?Because her father is in trouble??
?Yes.?
And Thobela agreed because they are old comrades??
?Yes.?
And so he took the motorcycle ??
The tension and confusion were too much for Miriam. Her voice broke. ?No, he was going to take the plane, but they stopped him.?
For the first time the reporter saw the stubbornness in the light of deep worry and put her hand on the thin shoulder. For a moment Miriam stood stiff and humiliated before leaning against Allison, letting her arms fold around her, and the tears ran freely.
For two hours Janina slept on the sofa in her office, a deep dreamless sleep until the cell phone?s alarm went off. Her feet swung to the ground immediately and she stood up with purpose, the rest a thin buffer against fatigue and tension, but it would have to suffice. She showered in the big bathroom on the tenth floor, enjoying the tingling water, the scent of soap and shampoo, her thoughts going on to the next steps, laying out the day like a map.
She pulled on black trousers and a white blouse, black shoes, wiped the steam from the mirror, brushed her hair, made up her face with deft movements of fingers and hands, and walked first to her office for the dossiers and then to the director?s door.
She knocked.
?Come in, Janina.? As if he had been waiting for her.
She opened the door and entered. He was standing at the window, looking out over Wale Street toward the provincial government buildings and Table Mountain behind. It was a clear and sunny morning with the flags across the street waltzing lazily in the breeze.
?I have something to confess, sir.?
He did not turn. ?No need, Janina. It was the rain.?
?Not about that, sir.?
When he stood etched against the sky like that, his hunchback was obvious. It was like a burden he carried. He stood so still, as if too tired to move.
?The minister has phoned twice already. She wants to know if this thing will become an embarrassment to us.?
?I am sorry, sir.?
?don'?t be, Janina. I am not. We are doing our job. The minister must do hers. She is paid to handle embarrassments.?
She placed the dossiers on the desk. ?Sir, I involved Johnny Kleintjes in this.?
He did not move. The silence stretched out between them.
?On March seventeenth this year a Muslim extremist was arrested by the police on charges of possession of unlicensed firearms. One Ismail Mohammed, a leading player, probably a member of Pagad, Quibla, and/or MAIL. He repeatedly requested a meeting with a representative of the intelligence services. We were fortunate that the police approached us first. I sent Williams.?
The director turned slowly. She wondered if he had slept last night. She wondered if it was the same shirt he had been wearing yesterday. His face betrayed no weariness.
He walked over to the chair behind his desk, not meeting her eyes.
?Here is the full transcript of the interview. Only Williams, the typist, and myself know about this.?
?I am sure you had a reason for not showing me this, Janina.? Now for the first time she could see that he was tired, the combination of inflection and body language and the dullness in his eyes.
?Sir, I made a choice. I think you will eventually agree it was a reasonable one.?
?Tell me.?
?Mohammed had information about Inkululeko.?
It was a moment she had waited a long time for. He showed no reaction, said nothing.
?You know there have been speculations and suspicions for years.?
The director seemed to sigh as if releasing internal tension. He leaned back in his chair. ?Do sit down, Janina.?
?Thank you, sir.?
She pulled the chair closer, drawing a breath to proceed, but he held up a small hand, the palm rose-colored, the nails perfectly manicured.
?You kept this from me because I am under suspicion.? Not a question, a mild statement.
?Yes, sir.?
?Was that the right thing to do, Janina??
?Yes, sir.?
?I think so, too.?
?Thank you, sir.?
