Haymans’s reforms had shown signs of paying off. Some labor unions had come back to the bargaining table. Hostile press coverage had faded away.
Overseas investors had seemed more willing to provide affordable capital for major construction and development projects. And leaders from other countries across Africa had readily agreed to meet South Africa’s new president.
Now everything they’d accomplished seemed at risk, thanks largely to
Vorster’s bloodthirsty clumsiness.
As the others argued, Haymans shook his head wearily. He had to find a way to repair the damage done by the raid on Gawamba. He had to make concessions that would salvage his negotiations with the country’s black leaders. Concessions that would dominate the world’s newspapers and television broadcasts. Concessions that could provide a cloak of respectability for those willing to meet South Africa halfway.
He looked up and met the foreign minister’s steady gaze. They’d already discussed what must be done. They would have to accept publicly the inevitability of some form of “one man, one vote” government for South Africa. They would also have to accept the ANC’s demands for a thorough overhaul of the security services and an impartial investigation of past police activities and practices. Neither man especially liked either prospect, but neither could think of any reasonable alternatives.
“Gentlemen!” Haymans interrupted a fierce exchange between two men who were ordinarily close friends. Quiet settled over the crowded Cabinet
Room. He noticed Vorster’s rough-hewn face tighten into an expressionless mask.
“This bickering won’t get us anywhere. We haven’t time for it.” He paused.
“One thing is very clear-clear to me at least. And that is the need for dramatic action if we’re to make further progress. “
His allies nodded their agreement. Those few who’d sided with Vorster sat motionless with folded arms and dour looks.
Haymans pressed on.
“Therefore I propose that we publicly announce our willingness to accept two of the African National Congress’s latest proposals. Specifically, those concerning eventual majority rule and immediate restrictions on the security services.” He stared Vorster right in the eye as he went on.
“In addition, I intend to honor their request for a new and more open-minded inquiry into alleged police brutality. “
Shocked murmuring broke out around the table, quiet noises of astonishment suddenly drowned out by Vorster’s thundering, outraged voice.
“Treason! What you propose is treason, Hayinans!”
Other cabinet ministers joined the fray, most shouting Vorster down.
“Silence!” Haymans rose out of his chair.
“I will have order in this meeting!”
As the shouting died away, he sat back.
“That’s better. Remember, we are leaders-not some group of hooligan schoolboys. “All the more reason why we should defeat these lunatic ideas of yours,
Haymans.” Vorster’s powerful hands closed around the edge of the conference table as he fought for selfcontrol.
“The ANC is nothing more than a communist front,
a cadre of self-proclaimed terrorists and murderers. We should kill them, not kneel in surrender to them!”
Haymans ignored his redfaced minister of law and order, focusing his rhetoric instead on the other men crowded around the table. ” I do not suggest that we surrender unconditionally to these people, gentlemen.
That would be lunacy.”
Vorster started to speak, but Haymans’s calmer, more measured tones rode over his angry words.
“But we must be seen to be reasonable, my friends.
The Gawamba disaster has cost us dearly. We must try everything in our power to retrieve the situation. If these talks fail, the world must blame the ANC’s intransigence-not ours. On the other hand, continued discussions will bring obvious benefits.”
He ticked them off one at a time.
“Reduced tensions both externally and internally. More overseas credit. Lower military expenditures. And the hope that we can move the ANC away from its ridiculous insistence on a strict system of majority rule. “
Most of the others around the table again nodded their agreement, though many with obvious reluctance.
“I don’t see this proposal as a panacea for all our troubles, gentlemen.”
Haymans shook his head slowly.
“Far from it. But I do believe that it is a necessary political move at this point in our history. We can no longer survive by the simpleminded use of military power. Instead, we must continue the search for a compromise that protects both our people and the peace,”
He noticed Vorster’s face change as he spoke. The look of barely suppressed rage vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating stare.
“Will you allow us to fully debate this proposal?” Vorster’s tone was surprisingly formal-almost as if he no longer cared whether he won or lost.
“Time is too short, Minister. ” Haymans matched Vorster’s formality.
“We must act soon if we are to save these vital negotiations, and I believe we’ve already fully explored all the relevant issues.”
I I I see. “
Haymans could scarcely hide his astonishment. Vorster giving up, almost without a right? It seemed so out of character. Still, the President had learned long ago never to waste opportunities given him by opponents. He leaned forward.
“Then, gentlemen, we can bring this matter to a vote. Naturally, I expect your support for my proposal.”
Haymans watched the quick show of hands calmly, confident of the final tally. With the exception of Karl Vorster and two or three others, all those around the table owed their current positions and power to Haymans and his National Party faction. All were wise enough to avoid unnecessary political suicide.
Haymans smiled.
“Excellent, my friends. We’ll make the announcement tomorrow, after we have had time to contact the ANC and the other black groups.” He avoided Vorster’s unwavering gaze.
“If there’s nothing further to discuss, we’ll adjourn this meeting.”
No one spoke.
Ten minutes later, Karl Vorster strode out the front doors of the
Parliament building and climbed into a waiting black limousine. His unopened briefcase still held the captured ANC operations plan called
Broken Covenant.
MAY 30-IN THE HEX RIVER MOUNTAINS, SOUTH AFRICA
Riaan Oost’s three-room cottage lay deep amid the sharp edged mountains of the Hex River range. Forty acres’ worth of grapevines climbed the steep hillsides above his cottage -vines that Oost and his wife tended for their absentee landlord. Six years of hard, unremitting labor had brought the vines to the point at which they would soon produce some of the world’s finest wine grapes.
But Riaan Oost’s need to work ceased at nightfall, ending as shadows thrown by the Hex River Mountains erased all light in the narrow valley.
Now he sat quietly in the front room of his small home, reading by the dim light thrown by a single electric lamp. When the phone rang, it caught him by surprise. He cast his
book aside and answered on the third shrill ring, “Oost here. Who’s calling?”
“Oost, dye say? I’m sorry. I’m trying to reach Piet Uys. Isn’t this oh five three one, one nine three six five?” The caller’s crisp, businesslike voice sent chills up Oost’s spine.
He spoke the words he’d memorized months before.
