In the Company of Killers, Bryan Christy [love story books to read .txt] 📗

two children in Cape Town, but sometimes we must find a way to express the things we dare not say.” She looked briefly at Klay. “Shall I give you a bit of background, Mr. Tenchant? This office—”

“Tenchant’s fine.”

“Tenchant. Okay then. You are here to do a story on our investigation and prosecution of the wildlife trafficker Ras Botha. Naturally, this is a sensitive situation. It is not generally appropriate for us to discuss our work with outsiders, especially foreign journalists, and never a case in progress. But Tom has written about Botha in the past. The Sovereign is respected throughout our country, and my superior is aware of your presence. There are certain limits you will have to abide by, but I have also instructed my team that you are here to support our investigation, and we, your story. We believe in your magazine, and we believe your work can help us.”

“Any publicity is good publicity,” Tenchant said.

“No. Good publicity is good publicity, Tenchant.” She looked at him sharply. “Let me give you a bit of background on who we are and what else we’re doing. Three years ago, our president, Gabriel Ncube, appointed his son-in-law, Justin Franklin, to be our country’s public protector. Franklin is now in prison, arrested for bribery by Officer Sehlalo.” She nodded in the direction of her doorway. “Our president saw opportunity in his son-in-law’s arrest. Gabriel Ncube’s entire career has been marred by criminal allegations, including murder, the rape of an underage girl, and selling off mining, defense, and other state interests to line his pockets. He saw a way to cleanse himself politically. He appointed the esteemed advocate Angela Mabaso to replace his son-in-law as public protector, and he very publicly encouraged her to create a new anti-corruption task force to rid his government of wrongdoing. She accepted his advice and created this ad hoc anti-corruption unit. But she did not accept his suggestions on how to staff it. Against the president’s wishes, she chose me.

“The public has nicknamed our unit the Wild Dogs after the animals’ reputation for biting and eating their victims while on the run. Somehow, we have sometimes become the Hungry Dogs. Which I am afraid is also true . . .

“We have a man sweep the office each morning,” she said, noting Tenchant’s eyes roaming over documents stacked on the floor and her shelves. “We can talk freely here.”

Her eyes were still on Tenchant, assessing him, Klay realized. “But of course, nothing is ever certain so we do take basic precautions with our phones and other communications. Our internal communications are air-gapped,” she said, and nodded at a computer monitor on her desk. “My staff will brief you. Questions? No? Okay,” she said. “My team has seen you. They know who you are. They know you’re here to help. But they are not happy about it. Journalists are a great risk for us. If Ncube discovers I’m helping you, or that you are helping me”—she glanced at Klay—“we’re through. That is just how it is.”

“Thank you, Hungry,” Klay said. “I briefed Tenchant on the security parameters we agreed to, and on the compartmentalization of our efforts. He understands you have a corruption investigation underway and that we are to stay well clear of it. We’re here to tell the story of Ras Botha. Exclusively. Any help your people can give Tenchant, of course, would be much appreciated. He’s ready to get to work. We both are.”

“Okay,” she said. “Good. Let’s bring you back out there and try this again . . .”

•   •   •

Tenchant was on his hands and knees under a spare desk in the Wild Dogs’ office, his blue button-down shirt riding up his bony back. His tattooed arm emerged from under the desk. “Can somebody help me plug this in?” He was holding the universal travel adapter he’d brought from home.

“That won’t work here,” Miss Edna said. She dug through her desk and found a South African adapter. “Give this to him, Minnie, please.”

Tenchant plugged in his laptop and took a seat at the desk they had found for him. “What’s your Wi-Fi?” he asked.

“Use your own phone for the internet,” Sehlalo said.

“Hush!” said Miss Edna. “‘Laundromat’ is the network, Mr. Tenchant. The password is ‘Phambili!Kenako.’” She spelled it out for him.

“Thank you. Just Tenchant.”

“Use a VPN, please,” she said. “Choose outside South Africa. If you need to go on the website of target individuals or companies please let us know. We use Tor, but some things require a search from another location.”

“Okay,” he said, typing rapidly. “I’m on the Companies and Intellectual Property Commission website. Do you have an ID or passport number for Botha . . . ?”

“Exit that,” Sehlalo said. “I want a list of every site you intend to search before you go online.”

Klay was leaning against a wall, watching. He called across the room to Sehlalo. “How do you like that weapon?”

Sehlalo turned. He glanced down at his shoulder holster, then back at Klay. “Gits ’er done,” he said affecting a cowboy twang, a hostile edge in his voice.

“I was thinking it goes with your suit,” Klay said, taking a step forward.

Sehlalo opened his jacket and drew his weapon, slowly but confidently, and placed it on the corner of his desk. He gestured for Klay to take a look. Klay picked it up. Klay preferred a Glock—short trigger pull, super reliable. But as appearances went the sharp-edged Glock looked and felt like it had been designed by Lego.

Tenchant joined them. “Wow. Looks like something Batman would use. What is that?”

“Vektor CP1,” Sehlalo said. “Nine mil.”

“The pride of South Africa,” Klay said, handing it back to Sehlalo. “Don’t drop it, right?”

Sehlalo accepted his gun and holstered it. “They fixed that over here.”

“Glad you trust them,” Klay said. The two men glared at each other. Klay said, “Tench, you good?”

Tenchant went back to his desk. “I’m good, boss.”

“Okay.” His team stuck together too.

Minnie dropped a stack of documents on Tenchant’s desk. “Our Botha case files.” Tenchant opened the top file and got