"Has anyone built a case against him?" Stephen asked.
Ashcroft shook his head. "He has enough senior officials in his pockets at any given time that no investigation ever gets started." He took a sip of tea, then continued. "In addition to being a crime lord, Hassan also has ties to different Islamic terrorist groups, including ISIS and the ICA."
"ICA?" Stephen asked.
"Islamic Caliphate Army. It acts as a special force of sorts for ISIS, mostly staffed by people with military backgrounds or experience. Ruthless, competent, and a nasty bunch of arseholes."
"You think Hassan might be involved with the ship's hijacking?"
"It's possible. Hassan has a profitable smuggling business with all sorts of unsavory clients, including Iran, North Korea, Burma, and Pakistan. He doesn't have any ships of his own, so it stands to reason that he has connections with shipping companies."
Naomi stood and put her teacup down. "I'm going to call this in to Dani. She can start tracking down all she can on Hassan."
"You're not liable to find much," Ashcroft warned. "Hassan is a bit paranoid when it comes to computers, so I doubt he has an electronic bread crumb tail for you to follow."
"Won't know until we try," Naomi countered. "Be right back."
When she returned several minutes later, she found Ashcroft telling Stephen about an assignment involving a French pole dancer, three million dollars’ worth of diamonds, and several murderous Egyptians who wanted the stones. The story got wilder with each passing second, climaxing in a race across the roofs of Cairo with the Egyptians in hot pursuit. Finally, with the pole dancer saved, the diamonds retrieved and the Egyptians dead or in prison, Ashcroft explained how he had to fit all that into the report using bureaucratic double-speak. All three of them were left chuckling.
"I talked to Dani," Naomi said, settling down again. "Hassan's name was mentioned by another of our contacts, so it might be a good lead."
Just them Mandlenkosi returned, carrying a file folder and looking concerned. Ashcroft's smile faded. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"Someone has the front of the house under surveillance.”
Ashcroft rose. "Where?"
"Across the street, two houses up, on Sedgmore. Blue 2005 BMW X3, two occupants. Hood's up and they're faking car trouble."
"Let's go take a look, if you'll follow me?"
Lead by Ashcroft, all four took the stairs to the second floor and made a right into a large office. The room was mostly dark, with only a small amount of light penetrating through the slats of the floor-to-ceiling Plantation shutters that occupied a quarter of the wall space.
"Stay by the door," Ashcroft directed, then went over to his desk, opened a drawer and took out a pair of binoculars. He moved toward the half-opened shutters, but stopped a couple of feet away and stared out. After a few seconds, he said, "Yes, looks like someone is interested in our happy little home. Stephen, Miss Washington — please come over here and take a look."
They both came over and looked through the binoculars, Naomi going first. The car was right where Mandlenkosi said it was, on a side street just across from Ashcroft's house, with the hood up and one person twiddling with the engine. However, he kept glancing toward the Ashcroft house, too many times for it to be natural.
"Definitely surveillance," Stephen said, handing the binoculars back to Ashcroft. "But on who, us or Nigel?"
"They were not there earlier," Mandlenkosi confirmed.
"I made sure we weren't followed," Stephen said.
Ashcroft raised the binoculars and stared at the car. "They're probably watching me," he said. "I've been used more than once by the South African government on counter-terrorist matters. I think you might be an accident."
"We can't afford to be followed," Stephen said.
"Mandlenkosi," Ashcroft said slowly. "Do you happen to know if the Watt boys are home? I think school's out of session right now."
"Not off the top of my head, but I can find out."
"Please do so." Mandlenkosi nodded and left the office once more.
"Who are the Watt Brothers?" Naomi asked.
"A couple of nice boys. If their home, they'll help us."
"Help us with what?"
"A diversion, my dear. The Watt boys and their friends are very good at creating mayhem."
Jamil Al-Farooq looked up from the BMW's engine and glanced at the house of the target and the unknown car in the driveway. He had already radioed in the car's license plate, and found out it was a rental. He didn't know where Hassan had gotten the information from, and he didn't care. He wasn't paid to think, but he was making good money and he was encouraged to indulge in his penchant for violence. Right now, his orders were to watch the house and follow whoever got into the rental car.
Jamil straightened up to look at his partner, Ishack Adeel, who was sitting in the passenger seat, reading a newspaper. Jamil couldn't hide the expression of anger. Ishack was pretty much useless and Jamil had no idea why Tamrez had put the two of them together. He reached over and tapped on the passenger's side window. Ishack looked up and rolled down the window.
"What?"
Jamil's hand twitched, fighting the urge to pull his pistol from its shoulder holster and shoot Ishack in the face. "I could use some help!" he growled.
Ishack shrugged. "It's only one house. Shouldn’t take both of us."
A group of young teenage boys came straggling down the street. They stopped and looked at the BMW.
"Kif!" one of them said. "You have a problem with your jammie, mister?"
"Just a small one," Jamil said, trying to sound pleasant.
Suddenly, the other boys clustered around Jamil and started asking questions.
"Is that a BMW?"
"What sort of gas mileage does it get?"
"Was it expensive to buy?"
"Why did you get a blue one?"
"Can we see the engine?"
The boys moved toward the front of the car. Jamil rapped hard on Ishack's window and motioned for him to get out. Ishack shot an ugly glare at Jamil, opened the door and exited. They moved to the front of the car, using their bodies to force the boys away. The boys moved slowly, still peppering the two men with questions about the car, their clothes, and even Jamil's shoes.
They were so intent on shooing the boys away from the car that they didn't see another boy crouched behind the BMW. He held a long tube attached to a can and was spraying the can's contents up the car's tailpipe as fast as possible. After thirty seconds, he finished the can and dropped it into a bag he had slung over one shoulder. He rose and ran to join the others, slapping one of his friends in the back.
"Tag!" he yelled. He continued running down the road, turning left at the intersection. With a shout, the rest of the boys ran after him, any interest in the car suddenly forgotten.
Jamil watched them disappear around the corner, then turned to snarl at Ishack. "You watch the house!"
He got back into the car. Ishack glared at him, but went around the front and began looking at the engine. Jamil glanced at his watch and decided to wait another ten minutes before he and Ishack moved to a different observation location.
A few minutes later, Ishack closed the hood and walked to the passenger-side door. Jamil could see two people, a white man and a black woman, getting into the rental car. Jamil started the engine as Ishack climbed into the passenger seat. The engine caught, idled for a few second, then died. Surprised, Jamil tried starting the car again, but this time, it wouldn't even start. The rental car was making a U-turn in the wide driveway when Jamil tried a third time, then a fourth.
The rental car turned left onto the street and drove out of sight. Several more attempts by Jamil failed to start the car. After fifteen minutes, he admitted defeat and produced his cell phone to report his failure.