for R30 000. The immigrant had left the parcel with Mr Naidu at the front reception desk the previous day and today he received a box wrapped in brown paper. The storeroom of the hotel was under the stairwell and Mr Naidu let him sleep there on cold nights. He closed the door and switched on the light. He hadn’t laughed that much for years. It was a beautiful sight. The cash was in hundreds and two hundreds and his first thought was of Courtney. Nestled in the cash was a bottle of Johnny Walker. It couldn’t get better. A sip of whisky and a handful of fifties. He would head straight for Courtney’s room.
Across the road, a man observed the pickup. He’d left the parcel at the counter with the man’s name on it, being careful not to let the receptionist see him. In his rucksack was the folder containing his new identity and within a few days, his photograph would replace those on the documents. All that remained was for the immigrant to disappear. He reflected on the ease with which he’d achieved his first objective. The old Rhodesian and his fussy wife had delivered 15 ml of M 99, but he doubted he would use even half of that amount. There was only an ampoule of M 99 in the whisky, and 5 ml of this drug was enough to bring an elephant down within ten seconds. He’d done the research. From the morphine family, but just thousands of times more powerful, M 99 was specifically designed and manufactured for veterinarians in big-game capture, and the injection of a drop into the bloodstream would kill a human being in seconds. The M 99 would quickly find its way into the brain and bind to and activate a specific receptor in the central nervous system. The activation of these receptors would rapidly cause the immigrant to experience feelings of euphoria and then sedation as the heart and lung functions were suppressed. His last few moments would be characterised by difficulty in breathing, a rapid slowdown in his heart rate and then a painless death from suffocation – painless because the analgesic and euphoric effect of the M 99 would actually make him enjoy the experience.
February 2009. North of Durban
‘Ruslan,’ the man said simply, taking Sheikh U-Haq’s hand.
‘Salaam, you come highly recommended, Ruslan,’ the sheikh said, motioning to the man to sit opposite him at the desk. His office was neat and, above a credenza, there was a large picture of Mecca. ‘It’s not an extravagance that I have a driver, but a necessity. I never learnt to drive in Saudi and now I’m here and I’m too old to learn.’
Ruslan nodded. ‘It will be an honour to serve you, Sheikh. I shall be humbled by the experience.’
‘Some highly respected friends in Johannesburg referred you to me. My previous driver . . .’ The sheikh shook his head and groaned. ‘I am pleased you have agreed to this work. Where’re you from?’
‘I am from all over, Sheikh. I go where Allah sends me.’
The sheikh surveyed the man’s face. The blue-green eyes were handsome. The skin was like a highly polished ivory, flawless. ‘And he has sent you to me. Allah rejoices.’
‘I consider myself much blessed, Sheikh.’ Ruslan’s voice was soft, deliberate.
U-Haq frowned then pushed himself back in his chair. ‘I’m trying to put my finger on that accent. You’re not South African?’
‘I was born in Grozny, but I’ve been all over.’
‘Grozny.’ The sheikh walked towards the credenza. ‘It means “The Terrible” in Russian. This is Paradise here, but we’re one nation, one Ummah, different colours, different nations, different languages.’
‘Maybe it’s Paradise, maybe it’s hell. But I need to work and neither Allah nor Sataan care about money.’ The words were deliberate, almost tainted with annoyance.
‘Just so, my brother.’ The sheikh coughed nervously. ‘Anyway, you’re most welcome here.’ He opened the credenza and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. ‘Have you seen my new car? She’s a pleasure to
Across the road, a man observed the pickup. He’d left the parcel at the counter with the man’s name on it, being careful not to let the receptionist see him. In his rucksack was the folder containing his new identity and within a few days, his photograph would replace those on the documents. All that remained was for the immigrant to disappear. He reflected on the ease with which he’d achieved his first objective. The old Rhodesian and his fussy wife had delivered 15 ml of M 99, but he doubted he would use even half of that amount. There was only an ampoule of M 99 in the whisky, and 5 ml of this drug was enough to bring an elephant down within ten seconds. He’d done the research. From the morphine family, but just thousands of times more powerful, M 99 was specifically designed and manufactured for veterinarians in big-game capture, and the injection of a drop into the bloodstream would kill a human being in seconds. The M 99 would quickly find its way into the brain and bind to and activate a specific receptor in the central nervous system. The activation of these receptors would rapidly cause the immigrant to experience feelings of euphoria and then sedation as the heart and lung functions were suppressed. His last few moments would be characterised by difficulty in breathing, a rapid slowdown in his heart rate and then a painless death from suffocation – painless because the analgesic and euphoric effect of the M 99 would actually make him enjoy the experience.
February 2009. North of Durban
‘Ruslan,’ the man said simply, taking Sheikh U-Haq’s hand.
‘Salaam, you come highly recommended, Ruslan,’ the sheikh said, motioning to the man to sit opposite him at the desk. His office was neat and, above a credenza, there was a large picture of Mecca. ‘It’s not an extravagance that I have a driver, but a necessity. I never learnt to drive in Saudi and now I’m here and I’m too old to learn.’
Ruslan nodded. ‘It will be an honour to serve you, Sheikh. I shall be humbled by the experience.’
‘Some highly respected friends in Johannesburg referred you to me. My previous driver . . .’ The sheikh shook his head and groaned. ‘I am pleased you have agreed to this work. Where’re you from?’
‘I am from all over, Sheikh. I go where Allah sends me.’
The sheikh surveyed the man’s face. The blue-green eyes were handsome. The skin was like a highly polished ivory, flawless. ‘And he has sent you to me. Allah rejoices.’
‘I consider myself much blessed, Sheikh.’ Ruslan’s voice was soft, deliberate.
U-Haq frowned then pushed himself back in his chair. ‘I’m trying to put my finger on that accent. You’re not South African?’
‘I was born in Grozny, but I’ve been all over.’
‘Grozny.’ The sheikh walked towards the credenza. ‘It means “The Terrible” in Russian. This is Paradise here, but we’re one nation, one Ummah, different colours, different nations, different languages.’
‘Maybe it’s Paradise, maybe it’s hell. But I need to work and neither Allah nor Sataan care about money.’ The words were deliberate, almost tainted with annoyance.
‘Just so, my brother.’ The sheikh coughed nervously. ‘Anyway, you’re most welcome here.’ He opened the credenza and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels. ‘Have you seen my new car? She’s a pleasure to
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