?We have identified a suspect, thanks to fingerprints that Inspector Griessel and his team recovered from the vehicle of the swimming-pool company. His name is Thobela Mpayipheli. He is a Xhosa man in his forties from the Eastern Cape. His registered address is Cata, a farm in the Cathcart district. That is in the Eastern Cape. Earlier this year Mpayipheli lost his son during an armed robbery at a filling station. Two suspects were arrested, but escaped from detention during the trial. It seems as if that is where it all began. By the way, he owns an Izuzu KB pickup, which fits with the tire print that Inspector Griessel found, and we must assume that that is the vehicle with which he traveled to Cape Town and Uniondale. That is all the information we have at this time.?
Griessel?s cell phone rang again and he took it out of his pocket.
ANNA.
He switched it off.
?So,? said Joubert. ?Since I am going to ask Griessel to go to the Eastern Cape, I will hold the fort at this end.?
He didn?t want to go anywhere.
?We are going to search the Cape with a fine-tooth comb for Mpayipheli. He must be staying somewhere. Benny will find out if he has any family or friends here, but in the meantime we will have to visit or contact every establishment that offers accommodation. We are waiting . . .?
Joubert?s eyes turned to the door and everyone followed suit. Boef Beukes had come in. Behind him was the man in the suit that Griessel had seen in Beukes?s office. Joubert nodded in their direction.
?We are waiting for good photos from Home Affairs and you will each get one, along with the best description we can compile. There already is a bulletin out for the pickup and we are putting up roadblocks on the N-one, N- two, N-seven, R-twenty-seven, R-forty-four and four places on the R-three hundred around Mitchells Plain and Khayelitsha. We will also provide details to the media and ask the public to cooperate. In an hour or so we should have a timetable drawn up, so that you can begin phoning places of accommodation. Stand by until we are ready for you.?
Joubert came to sit beside Griessel directly. ?Sorry about that, Benny. There was no time to warn you.?
Griessel shrugged. It made no difference.
?Are you okay??
He wanted to ask what that meant, but he just nodded instead.
?We?ve booked you onto the nine o?clock flight to Port Elizabeth. It?s the last one today.?
?I?ll go and pack.?
?I need you there, Benny.?
He nodded again. Then Boef Beukes and Mr. Red Tie came up to them. The unknown man was holding a big brown envelope.
?Matt, can we have a word?? Beukes said, and Griessel wondered why he was speaking English.
?Things are a bit mad here,? said Joubert.
?We have some information . . .? said Beukes.
?We?re listening.?
?Can we talk in your office??
?What?s with the English, Boef? Or are you practicing for when the
phones?? Griessel asked.
?Let me introduce you to Special Agent Chris Lombardi of the DEA,? said Beukes and turned to Red Tie.
?I work for the United States Drug Enforcement Agency, and I?ve been in your country now for three months,? said Chris Lombardi. With his bald pate and long fleshy ears, Griessel thought he looked like an accountant.
?Superintendent Beukes and I have been part of an interagency operation to investigate the flow of drugs between Asia and South America, in which South Africa, and Cape Town in particular, seems to play a prominent part.? Lombardi?s accent was strongly American, like a film star?s.
Three months, thought Griessel. The fuckers had been watching Carlos for three months.
Lombardi took an A4-size sheet of paper from his brown envelope and placed it on Joubert?s desk. It was a black-and-white portrait photograph of a clean-shaven man with dark curly hair. ?This is Cesar Sangrenegra. Also known as
He is the second in command of the Guajira Cartel, one of the biggest Colombian drug-smuggling operations in South America. He is one of the three infamous Sangrenegra brothers, and we believe he arrived in Cape Town early this morning.?
?Carlos?s brother,? said Griessel.
?Yes, he is the brother of the late Carlos. And that?s part of the problem. But let me start at the beginning.? Lombardi took another photograph from the envelope. ?This is Miguel Sangrenegra, a.k.a.
or
?Rubia? means ?blond,? and as you can see, the man isn?t blond at all. He is the patriarch of the family, seventy- two years old, and has been retired since nineteen ninety-five. But it all started with him. In the nineteen-fifties Miguel was a coffee smuggler in the Caribbean and was perfectly positioned to graduate to marijuana in the sixties and seventies. He hails from the town of Santa Marta in the Guajira province of Colombia. Now, the Guajira is not the most fertile of the Colombian districts, but it has one strange advantage. Due to soil quality and chemistry, it produces a very popular variant of marijuana, called Santa Marta Gold. It is much sought-after in the US, and the street price is considerably higher than any other form of weed. In the Guajira, they refer to Santa Marta Gold as
