“And he’s not here, of course. ”
“He comes at seven o’clock.”
Scheepers nodded. He would come back.
They drove back to Johannesburg. On the way they stopped for a late lunch. They separated at a quarter past four outside the police station. Scheepers could not put it off any longer. He would have to start the interrogation of Jan Kleyn now. But first he would make another attempt to get hold of President de Klerk.
When the security guard outside President de Klerk’s office called near midnight, Jan Kleyn had been surprised. He knew of course that a young prosecutor by the name of Scheepers had been given the assignment of trying to sort out the suspicions of a conspiracy. All the time he was confident of being a sufficient number of steps ahead of the man trying to track him down. But now he realized Scheepers was closer to him than he had imagined. He got up, dressed, and prepared to be up all night. He guessed he had until at least ten the following morning. Scheepers would need an hour or two next day in order to arrange all the papers needed for his arrest. By then he must have made sure he had issued all the necessary instructions and ensured the operation would not run into trouble. He went down to the kitchen and made tea. Then he sat down to write a summary. There was a lot to keep in mind. But he would manage.
Getting arrested was an unexpected complication. But he had considered the possibility. The situation was annoying, but not impossible to resolve. As he could not be sure how long Scheepers was thinking of holding him, he must make plans on the assumption he would be detained until the assassination of Mandela had been carried out.
That was his first task that night. To turn what would happen the following day to his own advantage. As long as he was detained, they would not be able to accuse him of being involved in the various activities. He thought through what was going to happen. It was one in the morning by the time he called Franz Malan.
“Get dressed and come over here,” he said.
Franz Malan was half-awake and confused. Jan Kleyn did not mention his name.
“Get dressed and come over here,” he repeated.
Franz Malan asked no questions.
Just over an hour later, shortly after two, he entered Jan Kleyn’s living room. The drapes were closed. The night watchman who opened the gate for him was threatened with instant dismissal if he ever revealed the visitors who came to the house late in the evening or during the night. Jan Kleyn paid him a very high wage in order to guarantee the guy’s silence.
Franz Malan was nervous. He knew Jan Kleyn would never have summoned him unless something important had come up.
Jan Kleyn hardly let him sit down before explaining what had happened, what would happen the next morning, and what must be fixed that night. What Franz Malan heard increased his nervousness. He could see his own responsibility would increase beyond what he was really happy with.
“We don’t know how much Scheepers has managed to figure out,” he said. “But we must take certain precautions. The most important one is to dissolve the Committee, and divert attention from Cape Town and June 12.”
Franz Malan gaped at him in astonishment. Could he be serious? Would all the executive responsibility fall on his shoulders?
Jan Kleyn could see he was worried.
“I’ll be out again soon,” he said. “Then I’ll take over the responsibility.”
“I hope so,” said Franz Malan. “But dissolving the Committee?”
“We have to. Scheepers might have penetrated deeper and further than we can imagine.”
“But how has he done that?”
Jan Kleyn shrugged in annoyance.
“What do we do?” he asked. “We use all our skills, all our contacts. We bribe, threaten, and lie our way to the information we need. There are no limits to what we can do. And so there are no limits for those who keep watch over our activities. The Committee must not meet again. It will cease to exist. That means it has never existed. We shall contact all the members tonight. But before that there are other things we have to do.”
“If Scheepers knows we’re planning something for June 12th, we’ll have to postpone it,” said Franz Malan. “The risk is too great.”
“It’s too late,” said Jan Kleyn. “Besides, Scheepers can’t be certain. A well-laid trail in another direction will convince him that Cape Town and June 12 are an attempt to mislead him. We turn the tables on him.”
“How?”
“During the interrogation I’ll be subjected to tomorrow, I’ll have the chance to trick him into starting to believe something else.”
“But that’s hardly enough.”
“Of course not.”
Jan Kleyn took out a little black notebook. When he opened it, Franz Malan could see all the pages were blank.
“I’ll fill this with nonsense,” Jan Kleyn went on. “But here and there I’ll note down a place and a date. All except one will be crossed out. The one that is left will not be Cape Town, June 12. I’ll leave the book in my safe. I’ll leave it unlocked, as if I’d been in a great hurry and tried to burn important papers.”
Franz Malan nodded. He was beginning to think Jan Kleyn was right. It would be possible to set false trails.
“Sikosi Tsiki is on his way home,” said Jan Kleyn, handing over an envelope to Franz Malan. “It will be your job to receive him, take him to Hammanskraal, and give him his final instructions the day before June 12. Everything is written down inside this envelope. Read through it now and see if anything is unclear. Then we’ll have to start making our calls.”
While Franz Malan was reading the instructions, Jan Kleyn started filling the notebook with meaningless combinations of words and numbers. He used several different pens to give the impression the notes had been made over a long period. He thought for a while before deciding on Durban, July 3. He knew the ANC would be holding an important meeting there on that day. That would be his red herring, and he hoped Scheepers would be fooled by it.
Franz Malan put down the papers.
“It doesn’t say anything about what gun he should use,” he said.
“Konovalenko has been training him to use a long-range rifle,” said Jan Kleyn. “There is an exact copy in the underground store at Hammanskraal.”
Franz Malan nodded.
“No more questions?” wondered Jan Kleyn.
“No,” said Franz Malan.
Then they started making their telephone calls. Jan Kleyn had three separate lines. They made calls all over the country. Half-asleep men fumbled for receivers, only to become wide awake instantaneously. Some were worried about what they heard, others merely noted how things would be from now on. Some of the men who had been woken up had trouble in getting back to sleep, while others simply turned over and resumed snoring.
The Committee was dissolved. It had never existed because it had disappeared without trace. All that remained was a rumor about its existence. But it could be re-created at very short notice. Just now it was no longer needed, and indeed, could be a danger. But the state of readiness to achieve what the Committee members considered to be the only solution for the future of South Africa was as high as ever. They were all ruthless men who never rested. Their ruthlessness was real, but their ideas were based on a mixture of illusions, lies, and fanatical despair. For some of the members it was a matter of pure hatred.
Franz Malan drove home through the night.
Jan Kleyn tidied up his house and left the safe door unlocked. At half past four in the morning he went to bed and prepared to get a few hours sleep. He wondered who had provided Scheepers with all the information. He could not get away from the uncomfortable feeling that there was something he did not understand.
Somebody had betrayed him.
But he could not figure out who it was.
Scheepers opened the door of the interview room.
