Over five intense years, a small but skilled team of spies navigated a treacherous landscape of deceit, risk and setbacks, culminating in the downfall of one of South Africa’s most dangerous terrorist organisations.

Narrated by David Africa, the intelligence mastermind behind the operation, the book chronicles Pagad’s transformation from a local anti-gang movement to a violent terror group, and takes readers deep into the heart of the covert operation, detailing the complexities of intelligence gathering, the battles with internal resistance within the state security forces and the relentless pursuit of a terror network determined to wreak havoc.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Africa is a struggle activist who grew up in Cape Town. He joined the police crime intelligence division in 1995, resulting in a long and successful post-apartheid security and intelligence career spanning South Africa, the Middle East and Europe.

Lancer: Building a Weapon to Pierce Pagad’s Armour
Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it,  and I shall move the world. 
 — Archimedes

In August 2000, Dramat and I were appointed by Willie Els to a team tasked with designing a standardised profile for a Crime Intelligence officer source handler.

We had to explore the skill set, personality and aptitude required of a successful handler. Els initiated the project, which was intended to craft a tool we could use to determine the recruitment, training, and deployment of officers within Crime Intelligence.

Instead of working from the inherited and contaminated Branch material or merely adopting similar profiles designed by foreign intelligence services, this was an effort to develop a set of characteristics that suited our country’s contextual dynamics and operational conditions. He brought together what he considered the best intelligence officers in the country, most of whom came from the covert units.

Deena Moodley was the KZN officer participating in the project, a protégé of our comrade, Lalla. Not only was Moodley a capable operative, but he was also not afraid to think outside the box and had a creative approach to wicked intelligence problems. During the mid-1990s, he headed the intelligence task team into the violence that plagued the town of Richmond, KZN. When presented with the thankless mission of ending years of political violence, Moodley jumped at the task, relishing the prospect of bringing some of his ideas to fruition in the province’s challenging environment.

He soon established a covert intelligence team consisting of young and energetic operatives mentored by Lalla, whose approach was to let them roam free, falter, learn, and succeed on their own terms. They developed an impressive information network, gathering the intelligence required to impact the situation. In a short time, they had identified and neutralised the perpetrators of the violence. They destroyed a sophisticated network of violence that had been operational for more than a decade.

The impact of their work was extensive and sustained, which was precisely what we intended to achieve in Cape Town. The profiling team spent a few days in Pretoria with a team of psychologists and talent specialists from one of the big consulting firms. Having participated in developing the personality-skill matrix, Dramat returned to Cape Town. He did not want to leave the unit without its two most senior members while the high operational tempo persisted.

The rest of us then decamped to a remote training base in the Limpopo Province, about a three-hour drive from Pretoria. The Maleoskop facility was where we spent a week profiling, interviewing, and recruiting fresh blood for Crime Intelligence.

The camp at the time served as the tactical training centre of the police special task force. The recruiting pool consisted of newly graduated police officers from the police college in Pretoria. Selebi informed Williams, who wanted to expand the division, that the 300 recruits were at our disposal, and we were free to choose any or all of them for CI. We liked the idea, especially those of us from the covert units who thought we could use ‘cleanskins’ who were not yet contaminated by the experience of being police officers or might otherwise not be generally known to be police officers. Maleoskop was not just a remote training base in the Limpopo Province, but a perfect location to let our minds roam free, think, and engage in meaningful conversations. It was here that Moodley and I clicked immediately, spending many hours in dialogue. He was keen to understand the challenges we were experiencing in Cape Town, and I was eager to gain detailed insight into their Richmond success.

Like Lalla, Moodley saw it as their responsibility to assist comrades like ourselves in Cape Town. The more successes former DIS officers could achieve, the stronger our collective influence over the division would become, and the more secure we could be in transforming CI into a modern post-Apartheid intelligence structure. I was convinced the methods of Moodley’s Richmond intelligence task team could be utilised effectively in the Cape Town context. The first method related to the need for centralised control in the intelligence domain, with no secondary or competing capabilities within Crime Intelligence. The second, which we already started to implement, was the proper integration of investigative capacity co-located with the covert intelligence team. The third was the most sensitive and risky, the deployment of CI officers in deep cover within the G-Force. The last of these was the most sensitive type of operation carried out by Crime Intelligence. It would be a very complex and challenging exercise in the context of the G-Force, an organisation operating with high levels of security, drawing from a specific and limited pool of Muslims. Yet, in the Maleoskop bush, one can dream, plot, and plan.

