aircraft to the ground half a meter down. He had a slight fever leaving a thin transparent membrane between him and reality. The painkillers had kicked in and he moved studiously, every step ticked off against a checklist in his mind, lest he forget something.
If he fell, they would leap up? the pilot was the danger, the officer?s hate for him was like a beacon.
He got the motorbike on the side stand, checked that the sports bag was in the luggage case, locked. What was he forgetting? He mounted and pressed the starter; the engine turned and turned but would not take.
He pressed the choke up and tried again. This time it took with a roar and a shudder. He lifted the side stand with a foot and turned the steering. He couldn'?t ride out slowly; he would accelerate powerfully and let momentum carry him out. The helicopter was beside the road, engines still on, the blades sweeping up a whirlwind around the resting bird. He must be sure the GS?s engine was sufficiently warmed up enough and he revved.
The pilot lay watching with an expressionless face.
He drew a breath, now or never, clutch in, first gear, turned the throttle, and released the clutch. The GS shot forward and out, the front wheel dropped, hit the ground, shocks banging, the force shooting up his arms and making him lose balance, the rear wheel came down and with the throttle still wide open he shot forward, straight across the road, braked to stop going into the veld and came to a halt. His heart pounded? dear Lord? he looked around, the pilot had leaped up and was running to the helicopter, the Heckler lay there inside, that?s what his head had been trying to tell him? don'?t forget the machine pistol? but now it was too late, there was only one option. He rode as fast as the motorbike would accelerate, lying flat without looking back, a smaller target, ears pricked, second, third, fourth gear, something struck the bike, fifth, 160 kilometers per hour, still accelerating? what had the pilot hit?
Then he knew he was out of range and kept the speed there, and he wondered if the pilot?s hate was great enough to follow him with the Oryx.
Janina Mentz carried out her plan meticulously.
She fetched the director from his office; she could see he was tired now, his whole body expressed it. ?I want to talk, sir, but not here.?
He nodded and stood up, taking his jacket from where it hung neatly on a hanger, took his time putting it on, and then held the door for her. They rode down in the elevator and left the building, he a courteous step behind her. She led him up Long Street, knowing the Long Street Cafe would be open still. This part of the city was still alive, young people, tourists with backpacks, Rikki taxis, scooters. Nightclub music pounded from an upper floor. The director was short and bowed beside her, and she was once again conscious of the spectacle they presented? what would people think seeing the white woman in a business suit walking with the little hunchbacked black man?
There was an open table at the back near the cake display.
He held the chair for her, and for an instant she felt his courtesy irritating, she wanted to be accepted or rejected, not live in this no-man?s-land.
He did not look at the menu. ?You believe we are being bugged??
?Sir, I have considered all the evidence, and somewhere there is a leak. With us, or with Luke Powell.?
?And you don'?t believe it is with them??
?It?s not impossible, just improbable.?
?What has happened to our Johnny the communist theory??
?The more I think about it, the less it makes sense.?
?Why, Janina??
?He would not endanger his own daughter. He would not leave an outdated address and phone number for Mpayipheli with her. If he wanted to threaten the CIA, there are other ways. To tell the truth, nothing about it makes sense.?
?I see.?
?You still think it?s Johnny??
?I no longer know what to think.? The weariness was undisguised in his voice, and she saw him with greater depth then. What was he? Somewhere on the shady side of fifty he carried the burden of the invisible, endless decades of intrigue behind him. While a young waitress with dark secret eyes took their order, she studied him. Did he once have dreams and ambitions for greater things? Had he seen himself as material for the inner circle, to wear the head ring of the stalwart? Was he on the verge of that once in his wanderings during the Struggle? He was a clever man whose potential they would have recognized. What had held him back, kept him out, so that now he sat here, a worn-out old man holding on to his status as senior civil servant with titles and white silk shirts?
He misinterpreted her examination. ?Do you really suspect me, Janina??
She sighed deeply. ?Sir ??
There was compassion in the set of her mouth.
?I had to consider it.?
?And what was your conclusion??
?Another improbable.?
?Why??
All you could know was that Johnny Kleintjes was one of a large number of people we were keeping tabs on. I was the only one who knew why.?
He nodded slowly, without satisfaction; he knew that would be the result. ?That goes for all of us, Janina.?
?That is what puzzles me.?
?Then the leak is not with us.?
