beatrice closed her eyes. “Patience is an old friend of mine from London. Her family belongs to our club. We sail together. Surely, I’ve mentioned it to you.”
Wahab gave a weary sigh. Nothing had gone as planned, but now that he looked back, he had lost control of this foolish endeavor a month ago. When that lowlife Nabeel Asuty came on the scene.
“I’m sorry, dear, you may very well have mentioned her name. She is an attractive woman.” Then remembering his original question Wahab asked, “So why is she coming?”
“She’s in the same business as Dirk Lange. She’ll be part of the … bargain.”
“Interesting.”
They heard Dingane at the front door bring people into the vestibule. A moment later there was a knock on the library door. Wahab opened it and led Patience and Lange into the room, offering them armchairs.
Wahab sat next to Beatrice on the leather settee. Should he ask how Lange felt? He looked at the man’s swollen eye and thought better of it, even though he had helped save his life. There was the matter of his being the original cause of Lange and his companions’ capture and subsequent beatings. He’d let them begin the negotiations.
“Mr. Wahab, you have a big problem.” Dirk Lange began. “You are a guest in South Africa and you assisted in the sale of a stolen nuclear weapon to foreign terrorists. The authorities are thirsty for blood.”
Beatrice touched Wahab’s arm as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Some people have suggested that if you enter into an arrangement, you could avoid considerable unpleasantness,” Lange said. “Like imprisonment for the rest of your life in our Pollsmoor prison facility.”
The last statement made an impression on Wahab. “What are your terms?”
Patience now spoke. “You have vast knowledge and contacts with terrorist organizations. You will provide us a continuing stream of information on individual terrorists, terrorist cells, and when needed, will assist our people in any counterterrorist operation. We understand you have important contacts in Yemen. That is of particular interest to us.”
Wahab turned to Beatrice, who nodded. He did the same. “Who are these ‘people’? CIA?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” Lange said. “If you agree to our terms, and it will be in writing, we’ll arrange for your safe transport to another country.”
“I see.” Wahab looked at the ceiling. “I suppose I have no choice. Yes, I agree to your terms.”
“Good. We’ll begin to put matters into motion when these papers are signed.” Patience handed Wahab four official-looking memoranda. “You may want to sit over there at your desk and read them before signing.”
Taking the papers, Wahab read the top one while slowly walking to his desk. He looked up. “Canada? These are official Canadian documents! I would have sworn you were CIA. Oh well, I have no quarrel with Canada.”
Wahab went back to the forms and carefully signed each while the other three waited in silence. He looked up at Beatrice, but her eyes were looking off in the distance. He signed the last one and handed them to Patience.
“Have a seat over there, Mr. Wahab. We have some questions that demand immediate answers.”
Wahab obliged and noted his wife sat expressionless except for the downward curve of her mouth that appeared when she was distressed.
“We must know where Asuty is taking the bomb,” Lange said.
“He never told me. Not directly, that is. The deal was once he took possession our association ended. He never said what he was going to do with it, but it is assumed …”
“You assumed he intended to kill a lot of innocent people.” At Dirk Lange’s words, Beatrice jerked. “Think, Wahab. Give us something to go on. If you do, then those papers Patience is holding will become official. Otherwise …”
“I remember him saying something about a seaport and a shipping company. Oh, yes, Cameroon was mentioned, but so was Sierra Leone. Asuty’s group was infiltrated by a British agent. They tried to kill him but bungled it somehow.” Wahab looked at both his interrogators. “Ask MI6 what they know.”
“What about Libya? Could he be taking it there?” Patience asked.
“Definitely not. The Libyan intelligence service is at odds with Asuty’s group. He’s Egyptian, you know. Some bad blood there. Don’t know why.”
“We better get this to the right people,” Lange said to Patience.
This was the time to ask a question nagging Wahab since the morning. “Where is Dawid van Wartt?”
“He’s under arrest,” Lange said. “Very serious charges, you may imagine.”
“Knowing Dawid, he’ll buy his way out of this mess. A real blackguard. He talked me into this stupid idea.” Not quite fair. Since they were receptive to that question, what about the most important one. Why isn’t the CIA, and more importantly why isn’t his nemesis, Hayden Stone, present? He’d need to go about it obliquely. “I’m surprised Hayden Stone isn’t with us.”
Patience waved off the question and said, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked where we’re taking you.”
Wahab thought a moment. “Yemen?”
“Not yet. You’re heading for a colder climate. Pack your wools.” Patience rose. “Lady Beatrice, may I speak with you privately?”
“Before you leave,” Wahab said, “ I want to say I truly regret my actions. They were not at all thought out on my part.”
“Please,” Lange said. “No more of that bullshit.”
The absence of Hayden Stone concerned Wahab. If the CIA was not part of the deal, then dues were unpaid. Like the deaths of those two young CIA officers in the South of France. Another stupid mistake on his part.
“I have reason to believe that Hayden Stone still holds some grudge against me. Even though in Namibia I was instrumental in the saving of your life, Mr. Lange, and Stone’s life. Have you any idea what his thinking is about all this?”
“It’s always difficult to say what Mr. Stone is thinking or what he will do, for that matter,” Lange said.
“I’ll second that,” Patience said.
Wahab detected something in Patience’s aside that he couldn’t quite grasp, but it made him uncomfortable.