He pressed again. No answer.

He looked through the railings of the gate. The drive ran straight in - then turned ninety degrees to the left and disappeared behind a block of townhouses. He could see no sign of life. He pressed the button, without hope.

The speaker crackled and whistled briefly. A monotone woman's voice said: 'What do you want?'

Sixteen storeys above the bustling crowds of Adderley Street, the man stood at the window with his back to the luxury of the apartment behind him. He looked out over the city. In front of him was the Golden Acre, to the left the Cape Sun Hotel, behind that the tower blocks of the Foreshore area, a miscellany of architectural styles against the horizon. The blue sea was visible, though spoiled by the harbour cranes, two drilling rigs and the masts of ships.

The man's hair and full beard were trimmed short, sandy and prematurely greying - he didn't look fifty yet. He was fit and lean in denim shirt and khaki chino trousers with blue boat shoes. In the reflection of the high wide window the tanned face was expressionless.

He had one hand in his pocket; the other was holding a slim cell phone. He shifted his gaze from the view to the keyboard of his phone. From memory he typed in a number and held the instrument millimetres from his ear. He heard it ring once before Barry answered. 'Mr B.'

The man nodded slightly in satisfaction at the quick reaction time and the calm in Barry's voice.

'I'm taking control,' he said, his tone measured.

'Right.' Relief.

'Describe the house to me.'

Barry did his best, describing the single storey, the corner site and the position of the front door.

'Does the house have a back door?'

'I don't know.'

'If it has, it should be towards Belmont Avenue?'

'That's right.'

'OK. I'm going to send Eben and Robert to cover that angle. I am also working on the assumption that she has no need to leave through the back door, because she does not know that we saw her. Is that a fair assumption, Barry?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And she also does not know that we are watching the house.'

'Yes, sir.' 'Good. Let's keep it that way. I hear you saw only one occupant, an old man.'

'Right.'

'No evidence of others?'

'No, sir.'

'Good. Now listen carefully, Barry. You, Eben and Robert will have to be ready to move in case of an emergency. If you get the call, go in and get her, no matter what it takes. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, sir.'

'But that would be second prize, and only if she calls the cops. We don't know why she hasn't called them yet, but it can happen at any moment, and we will have maybe five minutes' warning. Which means you will have to be very quick.'

'Right.' Anxiety broke through his voice.

'And whatever you do, get the bag.' 'OK.'

'And we don't need witnesses.'

'I don't have a gun.'

'Barry, Barry, what did I teach you?'

'Adapt, improvise and overcome.'

'Exactly. But it might not be necessary, because we are working on first prize. It will take twenty or thirty minutes to put together, to make sure it's quick, quiet and clean. In the meantime, you are my main man, Barry. If we call, go in. If she leaves, get her. No mistakes. We can't afford any more mistakes. Do you understand that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Are you sure? Have you thought of all the implications?'

'I have.'

'Good.'

As he put the cell phone in his pocket he saw the police helicopter flying across Table Bay directly towards him. He kept his eyes on it until it flew past, low over the city.

Chapter 27

The uniforms stood outside with machine pistols and bulletproof vests. Vusi alone was inside with the complex administrator. She reminded him of bread dough, pale and shapeless; even her voice had no character.

'De Klerk is in A-six. He is not a renter; he owns. I don't see him often. He pays his levy with a debit order.'

She had fitted out one room of her townhouse as an office. She sat at a small cheap melamine desk. There was a computer screen and keyboard in front of white melamine shelves for files, one of which was open beside the keyboard. Vusi stood at the door.

'Is he here now?'

'I don't know.' A bald statement of an uninteresting fact.

'When last did you see him?'

'I think it was in November.'

'So he was last home in November?'

'I don't know. I don't get out much.'

'Are there phone numbers?'

She checked. 'No.'

'Can you describe him?'

'He's young.' She put a podgy index finger on the document. 'Twenty-six.' She looked up at Vusi and saw the question on his face. 'Tallish. Brownish hair.'

'Where does he work?'

The index finger moved across the printed document in the file. 'It just says "consultant" here.'

'May I have a look, please?'

She shifted the file. He took out his notebook and pen, put them down on the file and studied the form. Initials and surname J. M. de Klerk. An identity number.

Unit: Two-Bedroom Duplex.

Status: Owner and occupant.

Sub-let: No.

Levy: R800 p.m.

Occupation Date: 1 April 2007

Occupation: Consultant

Postal Address: Unit A6, Atlantic Breeze 24, Parklands 7441

Business Address: N/A

Telephone Home: N/A

Telephone Business: N/A

Cellular: N/A

Address and contact details: Next of kin: N/A

There was a hurried signature underneath a declaration that he accepted the rules and regulations of the complex.

'Does he drive a Land Rover Defender?'

'I don't know.'

Vusi pushed the file back towards her. 'Thank you very much,' he said and then hopefully: 'Do you have a key to his place?'

'I do.'

'Could you open up for us, please?'

'The regulations state I must have a search warrant on file.'

Benny Griessel sat in the radio room of the Caledon Square stat ion with a map of the city on the table, his notebook and pen on top. He listened to the young sergeant talk to every patrol vehicle about the streets they had covered. He made hurried notes, trying to form an image of where she might be, where she might be going, what they ought to do. He struggled to get his head around it all - too many permutations and uncertainties.

His phone rang. He motioned the sergeant to keep the radio quiet for a moment, quickly checked the screen and answered.

'Vusi?'

'Benny, we need a warrant to get into the house.'

'Isn't he there?' 'I don't think so. We are going to knock, but the caretaker has a key ...' A woman's voice spoke in the background. 'The administrator,' said Vusi. 'She has a key.'

'We don't have enough for a warrant, Vusi. Three numbers of a registration ...'

'I thought so. OK. I'll call again ...'

Griessel put down the phone, picked up his pen and motioned the sergeant to carry on. He studied the map, moving the tip of the pen towards the Company Gardens. That was where she was.

His instinct told him she was there, because he knew De Waal Park, he knew Upper Orange, it was his home, his territory, his cycling route. Upper Orange Street, Government Avenue, the Gardens. If he were in her shoes, if he had to run from there, afraid and unsure, roughly aiming for Long Street, he would run that way.

'I want two teams in the Gardens,' he told the sergeant. 'But first they must come and collect photos.'

Piet van der Lingen heard sobbing inside. He stood slightly stooped outside the bathroom door with his hand lifted to knock softly. He didn't want to frighten her.

'Rachel,' he said softly.