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Afghanistan.
    Because of the clampdown on related organisation People
Against Gangsterism and Drugs (PAGAD) between 1998 and 2000, and the arrest of over one hundred Qibla supporters for violent
offenses, including murder, Qibla all but disappeared.
    In
its place, a new, and far more secretive organisation was created. It is called
The Supreme Committee.
    3 August 2009. Monday.
    Milla Strachan pulled the key out of the lock, pushed the
front door open, but did not immediately enter. She stood a while, her body motionless,
her dark eyes unfocused for a moment. Beyond the open door the rooms of the
apartment were empty. No curtains, no furniture, just a worn wall-to-wall
carpet of washed-out beige.
    Still she hesitated at the door, as though some great force
held her back, as though she were waiting for something.
    Then in one swift movement she bent down, picked up the large
travel cases on either side of her and stepped through the door.
    She put the luggage down in the bedroom, conscious of the
depressing emptiness. When she had been here on Saturday, the former tenant's
furniture had filled it still, stacks of cardboard boxes for the hasty trip to
Germany, called back on short notice to an aid organisation's head office. 'I
am so grateful that someone saw the advertisement, this is such a crisis. You
won't be sorry, look at the view,' the woman had said and pointed at the
window. It looked out on Davenport Street in Vredehoek - and a thin slice of
the city and the sea, framed by the blocks of flats opposite.
    Milla had said she wanted the flat, she would sign the lease
agreement.
    'Where are you from?' the woman asked.
    'Another world,' Milla answered quietly.
    The three of them sat around the round table in Mentz's office,
each noticeably different. The director had a strong face, despite the large,
wide mouth, lipstick free. The severe steel-rimmed spectacles, hair tied back,
conservative outfit, loose, grey and white, as if she wanted to hide her
femininity. Faint, old traces of acne down her jaw disguised with foundation,
slender fingers without rings, nails unpainted. Her expression was mostly
inscrutable.
    Advocate Tau Masilo, Deputy Director: Operational and
Strategy. Forty-three, fiat-bellied, colourful braces, matching tie, just a
touch of flamboyance. The facial features strong, with gravitas, intense eyes,
hair short and neat. Masilo's staff referred to him as 'Nobody' - from the
phrase 'nobody's perfect'. Because in their eyes, Tau Masilo, phlegmatic and
accomplished, was perfect. He was SeSotho, but he spoke five other South
African languages effortlessly. Mentz had hand- picked him.
    And then, Rajkumar, Deputy Director: Information Systems. The
Indian with his long black hair down to his tailbone. Mentz had inherited him.
    Rajkumar's saving grace was his phenomenal intellect and his
insight into electronics and digital communication, because he was fat to an
extreme degree, over-sensitive, and socially inept. He sat with his forearms on
the table, pudgy fingers intertwined, staring intently at his hands as if he
were totally captivated by them.
    Mentz got up slowly. 'Any other evidence?'
    Rajkumar, ever ready and keen: 'The Supreme Committee's email
traffic - there is a definite escalation. I think Ismail is right, they're
cooking up something. But I have my doubts about the target...'
    'Tau?'
    'What bothers me are the reports from Zim. Macki is no longer
a player - he and Mugabe can't stand each other.'
    'Possibly not. Perhaps directly from Oman, perhaps from another
source. Angola is a possibility.'
    'And the fact that they are planning something in the Cape?'
Mentz asked.
    'I agree with Raj. Firstly: local terror would make their
partners very unhappy. Hamas and Hezbollah are very grateful for our government's
sympathy and support. Secondly: how do they benefit? What is the purpose? I
can't see anything logical they can achieve through that. Thirdly: what would
the motive be? Now?'
    'Afghanistan,' said the