The Kahlamba Infiltration

By Jonathan Meintjes

In a story that stretches from Tehran in Iran to Durban, South Africa, the ugly face of international industrial espionage rears its head. Money, violence and revenge draw engineer Russell Conroy into a dilemma where his ethical commitment to his client is challenged by his need to keep his family safe. Can he save his daughters from the hands of the syndicate while maintaining the integrity of the systems he himself designed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Meintjes
• Release date: Mar 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005535865

Book preview

Chapter 2

Jenny Conroy had collected her two daughters from school and was driving her Honda home. The girls, Clara, aged seven and Monique, aged nine, were chatting in the back seat regaling each other with the happenings at school. Jenny focussed on her driving and enjoyed the continuous chatter from the back of the car. The girls were discussing someone they had been with during the break time and were deeply absorbed in this conversation, almost oblivious of their mother’s presence in the front of the car. Jenny smiled to herself as she half listened to the discussion in the back seat. The two sisters had a close relationship and seemed to enjoy each other’s company. It was mid-afternoon and the sun beat down on the road causing a slight heat haze in the distance.

As they drove down the road from the school Jenny spotted Alison, one of the older girls from the school and daughter of Rui and Angela Ferreira, close family friends of the Conroys. Alison was across the intersection and about fifty metres down the road walking in the same direction as Jenny was headed. She determined to stop and offer her a lift. Alison’s home was close to the school and on their route home. Jenny made a mental note to ask Alison to pass a message onto Angela about a plant she had been wanting for her garden. She entered the intersection noticing a car approaching from the right-hand side. It was going too fast. Jenny judged that it would be able to stop at the intersection, she having right of way. By the time she realised it was too late. She was already halfway into the intersection when the car accelerated, cutting across her path and swinging wildly into the lane ahead of her. The white Toyota, tyres screeching, began to slide to the left, narrowly missing the front of Jenny’s car. She slammed on the brakes. The two girls were suddenly jolted forward, restrained by their seat belts. With that the discussion suddenly ended. Instantly, anger at the recklessness of the Toyota driver expressed itself as Jenny yelled, Idiot. But, a second later her anger turned to horror. She watched the accelerating Toyota, almost out of control, mount the kerb, cross the thin strip of grass and head along the pedestrian walkway toward the unsuspecting Alison. An instant before it reached her the driver flicked the steering wheel back to get the car onto the road, but the fender caught Alison’s arm. The force of the impact spun her around and she was thrown sidewards away from the vehicle, crashing up against the palisade fence of the house next to her. As the young school girl fell to the ground, the Toyota drove off at high speed. Jenny brought her car to a stop next to where Alison lay. Switching on her hazard flashers and unbuckling her seatbelt, Jenny leapt out of the car to get to Alison’s aid. The young girl lay there sobbing in pain, her arm obviously broken at the angle that it lay on the pavement next to her.

Alison, it’s me, Mrs Conroy. her voice urgent and the words clipped as she bent down beside the young girl, Just try and lie still. I’m calling an ambulance. Jenny ran back to the car and yanked open the door. Pulling her cellular phone from her handbag she dialled the emergency call centre. Alison lay sobbing in pain and shock in the heat of the February midday sun. Jenny phoned Alison’s mother. Angie! she almost shouted, O God, Angie! I’m with Alison, she’s been hit by a car…No she’s okay, I think. Her arm seems to be broken but otherwise she is okay… No, the bastard just drove off. He was driving like a lunatic. Cut across me at the intersection and ramped up onto the pavement where Alison was… Yes, I’ve called an ambulance. Do you want to talk to her? Alison had stopped crying by this time and Jenny gently offered her the phone. Mom? I’m okay… Just my arm. Mom, it hurts really badly. She began to sob again and handed the phone back to Jenny. I’ll meet you at the hospital, Angie. The ambulance and police will be here shortly. In the distance the sirens of the approaching vehicles could be heard.

To their credit the ambulance and emergency services were on the scene barely five minutes after Jenny’s call. Alison was immediately attended to while Jenny made a statement to the police about the incident. Yes, she said, it was a white Toyota, but a very old one.

The policeman leaned over the bonnet of his vehicle and wrote onto his pad. He asked without looking up, Ma’am, did you see the car’s registration number?