If we could get at least two of these to work, we would be well set to make a sustained breakthrough. Between interviewing and assessing the 300 recruits, Moodley and I developed an idea we thought deserved to be pitched to Lalla, Petros, and Dramat. I was sure that Lalla and Dramat would naturally take to the idea, as both were attracted to bold and decisive operational approaches. Petros was slightly more conservative but could most likely be convinced with a well-presented and articulated proposition. Whilst we were discussing ways to resolve the Pagad dilemma in the safety of rural Limpopo, another bomb exploded outside the United States Consulate in central Cape Town. The explosive device, placed inside a vehicle, also contained fertiliser and would have caused extensive casualties had it functioned properly. Once again, there were no concrete clues about the bombers’ identity. 

Even when we trawled through hour upon hour of footage from the city's extensive close-circuit surveillance camera network, we failed to identify the bombers or even find anything that would link us to a specific person. It was like a spectre had entered the city, activated the bomb and disappeared into thin air. 

The bombing contributed to a growing sense of helplessness on the part of Cape Town’s citizens. Business, political and religious leaders called for stern action against the perpetrators of these attacks. Given the latest target, the pressure from the US administration and other diplomatic missions intensified. The situation also risked South Africa becoming entangled in the American obsession with ‘Islamic fundamentalism,’ something we were desperate to avoid and which I thought would exacerbate our problem and diminish our ability to defeat Pagad. Our adversary, though, was upping the ante, now brazenly targeting foreign diplomatic and economic interests, as well as synagogues. Pagad wanted us to respond in ways that would lead us into the trap Western countries presented as an embrace. This would have given credence to their claim that the South African government was part of a broader anti-Muslim project driven by Western interests. They would fail. 

During my time in Limpopo, I maintained constant communication with Petros and Dramat, keeping them updated on the discussions between Moodley and myself. Upon my return to Cape Town, I briefed them on the proposed operational concept. Petros initially had concerns, fearing that the new concept would render our existing operation obsolete. I reassured him that the two concepts were complementary and that the lessons from Moodley’s operation would only enhance our existing efforts.

I also had a distinct feeling that Petros was concerned that Lalla would overshadow him if he became more centrally involved in our operation instead of just offering hands-off support and advice as he was then doing. Lalla, however, was a quintessentially laid-back character and not the sort to obsess over power, and I could not see such a risk at all. We would need more time to settle my boss’ concerns, and the best option was for Lalla and Moodley to come to Cape Town so we could sit down like comrades, speak frankly, and thrash things out.

Meanwhile, Moodley was back in KZN, briefing Lalla on our discussions and proposal. Having been engaged in conversations with us previously, Lalla grasped the urgency of what had become a desperate situation, and the need for immediate action. He flew to Cape Town with Moodley for consultations with Petros, Dramat, and myself. Contrary to police protocol, he never met Trollip, his Western Cape CI counterpart. We housed Lalla and Moodley at one of our safe houses in an upmarket Cape Town suburb and spent three days discussing and refining our idea.

The first order of business was to allay Petros’s concerns. I briefed Lalla on these in advance and in his typically casual but disarming manner, he was prepared to support the new initiative as and when we needed it. Lalla emphasised the importance of locating command and control at the site of the battle, that is, in Cape Town. The logical consequence was that Petros would retain control, but this time with a more expansive mandate. Petros was relieved, and we agreed on the details.

