Introduction
On Sunday night, 27 August 2017, my laptop and cellphone were stolen from
my office at our restaurant and guesthouse in Riebeek-Kasteel in the Western
Cape. Despondency and dread engulfed me when I walked into the room and
was confronted by a computer cable and nothing more. A small window
bordering Van Riebeek Street stood open.
I was initially calm, and walked to the bar and poured myself a stiff brandy and
Coke. Then I went back to the office and phoned one of my sources.
“What was on the laptop?”
“Everything.”
“How do you mean, everything?”
“Everything. The whole book. And notes, documents, reports, names,
telephone numbers, everything.”
“Is it password-protected?”
“Not really.”
“Have you backed it up?”
“Some. Not everything.”
“Is my name somewhere there?”
“I don’t think so but I’m not sure.”
Moments of silence before the source spoke: “You realise we’re fucked.”
“Do you think it’s them?”
“Without a doubt.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“This is exactly how they do it. It’s a warning.”
Composure gave way to panic and horror. I was convinced that someone from
crime intelligence, the Hawks or the State Security Agency had nicked my
laptop and cellphone. My sources would be exposed. I would be arrested. State
lawyers would try to stop the book.