No, I’m sorry, I didn’t. It happened too quickly. Jenny thought to herself, why the hell am I apologising? It was so quick and they were gone.

And did you notice any marks that would identify the car?

No there were no other marks, Jenny felt a wave of hopelessness flood over her. There was nothing she could do to identify the car from any other of a thousand in the city.

Ma’am, the policeman asked, turning his face toward her. Jenny noticed his fashionable sunglasses that hid his eyes and gave no expression to his face. I don’t suppose you got a look at the driver?

No, I’m sorry. There it was again, an apology, as if it was her fault that she had so little information to give, I didn’t. It happened so quickly.

The policeman straightened up, pushing his large bulk off the bonnet of his car with both hands. He glanced around briefly as if scanning the area for a few more clues that could possibly help in his investigation. Ja, he concluded at last, we will try our best, ma’am, but it is going to be difficult to track this one down. He walked over to where the rubber tyre marks left by the swerving Toyota had mounted the sidewalk and inspected them closely. Another man in plain clothes came up and took photographs of the scene. At the same time the paramedics gently lifted Alison and placed her on a stretcher which they deftly lifted into the back of the ambulance. In no time at all the ambulance drove away quietly leaving the police and Jenny standing on the side of the road. Traffic police marshalled the traffic past while drivers and passengers rubber-necked to see what the reason for the police presence was. To their disappointment there was little if anything to see.

At last the police officer said that if they needed anything they would be in touch and Jenny, in a state of shock, drove her young but now very quiet daughters home, the stunned silence in the car a testimony to the horror just witnessed by the trio. At home she instructed the domestic servant to get some lunch for the two girls and she immediately drove down to the hospital.

In the waiting room in casualty, Angela Ferreira was sitting staring ahead of her as Jenny entered. Turning to look at the door as Jenny entered, she immediately leaped from her seat and came across the room to Jenny and hugged her.

Oh, Jenny, thank God you were there.

How’s Alison? Angie, I am just so sorry. I only wish I could have done something, but it happened so fast and then the idiot was gone.

Alison’s fine, given the circumstances. She has just come out of x-ray and they are putting her arm in plaster right now. Luckily, apart from the shock that she has experienced and the broken arm, she seems to be okay. Just a bit shaken up.

***

Russell dried himself off, shaved and brushed his teeth. He wandered back into the bedroom and opened his suitcase. From it he withdrew clean clothes and dressed himself. After that he went back to the desk and switched on the computer. Using the hotel Wi-Fi, he called Jenny’s cell phone. As the phone rang Jenny looked at the screen and see the incoming call from Russell. She quickly left the waiting room and walked outside into the car park before answering. Hi, Jen, he said, when she answered, I’m at the hotel in Tehran and I’m safe. How are things?

At last alone with Russell on the other end of the phone she broke down and wept. The relief of hearing her husband’s voice was all that was needed and she began to sob, Oh, Rus! Russell was instantly alarmed by the sound of his wife’s crying, You will not believe what has just happened. she managed between the sobs. Anxiety surging through his body Russell tried to stay calm, instantly imagining that one of his daughters had come to some misfortune.

What’s happened? He suddenly realised that in those two words his alarm must have been audible. Consciously trying to stay calm he continued, Are the girls okay?

Yes, they are fine…We’re okay. But, Rui and Angela’s daughter, Alison, was hit by a car after school. Oh Rus, she sobbed, I saw it all happen, and the bastard didn’t even stop.

My God! Russell exclaimed involuntarily. Is she alright?

Mostly, yes, but she has a compound fracture of her right forearm.

Chapter 3

Russell ended the call and immediately called Rui. He and Rui had been good friends for years and he wanted to show his support. They chatted for a couple of minutes about the accident and Russell ended the call with a word of support for his friend. Not that he could do much if he were back home, Russell, nonetheless, felt the sense of helplessness being so far from his friends and family.

He got up from the desk and walked to the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator door. In the door rack was a Coca-Cola, recognisable by its ubiquitous bottle shape, the red label and dark colour of the beverage, but the writing on the label was written in Farsi script and was totally unreadable to him. He opened it and drank directly from the bottle. Right now, he wished he could have a whiskey on the rocks, but in this country where the consumption of alcohol was strictly prohibited, he knew that that was a luxury he would have to do without.