Several meetings occurred at this juncture that radically affected our endeavour to implement a slightly adjusted and renewed effort to combat urban terror. Having taken the day off one September morning, I received a call from Williams. He instructed me to immediately go to Trollip’s office and accompany him to a meeting with Selebi. I informed Williams that I was not suitably dressed for a meeting with the national police commissioner. I was walking around with sandals, old jeans, and a t-shirt, to which he simply replied, ‘Africa, just get there immediately!' Trollip was less relaxed about my state of dress when I got to his office, but I reiterated Williams’s emphasis on ‘immediate!’ and off we went to meet Selebi. Trollip was in a suit, and I was in torn jeans and sandals, and we were on our way to see the national commissioner for what must have been something urgent. Williams had advised that Selebi wanted to have time alone with me to prepare for the official meeting. When I asked how we would make it happen, given that I would be heading there with Trollip, he replied, ‘Don’t worry. The chief will engineer it.’

The meeting took place at Selebi’s office on the 7th floor of the parliamentary building that housed ministers and directors-generals of national government departments. When we arrived, Trollip and I were met by senior officers from head office. This included the loud, forceful, yet intelligent André Pruis, Selebi’s deputy national commissioner. When Selebi arrived, he informed everyone present that he needed to urgently go to the Foreign Affairs office in the same building and, turning to me, said, ‘Chief, I don't know this building well. Please show me where the foreign affairs offices are.’ This must have sounded odd to those who knew that before he was appointed police commissioner, Selebi was the director-general of  Foreign Affairs. Who was I to ask questions, though? Selebi obviously knew exactly where to go, and took me to his old foreign affairs office, which I then learned was on the 17th floor. We had a 15-minute meeting. He informed me that Williams was the one who had advised that we have a quick meeting before engaging the senior managers who were waiting for us on the 7th floor.

Selebi had two questions and asked that I be frank when responding. His first question was to the point. ‘Can you guys solve this Pagad problem in the next six months?’ My reply was slightly less direct. ‘Yes, we can, chief, but we must be allowed to operate unhindered by the rest of the organisation. Our primary challenge is the dilution of our efforts through unnecessary taskings and competition by other offices, that are actively instigated by our provincial management.'

‘I understand,’ Selebi said. ‘What resources do you need from me to ensure success within our six-month time frame?’ Having been through endless discussions and planning sessions with Dramat and Petros and, more recently, with Lalla and Moodley, I had the answer to this question at the tip of my tongue. ‘Sir, the primary prerequisite for success is the previously raised issue: freedom of operational movement and centralised control of all Pagad operations in our unit. We have tried this before, but your explicit authority as an instruction would be of great help.’

Selebi said that he had assumed that his previous guidance to the provincial management was sufficient. He realised that he had to be more forceful in communicating this. When he asked what practical support we required, I told him that we needed the surveillance team detached to us or to at least be at our disposal whenever we needed them. I told him that the surveillance team had raised some resource requirements and that providing those resources would go a long way in boosting their capabilities. Additionally, I outlined some organisational and resource needs for the covert unit, suggesting that Els be placed within the covert unit for a short time to facilitate the transfer of resources and get things going. Selebi was now ready to present his subordinate managers with a fait accompli. Our 15 minutes were up, and we returned to the senior police management who had gathered on the 7th floor. Williams had been right about Selebi’s ability to engineer things.

Selebi opened the meeting by saying that, due to the police’s failure to come to grips with the situation in Cape Town, he felt that his position as national commissioner was at risk. He went on to inform those gathered about an important development the previous day. ‘The president called me to a meeting yesterday and asked me a very odd question. He wanted to know whether South Africa had a police commissioner. 'Yes, Mr President. I am the police commissioner'. The president then said that he assumed the country was without a commissioner, given the freedom with which Pagad continued to bomb, murder, and destroy. He said that he was nonetheless relieved to hear that we do actually have a commissioner and that I am the incumbent.’ Those unfamiliar with Selebi’s rhetorical style tried to figure out what was happening, but it all became crystal clear in his last statement regarding the meeting. ‘The president then told me that failure to resolve the Pagad problem within six months would mean that the country will, in fact, be without a national commissioner.’ Selebi’s job was on the line, and he needed to act decisively to retain it. Without saying so, he indicated to those present that they might face the same fate if we failed within the timeframe that the president had clearly defined.

Selebi went on to say that he had recently given much thought to the Pagad problem and how we should tackle it. He had, for obvious reasons, been focused on it since his meeting with the president. He had made some decisions and wanted to inform those present how we’d proceed. The chief had not gathered us to discuss what to do but to inform us of what would be done. He then outlined his plan, which was essentially what I had briefed him on during our short meeting on the 17th floor.

