Why?
This was just a poor middle-aged man who had a moment of glory a long time ago.
Why?
Outside there was a rumbling that grew louder and louder.
How was he supposed to sleep?
It was the Rooivalks. The windows shook in their frames, the deep bass note of the motors reverberated in his chest. Earlier it had been the trucks, departing one after another with single-minded purpose. Soldiers were being deployed to set up the roadblocks on the dirt and blacktop roads. The net was cast wider to catch a single fish.
He turned over again.
Did it matter where the hate came from? As long as he could control it. Channel it.
Any necessary force,
Janina Mentz had said. In other words, shoot the fucker if you like.
Lord, he looked forward to it.
22.
T
he six-man team searched the house in Guguletu with professional skill. They took video footage and digital stills before they began so that everything could be replaced exactly where it had been. Then the methodical, laborious search began. They knew the hidey-holes of amateurs and professional frauds, no nook or cranny was left unsearched. Stethoscopes were used on walls and floors, powerful flashlights in the spaces between roof and ceiling. The master keys they had brought for cupboards and doors were not required. One of the six men was master of the inventory. He murmured into a palm-size tape recorder like a businessman dictating a letter.
It was a small house with not much inside. The search took 130 minutes. Then they were gone in the microbus they had arrived in. The master of inventory phoned his boss, Vincent Radebe.
Nothing, he said.
Nothing at all? asked Radebe.
No weapons, no drugs, no cash. A few bank statements. The usual documentation. Mpayipheli is taking his high school equivalency, there is correspondence and books. Magazines, cards sentimental love notes to the woman in her clothes drawer. From Thobela. To Miriam. I love you this, I love you that. Nothing else. Ordinary people.
In the Ops Room Vincent shook his head. He had thought so.
Oh, one other thing. A veggie garden out back. Very neat. Best tomatoes I have seen in years.
* * *
The trick at a news conference is to phrase your questions in such a way as not to disclose to the other media the information you have.
That was why, after the minister had read the prepared statement on the stormy life and violent criminal times of Thobela Mpayipheli and had responded to a horde of questions from radio, newspaper, and television journalists almost without exception with I am not in a position to answer that question, due to the sensitive nature of the operation, Allison Healy asked: Is anybody else connected with this operation being detained at the moment?
And because the minister did not know, she hesitated. Then she gave an answer that would cover her if the opposite were true. Not to my knowledge, she said.
It was an answer she would later wish with all her heart never to have uttered.
* * *
They brought Miriam coffee and sandwiches in the interrogation room. She asked when they would let her go. The food bearer did not know. He said he would ask.
She did not eat or drink. She tried to overcome her fear. The walls suffocated her, the windowless room pressed down on her. Tonight it was she who needed to go to her child, tonight it was she who wanted to cry out with a high frightened voice, Let me out. She must go fetch Pakamile. Her child, her child. Her work. What were the bank people thinking? Did they think she was a criminal? Were they going to fire her? Would someone here go and explain to the bank people why they had come to fetch her?
She needed to get out.
She must get out.
And what about Thobela? Where was he now? Was it true what the white woman said, that he was in danger?
She had not asked for this.
* * *
Janina Mentz waited until everyone who had been resting was back before she gathered them around the table.
Then she told them almost the whole story. She did not mention that the directors name was on the list, but she confessed that she had set up the operation from the start. She did not apologize for keeping them in the dark. She said they should understand why she had done it that way.
She described the meeting with the minister, the confirmation that Thobela Mpayipheli, code name Umzingeli, was a former MK operative, that he had received advanced training, that he was a dangerous opponent, and that it was of cardinal importance that he be stopped.
We will waste no more time finding out who he was. We are going to focus on finding out who he is now. With his background, his behavior the past eighteen hours makes no sense. He has deliberately refrained from violence. At the airport he said, I quote, I dont want to hurt anybody In the confrontation with two Reaction Unit members he said, Look what you made me do. But at neither of these occasions did he give himself up. It doesnt make sense to me. Does anyone have an opinion here?
She knew Rajkumar would have an opinion. He always had an opinion. Escalation, he said. Hes not a moron. He knows if he shoots someone, things will escalate out of his control.
Radebe said nothing, but she had her suspicions. So she drew him out. Vincent?
Radebe sat with his palms over his cheeks, fingertips on his temples, and his eyes on the big table. I think not.
What do you mean? asked Rajkumar irritably.
Put everything together, said Radebe. He left the drug work. Of his own free will. Orlando Arendse said he just left without explanation. He deliberately chose an occupation without violence, probably at a much-reduced salary. He begins a relationship with a single mother, lives with her and her child, enrolls in a high school correspondence course, buys a farm. What does that tell us?
Smokescreen, said Rajkumar. What about all the money?
He worked for six years in the lucrative drug industry. What could he spend his money on?
A thousand things. Wine, women, song, gambling.
No, said Radebe.
What do you think, Vincent? asked Mentz softly.
I think he began a new life.
She watched the faces around the table. She wanted to test the support for Radebe. She saw none.
Why not give himself up then, Vincent? Rajkumar asked with a flamboyant gesture.
I dont know, said Radebe. I just dont know.
