‘Why not? If it suits them,’ Himmelfarber demanded brutally. ‘They’re their rules.’
‘But what about Popov, the spy?’ Kipsel asked. ‘You still haven’t said.’
‘He was no spy,’ said Blanchaille. ‘He was a Russian banker who got arrested by mistake. Van Vuuren showed me that.’
‘Correct,’ Himmelfarber acknowledged. ‘First inkling I had of it came in a call from Zurich, the Wozchod Handelsbank, and my contact Glotz on the line, screaming at me: “Just what the hell have you done? You stupid, fucking Boers! You morons! What in Christ’s name have you done with Popov? I’ve just had Vneshtorgbank on the line — that’s his headquarters, Bank for Foreign Trade in Moscow — absolutely frantic! They say their man has gone cold. Do something!” Well? What could I say? Nothing-at the time and just as well, too. Imagine his reaction if I told him — yes, look I’m sorry about this Ivan, but your man is at the moment languishing in a cell in Balthazar Buildings having been beaten within an inch of his life. Because he was, you know. The Security Police got so drunk when they realised they’d caught a live Russian that they didn’t refer the matter to the Bureau, as they should have done; instead they gave poor Popov the treatment. They strung him up by his toes, they tied him to a broomstick and gave him the Catherine wheel, they put an uncomfortable voltage through each testicle. Then they threw a party. They went to the press and issued self-congratulatory statements. Popov by this stage was past knowing or caring. He didn’t tell them much. He couldn’t tell them much! His English has never been any good and he was in a state of profound shock. Besides that he’d lost his false teeth which fell out when these buggers dangled him from an open window on the tenth floor. They frightened him to within an inch of his life and that put paid to any chance of communication. Fear and the lack of teeth ensured that Popov was talking to no one. But as far as the papers were concerned, as far as the rest of the country was concerned, our boys had caught a Russian and of course the Regime had to play along with it. They had to confirm that their brilliant Security Police had pulled off the most extraordinary capture of a Russian spy, they made him a full colonel in the KGB and they went round saying proudly how clever they’d been. Well they had to, hadn’t they? The Government had been warning for years that the Russians were working to destroy us, that they sent their spies into the country all the time, that they had armed and supported the black armies on the borders, that their agents had infiltrated the townships, and the resettlement camps, that their submarines cruised off our coasts and that they were working day and night for the destruction of our country. Now they’d gone and proved it! Well, I had to take some hard decisions. I started taking flack from both directions. The Regime wanted to know what I was going to do about smoothing relations with the Russians. The Russians were muttering darkly about treachery and threatening to end co-operation on gold sales. The Regime, while publicly ordering its ministers to dance in the street, was telling me that I was the only one who could sort out matters with Moscow. In the end I did what I had to.’
‘What was that?’ Kipsel asked.
‘I sent my nephew to Moscow.’
‘Just like that?’
‘He’s been before. Popov was the Russians’ man here. Bennie was our man there.’
‘Bennie?’
‘My nephew. A bright boy, Craddock. A few years ago I was happy to make him a director of Consolidated Holdings. He’s been running missions to Moscow for years.’
‘What happened in Moscow?’ Kipsel asked.
‘He was arrested the moment he stepped off the plane.’
‘You shopped him,’ declared Kipsel wonderingly.
‘It was my duty,’ said Himmelfarber. ‘I had to give Moscow something to hold. He was a kind of deposit against the safe return of Popov. We knew it was necessary.’
‘We?’ said Kipsel.
‘Those of us who will seize the chance of a change in our country. Real change! Consider, Ronald, our previous history. Once the Regime consisted of men who believed themselves chosen by God to bring light to a dark place. They were known as the Dark Men, or the Old Guard. In time they were replaced by a new breed, the so-called Men of Light, or New Men. Now the New Men believed also that God had chosen them, but they also believed that the country couldn’t be protected by faith alone. They must be protected by rocket launchers and useful business contacts as well as the proper deployment of troops on the borders. Of course the New Men are no longer frightened of the outside world. They want to carry the fight to the enemy, they want to meet the world and beat it. They refuse to see the options closing one by one. They want to get out and do things. It was the New Men who were behind Bubé’s foreign tours, and I’m not just talking about the European tour that got all the publicity, the six capitals in five days, or whatever it was. No, I’m talking about the tours, the secret tours that have been going on for years, the clandestine diplomacy on which the President has been engaged for almost a decade now. Why, if I told you the number of countries he had visited you’d be absolutely amazed. Then there’s also been a publicity campaign mounted by the Department of Communications and the quite stunning work which Trudy Yssel has done, buying into, buying up, and buying off opinion makers in the West. I tell you there’s not a place from the Vatican to the White House where Trudy, yes little Trudy Yssel from the back-of-beyond, a poor little country girl who went to school barefoot, is not welcomed and fêted. Fêted! Do you see the nature of things? Do I make myself clear? Do you see the chances to which I refer? The old ways have gone, or at least are going and others are being adapted. Yes, of course we still believe in God. Yes, of course, we still believe that under certain circumstances a platoon ambushed must fight to the last man for the glory of the country and to add substance to the ancient belief that the entire country would do so, in need. Yet gradually the realisation has come about, that what we need is not God and bombs, though they may be very useful, but gold. And we have it! By God, we have it and we use it. Hell, can either of you imagine what it’s like to turn on your TV and see one of our warlike black presidents in one of the states to the north of us threatening to blast us off the map of Africa and know that not twelve hours before the same guy has been pouring you a whisky and soda in the VIP’s guest-house and inquiring after your wife and kids? That’s progress! The Regime sees the options and uses them, that’s all,’ said Himmelfarber, ‘and so do I.’
‘You’re saying it’s possible to do a deal with the New Men?’ Blanchaille asked.
Himmelfarber gave the wolfish smile of one who has scented the approaching kill. ‘I don’t know about dealing with the Regime. That comes later. But sure, I’ll deal for them. I already did. More than once. Let me give you one example. The Regime has a lot of trouble securing various supplies which we regard as essential. A little guy from the Department of Commerce comes to see me. Can I suggest a way for our country to acquire certain strategic supplies overseas? Well that’s a bit of a problem because you see foreign countries don’t exactly like the idea of penetration by South African interests, still less by South African Government agencies. So what did we do at Consolidated Holdings to resolve this difficulty? Well, we did our buying using a group of Panamanian companies which could not be traced back to us. And having bought our way in to certain target industries abroad we left the local management structures very largely intact and operated through a series of interlocking boards. This was a wise move because it’s always better not to disturb the people on the ground. But since you have your own directors in there and these directors are linked, and controlled, say from your New York office, you maintain a fairly useful oversight of your operation. Perhaps you might buy a forest in Scotland, because we need pit props in good supply, or a British insurance company, or take over American interests in coal, copper, uranium and so on. Look, believe it or not, and I’d probably be shot if anybody knew I’d told you, but so vital does the Regime consider this programme of strategic acquirements that they’re investing millions in its long-term strategy for buying up or buying into key interests abroad. Somebody has to do it for them.’