The visit later that morning from his friend from Namibia, Bull Rhyton, concerned him most. A little before noon, Bull had phoned and said he was outside the gate of Van Wartt’s villa and had to speak to him. Van Wartt met the burly, unshaven man and led him to the garden. They sat in the warm sun on a concrete garden bench. In the cooled winter ground, a few flowers gave off weak fragrances while a brown and black bird fluttered in the bladdernut tree directly above them. Stretching below, the houses and buildings of Cape Town sparkled. Farther out, ships crisscrossed a calm bay.
Quick pleasantries were exchanged and at last Bull got to the point of his visit. His voice carried an edge. In Afrikaans, he addressed Van Wartt using his nickname. “Dawie, this morning my nephew phoned me. He said two weeks ago he saw two men by the boxcar. They broke inside.”
“Two weeks ago? You just came from Bruin Karas. You hear this now?”
“He knew he was to stay away from the boxcar. His mother found out and made him call me.”
“Did these two men who broke inside take anything out?”
“No. Corneliu said when they came out of the boxcar, they acted concerned. One had an instrument in his hand. I suppose it was a Geiger counter.”
Van Wartt frowned. “Then what?”
“They left on an ATV. Headed west, Corneliu said. Out of sight. However, going back home, my nephew saw a helicopter fly.”
“The two men weren’t locals?” Van Wartt guessed the answer.
Bull shook his head. “Do you know who they were?”
An unexpected turn of events. Van Wartt searched for the right words. He knew that however he explained it, Bull would be unhappy, disappointed. “I neglected to tell you. I formulated a backup plan. I reasoned we must get rid of the bomb quickly, one way or another.”
Bull Rhyton ground his boots in the gravel beneath the bench. His eyes didn’t blink. Finally, he said, “Ja?”
“I offered the bomb to the Libyans.”
Bull cursed and spat. He used Van Wartt’s formal name. “Dawid. The Libyans and our new ruling party, the ANC, have been in league for years. They supplied the explosives and guns that killed our people. Why did you deal with them?”
“It was only a backup plan. In the event these jihadists wouldn’t take the bomb.” Van Wartt lifted his hands. “How they found the boxcar, I don’t know. What they intend to do, I don’t know.”
Bull turned his face away. When he looked back at Van Wartt, he said coldly, “You assume it is the Libyans. Maybe someone else knows about it. My nephew said they looked European.”
“Ja. They may not be Libyans.” Van Wartt folded his arms. Then who for God’s sake are they?
Van Wartt stood, started pacing, stopped, and whispered, “We have to move quickly. I’ll contact Abdul Wahab and tell him he has to take possession of the nuclear device within two days.” He sat down. “Can we move it somewhere else?”
“The damn thing is leaking radiation! Who will move it? Not me. Not my kin.” He slapped his leg. “This is all bad. We’ve gotten ourselves in too deep with these evil people. I don’t like it anymore.”
“Think what these hypocrites in America and the West have done to us.”
“Dawid, we have been through much, hey? We have fought together up in Angola. Truly I believe this plan has gotten out of control. We must give the bomb back to the government.” He waited for a response from Van Wartt and, getting none, rose. “I’ll let myself out.”
Van Wartt watched the big man push past the guard, open the gate, and leave. Bull should have been told about the Libyans, but he had known what his reaction would be. He would have objected just like he had now.
He lingered on the bench and lit a cigarette. The words of his father came to him: In Africa, the strong eat, the weak are eaten. He crushed the cigarette under his shoe and looked again at the beautiful city below. The damn Americans and Europeans were responsible for the embargo of his country during apartheid. Making his people pariahs to the world. His Afrikaner people became hated and made scapegoats for the West’s own failings. Forcing them to relinquish control of their government, of their country. America deserved the Twin Towers attack. Many of his friends had cheered when they watched the burning towers on TV. See how it feels, you sons of bitches, his friends had shouted.
Two minutes after Van Wartt hastened back inside his villa, the brown and black bird tipped forward, lifted from the branch with a flurry of its wings, and sailed down the mountain.
The meeting with Bull Rhyton had disturbed Van Wartt, but as the Bentley neared the Camps Bay residential area, he rehearsed what he would say to Wahab. The man had been dragging his feet. Was it the money? He had assumed these terrorists had an inexhaustible supply of funds. Perhaps Wahab didn’t have the network he claimed to have. Today he must get a timetable from that man.
More and more the need for revenge against the Americans and Europeans took a backseat for the need to dispose of this nuclear device as soon as possible. Bull’s uneasiness, no, hostility to the plan, disturbed him.
Van Wartt found Abdul Wahab not in the fish and chips restaurant as agreed, but across the road. Here the ocean edged Victoria Road. The sea floor dropped dramatically, and at certain times of the year Southern Right whales came up, almost within touching distance, exhaling water from their blowholes. Wahab stood with the other onlookers gaping at two immense mammals surfacing in the black water.
Van Wartt stepped up next to him. “Fascinating animals, no?”
Wahab continued to look ahead. He appeared disturbed.
“Abdul. Shall we walk along the shore?”
“I decided to forgo a meal of fish and chips,” Wahab said. “If you don’t mind?”
“I agree. We do have important business to discuss, and this is a perfect place for it.”
“Why are there no waves along here?” Wahab asked. “There is surf where I live.”
“Deep water. No waves,” Van Wartt said impatiently. “Will you be ready in two days to travel north and pick up the … package?”
Wahab stopped, looked around. “We are experiencing a delay. It’s a matter of getting enough people. We had a setback. I need more men for my team.”
Van Wartt thought a moment. “Damn! Those Arabs who were involved in the shooting at Victoria Wharf were your men.” Getting no answer from Wahab, he said, “Dammit to hell!”
“A minor setback. As we speak my headman is obtaining additional men.” Wahab looked directly at Van Wartt. “Not to worry. The plan goes forward.” He looked away as if he knew he failed to be convincing.
“You have two days from now. Call me tomorrow at this number. I would be most appreciative having an update tomorrow.”
Wahab pronounced, now more evenly, “I shall, if I can. If not … maleesh.” He shrugged and walked away.
Van Wartt cursed and hurried to the Bentley. He had to contact the Libyan chargé in Pretoria and set up an emergency meeting to determine if it was the Libyans who Bull’s nephew had seen two weeks ago up in the Kalahari.
Chapter Twenty-One