The apartment telephone in the living room rang. Russell glanced at his watch. It was only five seventeen. He was not expecting Rafiq Esfahani for another one and three-quarter hours. He walked back to the desk and picked up the receiver, Hello, he said.

Mr Conroy, the concierge’s voice addressed him from the earpiece, There are two gentlemen in the foyer who would like to speak to you. Can you please come down?

Oh, who are they? Russell asked, bewildered that there should be people looking for him. Apart from the company people in the head office here in Tehran, he was unaware of anyone else who knew that he was in town.

They are from the Department of Immigration. They ask if they can talk to you for a few moments please.

Russell felt himself tense up at the identity of the two men. Travelling to Iran was a bureaucratic nightmare with letters of invitation and visas, etcetera, but the company travel officer had been meticulous in her preparation of the documents. All was in order and passing through immigration at the Imam Khomeini Airport had been a breeze. Further to this he had no stamps in his passport from countries that could be considered offensive. Please would you ask the gentlemen to wait a few minutes, I will be with them shortly.

Replacing the phone, his mind racing as he tried to imagine why the authorities would want to question him, Russell took from his briefcase all the relevant documents he had for this trip. Yet still he could think of nothing that would have caused offence that would bring them to the hotel and want to question him.

Locking the door behind him he chose to use the stairs rather than the lift and took the two flights to the ground floor. Coming around the corner from the stairwell he was met, in the foyer by two men smartly dressed in suits with white, open-necked shirts. The leader of the two stepped forward and greeted him, Mister Conroy, good afternoon.

Reaching for the man’s hand he shook it and responded, Good afternoon, the tone of his voice intimated a question as to why these people should be wanting to talk to him.

I am sorry to worry you, Mr Conroy, but we have a couple of questions to ask you, if you do not mind?

Sure. No, I don’t mind. But may I know your names?

Ah, my apologies, Mr Conroy. Yes of course. I am Mr Salimi and my associate is Mr Shaddiz. He smiled, displaying a row of white teeth through his closely cropped black beard. Russell looked past him at his colleague, Mr Shaddiz. The latter stood expressionless, a hulk of a man, dressed in a dark brown suit. He had a full moustache and his face indicated that he was probably in his early forties. Shaddiz did not volunteer to come forward to greet Russell and so the latter nodded toward him in greeting.

Salimi continued, The concierge has offered us the use of his office for a couple of minutes. Do you have your passport with you?

I gave it to the concierge when I arrived and he has it in his safe. Russell responded, However I do have all my travel documents. He lifted the wad of paper in his hand to indicate the documents.

Turning to the concierge Salimi asked in Farsi for the passport and this was promptly produced before the concierge left the office and closed the door behind himself.

Salimi, a fixed grin on his face, looked at the passport closely for a few moments, flicking through the pages as if scrutinising where Russell had travelled, You travel quite extensively, Mr Conroy?

Russell looked at the smiling face with its neatly groomed black hair and sharp Iranian features. Something about the man’s demeanour put Russell on edge and the incredible hulk standing in front of the closed door to the office made him feel very uncomfortable. Russell responded, Yes, I do. Mostly business trips.

And your business?

If this jerk was from the Department of Immigration, he should know that, Russell thought, but to humour him he said, I am an engineer and my work involves specialised process software for the chemical industry.

And that is what brings you to our country?

Yes, compliance would be the best option here, Russell decided, I fly to the Persian Gulf tomorrow to work at one of your refineries there.

Ah, yes, thank you for that, smiling face still looked at the passport and the hulk retained his blank stare as he stood motionless as if an original thought was yet to enter his head.

Salimi eventually looked up, snapped the passport closed and handed it back to Russell, Do remember to give it back to the concierge. Now how is young Alison?

The colour drained instantly out of Russell’s face. His mouth suddenly felt dry and for a moment he was unable to speak. Salimi was now looking directly into his eyes. It was evident that Russell’s reaction was giving him great pleasure.

How… Russell was shocked. Suddenly the sinister nature of what had happened coloured his mind, You… but the words could not come.

