?What things??
?Things in the name of the Struggle. I was different. I had another life. I am not ashamed. I did what I believed in. It is over. Here I am now. Just as you see me.?
?We all did things in the name of the Struggle.? She was relieved.
?Yes,? he said. ?I was searching for myself. Now I have found myself. I know who I am and I know what I want. I am not a deserter.?
She had believed him. He looked into her eyes and she believed him.
?Rooivalk One, we have a weather situation,? said the tower at Bloemspruit. ?Trough developing in the west, all the way from Verneukpan to Somerset East and a weak frontal system on the way. It could get wet.?
The pilot looked at his flight plan. ?Can we get through??
?AffirmatI've, Rooivalk One, but you had better shake ass,? said the tower, knowing the Rooivalks operational ceiling was just under twenty thousand feet.
?Rooivalk One ready for takeoff.?
?Rooivalk Two ready for takeoff.?
?Rooivalk One and Two cleared for takeoff. Make some thunder.?
The noise of the double Topaz turboshaft engines was deafening.
He mastered the R 1150 GS just before the Hex river valley. He knew it when he came out of a bend and opened the throttle and there was pleasure in the power. The exhaust pipe snorted softly behind him and he kicked back one gear, chose the line for the curve, tilted the bike, his shoulder dipping into the turn, and there was no discomfort, no fear of the angle between machine and road, just the tingling of pride for a small victory, skills acquired, satisfaction in control of power. He accelerated out of the turn, eyes focused on the next one, taking in the red lights a kilometer ahead, a lorry, aware, in control, bits and pieces, the instructor?s voice at the advanced riding school slowly making sense now. He could like this, a little adrenaline, a little more skill, lorry ahead, manipulate clutch and gears and accelerator, a whisper of the front brakes, shoot past, and then he looked up and the moon broke away from the mountain peaks, full and bright, and in that moment he knew it was going to work, the trouble lay behind him, just the twisty, open road ahead, and he opened the taps, and the valley opened ahead of him, a fairyland in the silvery light of the moon.
Monica Kleintjes sat hunched in the sitting-room chair in her father?s house, the lines of suppressed tears down her cheeks. Opposite her, Williams sat on the edge of his chair, as if he would reach out to her in empathy. ?Miss Kleintjes, I would have done precisely the same if it were my father. It was a noble action,? he said softly. ?We are here to support you.?
She nodded, biting her lower lip, hands clenched in her lap, her eyes large and teary behind the glasses.
?There are just two things we need to shed light on: your father?s relationship with Mr. Mpayipheli and the character of the data that he has with him.?
?I don'?t know what is on the hard drive.?
?No idea??
?Names. Records. Numbers. Information. When I asked my father what it was all about, he said it was better if I didn?'t know. I think ? names ?? Her eyes wandered over the wall next to the mantelpiece. There were photos hanging, black-and-white, color. People.
?What names?? Williams followed her gaze, stood up.
?Well-known ones.?
?Which?? He looked over the photos. A colored family in Trafalgar Square, Johnny Kleintjes, Monica, perhaps five years old, her little legs stout and very present.
?ANC. The regime ??
?Can you remember any specific names?? There were photos of Kleintjes and people now in positions in the government. In Red Square, East Berlin, Checkpoint Charlie and the Wall in the background. Prague. The tourist spots of the Cold War.
?He didn?'t say.?
?Nothing at all?? Williams stared at Johnny Kleintjes?s wedding picture. Monica?s mother in white, not a beautiful woman but proud.
?Nothing.?
He looked away from the pictures, to her. ?Miss Kleintjes, it is essential that we know what is in that data. This is in the interests of the country.?
Her hands sprang loose from her lap, the tears spilled over the dam wall. ?I didn?'t want to know and my father didn?'t want to say. Please ??
?I understand, Miss Kleintjes.?
?Thanks.?
He allowed her a moment to calm down. She reached for her tissues and blew delicately.
?And Mr. Mpayipheli??
?My father knew him in the Struggle.?
?Could you be more specific??
Another tissue. She removed her glasses and wiped carefully under her eyes. ?Three weeks ? two or three weeks ago my father came to me at work. He had never done that before. He had a piece of paper with him. He