Rajkumar leaned back as if he had won the argument.
A leopard doesnt change its spots, said Janina. He was out of the big game for ten years. But now hes back. I think he is enjoying it.
* * *
He awoke with a start, immediately aware that the El Camino was no longer moving and the engine was off. He heard voices.
Koos Kok, get out.
Why?
We want to see if you are smuggling a man with a motorbike.
Under the tarpaulin, he was blind to the action.
Ja, okay, you got me. Have mercy, its just a dwarf on a fifty cc.
Roadblock. His heart thundered in his ears, his breathing sounded very loud, he wondered if he had made any noise waking up.
You always were a smooth-mouthed bastard, Koos. All your life.
And you are
a ghwar,
Sarge, even for a Dutchman.
Ghwar?
Whats
a ghwar?
Just playing, Sarge, whats with you today?
How many sheep have you got in the back, Koos?
Im not in that business anymore, Sarge.
You lie, Koos Kok. You will be a sheep stealer till the day you die. Lift up that sail.
How many men were there? Would he be able to
?
Leave the man, Gerber, weve got more important things to do.
Hes a thief. I bet you theres meat here.
Thobela Mpayipheli heard the mans voice right by him, heard the rustle of a hand over the canvas. Lord, he was helpless, weaponless, he was lying down without a chance.
You can look, its just my furniture, said Koos Kok.
Where are you moving to?
Bloemfontein. Im looking for a proper job.
Ha! You lie like a dentist!
Let him go, Gerber, hes blocking the road.
I tell you there are sheep here
.
Let him go.
Okay, Koos, get your
skedonk
out of the road.
But what about the dwarf with the motorbike? He cant ride in the back there all the way.
Fuck off, Koos, before you get in trouble.
Okay, okay, Sarge. Im going. And the springs of the bakkie shifted as Koos Kok got in and then the engine fired and the big six-cylinder rumbled.
Jissis, Koos, you must work on that exhaust.
Just as soon as Ive dropped off the motorbike, said Koos Kok, and he pulled away with spinning tires.
* * *
Quinn set the first issue of the
Argus
carefully before her.
FUGITIVE BIKER WAS MK HERO
The fugitive motorcyclist now hunted nationally by intelligence agencies, the military and the South African Police Service was a top Umkhonto we Sizwe soldier who served the Struggle with great distinction, says a former SANDF colonel and comrade of Mr. Thobela Mpayipheli.
Although I lost track of Thobelas military career during the latter part of the struggle against apartheid, there is no doubt that he was an honorable soldier, says Col. Lucky Luke Mahlape, who retired as second in command at First Infantry Battalion in Bloemfontein last year.
Col. Mahlape, now living in Hout Bay, called the
Argus
to set the record straight after news of Mr. Mpayiphelis high-speed cross-country dash on a big BMW motorcycle caught local headlines earlier today.
They will have to change their tune now,
she thought.
If the minister does her part thoroughly.
He did not sleep again but shook on the mattress, the adrenaline dammed up, wondering if there would be more roadblocks, because his nerves could not take it. He wanted to get out from under the tarpaulin, wanted to get on the bike and have control he could not be this helpless, wondering where they were, how long he had been sleeping.
It was practically dark where he lay, the hands of his watch invisible. He turned so he could lift the canvas, realized it had stopped raining, managed an opening. Twenty past twelve. Lowered the sail again.
Two hours on the road at an average of ninety, a hundred kilometers per hour. Richmond, that is where he guessed the roadblock had been. It was one of the danger spots they had discussed in the house when they had hunched over the map. He wanted to go to De Aar; Koos Kok said no, the army was there, lets go through Merriman to Richmond and then take the back roads to Philipstown, and there you were through the worst, Petrusville, Luckhoff, Koffiefontein, perhaps some danger at Petrusburg because it was on the main route between Kimberley and Bloem-fontein, but after that it was a straight run, Dealesville, Bloemhof, Mafikeng, and Botswana and nobody would be the wiser.
He was not so sure. Kimberley was the straight line. And that is where they would wait for him. On a motorbike, not in the back of an El Camino.
And eventually decided the risk was too high.
The bakkie lost speed.
What now?
Stopped.
Lord.
Xhosa, said Koos Kok. What?
Dont worry. I have to fill up. Where?
Richmond. Its just here. Lord.
Okay, fine.
Koos Kok pulled away again.
He should have added: No jokes about the man on the motorbike.
But it probably wouldnt have made any difference.
23.
S
he was naive when she joined the
Cape Times,
an alumna of Rhodes Universitys journalism program with stars in her eyes and a burning desire to live out her romance with words at
Cosmo
or
Fair Lady
but prepared to serve her apprenticeship at a daily. She trusted everyone, believed them, looked with wide-eyed wonder at the famous whom she came into contact with in her daily rounds.
But disillusionment followed, not suddenly or dramatically the small realities slowly took over uninvited. The realization that people are an unreliable, dishonest, self-centered, self-absorbed, backstabbing, violent, sly species that lie, cheat, murder, rape, and steal, regardless of their status, nationality, or color. It was a gradual but often traumatic process for someone who wished only to see good and beauty.
