That�s when Thembelani Dhladhla�s mind went to work. Among the five members of the Mambas, Thembelani��Themba� to his colleagues�was the strategist, the chess player who could turn a small quirk into a masterstroke. It was exactly why Brigadier Mabena had handpicked him for the unit.
His idea hinged on Mantwa. She hadn�t touched alcohol in the three years since joining the Mambas�her personal line in the sand. But before quitting, she�d had a soft spot for Heineken, and still indulged in the alcohol-free version, Heineken Zero, for the taste. The twist was that in their experience, only Johannesburg�s most exclusive clubs stocked it.
Themba�s plan was simple on paper, but loaded with risk in practice. The move was to order Heineken Zero at Sahara Night Club�a drink so rare in places like this that the odds of finding it were slim to none. When the barman inevitably said no, they would offer to bring in their own. Most clubs would shut that down instantly. If refused, they�d push to speak to the manager. And if the manager said no too, they�d insist on meeting the owner.
That owner was the man they�d come to find�Emmanuel Adedeji.
Lindani leaned casually against the counter. �Can I get two Heineken Silvers� and two Heineken Zeros?�
What he didn�t know was that the man serving him wasn�t the regular bartender. The manager himself was covering while the real barman restocked the cold room.
�Heineken Silver and� Heineken what?� the manager asked, brows pinching.
�Heineken Zero.�
�We�ve got the Silver. The other one, we don�t.�
�It�s Heineken without the alcohol,� Lindani said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The manager turned toward the cold room. �Hey�do we stock Heineken Zero?�
A muffled voice floated back over the clatter of crates. �No, we don�t.�
The manager returned. �We don�t, sir.