Samkeli�Sam to those who knew him in his younger days, and still the name he preferred over the cumbersome Sami�watched Minister McBride pacing the stretch of lawn beyond the patio, back and forth like a man chasing thoughts he couldn�t catch. He hadn�t left the house since coming in from the office around six that evening.
The sight itself wasn�t unusual. This was McBride�s ritual whenever old ghosts came knocking�memories from a past he tried to bury but which refused to stay dead. Usually, the pacing lasted ten, maybe fifteen minutes before he�d retreat inside and drown the silence with whisky.
But tonight was different. Tonight, the pacing had stretched into hours�and to Sam, that said everything. Whatever haunted the minister now weighed heavier than the ghosts of yesterday. For six hours straight, he had been calling Lieutenant Mazibuko, checking in every hour since their last conversation. And every time, the answer was the same: negative.
The last time he�d heard anything promising was when Mazibuko�s men managed to shadow Captain Kgole all the way to Carlton Centre. Five of them were on the job�though Constable Molefe, as usual, was more liability than asset. Still, the others had done well enough. The moment Kgole pulled in, three men locked down the exits at each entrance, while another slipped into the parking lot. He was close enough to see Kgole take delivery of the items. But the handoff was quick�slick, almost rehearsed�and there was no time to rally the team. Still, he�d warned the men at the exits which vehicle to track: a tinted Toyota Hilux Twin Cab.
That was where it all fell apart. They picked the wrong truck, chased it all the way to Maboneng, and ended up watching a lone driver climb out for a cold beer at the Rooftop Bar.
Now the truth was clawing its way in�Mazibuko wasn�t going to deliver.
�That�s it,� he muttered under his breath. �I need to talk to Lesley.�
The thought settled like a stone in his gut. Lesley Black was not a man who handled failure with grace. As head of operations for Southern Africa under Carlos Ramirez�s organization, his world left no room for error. McBride�s failure would be his failure, and Ramirez had already made that clear earlier in the day. Back then, it had sounded like nothing more than a minor glitch�something that would be fixed quickly.
That was why Lesley hadn�t stepped in at first. He had simply reminded McBride of what was at stake: if the information on those gadgets fell into the wrong hands, the fallout would be catastrophic.