Wings of the Morning (17 page)

David felt a chill on his backbone which had nothing to do with fever. He realised that he was being given information which this man would kill to protect and Wallisch gave a bleak smile of
understanding before continuing.

‘We’re expecting a long struggle. We’ve got the men, and we’ve got the women we need: we’ve all got commitment. But we have to keep chipping away. Right now,
we’re just a thorn in the side of the South African defence force and we have to become a proper combatant. We can’t do that with hunting rifles and Bushmen blowpipes. We need some
serious weapons which we can’t get from the South, but we can bring in from the East coast through friends in Zambia. Then there’s the money. If we could pay in blood, we’d
manage. If we could pay in Rand, then not so hard: we can rob and extort enough. But that won’t do for you guys. We know you operate only for US dollars. So we started thinking and came up
with another idea, and that’s why you’re here now, Mr Heaven: to meet the man who may be our partner and paymaster for us both.’

David opened his mouth to respond. He was horrified: Wallisch clearly believed that Kirchoffs were is the arms supply business, and was acting, presumably, on information received from
Gluchamheig via Piet Soldemeyer. David needed to put him right, but instantly he realised that he couldn’t do that. In that snap summary from Wallisch, he’d been given facts which put
him at big risk. If he tried to take himself out of the picture, well, that’s exactly what would happen to him. So he temporised, asking how Piet came into this.

Wallisch allowed himself another brief speech.

‘I was born in the Steilrand Mountains,’ he said, ‘outside a small town called Okauwe. My family trekked up over a hundred years ago. I took on running our farm when I’d
just turned fifteen with my grandfather to guide me. My father was burned to death in his tank with Rommel at Torbruk. The Soldemeyers too have history in these parts. Piet’s brother ranches
outside Rundu near the Caprivi Strip which gives access to Botswana and Zambia. The property can support only one family so Piet went south to live in Johannesburg. Piet’s a fully paid up
member of SWAPO so he’s valuable to us as a resident in the heart of the enemy camp. But he has to be careful. If discovered by the authorities, he’d be straight down to the
interrogation centre and he wouldn’t come out alive.’

David made to ask more but Wallisch cut him off.

‘Time to go. I’ll tell you more on the way.’

There were thirteen in the party, including David. Wallisch had two other whites with him and nine blacks. All were armed to the teeth, and had little to say to David or to each other. They
travelled in a ten ton ex-military truck, a Mercedes four wheel drive. One of the whites drove and David was put in the cab alongside him for the first stint. They made good time, heading just
about due north. There was no tarmac outside Windhoek but the dirt road was wide and straight. There was hardly any other traffic and the driver slowed for nothing except to light another
cigarette. There was no conversation.

Promptly at midnight, they stopped for a break. Somebody brewed tea, there was a container of sandwiches and strips of biltong — dried meat. Four of the blacks, with help from the driver,
got stuck into refuelling the truck from jerry cans. David wandered into the bush for a call of nature. No one took notice. There was nowhere to go. When he returned to the group, there was time
for more conversation with Wallisch. They had a cup of coffee together, leaning against the front bumper of the truck as it stood foursquare in the middle of that dusty track.

‘We’re driving into Angola, Mr Heaven, and you should know something about what’s going on there. Portugal may still be running the country but there’s a resistance group
now. It’s called UNITA and led by a man named Jonas Savimbi. He founded UNITA six years ago to rise against the Portuguese and win independence. Right now, he’s not achieving much more
than to make himself a nuisance but he’s come a fair way in a short time. He’s built a following and quite an arsenal. He’s got most of this by ambushing the Portuguese military
and plundering the Benguela railway which carries supplies, money and diamonds.

‘SWAPO and UNITA have things in common. Neither of us is after the territory of the other. We both want ownership of where we already live. We both need arms. Savimbi has plenty of money
and can get more. But he has no supplier contacts and no one to train his people. As I’ve told you, we in SWAPO lack finance but we can guarantee supply and training. So there’s our
deal. UNITA funds, SWAPO buys, delivers and trains. Savimbi is the bagman and you need to meet him.’

