'Oh, good Lord, yes!" She had Shasa's full attention now. 'It was so long ago - but, yes, I know him well. He wasn't a colonel then." 'He's head of CID for the Cape of Good Hope now,' Tricia told him. 'And he wants you to telephone him as soon as you can. He says it's very urgent, he actually said "life and death"." 'Life and death, hey,' Shasa grinned. 'That probably means he wants to borrow money. Get him on the blower, please Trish." He went to his desk, sat down and pulled the telephone towards him. He motioned Tara towards the couch, but she shook her head.
'I'm meeting Sally and Jenny for lunch,' and she sidled towards the door with a relieved expression. But he wasn't looking at her, he was staring out of the window over the oaks to the slopes of Signal Hill beyond, and he didn't even glance round as she slipped out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her.
Louis Nel's call had transported Shasa back almost twenty years in time. 'Was it that long ago.9' he wondered. 'Yes, it was. My God, how quickly the years have passed." Shasa had been a young squadron leader, invalided back from the campaign in Abyssinia where he had lost his eye fighting the Duke of Aosta's army on the drive up to Addis Ababa. At a loose end, certain that his life was ruined and that he was a cripple and a burden on his family and friends, Shasa had gone into seclusion and started drinking heavily and letting himself slip into careless despondency. It had been Blaine Malcomess who had sought him out and given him a scornful and painful tongue-lashing, and then offered him a job helping track down and break up the Ossewa Brandwag, the Sentinels of the Wagon Train, a secret society of militant nationalist Afrikaners who were virulently opposed to FieldMarshal Jan Christian Smuts' pro-British war efforts.
Shasa had worked in cooperation with Louis Nel, establishing the identity of the leading members of the pro-Nazi conspiracy and preparing the warrants for their arrest and internment. His investigations of the Ossewa Brandwag's activities had put him in contact with a mysterious informer, a woman who had contacted him only by telephone and who took every precaution to conceal her identity. To this day Shasa did not know who she had been, or indeed if she were still alive.
This informer had revealed to him the OB theft of weapons from the government arms and munitions factory in Pretoria, and enabled them to deal a major blow to the subversive organization. Then the same informer had warned Shasa of the White Sword conspiracy.
This was an audacious plot to assassinate Field-Marshal Smuts, and in the ensuing confusion to seize control of the armed forces, declare South Africa a republic, and throw in their lot with Adolf Hitler and the Axis powers.
Shasa had been able to foil the plot at the very last minute, but only by the most desperate efforts, and at the cost of his own grandfather's life. Sir Garrick Courtney had been shot by the assassin in mistaken identity, for the old mail had physically resembled his good and dear friend, Field-Marshal Smuts.
Shasa had not thought about those dangerous days for many years.
Now every detail came back vividly. He lived it all again as he waited for the telephone on his desk to ring; the reckless climb up the sheer side of Table Mountain as he tried to catch his grandfather and the Field-Marshal before they could reach the summit where the killer was waiting for them. He recalled his dreadful sense of helplessness as the rifle shot crashed and echoed against the rocky clEiffs and he realized he was too late, the horror of finding his grandfather lying in the track with the ghastly bullet wound which had blown his chest open, and the old Field-Marshal kneeling beside him strickon with grief.
Shasa had chased the killer, using his intimate knowledge of the mountain to cut off his retreat against the top of the cliff. They fought chest to chest, fought for their very lives. White Sword had used his superior strength to break away and escape, but not before Shasa had put a bullet from his 6.5 men Beretta into his chest. White Sword disappeared and the plot to overthrow Smuts' government collapsed, but the killer had never been brought to justice, and Shasa felt once again the agony of his grandfather's murder. He had loved the old man and named his second son after him.
The telephone rang at last and Shasa snatched it up.
'Louis?" he asked.
'Shasa!" Shasa recognized his voice immediately. 'It's been a long time." 'It's good to speak to you." 'Yes, but I wish I was the bearer of better news. I'm sorry." 'What is it?" Shasa was immediately serious.
'Not on the telephone - can you come down to Caledon Square as soon as possible?" 'Ten minutes,' Shasa said, and hung up.
The headquarters of the CID were only a short walk from the House of Assembly and he stepped it out briskly. The episode with Tara and the chest was put out of his mind as he tried to imagine what bad news Louis Nel had for him.
The sergeant at the front desk had been alerted and he recognized Shasa immediately.
'The colonel is expecting you, Minister. I'll send someone to show you up to his office,' and he beckoned one of the uniformed constables.
Louis Nel was in his shirt-sleeves and he came to the door to welcome Shasa and lead him to one of the easy chairs. 'How about a drink?" 'Still too early for me." Shasa shook his head, but he accepted the cigarette Louis offered him.
The policeman was lean as ever, but he had lost most of his hair and what remained was ice white. There were dark pouches beneath his eyes and after his welcoming smile his mouth settled back into a thin nervous line. He looked like a man who worried a lot, worked too hard and slept badly at night. He must be past retirement age, Shasa thought.
'How's the family - your wife?" Shasa asked. He had met her only once or twice and could not remember her name or what she looked like.
'We were divorced five years ago." 'I'm sorry,' Shasa said, and Louis shrugged.
'It was bad at the time.". Then he leaned forward. 'Your family you have three boys and a girl. That's right?" 'Ah! You have been doing a police number on me,' Shasa smiled, but Louis did not respond. His expression remained serious as he went on.
'Your eldest son - his name is Sean. That's right, isn't it?" Shasa nodded, he was no longer smiling either, and he was seized by a sudden presentiment.
'You want to speak to me about Sean?" he asked softly.
Louis stood up abruptly and crossed to the window. He was looking down into the street as he answered.
'This is off the record, Shasa. Not the way we usually do things, but there are extraordinary factors here. Our past association, your present rank --' He turned back from the window. 'In the usual circumstances this would probably not have been brought to my notice at all, at least not at this stage of the investigation." The word 'investigation' startled Shasa, and he wanted Louis to give him the bad news and get it over with but he controlled his agitation and impatience and waited quietly.
'For some time now we have been troubled by a series of housebreakings in the better-class suburbs - you have surely read about them. The press are calling the thief the "Cape Raffles"." 'Of course,' Shasa nodded. 'Some of my friends, good friends, have been the victims - the Simpsons, the Westons. Mark Weston lost his collection of gold coins." 'And Mrs Simpson lost her emeralds,' Louis Nel agreed. 'Some of those emeralds, the earrings, were recovered when we raided a fence in District Six. We were acting on a tip-off and we recovered an enormous quantity of stolen articles. We arrested the fence - he's a coloured chap who was running an electrical business in the front of his premises and receiving stolen goods through the back door. We have had him locked up for two weeks now, and he is beginning to cooperate. He gave us a list or names, and on it was one lovable little rogue named Rufus Constantine, ever heard of him?" Shasa shook his head. 'How does this link up with my son?" 'I'm coming to that. This Constantine was apparently the one who passed the emeralds and some of the other booty. We picked him up and brought him in forquestioning. He is a tough little monkey, but we found a way to open him up and make him sing to us. Unfortunately the tune wasn't very pretty." 'Sean?" Shasa asked, and Louis nodded.