Salimi was enjoying the moment and Russell was feeling at a distinct disadvantage. I assume she is not in too much pain. We would not have liked her to be too badly injured. That was not the point, but it was a risk we felt we needed to take.

What the f...? Russell gasped as Salimi quickly raised a pointed finger skywards to indicate that he should be silent.

Mr Conroy, it was imperative that we indicate to you and your family that we are very serious about our business. As you might have guessed by now, we are not from the Iranian Department of Immigration. We have other interests which are, shall we say… in competition with your client in South Africa. We need your co-operation in a very small matter and, quite frankly, Mr Conroy, we cannot afford for you to decline our request right now.

For the moment it was best to keep quiet thought Russell. He tensed his body and as he stood there behind the concierge’s desk, he leaned his weight on the back of the chair. He seemed to feel the weight of the situation bearing down on him.

Now, Salimi looked at his watch, Let me see. Yes, South African time is an hour and a half behind us here, so that will mean that, as it is now five thirty here, it is four o’clock in Johannesburg. Right? Russell nodded and Salimi continued, Right now, Clara begins her ballet lesson with Mrs van Zyl at the Methodist church near your home and Mommy and Monique will go home. Monique will do her homework and Jenny, I believe that is your wife’s name, will be preparing dinner. Ah, no of course… Silly of me. In your absence, she is taking the girls to your sister’s home for dinner this evening.

Russell was overwhelmed with a sense of foreboding. The invasion of his family’s privacy was outrageous and he felt as if he was naked in front of this arrogant foreigner.

Look, Salimi… Again the finger was raised as a command to stop.

Mr Conroy, you are in Iran. Please do not forget the common courtesies of our culture. I am Mr Salimi.

The hell with your cultural sensitivities… My family is strictly off limits. Leave them out of this! Russell found volume in his anger and he realised that he was shouting. Brown suit did not stir and Salimi leaned back until his back met the office wall. He folded his arms as if waiting for the tirade to stop.

Mr Conroy, if we are not going to get co-operation from you, we could give you a sample of our powers of persuasion. He raised a finger in Shaddiz’s direction and slowly the hulk galvanised into life. He stepped forward and looked directly at Russell. His eyes were cold and there was a sense of malevolence which convinced Russell that he meant business. He was no fighter and figured that he was probably only about two thirds the mass of Shaddiz. As Shaddiz advanced he drew back his right hand and formed a fist, the left hand coming up as if to grab at Russell’s shirt.

Whoa! Russell called and raised both hands.

Salimi said something in Farsi and Shaddiz stepped back to the door, folded his arms and resumed his blank stare into the middle distance.

Mr Conroy, I think you need to realise that we have the means to get what we want. If you do not co-operate with us, your family’s life will become a misery and I am sure that you do not want to have that on your conscience. On the other hand, I can assure you that if you co-operate fully with us, not only will we assure the safety of you and your family, we will also make sure that you are handsomely rewarded.

Resistance was futile and Russell realised that these thugs had the advantage. It was better that he knew what they wanted. They had the power to manipulate things at long range and his family was in real danger if he did not co-operate with them at least for the moment, What do you want? he said in a low tone that indicated his grudging submission to Salimi’s control of the situation.

Ah, that’s better! Salimi said, Well, let me give you some background. You know the Kahlamba Oil plant in Durban? Of course you do.

Kahlamba Oil was a new venture that had received significant backing from the Industrial Development Directorate in South Africa and was currently in its first year of operation. The exciting thing about this new refinery was that it used a range of new technologies that enabled the distillation process to maximise the efficiency of the split of light oils from the crude oil feedstock. The result was that the value-added products that were produced would be way cheaper than those of competitors and made conventional distillation processes positively archaic. Kahlamba Oil had run a pilot plant for the past five years and it had been a resounding success. It had been kept under wraps and was possibly a better kept secret than anything else that had ever been developed in South Africa, including the previous regime’s clandestine nuclear weapons project. When eventually the news had broken, the major shareholders had already been selected and the funds found to build the entire plant. In fact, the project was seen as such a money spinner that there was an over subscription of the shares by one and a half times the required start-up capital. Hence, no expense was to be spared to build this plant and establish the business. Russell had been contracted to write the software to automate the process and had been instrumental in the selection of the process logic controllers and associated instrumentation of the plant. But he had been sworn to absolute secrecy. Even today, he knew that the closest person to him, namely Jenny, his wife, was unaware of the work that he had been doing.