Selebi proceeded to give a detailed analysis of the situation in Cape Town, even identifying the key perpetrators involved in the manufacture of explosive devices at the time. Those present were surprised at the national commissioner’s acute grasp of the situation in Cape Town and the specificity of his decisions. They must have come away from the meeting convinced that he must indeed have recently been doing much thinking on the subject.

The meeting was brief and productive. Selebi supported the covert unit’s efforts and instructed that we were not to be burdened with unnecessary responsibilities unrelated to Pagad operations. He stressed that we should be free to operate with the focus required to end Pagad’s campaign of terror and advised that his decisions have the force of a national instruction. To clarify his instructions and provide details of how they would be implemented, the commissioner would send a team of senior managers to Cape Town to brief the local role-players.

Selebi’s plan was officially launched as Operation Lancer. This undertaking was not just a top-down directive, but a collaborative effort that had evolved through a series of conversations. Lancer was conceived from discussions Dramat and I had on the road, pitched to Petros, then to Williams, took shape in the Maleoskop bush, was polished over Lalla’s cooking at our safe house, and was about to take off after Selebi’s perfectly engineered intervention. Now, with the force of national instruction, Operation Lancer granted the covert unit absolute freedom of movement and operational autonomy.

After the meeting, Selebi asked me to remain behind as he wanted me to join him in briefing Tshwete, which started mid-morning and was a fascinating encounter. I remember the details of the event clearly for two reasons. The first was an extensive argument on the relationship between Pagad and Qibla. Tshwete started by saying that he knew ‘these Qibla chaps well. I spent time with them on the Island.’ His position was that the Qibla leadership should be our main target, as they have complete control over Pagad anyway, and targeting them would collapse Pagad and the G-Force. Tshwete stated this position as gospel truth, with the conviction that only a politician can.

I disagreed with him and highlighted that the relationship between Pagad and Qibla was more dynamic than a simple one-way hierarchy of the organisation’s early days. Though Qibla was behind the formation of Pagad and its members retained the key decision-making positions within the G-Force, the Qibla members within Pagad had developed an identity of their own and identified much more with Pagad than Qibla. One of the reasons for the emergence of this dynamic was simply the personal power that positions in Pagad had granted Qibla members. While Qibla remained a small organisation that operated in the shadows, Pagad publicly commanded the support of thousands. People like Ebrahim, a loyal and staunch Qibla member, had amassed the power of life or death over his G-Force subordinates and increasingly over the organisation’s ever-expanding list of enemies. He enjoyed and was obsessed with his newfound power, displayed it for all to see, and wanted to be recognised by Qibla for this, too. These factors gave rise to tensions between Qibla members in Pagad and those like Achmat Cassiem and Yusuf Patel, who remained outside of Pagad.

Our success hinged on an accurate understanding of the Qibla-Pagad dynamic. This appreciation directly shaped our strategy, resource allocation, and deployment of effort. We had come far in moving the police and the collective intelligence community to focus on Pagad and the G-Force as the primary targets. Refocusing on Qibla as Qibla ran the risk of setting us back, perhaps permanently. Tshwete maintained his position, but moved on, asking, ‘What plans do you chaps have for dealing with this situation in Cape Town?’

Tshwete was the minister of sport before his appointment to the safety and security portfolio. Before Selebi and I could brief him on the commissioner’s latest decision, he told us to wait a minute. There was an important cricket match on television, and he wanted to see how it was going. We were then all compelled to sit there watching the game, with the minister analysing this or that player’s performance, run rates, and bowling performances and shouting instructions to the players through the television. Our meeting resumed in earnest when the cricketers broke for lunch, and we got back to discussing the decision Selebi had taken at our previous meeting. Tshwete supported the initiative and was forceful in reminding Selebi of the six-month timeframe and the need to be decisive in ensuring his orders were followed. The whole day was a performance par excellence, from Selebi’s engineering to Tshwete’s cricket pause.

Extract provided by African Perspectives Publishing