Nelson Mandela.
The leader of ANC, the man who had been imprisoned for twenty-seven years on Robben Island off Cape Town, who had been incarcerated for life at the beginning of the 1960s for alleged but never proven acts of sabotage.
President de Klerk had few illusions. He could see that the only two people who together could prevent a civil war from breaking out and the inevitable bloodbath that would follow were himself and Nelson Mandela. Many a time he had prowled sleepless through the presidential palace at night, gazing out at the lights from the city of Pretoria, and thinking how the future of South Africa would depend on the compromise he and Nelson Mandela would hopefully be able to reach.
He could speak quite openly with Nelson Mandela. He knew that feeling was mutual. As human beings they were very different in character and temperament. Nelson Mandela was a truth-seeker of philosophical leanings, who used those qualities to achieve the decisiveness and practical drive he also possessed. President de Klerk lacked that philosophical dimension. He would head straight for a practical solution to every problem that cropped up. For him the future of the republic lay in changing political realities, and constant choices between what was possible to achieve and what was not. But between these two men with such different qualifications and experiences was a level of trust which could only be destroyed by open betrayal. That meant they never needed to disguise their differences of opinion, never needed to resort to unnecessary rhetoric when they were talking one on one. But it also meant they were fighting on two different fronts at the same time. The white population was split, and de Klerk knew everything would collapse if he could not manage to make progress bit by bit, by means of compromises that could be accepted by a majority of the white population. He would never manage to reach the ultra-conservative bastions. Nor would he ever convince the racist members of the officer class in the army and the police force. But he was forced to ensure they did not become too powerful.
President de Klerk knew Nelson Mandela had similar problems. The blacks were also split among themselves. Not least between the Inkatha movement, dominated by the Zulus, and the ANC. This meant they could come together in an understanding of each other’s difficulties, but at the same time they need never deny the disunity that existed.
Van Heerden was a guarantee for the information de Klerk needed to have. He knew it was necessary to stay close to his friends, but to stay even closer to his enemies and their thoughts.
They normally met once a week in de Klerk’s office, usually late on Saturday afternoons. But on this occasion, van Heerden had requested an urgent meeting. At first de Klerk had been unwilling to let him come to the camp. It would be difficult to meet him there without the rest of the government finding out. But van Heerden had been unusually persistent. The meeting could not be put off until de Klerk returned to Pretoria. At that point de Klerk had given way. He knew van Heerden was thoroughly cold-blooded and disciplined, and would never react impulsively; he realized he must have something extremely important about which to enlighten the president of the republic.
“We’re alone now,” said de Klerk. “Pik found a poisonous snake right by his feet just a few minutes ago. I wondered for a moment if it might have been fitted with a concealed radio transmitter.”
Van Heerden smiled.
“We haven’t yet started to use poisonous snakes as informers,” he said. “Maybe we’ll have to one of these days. Who knows?”
De Klerk looked at him searchingly. What was so important that it couldn’t wait?
Van Heerden moistened his lips before starting to speak.
“A plot to assassinate you is currently at an intensive planning stage,” he began. “There is absolutely no shadow of a doubt that this is a serious threat even now. To yourself, to government policy in general, and in the long run to the whole nation.”
Van Heerden paused after his opening words. He was used to de Klerk firing questions at him. But on this occasion de Klerk did not say a word. He merely gazed attentively at van Heerden.
“I’m still short of information about many details of the plot,” van Heerden went on. “But I’m aware of the main trend, and that’s serious enough. The plotters have links with the military high command, and with extreme conservative circles, notably the Afrikaner Resistance Movement. But we must not forget that many conservatives, most of them in fact, are not members of political organizations. In addition there are signs that foreign terrorist experts, primarily from the KGB, are involved.”
“There’s no such thing as the KGB anymore,” said de Klerk, interrupting him. “At least, not in the form we are familiar with.”
“There are unemployed KGB officers, though,” said van Heerden. “As I have told you before, Mr. President, we get lots of offers nowadays from former officers in the Soviet intelligence service, offering us their services for some future occasion.”
De Klerk nodded.
“A conspiracy always has a hard core,” he said after a while. “One or more people, usually very few, in the background, very much in the background, pulling the strings. Who are they?”
“I don’t know,” said van Heerden. “And that worries me. There’s somebody in the military intelligence service called Franz Malan-you can be quite sure he’s involved. He has been careless enough to store some material connected with the conspiracy in his computer files, without blocking them. I noticed it when I asked one of my trusted colleagues to run a routine check.”
If only people knew, thought de Klerk. It’s come to something when security service members spy on one another, hack their way into one another’s computer files, suspect one another of permanent political disloyalty.
“Why just me?” asked de Klerk. “Why not Mandela as well?”
“It’s too soon to say,” said van Heerden. “But of course, it’s not difficult to imagine what effect a successful assassination attempt on you would have in the current circumstances.”
De Klerk raised his hand. Van Heerden did not need to spell it out. De Klerk could picture the resulting catastrophe very clearly.
“There is another detail which worries me,” said van Heerden. “We naturally keep a constant watch on a number of known murderers, both black and white. People who are prepared to kill anybody at all if the contract is right. I think I’m right in claiming that our precautionary measures against possible attacks on politicians are quite efficient. Yesterday I received a report from the security police in Umtata saying that a certain Victor Mabasha paid a short visit to Johannesburg a few days ago. When he returned to Ntibane, he had a lot of cash with him.”
De Klerk made a face.
“That sounds a bit circumstantial,” he said.
“I’m not so sure about that,” said van Heerden. “If I were planning to kill the president of this country, I would probably choose Victor Mabasha to do it.”
De Klerk raised his eyebrows.
“Even if you were going to assassinate Nelson Mandela?”
“Even then.”
“A black contract killer.”
“He is very good.”
De Klerk got up from his lounger and poked away at the fire, which was dying out. He did not have the strength just now to hear what constituted a good contract killer. He put a few branches on the fire, and stretched his back. His bald head glittered in the light from the fire, which flamed up once more. He looked up at the sky and contemplated the Southern Cross. He felt very tired. Nevertheless, he tried to come to terms with what van Heerden had said. He realized a conspiracy was more than plausible. He had thought many a time about being killed by an assassin, sent by furious white boere who were always accusing him of selling out and handing his country over to the blacks. Of course, he also wondered what would happen if Mandela were to die, irrespective of whether it was a natural or an unnatural death. Nelson Mandela was an old man. Even if he did have a strong constitution, he had spent nearly thirty years in jail.
De Klerk went back to his chair.
“Naturally, you’ll have to concentrate on exposing this conspiracy,” he said. “Use whatever means you like. Money is no problem at all. Get in touch with me at any time of day or night if something significant happens. For the moment, there are two measures that must be taken, or at least considered. One is perfectly obvious, of
