“Shouldn’t we hand the case to them?”
“Are you scared, Hope?”
“Of course I’m scared. This case is getting bigger and bigger. And now we’re getting threats from a man who is going to kill us. Because he enjoys it.”
“You’ll learn. There are always a thousand stories about something like this. And most of them are pure sh – nonsense.”
“I still think we should hand it to the police.”
“No,” he said.
She looked pleadingly at him.
“Hope, nothing will happen. You’ll see.”
¦
He arranged for an answering machine to take messages, upset with himself that he hadn’t thought of it before. He tore a piece of paper off the writing pad, made notes of the new information, tried to arrange it in sequence, listened to callers who were acting out their minor delusions, waited for the answering machine to appear.
“I can get a flight to Bloemfontein early tomorrow morning and be back by late afternoon,” Hope came in to report. He gave her Carolina de Jager’s phone number, asked her to arrange it all.
The answering machine was delivered, and the technician helped him to install it. The number of calls decreased, but he knew they would increase when bored children came home from school.
Marie’s head appeared again after a soft, scared knock. “There’s an American who wants to talk to you.”
“Send him in.”
An American? He shook his head, drew another square on his notepad. The whole world was in on the deal. Hell, the newspaper article had worked…
Marie opened the door. “Mr. Powell,” she said, and wanted to close the door behind her.
“Call Hope,” he said quickly, and extended his hand. “Van Heerden.”
“Luke Powell,” said the American in a heavy accent. He was black and middle-aged, slightly overweight, with a soft, round face and eyes that wanted to laugh.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Powell?”
“No, sir, it’s what I can do for you.”
“Please take a seat,” he said, indicating one of the chairs on the other side of the desk. “And I must apologize for the fact that I have to answer the telephone.”
“No sweat. Have to do your job.” The wide mouth smiling broadly to reveal flawless white teeth.
Hope opened the door and he introduced her to Powell. She sat down, her arms folded, body language indicating that she didn’t want to be there.
“I’m with the U.S. Consulate,” said Powell. “Economic adviser. After we heard about this on the radio, I thought I’d, you know, pop in to offer our cooperation. You know, with dollars being involved and all.”
“That’s very kind of you, sir,” said Van Heerden.
The broad smile again. “It’s our absolute pleasure.”
Van Heerden smiled back. “So you have some interesting information for us about the origin of the dollars?”
“Oh, no, I was hoping you could tell me. The radio news was pretty brief, you know, just that quite a few dollars could be involved in this thing. But if you guys point us in the right direction, I could pass the information along to…I don’t know, whoever can help. That’s one thing we do have…resources.”
“Tell me, Mr. Powell, what does an American economic adviser do in South Africa?”
Smile, self-deprecating, hands that showed the work wasn’t important. “Oh, you know, talk to business people mostly, lots of folks want to trade with the US of A…Help them with the paperwork, identify opportunities. Our government is totally committed to the development of the new South Africa. And then, of course, our own companies back home, they want to enter your market…”
“I was referring to your real job,” said Van Heerden, his smile genuine, enjoying it.
“I’m not sure I follow you, sir.”
“My problem, Mr. Powell, is that I don’t know enough about the American intelligence community to be able to guess accurately to which arm you belong. But I would say possibly CIA. Or perhaps one of the military groups – you have so many…”
Hope’s mouth was slightly open in disbelief.
“Lordy,” said Powell, “is that what you think?” Amused, sincere.
“Yes, sir, that would be my best shot.”
“Wait till I tell the wife about that one, Mr. van Hieden. Nope, I’m a pretty ordinary minor government official doing a pretty ordinary job. I guess you-all shouldn’t believe all that stuff on television. Lordy, is that really what you think?”
He saw Hope hanging on the man’s words, ready to believe.
“Seeing that you’re so honest with us, Mr. Powell, I’ll level with you, too. The funny thing about this case is that we had almost nothing to go on. And I mean really nothing. Just a tiny piece of paper that Forensics believed was used years ago to wrap dollars. And a huge walk-in safe and a false identity document and a man starting a business years ago with more cash than can be explained. And that was it.”
Powell nodded, listening intently.
“We were at a dead end. There was nowhere to go. So we asked the press for help and built a story that was nothing more than conjecture, fiction if you want, loosely based on one of quite a few possibilities.”
“Is that right?”
“And you know what happened? All hell broke loose. We had calls from all over the country, we’ve had the most interesting people walking in, and suddenly more pieces of the puzzle than we could’ve hoped for fell into our laps. If you’ll pardon the expression, it was like opening a can of worms.”
“Well, there you go,” said Powell, still the minor government official.
“And, I must add, forty-eight hours ago I thought this case couldn’t be solved. Hell, six hours ago I thought it was dead as a doornail. But now, Mr. Powell, the case has blown wide open. It seems to me that not only will we solve it, but a great many people will be embarrassed by it.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes, sir, it sure is,” said Van Heerden, a slight American accent creeping into his voice. He couldn’t help it; he remembered the time in Quantico, the overwhelming, contagious accents. “And now you have to ask yourself, do you and those who employ you want to be embarrassed as well?”
Powell took a deep breath, the smile intact, calm, unworried. “Well, sir, I’m grateful to you for sharing that with me, but I’m just…”
“A minor government official?”
“Absolutely.” The smile still broad and open.
“But should you care to share what you know, the damage could be minimized, of course.
“Mr. van Hieden, sir, let me say that if I’m ever in the position to supply you with any information whatsoever, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to share it with you.” Powell put a hand in his jacket pocket, took out a card. “Unfortunately, I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about. But should you change your mind about my employment and need information, be sure to call me.” He put the card down in front of Van Heerden and stood up. “It’s been a pleasure, sir, madam.”
And when they had shaken hands and Powell had closed the door behind him, Hope Beneke slowly blew out her breath and said, “Fuck it!” and amazement spread across her face at the feat of saying the word.
“Is that right?” said Van Heerden in a broad American accent, and they laughed, deep and relieved, a moment of calm in a stormy sea.
The phone rang.
