today. Phone me.?
Irritated, she pressed seven.
Why didn?'t Van Heerden call?
The white woman and the black man were disappearing up the street, and on impulse she followed them. It was something to occupy her mind. She walked fast, the wind at her back. She pushed the cell phone into her handbag and tried to catch up, her eyes searching until she saw the woman turn in at a building. Someone called her name. It was the Somali at the cigarette stand. ?Hi, Allison, not buying today??
?Not today,? she said.
?don'?t work too hard.?
?I won?t.?
She walked fast to the place where the woman had turned in, eventually looking up at the name above the big double doors.
WALE STREET CHAMBERS.
Just a simple call.
How much would that take? Was that too much to ask?
Some of the information from the interview with Ismail Mohammed was surprisingly accurate. He stated that:
i. Inkululeko was a more recent source than generally believed.
ii. There was no evidence that Inkululeko had a direct Zulu connection and that the contrary should be explored.
iii. Inkululeko was not a member of Parliament or the ANC leadership (which the constant rumors had indicated over the years).
iv. Inkululeko was most definitely part of the current SA intelligence setup and held a senior position within the intelligence community.
v. The Muslim structures (unspecified) were getting closer to identifying Inkululeko, and it was only a matter of time before full identification would be made.
It is significant to note that Mohammed referred to Inkululeko as ?he? and ?him? during several interviews, indicating the level of true knowledge, despite the accuracy of the above statements.
The major question, of course, is how the SA Muslim structures acquired this knowledge.
According to Mohammed, they have been feeding disinformation regarding international Muslim activities, operations, and networks into the SA governmental and intelligence systems through a deliberate and well-planned process, with checks and balances on the other side to try and determine which chunks of disinformation got through to the CIA.
One such instance that we know of is the warning this office passed on to Langley in July of 2001 of a pending attack on the U.S. embassy in Lagos, Nigeria. The tip-off was received from Inkululeko, and additional U.S. Marines were deployed in and around the Lagos embassy at the time. As you know, the attack never materialized, but the intensified security measures should have been easy to monitor by Muslim extremists in Nigeria.
Fortunately for us, Inkululeko received the report on the Mohammed interview directly and was understandably disturbed by the contents. After giving the matter some thought, she put a proposal to this office.
41.
O
n the road between Francistown and Nata a strange thing happened. He seemed to withdraw into a cocoon, the pain melted away, the overpowering heat in him and around him dissipated, he seemed to leave the discomfort of his body behind and float above the motorbike, distanced from reality, and though he could not understand how it had happened, he was awed by the wonder of it.
He was still aware of Africa around him, the grass shoulder to shoulder in khaki green and red-brown columns marching across the open plains beside the black ribbon of tarmac. Here and there acacias hunched in scrums and rucks and mauls. The sky was a dome of azure without limits, and the birds accompanied him, hornbills shooting across his field of vision, swallows diving and dodging, a bateleur tumbling out of the heavens, vultures riding the thermals far to the west in a spiral endlessly reaching upward. For a moment he was with them, one of them, his wings spanned tight, as wires registered every shuddering turbulence, and then he was back down there, and all the time the sun shone, hot and yellow and angry, as if it would sterilize the landscape, as if it could burn clean the evil sores of the continent with steadfast light and searing fire.
Why was the heat no longer in him, why did the shI'ver of intense cold run through his body like the frontal gusts of a storm?
It freed thoughts, like the chunks of a melting ice sheet, mixed up, jumbled, floating in his heart, things he had forgotten, wanted to forget. And right at the back of his mind a monotonous refrain of whispers.
His father in the pulpit with pearls of perspiration beading his forehead in the summer heat, one hand stretched out over the congregation, the other palm down, resting on the snow-white pages of the big Bible before him. A tall man in a somber black toga, his voice thundering with disapproval and reproach. ?What ye sow shall ye reap. It is in the Book. God?s Word. And what do we sow, my brothers and sisters, what do we sow? Envy. Jealousy. And hate. Violence. We sow, every day in the fields of our lives, and then we cannot understand when it comes back to us. We say, Lord, why? As if it was He that poured the bitter cup for us, we are dismayed. So easily we forget. But it is what we have sown.?