Salimi did not wait for Russell to respond, Well, we are very interested in your work there.

Never worked there, came Russell’s quick reply. Perhaps too quick because even he felt that his response was unconvincing.

Mr Conroy, please do not insult my intelligence. We know that you worked there and that you were the principal engineer involved with the installation of the PLC and instrumentation on the primary distillation column. Salimi stopped for a moment and looked directly into Russell’s eyes. Russell did not flinch but stared back at him. So many emotions were flowing through him at this moment that he knew that it was best to keep his mouth firmly shut.

Well, Salimi resumed, leaning back again and turning his glance away from Russell for a moment, you did work there and we want you to do some work for us there too. But we will let you know exactly what we want you to do later.

I’m finished my work there. It was futile for him to deny it now. They obviously knew much more about his movements than he realised, And it is one hell of a security setup, as you are aware. I cannot even get in there.

Can’t you? Oh, Mr Conroy, Salimi feigned sympathy, How sad. But, if we can then so can you and you shall. Now enough of this. Someone shall contact you in a couple of days on the Gulf. He will brief you on what we require. With that Salimi pushed himself upright and turned to face Russell. Good day to you, Mr Conroy. I hope you enjoy our beautiful city. And, just by the way, please do not share our little secret with Pieter Groenewald. He may not understand. With that Salimi spoke to Shaddiz in Farsi and the two of them left the office.

In a daze, Russell found his way back to the apartment. I could really do with a whiskey right now, he thought to himself as he sat down on the sofa.

Chapter 4

Supper that evening took place in a small restaurant that served an eclectic mix of Mexican and Iranian fare, or so the patrons were led to believe. Pieter had chosen the place because he had said it was one of the places where one could get a bit more spice with what was, in the main, relatively bland food. Iranian cuisine is not renowned for its variety. Nonetheless the food was well prepared and there was more than enough.

Naturally, Russell was somewhat preoccupied with the events of the past couple of hours and it was not difficult for Pieter to pick up on it.

What’s eating you? he asked casually.

Huh? Russell responded as he drew himself back from his thoughts, Oh, sorry, Piet. I’ve just had some rather bad news.

Russell knew that he dare not say a word about the visit from Salimi and his thug companion. Suddenly his world had changed and what was normal was totally other to his expectation. It would be safe to tell Pieter about Alison but in such a way that it would not be evident to him the story behind the story, so to speak. Pieter was a died-in-the-wool engineer. After his short and turbulent marriage dissolved – he openly admitted his own culpability for the break down, in that he was too involved in his work – he devoted every hour of his waking time to the pursuit of his career. His life revolved around engineering and the chemical industry. To him such subterfuge would be unthinkable, even unimaginable. However, should he get wind that there was something going down, Pieter would want to act and do something to pre-empt whatever it was that Salimi wanted. His lack of discretion in this would naturally be disastrous and could well lead to the harm of Russell’s children or his wife. For the moment, Russell felt that it was necessary to keep very quiet and not to involve Pieter at all. After all, Pieter had nothing to do with the Kahlamba Oil project. That was a completely different project in a completely different company. As a consultant, Russell had the benefit of crossing corporate boarders and working with any number of different and often competing clients.

Russell proceeded to tell Pieter about the hit and run accident, but was careful to give the minimum of information and to say that it was just so fortunate that Jenny had been close by. What he omitted from the story was the fact that it was because Jenny would witness the event that it happened in the first place.

Jeez, Russell, that’s terrible, Pieter responded and added Typical Jo’burg drivers. Russell was silent and looked down at his plate of food. He had lost his appetite and he picked at the nachos with little enthusiasm. Pieter pressed on, Did your wife see the guy?

Nah. Only got that it was an old model white Toyota. And they are as common as flies.

Hmm, could describe any one of half the cars in Jo’burg, Pieter’s exaggeration made the point that it would be virtually impossible to find the culprit.

Russell gloomily wished to move onto some other subject and leave this one behind. Thankfully Pieter’s penchant for thinking more about work than anything else meant that within minutes they were back to the reason for Russell’s trip to Iran. The rest of