bright sunshine, but even in daylight the gardens whispered, the dark corners created small oases of complicity and secretiveness. She walked to one of the wooden benches, looked at the lights of Parliament on the other side, and the homeless figure of a
on the grass.
Ironic.
?Good,? she said as they sat. ?Let me tell you how things stand.?
Zatopek van Heerden had brought wine that he opened and poured into the glasses she provided.
They were uneasy with each other, their roles now so different from that afternoon, the awareness they shared was avoided, sidestepped, ignored like a social disease.
?What is it that you don'?t understand?? he asked as they sat.
?You talked of genetic fitness indicators.?
?Oh. That.?
He studied his glass, the red wine glowing between his hands. Then he looked up and she saw he wanted her to say something else, to open a door for him, and she could not help herself, she asked the question of her fears. ?Are you involved?? Realized that was not clear enough. ?With someone??
36.
No,? he said, and the corners of his mouth turned up. ?What?? she asked unnecessarily, because she knew. ?The difference between us. Between man and woman. For me it is still? enigmatic.?
She smiled with him.
He looked at his glass as she spoke, his voice quiet. ?How many times in one person?s life will you know that the attraction is mutual? In equal measure??
?I don'?t know.?
?Too few,? he said.
?And I need to know if there is someone else.?
He shrugged. ?I understand.?
?doesn'?t it matter to you??
?Not now. Later. Definitely later.?
?Odd,? she said, drawing on her cigarette, taking a swallow of wine, waiting. He stood up, placed the glass on the coffee table, and went to her. She waited a moment, then bent down to stub out her cigarette.
Tiger Mazibuko sat in the Oryx, alone. Outside at the bridge where Little Joe died, the men stood waiting, but he did not think of them. He had the charts with him, maps of Botswana. He hummed softly as his fingers ran over them, an unrecognizable, monotonous refrain, busy, busy when the phone rang. He knew who it would be.
?What I really want to do,? he said straightaway, ?is to blow the fucker out of the sky with a missile, preferably this side of the border.? His voice was easy, his choice of words deliberate. ?But I know that?s not an option.?
?That?s right,? said Janina Mentz.
?I take it we are not going to call in the help of our neighbors.?
?Still right.?
?National pride and the small problem of sensitive data in strange hands.?
?Yes.?
?I want to ambush him, ma?am.?
?Tiger, that?s not necessary.?
?What do you mean, ?not necessary???
?This line is not secure, take my word for it. Priorities have changed.?
He nearly lost it just then, the rage pushed up from below like lava.
jissis, he had lost a man, he was humiliated and sent from pillar to post, he had endured the chaos and the fucking lack of professionalism, and now someone in a fucking office had changed the fucking priorities. It wanted to explode out violently but he held it in, choked it back, because he had to.
?Are you there??
?I am here. Ma?am, I know what route he will use.?
?And??
?He?s going to Kazungula.?
?Kazungula??
?On the Zambian border. He won?t go through Zimbabwe, too many border posts, too much trouble. I know this.?
?It doesn'?t help us. That?s in Botswana. Even if it comes from the top, official channels will take too long.?
?I didn?'t have anything official in mind.?
?No, Tiger.?
