Heart of the Hunter

She read her introductory paragraph. Not bad. But not quite right. The Burger and television and radio could have the same information. And by tomorrow morning he might have been arrested.

She placed the pointer of the computer screen on the end of the paragraph and deleted it. She thought, she rephrased, testing sentences and construction in her mind.

A new drama surrounding the fugitive motorcyclist Thobela Mpayipheli unfolded late last night with the mysterious disappearance of his common-law wife, Mrs. Miriam Nzululwazi.

This was where her scoop lay. She went on.

Authorities, including the SAPS and the Office of the Intelligence Ministry, strongly denied that Mrs. Nzululwazi was in government custody Yet colleagues say the Absa employee was apprehended by unidentified law enforcement officials at the Heerengracht branch yesterday

The military reaction on persistent rumors that a squadron of Rooivalk attack helicopters had cornered Mpayipheli near the Free State town of Petrusburg after sunset yesterday was ?no comment.?

That?s better, she thought. Two birds with one stone.

?Allison ??

She looked up. A black colleague stood beside her. ?I?ve got something.? ?Shoot.?

?The kid. I found him. Sort of.? ?You did!?

?A woman at the Guguletu Preschool and Child Care Center says he?s a regular there. And the mother never turned up tonight.? ?Shit.? ?But some sort of government guy did.? The man looked at his notes. ?Said his name was Radebe; flashed a card at her and said there had been some sort of accident and he was there to take the kid into his care.?

?Ohmigod. Did he say whom he worked for? Where was he taking the kid??

?She says the card he showed her just said he was Department of Defence.?

?And she let the kid go??

?He was the last one left.?

?The last one left??

?He was the last kid to be fetched, and I think the lady just wanted to go home.?

* * *

Vincent Radebe could not tell the boy his mother was dead. He did not know how.

?Your mother has to work late? was the best he could do, in the car. ?She asked me to look after you.?

?Do you work with her??

?You could say that.?

?Do you know Thobela??

?Yes, I do.?

?Thobela has gone somewhere and it?s our secret.?

?I know.?

?And I?m not going to tell anybody.?

?That?s good.?

?And he?s coming back tomorrow.?

?Yes, he?s coming back tomorrow,? he had said on the way to Green Point, where his flat was. There were moments in the car that his guilt, the heaviness of spirit, became nearly too much for him, but now in McDonald?s opposite the Green Point athletic stadium he had control of himself. He watched Pakamile devour the Big Mac and asked: ?Have you got other family here in the Cape??

?No,? said the boy. There was tomato sauce on his forehead. Radebe took a napkin and wiped it off.

?Nobody??

?My granny lived in Port Elizabeth, but she?s dead.?

?Have you got uncles or aunts??

?No. Just Thobela and my mother. Thobela says there are dolphins in Port Elizabeth and he is going to show us at the end of the year.?

?Oh.?

?I know where Lusaka is. Do you??

?I know.?

?Thobela showed me. In the atlas. Did you know Thobela is the cleverest man in the world??

32.

Luke Powell?s official title was economic attache of the American consulate in Cape Town. But his unofficial office, as everyone in the intelligence community was well aware, had little to do with the economy. His actual rank was senior special agent in charge of the CIA in southern Africa, which included everything this side of the Sahara.

In the politically correct terminology of his country, Luke Powell was an African American,