“So Van Wartt’s religious?”
“I’m not certain. All I know is his parents and sisters were in the congregation.”
“Damn,” he said. “An incident like that would make anyone seek retribution.” He thought a moment. “Were the killers brought to justice?”
“Of course not. Reconciliation for past crimes and all that nonsense the new government is pushing. You must realize that for Van Wartt this is home. There’s a strong connection with his ancestors, blood, and history.” She met his eyes. “Not unlike your feelings for the United States.”
Stone mulled over what she said about Van Wartt. The thought occurred: How much of an attachment did Patience have with this country after living here since she was twelve years old? “I heard he has something going with a Saudi named Abdul Wahab. That he wants to sell Wahab something very big and dangerous.”
“Yes.” She gave him an admiring glance to say he was on the top of his game. “My people picked up on Abdul Wahab when he fled France a few months ago. One of his two wives is Lady Beatrice. Quite an extraordinary woman, even though her taste in men is questionable.” Pause. “Wahab is knee-deep in the terrorist trade.” She stopped, her eyes left him, returned, and narrowed. “You visited the Riviera recently, didn’t you?”
It was Stone’s turn to churn the information he’d learned. Patience was not just a South African lawyer who happened to work occasionally for MI6. She was a full-blown case officer. Granted, she might not have known why he had come to Cape Town, but she knew a lot about Abdul Wahab and Van Wartt’s activities. Were MI6 and the CIA exchanging information? Finally, he said, “Yes. I did.”
“You’re here to kill Wahab for murdering those CIA officers in the South of France, aren’t you? You work for the CIA. You were involved in that big shoot-out in Villefranche.”
“Get this straight. I’m not an assassin. You know me better than that.”
“I don’t know you at all.” She seemed to fret. “Well, not all, all.”
Stone grinned. She was quite dramatic at times. “Patience, dear.” This time he moved closer. “What I do, I do in the service of my country. Always have. I’m a minor player. Just a contractor on a job to obtain information to prevent another 9/11 in the US, London, Paris, or Israel.”
“Were you truthful about no one else knowing about us?”
“Neither the station here nor the man I work for at Langley knows about you and me.”
She put her face close to his. “How about that blonde I saw you scoot out with last night at the Mount Nelson Hotel?”
“Your eagle is back. Finished lunch, I suppose.”
“Surprised?” She smiled. “I was in the bar with a friend. You didn’t see me. Maybe you are slipping. I notice a gray hair here and there.” She leaned against him and with that mischievous look he recalled from the past, whispered, “You have another surprise flying into town.”
Chapter Nineteen
After Hayden Stone left the hotel to meet with his contact, Sandra Harrington took a stroll along the waterfront. It was time that she establish contact with Dirk Lange. Walking through the Victoria Wharf complex might provide an opportunity for a casual encounter. A bright sun warmed her face even though the air chilled her legs. Aside from cries of sea birds flying overhead, quiet settled on the area. The seaside smelled of fresh fish that drifted up from open tanks in trawlers tied along the quay.
Noisy tourists boarded a double-deck sightseeing boat at the end of the pier. The sign at the gate announced two-hour tours of the bay, and Sandra considered spending her afternoon on one of the boats. Then she remembered the meeting the night before with CIA station chief Fleming. When he had told them about the nuclear weapon that could end up in the hands of Abdul Wahab’s terrorists, even Hayden Stone’s sangfroid had slipped a little. Was considering a little sightseeing at this time a way to shove such a horror out of her mind?
She loosened her scarf, shook her hair, and leisurely continued along the dockside, inspecting the various boats, curious at the many configurations and conditions of the craft moored along the way. Just as she was about to take a break from her trolling for Dirk Lange and find someplace to get a cappuccino, that feeling came. In the back of the head, down the neck, and along her spine came the sensation, not a chill nor shiver, but something almost akin to a touch of a warm finger. She was being watched.
Don’t alter your pace nor movements. Just walk a minute, stop, adjust your scarf, and gaze out at the boats. She cursed herself for leaving her sunglasses in the hotel room. Squint. Now look around for the person or persons who are following you. She stopped and went through her routine. Then reversed course, heading back toward the end of the pier. No sign of Lange. She strolled, placing one foot in front of another as if she was walking a line. One would suppose her in deep thought.
Still no sign of him. Suddenly came a shiver. What if it wasn’t Lange who was watching her? Nabeel Asuty and his cohorts were in Cape Town. Nabeel saw her in the café in Freetown, where Stone and Lange had killed two of his men. Her pace quickened and she headed for the hotel.
Instead of waiting for the elevator, she raced up the stairs and hurried to her room. The hotel maid stood at the door, pulling her cart out of Sandra’s room, about to start cleaning the one next door. Sandra tipped her, looked up and down the hallway, closed the door behind her, and leaned back on the wall. Sweat dripped down her back. Why had she lost her composure? Don’t worry. The instructor at the Farm, the CIA training facility, had advised her class years ago that it happened now and then. Rarely did it happen to her.
Light knock on the door. She tensed. She reached for her Glock and carefully slid back the cover to the door’s peephole. Dirk Lange’s handsome face appeared through the smudged circular glass. She quickly let him in.
“Did you just check in? I see that you haven’t fully unpacked,” Lange asked.
She eyed his black turtleneck shirt under a brown leather jacket. With his sandy blond hair and close-cropped beard, it all came together. Quite attractive.
“Don’t know how long I’ll be here. Besides, I get tired packing and unpacking.” She pointed to one of the armchairs for him to sit. “I thought I sensed you following me.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “How long have you been in town?”
“Two days. Did you see our friends from Freetown?”
“Nabeel Asuty?”
“Nabeel and some of his chinas,” Lange said.
“His what?”
“A South African term for one’s buddies.”
“Should I have seen Asuty?”
Lange stood and stepped to the window. Keeping to the side, he carefully tilted one of the blinds. “I spotted them just after I got a glimpse of you. You were wandering around Victoria Wharf for me to make contact. Yes?”
She mumbled a yes, went over to the other side of the window, and looked down from the second floor onto the walkway bordering the moored boats. Her instincts had proved right. Lange had spotted her and had waited to make contact. Whether Nabeel was looking for her or not, more importantly, he was in the area.