She nodded. ?More control.?
The director pulled open a drawer in the big desk. ?I too have a confession, Janina,? he said, lifting out a photograph, a dog-eared color snapshot. He held it out to her. She took it carefully, holding it up to her eyes with her fingertips on the edges of the faded card. The director, young? easily twenty years ago. He had his arm around a tall broad-shouldered black youth, supple and muscular, regular features, a strong line to mouth and chin, determined. In the background was a military vehicle.
?Dar es Salaam,? said the director. ?Nineteen eighty-four.?
?I don'?t understand, sir.?
?The other man in the photo is Thobela Mpayipheli. He was my friend.? There was a faint smile lingering on the small Zulu?s mouth.
A chill swept over her. ?That is why you let the Reaction Unit come.?
He looked up at the ceiling, his thoughts in another time. She waited patiently.
?He is a ruthless man, Janina. A freak of nature. He is ? he was only seventeen when he enlisted. But they picked him out from the start. While the others had general infantry training in Tanzania and Angola, he was sent with the elite to the Soviet Union. And East Germany. The KGB fell in love first and kept us up-to-date with his training. The Germans pinched him. They knew ??
?That?s why there is no record.?
The director was still somewhere in the past. ?He was everything they needed. Dedicated, intelligent, strong? mentally, too. Fast? He could shoot, ah, Tiny could shoot? .?
?Tiny??
A dismissive gesture. ?That is a story in itself. But above all he was unknown in their world, a wild card that the Americans and Brits and even Mossad knew nothing of. A black unknown, a brand-new player, an unrecorded assassin with the hunger ?? The director pulled himself back to the present, his eyes slowly focusing on hers.
?They bought him from us, Janina. With weapons and explosives and training. There was one small problem. He was unwilling. He wanted to come back to South Africa, to shoot Boers and blow up the SADF. His hate was focused. They sat with him for nearly two weeks, trying to explain that he would make a contribution, that the CIA and MI5 were hand in glove with the Boers, that war against one was war against the others. Two weeks ? until they turned his head.?
She pushed the photo back across the desk. She met the director?s eyes and they sat, staring, testing, and waiting.
?He makes me think of Mazibuko,? she said.
?Yes.?
?Was he the so-called Umzingeli??
?I don'?t know the whole story, Janina.?
She stood up. ?I can?t afford to let him reach Lusaka.?
The director nodded. ?He is the sort of man who will retrieve Johnny and the data.?
?And that would not do.?
?No, that would not do.?
Silence descended between them as each considered the implications, till the director said: ?I want you to know I am going home for some rest. I will be back later. Will you be sending the usual team to watch me??
?It will be the usual team, sir.?
He nodded wearily.
?That is good.?
19.
The editor of the
?? and nobody else knows about this Johnny Kleintjes, which gives us a great angle for tomorrow?s story. I?ve got his address, and I will get an interview with the daughter. And this afternoon, we?ll get a pic of Mrs. Nzululwazi and the boy. Exclusive.?
?Right,? said the editor, wondering if she was a virgin.
?But there?s more, Chief. I know it. And I want to use this radio show to put some bait in the water. Stir the pot.?
?You?re not going to leak our scoop, are you??
?I?m going to be all coy and clever, Chief.?
?You?re always coy and clever, Allison.?
?Fair enough,? she said, and he laughed.
?Just make sure you plug the newspaper. And if you can let it slip that we will be revealing a lot more tomorrow morning ??
Self-assured, at ease, Janina sat at the big table.
