Читать книгу Face-Off - Chris Karsten - Страница 19

11.

In his office at the Record Jake read an article titled “Countercorruption and Security” on the website of the Department of Home Affairs. Then he phoned the Johannesburg regional office and asked for Mr Heilbron. He didn’t identify himself as a journalist, and went on to break almost every rule of the press code.

“Mr Heilbron, a friend gave me your name, said you’d help me. He said if ever I’m in trouble, I should phone that nice Mr Heilbron at Home Affairs.”

“Yes?”

Jake switched on the digital recorder. “My friend said: ‘Don’t rub Mr Heilbron up the wrong way. Don’t expect him to do anything illegal. He’s an ethical man, follows the rules like the Gospel.’ But it’s the queues, you know, Mr Heilbron. You stand in line all day and when you eventually reach the counter the clerk says: ‘Where are your fingerprints?’ And you say: ‘No one said anything about fingerprints.’ And she says: ‘First you must have your fingerprints taken. Go to the back.’ And you wait in another line to have your fingerprints taken . . .”

“What’s your point, Mr . . .?”

“Diamond.” Damn! His real name. Slip of the tongue. He paused a beat. “All that red tape and queues, Mr Heilbron, and three months later Piet de Wet gets his ID book, with inside a photo of Bhekuyise Ninela, and Bhekuyise gets his ID with a photo of Gert van der Merwe, and so on, you know what I mean? My friend says Mr Heilbron can help . . .”

“Who’s your friend? Does he have a name?”

Jake had expected the question. He didn’t have any Pakistani friends, didn’t know any typical Pakistani names, but had remembered Imran Khan, Pakistan’s cricket captain. In 1992 his team won the World Cup final against England, Ian Botham dismissed for a duck by Wasim Akram.

“My friend? Oh, Wasim Khan. D’you remember him?” He hoped the name rang a bell, but not too loudly. Just enough to jolt Mr Heilbron’s memory.

“I help hundreds of clients. I can’t remember every one. Khan?”

“Khan, yes. My friend Wasim said: ‘If Mr Heilbron agrees to help you, don’t be tight-fisted, show your gratitude.’ That’s what Wasim said, not me. He used the word largesse. He likes big words.” He waited another second, to let the big word sink in. “I’m in trouble, Mr Heilbron. Can you help me? Could we discuss it, perhaps tomorrow over a nice lunch? It’s Friday, so no one will be hurrying us along. What’s your diary like? Is there room for lunch, and for largesse, if you can help me?”