Samuel de Beer grappled with her and disarmed her. Then he led her out to a waiting police car. Harry Sibande stood up behind the table. He was shaken. One of the bullets had gone through the table top and ripped the sleeve of his uniform.
Jan Kleyn and Franz Malan had observed the incident. It all happened very quickly, but both of them were thinking the same thing. The white woman’s reaction was exactly what the previous night’s massacre was intended to provoke. Only on a larger scale. Hatred should engulf the whole country in one giant wave.
De Beer returned, wiping sweat and blood from his face.
“You can’t help but sympathize with her,” he said.
Harry Sibande said nothing.
Jan Kleyn and Franz Malan promised to send all the assistance de Beer thought he needed. They concluded the conversation by assuring one another this terrorist outrage must and would be solved quickly. The they left the restaurant together in Jan Kleyn’s car, and drove out of Pinetown. They went north along the N2 and turned off toward the sea at a sign for Umhlanga Rocks. Jan Kleyn pulled up at a little seafood restaurant right on the seafront. They could be undisturbed here. They ordered langouste and drank mineral water. Franz Malan took off his jacket and hung it up.
“According to my information, Inspector de Beer is an outstandingly incompetent detective,” he said. “His kaffir colleague is supposed to be much brighter. Persistent as well.”
“Yes, that’s what I’ve heard,” said Jan Kleyn. “The investigation will go around and around in meaningless circles until all the relatives have forgotten what happened.”
He put his knife down and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Death is never pleasant,” he went on. “Nobody causes a bloodbath unless it’s really necessary. On the other hand, there are no winners, only losers. Nor are there any victors without sacrifices. I suppose I’m basically a very primitive Darwinist. Survival of the fittest. When a house is on fire, no one asks where the fire started before putting it out.”
“What’ll happen to the three men?” asked Franz Malan. “I don’t remember seeing what was decided.”
“Let’s take a little walk when we’ve finished eating,” said Jan Kleyn with a grin.
Franz Malan knew that was the nearest he would get to an answer for the time being. He knew Kleyn well enough to be aware it was a waste of time asking any more questions. He’d find out soon enough.
Over coffee Jan Kleyn started to explain why it had been so necessary for him to meet with Franz Malan.
“As you know, those of us who work undercover for various intelligence organizations live in accordance with several unwritten rules and assumptions,” he began. “One of them is that we all keep an eye on everybody else. The trust we place in our colleagues is always limited. We all take our own measures to keep tabs on our personal security. Not least in order to make sure nobody trespasses too far into our own territory. We lay a minefield all around us, and we do so because everybody else does the same. In this way we strike a balance, and everybody can get on with his job. Unfortunately, I have discovered that somebody has been taking too great an interest in my computer files. Somebody has been given the job of checking me out. That assignment must have come from very high up.”
Franz Malan turned pale.
“Have our plans been exposed?” he asked.
Jan Kleyn looked at him with eyes as cold as ice.
“Needless to say, I am not as careless as that,” he said. “Nothing in my computer files can reveal the undertaking we have set ourselves, and that we are in the process of carrying out. There are no names, nothing. On the other hand, one can’t get away from the fact that a sufficiently intelligent person could draw conclusions which might point him in the right direction. That makes it serious.”
“It’ll be difficult to find out who it is,” said Franz Malan.
“Not at all,” said Jan Kleyn. “I already know who it is.”
Franz Malan stared at him in astonishment.
“I started to find my way forward by going backward,” said Jan Kleyn. “That’s often an excellent way of getting results. I asked myself where the assignment could have come from. It didn’t take long to see that there are only two persons who can really be interested in finding out what I’m up to. The president and the foreign secretary.”
Franz Malan opened his mouth in order to interject.
“Let me go on,” said Jan Kleyn. “If you just think for a moment, you’ll see that’s obvious. There is a fear of conspiracy in this country, and rightly so. De Klerk has every reason to be afraid of some of the thinking current in some parts of the military high command. Similarly, he can’t be sure of the automatic loyalty of those in charge of the state intelligence service. There’s great uncertainty in South Africa today. Not everything can be calculated or taken for granted. That means there’s no limit to the amount of information that needs to be collected. There’s only one person in the cabinet the president can trust absolutely, and that is Foreign Secretary Botha. Once I’d got that far in my analysis, all I needed to do was to go through the list of feasible candidates for the post of secret messenger to the president. For reasons I don’t need to go into, it soon boiled down to just one possibility. Pieter van Heerden.”
Franz Malan knew who that was. He had met him on several occasions.
“Pieter van Heerden,” said Jan Kleyn. “He has been the president’s messenger boy. He’s been sitting at the president’s feet and exposed our most secret thoughts.”
“I regard van Heerden as very intelligent,” said Franz Malan.
Jan Kleyn nodded.
“Quite right,” he said. “He’s a very dangerous man. An enemy who deserves our respect. Unfortunately, he’s on the sickly side.”
Franz Malan raised an eyebrow.
“Sickly?”
“Some difficulties solve themselves,” said Jan Kleyn. “I happen to know he’s going into a private hospital in Johannesburg next week, for a minor operation. He has some prostate problems.”
Jan Kleyn took a slurp of coffee.
“He’ll never leave that hospital,” he went on. “I’ll take care of that myself. After all, it’s me he was trying to get at. They were my computer files he hacked into.”
They sat silently while a black waiter cleared the table.
“I’ve solved the problem myself,” said Jan Kleyn when they were alone again. “But I wanted to tell you about it for one reason, and one reason only. You must also be very careful. In all probability there’s someone peeking over your shoulder as well.”
“It’s good that I know,” said Franz Malan. “I’ll double-check my security procedures.”
The waiter reappeared with the check, and Jan Kleyn paid.
“Let’s take a little walk,” said Jan Kleyn. “You had a question.”
They walked along a cliff path in the direction of some steep precipices that gave the beach its name.
“Sikosi Tsiki leaves for Sweden Wednesday,” said Jan Kleyn.
“You think he’s the best?”
“He was number two on our list. I have every confidence in him.”
“And Victor Mabasha?”
“Presumably he’s dead by now. I’m expecting Konovalenko to get in touch tonight, or tomorrow at the latest.”
“We’ve heard a rumor from Cape Town that there’ll be a big meeting there on June 12,” said Franz Malan. “I’m investigating to see whether that could be a suitable opportunity.”
Jan Kleyn stopped.
“Yes,” he said. “That could be an excellent time.”
“I’ll keep you informed,” said Franz Malan.
Jan Kleyn stood on the brink of a precipice dropping straight down to the sea.
Franz Malan peeked down.