The time had ticked round to 1 am. They climbed back in the truck for a further five hours, finishing on bush tracks and slower going. The other team were already at the meeting point. There
were a few more of them, maybe two dozen in all, but scruffier and less well equipped. They had squashed into three old Peugeot pick ups and a Land Rover. The rendezvous was in a grassy depression
and all around there was the same view clear to the horizon. Miles of empty bush land, no habitation, endless scrub waving in the breeze with a few stands of trees dotted about. David
couldn’t even make out the track which had brought them in: he felt like a first explorer.

The two groups stood looking at each other, about fifty yards apart. It seemed like a stalemate. At length, the door of the Land Rover opened and Jonas Savimbi emerged. It couldn’t have
been anyone else. He was a big man, six three or four with a heavy build and the power of his personality was immediately obvious to David. He strode over with a broad grin on his face and gave a
warm welcome to Klaus Wallisch. Then he turned to David, offering thanks for coming and apologies for the inconvenient location. The experience was surreal to David, standing there and thinking
that charisma is an overworked word, but Jonas Savimbi had it in spades.

They didn’t dally there for long. Savimbi was wearing a form of battle dress and he produced an immense cigar which he lit while Wallisch went through a weapons wish list which filled
three foolscap pages, highlighting some items in a commentary to Savimbi and passing each page to David. It was easy to guess what was coming next. Savimbi fixed him with a magnetic stare as he
spoke in perfect English.

‘Now Mr Heaven, please provide us with an estimate of the price of such a shipment.’

David knew he dared not prevaricate and he replied confidently.

‘I need to do some detail work, of course, and it will depend on the means of payment, especially if we are talking diamonds. But I’d say between three and five million. US
dollars.’

There was no immediate reaction from either Savimbi or Wallisch. David just stood there, the pages of the shopping list hanging from his hand and the anxiety mounting at the gamble he was
taking. In truth, he hadn’t a clue, didn’t even know the purpose of some items specified but he reckoned that he had to bluff it out. There was no way that he wanted to be returned to
Wallisch, exposed as a fraud. He was remembering also what Wallisch had told him in advance. If first impressions rested well, Savimbi would invite him to his bush Headquarters for more discussion
and would arrange for his journey back to South Africa.

The seconds passed and David could feel the sweat break on his face. He willed himself to stand straight and still: his relief must have been palpable as Savimbi issued his invitation with a
broad smile and a pat on the back.

Wallisch was quick to depart with his men. He had a quick handshake for David, saying,

‘Good so far, and we’ll depend on your conversation at his camp. You won’t see me again, but go to Soldemeyer as soon as you get back to Jo’burg. He’ll be waiting
for you and will know what to do next.’

Then Savimbi walked David to his Land Rover and they left immediately, one of the pick ups in front and two behind. The bush grass was long and the vehicles much lower than the Mercedes truck,
so David could see nothing except the narrow track which took them northwest and deeper into Angola. The journey took a couple of hours.

Savimbi’s camp came as a surprise. It was bigger and better organised than David had expected, with a number of substantially built bungalows spread out at random. They stopped at one
which was Savimbi’s house and office in one. It was brick built with a thatched roof and a wide veranda running all around. A water storage tank stood up behind it, and there were tended
flower beds on either side of the steps running up to the front door over which was pinned a flag with the UNITA emblem. Inside was a large living room, a dining table placed centrally with
armchairs and a couple of sofas scattered around. In one corner stood a huge desk which faced out towards the front door and Savimbi went straight to it. He motioned towards a corridor and David
went down it to see bedrooms and a bathroom which was clean and reasonably equipped with towels and running cold water.

He returned to find Savimbi talking to a visitor in khaki drills, sitting erect in one of the two upright visitors’ chairs arranged to face his desk. Savimbi waved a great paw to welcome
David into the second chair and he found in front of him a tray with mugs, a jug of hot water, instant coffee, powered milk and sugar. He made his own while Savimbi and his lieutenant talked.

