She moved her head up and down, pulling the sheets instinctively up over her chest where her heart leaped around like a wild animal.
?I am going to take my hand off your mouth. I want only two things from you, and then I will leave. Do you understand??
Again she nodded.
He lifted his hand, shifting the blade away from her, but still he was too close to her, his eyes watchful.
?Where is Pakamile??
Her voice would not function, it came hoarsely through her dry mouth that failed to form words. She had to start over. ?He is safe.?
?Where??
?I don'?t know the exact place.?
?You lie.? And the blade came nearer.
?No ? Welfare, they took him.?
?You will find out.?
?I will. I? there isn'?t? Tomorrow I?ll have to ??
?You will find out tomorrow.? And her head worked frantically up and down in confirmation, her heart had slowed a fraction.
?Tomorrow morning at eleven you will have Pakamile at the underground parking lot of the waterfront. If he is not there, I will send a copy of the hard drive to every newspaper in the country, understand??
?Yes.? Grateful that her voice flowed more easily now.
?Eleven o?clock. Do not be late.?
?I won?t.?
?I know where you live,? he said, and stood up. And then he was gone, the room empty, and she took a deep breath before slowly getting out of bed and going to the bathroom to throw up.
47.
Bodenstein saw the GS stop in the street just before opening, and he knew he knew the rider but recognized him only when Mpayipheli removed the helmet. ?Fuck,? said Bodenstein, and went out, amazed. ?Thobela,? he said. ?I came to pay you.? ?Look at the bloody bike.? ?A few scrapes. It?s fine.? ?A few scrapes??
?I'?ve come to buy it, Bodenstein.? ?You what??
?And I need another helmet. One of those System Fours that we only have in small sizes left. There are still a couple in the storeroom behind those boxes the exhausts came in.?
It was just Van Heerden and him in the parking garage. He stood by the motorbike; Van Heerden sat in his car with the CIA agent?s silenced machine pistol.
Allison had chosen not to come.
At one minute to eleven a black man came walking toward him from the shopping center entrance with a long, confident stride, and he knew instinctively that it was Mazibuko? he matched the voice and the rage to the physical before him.
?I will get you, dog,? said Mazibuko.
?Where is Pakamile??
?I?m telling you I will get you. One day when this data is not important anymore, I will find you and I will kill you, as God is my witness, I am going to kill you.?
They faced each other and he felt the hate radiating from the man, and the temptation was strong, the fighting blood welled up in him.
?The question you must ask, Mazibuko, is whether there is more in you than just the anger you feel. What is left if that is gone??
?Fuck you, Xhosa.? Spittle sprayed.
?Are they using you? Are they using the rage that is eating you??
?Shut up, you dog. Come, take me now, you fucking coward.? Tiger?s body leaned forward, but an invisible thread held him back.
?Ask yourself: how long until it?s no longer useful, before things change. A new administration or a new system or a new era. They are using you, Mazibuko. Like a piece of equipment.?
Captain Tiger Mazibuko cracked at that moment, his hand went to the bulky bulge under his jacket and it was only the sharp voice of Janina Mentz that made him waver a moment, an authoritarian cry of his nickname, and he stood, torn between two alternatives, his eyes wild, his body a hair trigger, his fingers on the butt of the gun, and then Mpayipheli said quietly: ?I am not alone, Tiger. You are dead before you can point that thing.?
?Tiger,? Janina called again.
Like a man on high wire, he struggled with balance.
?don'?t let them use you,? said Mpayipheli again.
Tiger dropped his hand, speechless.
?Where is the hard drive?? he heard Mentz?s voice from somewhere between the cars.
