He looked at Tanner. "Why didn't he just tell us?"
"So he can say truthfully that he didn't say a word to us about Hassan." Tanner hit speed-dial. "I think Jayden suspects that his own superiors are on Hassan's payroll."
"Can we trust him?"
"We can trust him enough to pass the name onto Danielle and see what she can find out."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Capetown's Atlantic seaboard boasted some of the most expensive real estate in the city, and Camps Bay was a prime example. Sandwiched between Table Mountain and the ocean, the area was characterized by large houses on small, mostly walled plots of land on narrow streets.
Naomi frowned as she stared out the window. "I guess I was expecting something a little more… "
"More what?" Stephen asked from behind the wheel, driving slowly.
"More like home. Large estates with mansions."
"Well, it’s all about location, location, location." Stephen motioned to a grayish, two-story house that was all angles, concrete and glass that took up the entire lot. "We're here."
They parked in the driveway and got out.
"Nice place," Naomi said.
"Well, Nigel's always had a taste for nice things," Stephen said. "He grew up in an affluent family, went to all the best schools."
They walked to the front entrance and knocked. After a minute, the door opened and a tall, muscular African in a white shirt and pants stood there.
"Yes?" he asked in a deep voice.
"We're here to see Mr. Ashcroft," Stephen said. "Is he here?"
"Who is calling?" At second glance, the man had flecks of gray in his hair as well as faint crow's feet in the corner of his eyes, but he still looked a man not to get into a fight with.
"Who is that, Mandlenkosi?" a clipped voice with a British accent called out from behind the African.
"Visitors, sir," Mandlenkosi replied.
"And what are they selling?"
"Nigel!" Stephen called out. "We need your help!"
"The voice sounds familiar but— Wait, Stephen, Stephen Shah?"
"Yes, and I need to talk to you!"
"Mandlenkosi, let them in. Let them in!" Ashcroft's voice brimmed with excitement. "Go ask Busisiwe for tea and those some of those freshly-baked biscuits."
The African smiled at Stephen and Naomi and stepped back, motioning them to come in. They stepped into a foyer that was white with a few African accents, such as dark wooden statues on tall narrow tables, and a Zulu cowhide shield with a pair of short, stabbing spears on one wall. Stairs to the right ran up to a balcony overlooking the foyer.
A slim, neat man with gray head of closely cropped hair and a short Van Dyke strode toward them, a wide smile revealing even, white teeth. He was dressed like Mandlenkosi in white, accentuating his deep tan.
"Stephen, my boy!" he began excitedly. "It's good to see you! It's been what, four years? We haven't seen each other since that little incident with those Stinger missiles and that Russian arms merchant in Morocco!" He took Stephen's hand and pumped it vigorously.
Naomi noticed that the servant had closed the front door, disappearing from the foyer.
"Good to see you, Nigel," Stephen returned pleasantly.
Ashcroft looked at Naomi and his smiled widened. "And who is this enchanting Nubian Princess?"
Naomi cocked an eyebrow, then smiled. "Naomi Washington. You must be Nigel Ashcroft."
Ashcroft took Naomi's hand and kissed the back of it. "Guilty as charged," he said cheerfully.
"Nigel used to be with the British Secret Service until he retired."
Ashcroft shrugged. "Well, semi-retired. I still keep my hand in the game, much to London's displeasure. That and the novels I write."
"You write novels?" Naomi asked.
"Ever hear of Julian Steelwight, International Secret Agent?"
"You write those?"
The Englishman shrugged. "Of course, they're all rubbish, unrealistic, and have absolutely no relationship to real espionage, but I make five times as much off of them then I do from my government pension." He motioned toward the back of the house.
"Come, let's adjoin to the living room. I have a spectacular ocean view."
He led then to a wide, oval-shaped room, with the outside wall composed of tinted glass, revealing the promised view that was only slightly marred by the busy highway just a few feet from the windows. Ashcroft waved Naomi and Stephen to a couch and took an overstuffed chair for himself. He leaned back, still smiling.
"Now, what can I do for the Tea and Biscuit Company?"
Naomi blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
"He means the CIA." Stephen shook his head. "I'm not with them anymore. I'm working for a private contractor these days."
"Oh?" Ashcroft's eyes narrowed. "And what sort of private contractor needs someone of your skills and abilities?"
"One that needs to operate outside normal channels. And we're doing red, white and blue work."
"I see." Ashcroft steepled his fingers. "So what does your Uncle need from this magnificent land?"
"It involves SeaStar Ventures and one of their ships that's been captured by Somali pirates."
Stephen gave his host a brief outline of the last twelve hours. Ashcroft listened, not moving or saying anything. After Stephen was done, Ashcroft nodded, just as Mandlenkosi entered, carrying a try with tea and biscuits. He placed it on a table next to his employer, bowed and left.
Naomi watched him leave, then looked at Ashcroft. "Can your staff be trusted?"
Ashcroft smiled. "Mandlenkosi was the first agent I recruited when I arrived here in South Africa. I ran him for nearly twenty years. I introduced him to the woman who became his wife, Busisiwe. I'm the godfather to all three of their children, and made sure all three graduated from college. One's a medical doctor, one's a lawyer, and the third is a member of the National Assembly. When London decided they didn't need him anymore, I took him and his wife on. They're more my friends than staff."
He picked up the teapot and poured the steaming contents into three teacups. "We have sugar and cream, and the biscuits will melt in your mouth."
Once they were settled back in their seats, Ashcroft sipped his beverage and said, "You mentioned that one of the office attackers spoke English, Afrikaner, and Arabic?"
"Yes," Stephen answered. "We also found cards for a mosque and an Islamic center on several of the bodies." He took a clear plastic baggie from his pocket and handed it to Ashcroft.
The retired agent studied them for a few moments. "I thought so," he muttered, handing them back to Stephen.
"What?" Naomi asked.
"A strong suspicion. Do you have anything else?"
"Just the words 'Die Handelaar'" Stephen replied.
Ashcroft grinned. "'The merchant'? Yes, I know who fits that description. Mandlenkosi!"
The African appeared again, so quickly that he could not have been far away. "Yes, sir?"
"Go up to my office, access the black files, and pull the folder for Kamal Hassan."
"Yes sir." The African left the room once again.
"Kamal Hassan?" Naomi asked.
The retired spy nodded. "The files have all the details, but Kamal Hassan is a businessman with connections across Africa. He was born in Syria, got out one step ahead of Assad's blood-work team, and made it to South Africa and became a naturalized citizen about ten years ago. Officially, he dabbles in a little bit of everything, a friend to everyone, has established himself in the Muslim community, and is considered a success story."
"Unofficially?"
"Unofficially, Kamal Hassan is probably the biggest criminal in the Western Cape. Drugs, weapons, prostitution, and lord knows what else. Those business cards you showed me are fronts for several of Hassan's 'legal' businesses. He has eyes and ears everywhere."