THIRTY-THREE15 MINUTES AGO, AS I was winding my way through Hout Bay, Diana had made a call to the security staff that manned the entrance to Mazibongwe. The old model earpiece from my personal kit had now been connected to the smartphone and attached to the arm of a pair of wide-rimmed spectacles. It was bulkier than the other model, not as invisible, but I could still hear everything she patched through to me.
The conversation with the guys at the gate was simple. She pretended to be someone from the hotel and explained that they were expecting a candidate to arrive for an interview slightly before 2 PM. It felt like the security was outsourced, making it safe to assume that the personnel didn’t necessarily know each other. We were wrong, but Diana pretended to be new as well and it wen
