Van der Heijden scowled. He loathed Malherbe. The man was nothing more than a gutless, whining, rand-pinching economist. Always a pessimist, a naysayer, and a second guesser He looked toward the head of the table, hoping their leader would put this coward in his proper place.
But Karl Vorster sat silent, his head cradled in his hands as he listened to Malherbe’s recitation of economic catastrophe.
Van der Heijden frowned. Since Muller’s arrest and execution, Vorster had been quieter, less likely to take control of the meetings he called. Even worse, he hadn’t yet named a replacement for the late and unlamented director of military intelligence.
And that was a crucial error. Muller had been a boy-loving bastard, but he’d also been a competent covert operations specialist. Without anyone at the helm, his whole directorate was adrift-unable to plan, organize, or carry out the kind of selective assassinations and kidnappings that might have nipped some of these troublesome rebellions in the bud.
“All of these problems are only compounded when the police and security troops overreact in places like Durban.” Malherbe waved a hand in van der
Heijden’s direction.
What? The newly promoted minister of law and order snapped to full attention. He glared back at Malherbe.
“Brigadier Diederichs and his troops acted properly to restore order, meneer. Are you suggesting that they ought to have allowed those rebels to seize the city?”
“Not at all.” Malherbe sniffed.
“But I’m not sure what you mean by ‘order,” Marius. Most of Durban’s industries are idle. The port is almost completely paralyzed. The jails are full. The morgues are full, and do you know what? There are a lot of white bodies in those morgues-many of them Afrikaner bodies. Oil refinery technicians. Factory managers. Civil servants. Ordinary white citizens. People whose skills we desperately needed.”
He turned toward Vorster.
“Mr. President, by every objective measure, this nation is at the breaking point. Even white opinion is turning against us. We must take steps to regain their support or we will be left without any power at all. “
For the first time in nearly an hour, Vorster looked up from his hands.
“Nonsense, Helmoed! As long as we have the army and the security forces, we will have all the power we need. “
Vorster rose and began to pace.
“Those whites who have been killed were misguided, deceived by a lying press and by communist agitators.” He shrugged.
“Their deaths are a tragedy, but they will be avenged.”
He eyed the remnants of his cabinet carefully.
“Oh, I know what some of you want me to do. You want me to end our war against the communists of
Namibia and to bend to the demands of these communists inside our own borders. You want me to do things that my very soul cries out against.
“Well, I say never! Never! Never!” Vorster’s powerful fists crashed into the table one, twice, and then a third time. His face seemed carved out of stone.
“This is the hour of crisis, when the danger is greatest. If we can survive this time of testing, if we can live through this purging fire, we shall emerge a stronger and cleaner nation!”
Vorster’s tone grew sharper, angrier.
“A few of you even want me to step down. To retire to some country home in the Transvaal. To vanish into obscurity so that you can step up one rung and make your own climbr to power!”
His rough, grating voice rang through the entire room.
“Well, my friends, it shall not be. I will not resign. I will not shirk this burden. I will not leave the duty God has called me to! Only I have the vision needed to save our beloved fatherland. I will not abandon my people!”
He finished speaking and stood glaring at them in the embarrassed silence that followed his tirade.
Van der Heijden caught several of his fellow ministers covertly exchanging appalled glances, and he made a mental note to tighten surveillance on them. Recent events had shown only too clearly that not all of his leader’s enemies were black or colored or foreign.
Malherbe, pale and obviously shaken by Vorster’s words, finally rallied far enough to ask, “And if the country abandons you? Even our own Afrikaners are rejecting your authority. “
“You cannot say who accepts or rejects me!” Vorster pointed accusingly at the industries minister, his voice rising again in pitch and volume.
He paused, then spoke more softly.
“As soon as I can, I will go to my fellow Afrikaners. I will speak to them and explain fully what has happened. And once they have heard me out, those who have foolishly allowed communist lies to confuse them will come streaming back to our open arms!”
More mouths around the table dropped open and then as quickly snapped shut.
Too many of them had already learned
the hard way not to challenge any of Vorster’s cherished illusions.
“In the meantime, my friends, we must weather this storm of lies and vicious attacks with whatever measures are necessary.” He turned to
Fredrik Pienaar, the small, skeletal minister of information.
“Schedule a television address for tomorrow morning. I am going to declare an even stricter National State of Emergency. We will forbid any assembly, any whatsoever, until this crisis has passed. And the security forces will impose a nationwide dusk-to-dawn curfew.”
He paused, thinking.
“Heitman.”
The minister of defense warily met his leader’s stern gaze.
“Yes, Mr.
President?”
“Expand the reserve call-up. I want every trained man in South Africa under arms as soon as possible! Use the new troops to restore order and build more detention camps-as many as are needed.”
That stung Malherbe into speaking again.
“Mr. President, we simply can’t afford such a thing! Total mobilization would wreck our economy beyond repair. If you insist on this, we face a depression as well as defeat in war!”
Vorster’s temper finally erupted beyond control.
“And we do not need your negative ideas paralyzing this government! Minister Malherbe, you are relieved of your duties!”
Van der Heijden felt a moment’s elation. First Muller and now Malherbe.
Another of his enemies had managed to cut his own throat-though only figuratively this time, But his elation faded in the face of a whispering inner fear. The minister knew his job. What if Malherbe’s dire predictions were accurate?
Vorster snarled at the shocked official, “Only my memory of your past service stops me from having you arrested.” Contempt dripped from every word.
“Go home-, Helmoed, and rest. You are not equal to the struggle, but that is not your fault. This is not a task for ordinary men.”
White-faced and shaking, Malherbe rose from his chair and left the room without looking back.
Vorster ignored his departure. Instead, he turned to the other men sitting in stunned silence and smiled.
“Now,
gentlemen, let us discuss a more joyful topic. I believe you’ve all seen
Fredrik’s proposal that we make Afrikaans, our sacred tongue, the nation’s only official language .. …. Outside the chamber, an Army messenger trotted up with a manila folder stamped SECRET. He was about to enter when a sour-faced aide stopped him.
“You can leave that with me, Captain. I’ll take care of it for you.”
The officer shook his head.
“I’m afraid not. I have orders to deliver this to the President personally.” The aide shrugged, unimpressed and eager to show it.
“Then you’ll have to wait. The President himself left orders of his own. No one is to be admitted until the cabinet meeting ends. He folded his arms and stared at the wall with studied indifference.