That detail set the pattern for a long day of visitors appearing to sit and talk. Each conversation was terminated by an abrupt sweep of Savimbi’s right hand across his desk. That was the
signal to leave. All those who came in were men, most in military dress, two together in civvies who seemed to be petitioners for something while all the others were there to report. There was one
white man who left a small bag open at the throat to show diamonds.

In the early afternoon, they ate a cold lunch together, served at the table by an elderly woman. They talked, but not a word about the possible business to be conducted. Instead, Savimbi spoke
about his background, his childhood and education by missionaries, his time at medical school in Lisbon. David said little, listened much and made no enquiry as to what was to happen next. This
seemed to pass the test.

At about five thirty or so, with sunset coming on, Savimbi dismissed his latest visitor and rose from his chair. He walked around from behind his desk and David tried to get up to join him but
he was wobbling and put a hand on the desk top. Savimbi looked at him.

‘Wallisch mentioned that you were unwell on your journey. It’s not behind you yet. Get a good night’s rest before you go on. You’re welcome here and I’ve got
medication.’

David tried to argue but Savimbi cut him off, saying with a smile, ‘I know best. It is I who has the medical qualification.’

So David went down the corridor to one of the empty bedrooms, popped a couple of pills and fell gratefully into bed. He slept for nearly fifteen hours straight. The house seemed quiet when he
woke around 9 am, but after showering he walked through into the main room to find a scene almost unchanged from the previous evening. Savimbi was sitting behind his big desk and engaged in yet a
further conference, this time with an African smartly turned out in suit and tie with a pigskin briefcase standing beside him. Savimbi broke off to welcome David, explaining that the African had
also stayed overnight and was shortly to return to Luanda. Then he waved David to the table which was set for breakfast while he returned to his conversation in Portuguese. David sat and waited
until an excellent meal was produced by the same elderly woman. As he finished, so also did the session around the desk and the African came to say a polite goodbye before Savimbi accompanied him
to the door.

His host returned, ‘a gentleman that one, and a rising star. But he’ll have to be patient in waiting for his chance. Just like me.’

David, with a mug of coffee to his lips, let his eyes frame the question and Savimbi smiled.

‘Him? He’s from Mozambique where he leads FRELIMO which has the same sort of ideals and objectives as we do here. We have very few opportunities to meet so we have to make the most
of them. He and I have been talking for most of the night. His name is Samora Machel.’

Jonas Savimbi seemed to have inexhaustible energy and he still wanted to go on talking. But after a night of strategic conversation, he was disinclined to go on with supplicants and detail.
Instead, he escorted David around the extensive camp before they returned to sit in easy chairs on the wide veranda. Savimbi talked throughout in fluent English, using idioms which were remarkable
given that he had never lived in an English speaking country.

‘You must be wondering why I’m baring my soul to a guy from a different continent and culture,’ he said interrupting his own flow,’ and one reason is that I never miss
the chance to give a lecture and advertise my point of view’.

He gave a great bellow of laughter and leant forward to bang David on the knee.

‘More important, I’m sure I recognise a companion in spirit. You’re like me, David, you like to soak up information and be prepared to have it change your mind’.

Then came the political history lesson. Savimbi spoke freely about the courting tactics of the great powers, the USA, the Soviets and increasingly China. He gave fascinating detail of how UNITA
was approached by the big guns with offers of help in many forms provided he was prepared to dance to the donor’s strategic tune. It was riveting to hear about proposals which had been put to
Savimbi and others of his stamp and stature across Africa: in the East, in the Congo, in Ethiopia and in Zambia. It really was neo-colonialism in the raw.

David asked him, ‘what do you want to achieve here in Angola? Not what you expect, but what you want.’

Savimbi looked at him sharply.

‘That’s a shrewd question. There’s a big difference between those two. I expect a win for UNITA, that’s for sure. We’ll get control of this country and say goodbye
to the Portuguese. What comes after is tougher to predict. Angola is a wealthy country, but ironically, it’s the wealth which gives us the problem. Post independence, they’ll be many
Angolans who’ll want to grab their share and then all the bickering and infighting will start. I’ll have a distracting struggle to control some people who’ll want to build their
own power base and fortune.’