was, as long as he lay pinned down under this bridge, there would be no call. Which meant they would not leave. Which meant it would be a long night.
But more crucial were the hours lost, hours in which he should be burning up the kilometers to Lusaka. Not yet a crisis, still enough time, but better to have time in the bank, because who knew what lay ahead. There were at least two national borders to cross, and although he had his passport in the bag, he did not have papers for the GS. The African way would be to put a few hundred rand notes in the pages of the passport and hope it would do the trick, but the bribery game took time for haggling and you could run up against the wrong customs man on the wrong day? it was a risk. Better to find a hole in the border fence, or make one and go your way. The Zambezi river, however, was not so easy to cross.
He would need those hours.
And then, of course, the other little problem. As long as it was dark he was safe. But tomorrow morning when the sun came up, this hiding place in the deep shadow of the bridge would be useless.
He had to get out.
He needed a plan.
?There is one thing I have a problem understanding, Luke,? said the director. ?Inkululeko, the alleged South African double agent, works for you. So why offer to buy the intelligence off Johnny Kleintjes??
Powell merely shook his head.
?What do you care if we think we know who he is?? asked the director, and Janina was surprised at the direction the questions had taken. The director had confessed nothing to her of his suspicions.
?I don'?t think that is a sensible line of questioning, Mr. Director,? said Powell.
?I think it is because the smell of rat is fairly strong in this vicinity.?
?I have no comment. I am willing to discuss our mutual Lusaka problem, but that?s it, I?m afraid.?
?It does not make sense, Luke. Why would you take the risk? You knew it was there, from the moment Kleintjes walked into the consulate. You know we have a photographer outside.?
Powell was spared for a moment by the waiter bringing the food? a cheddamelt steak for the American, a plate of chips for Janina, and an orange juice for the director.
?I did not?,? Janina began, and then decided to let it go, it would not help to correct the waiter. She took the orange juice and placed it in front of her.
?I?m going to get some salad,? said the director, and stood up.
?May I have some ketchup?? asked Powell.
?Excuse me?? said the waiter.
?He wants tomato sauce,? Janina said, irritated.
?Oh. Yes. Sure.?
?Why do you do that?? she asked Powell.
?Do what??
?Use the Americanisms.?
?Oh, just spreading a little culture,? he said.
?Culture??
He just smiled, the waiter brought the tomato sauce, and he poured a liberal amount over his chips, took his fork and stabbed some and put them in his mouth.
?Great fries,? Powell said, and she watched him eat until the director returned with a full plate of salad.
?Have you any idea who burned you in Lusaka?? Janina asked.
?No, ma?am,? said Powell through a mouthful of steak.
The waiter materialized at the table. ?Is everything all right??
She wanted to snap at the pimple face that all was not right, that she did not order chips, that he?d better not come flirting for a tip but rather leave them in peace, but she did not.
?Steak?s fantastic,? said Powell, and the waiter grinned, relieved, and went away.
?How?s your salad, Mr. Director?? asked Powell.
The director placed his knife and fork precisely and neatly on his plate. ?Luke, we have people in place in Zambia. The last thing we need is to run into a team of yours.?
?That would be unfortunate.?
?So you have a team there, too??
?I am not at liberty to say.?
?You said you were willing to discuss our mutual Lusaka problem.?
?I was hoping you had information for me.?
?All we know is that Thobela Mpayipheli is on his way there with a hard drive full of who knows what. You are the one who knows what happened there. With Johnny.?
?He was, shall we say, intercepted.?
