Tiger reconsidered. ?Let them through.?
Are you sure??
Mazibuko smiled. ?Very.?
The colonel hesitated a moment and then depressed the SEND button on the microphone. ?Sergeant, let them through whenever they want.?
?Roger and out,? came the response.
?What is your plan, Captain?? the colonel asked just before Mazibuko walked out with a certain zip in his step.
He did not look up, but kept walking. ?diversion, Colonel. Nothing like a bit of diversion for a bunch of frustrated soldiers,? he said.
The traffic officer was carefully rolling up the tubes of the Gatsometer. It was a tedious job on his own, but he did it mechanically, without bitterness, just another part of his easy routine. His thoughts were occupied with the black motorcyclist.
Strange, that. A first. Black man on a big motorbike. You don'?t see many of those.
But that wasn'?t all.
The thing was, when he rode off, the BMW?s flat, two-cylinder engine made a nice muffled sound. He could swear he heard the man laugh, a deep, thundering, infectious, paralyzing laugh.
Must be his imagination.
?Who?? asked Janina Mentz. ?Al Qaeda? How, sir? How??
?My personal feeling is Tehran. I suspect Johnny had made a contact or two some way or another. Perhaps through the local extremists. But in my opinion, that is not the burning question, Janina.?
She drew a deep breath to damp the growing unease. She was watchful for what would follow.
?The question we must ask ourselves now is, What is on the hard drive??
She knew why the balance had shifted. He was not the Zulu source, he was not Inkululeko. He was free. Of suspicion, misunderstanding, circumstantial evidence. He was pure.
The director leaned toward her and said, with great tenderness: ?I had hoped you would have some ideas.?
The lieutenant of First Infantry Battalion had put a lot of thought into the roadblock at Petrusburg. His problem was that the place had a proliferation of roads leading like arteries out of the heart of the town in every direction? three dirt roads north, the east-west route of the N8 to Kimberley and Bloemfontein, the R48 to Koffiefontein, another dirt road south, and then the paved road to the black township, Bolokaneng.
Where to put up the blockade?
His eventual decision was based on the available intelligence: the fugitive was heading for Kimberley. That is why the roadblock was just four hundred meters outside the town boundary on the Kimberley side, on the N8. For extra insurance, the SAPS, who provided two vans and four policemen, according to the agreement, were sitting on the gravel road that ran parallel east-west and joined the N8 farther along toward the City of Diamonds.
Now the lieutenant had a more difficult decision to make. One thing was for sure: if you are a member of the military faced with a complicated choice, your first option is to pass the decision up the chain of command. That is how you cover your back.
So he did not hesitate to resort to the radio.
?Oscar Hotel,? he said to the ops commander at the Anti-Aircraft School. ?I have stopped nineteen riders on BMW motorbikes here. One says he is a lawyer and will get an injunction against us if we don'?t let them through. Over.?
He could swear he heard the colonel say ?Fuck,? but perhaps the radio reception was not clear.
?Stand by, Papa Bravo.?
Military abbreviation for Petrusburg. There was once a time when he had felt like a clown using these terms, but it had passed. He waited, looking out of the tent that stood beside the road. The BMWs stood in ranks of two, all with headlights on and engines idling. Where the fuck were they going? His men stood with their assault rifles over their shoulders, looking on curiously. There is something about a group of bikers. Like a Mongol horde of Genghis Khan on the way to cause desolation
?Papa Bravo, this is Oscar Hotel Quebec, come in, over.?
?Papa Bravo in, over.?
?Are you sure there are no black guys on any of the BMWs, over.?
?We are sure, Oscar Hotel, over.?
?Let them through, Papa Bravo. Let them through. Over.?
?Roger, Papa Bravo over and out.?
27.
In the editorial office of the
?A violent man, an aggressive troublemaker, perhaps a psychopath? is how a former comrade-in-arms of the fugitive Thobela Mpayipheli describes the man now being sought across three provinces by intelligence authorities, the SA National Defence Force, and the SAPS.
According to Brig. Lucas Morape, a senior member of the Supply and Transport Unit at SANDF headquarters
