Dark Intent (11 page)

Malakazi township

When the doctor’s sister-in-law, sitting alone in the front of the house, heard Dhlamini fall she shuddered fearfully and listened, with her ear to the wall. Ever since her brother-in-law had told her who they were and that the wounded one had made a hit on Moses Shozi she was afraid.
The warlord was the devil’s henchman. He would search every inch of KwaZulu for the assassin and be merciless with anyone who gave them succour or a roof.

For a couple of minutes she heard no more and relaxed.
It must have been the two returning. She sat on the newly covered sofa, in its bright floral print and continued mending the frock on her lap.

The noise came again but now it was much louder as if a drunk was loose in the kitchen.
Again she listened at the wall and instantly withdrew in alarm. It was fighting, by whom she didn’t know, in deadly earnest. The room doubled as her bedroom and she hurriedly packed a carrier bag with basic items. She switched out the bulb and let herself out, vowing not to return until the guerillas had gone.

Malakazi township

Dalton was certain the guerillas had gone from the room for good and he waited for
Krige to disappear before going after him. As he went through the undergrowth he picked him up ahead. He followed slowly, the vegetation thinning and then he saw it, the house of the mayor that Krige had located earlier through the binoculars. He kept down as Krige paused before going inside.

For a few minutes Dalton waited then
Krige left with a black he assumed was Dhlamini. The pair headed for the north, the mayor appearing to cooperate. After 200 metres by his reckoning Dalton saw Dhlamini point out a house.

Dalton
viewed it sceptically. Why would the guerillas leave the relative isolation of the room for here? When the two went into the kitchen he moved until he was behind the window in the extension and sank next to a tree.

Dalton was beginning to wonder what
Krige was doing when the light in the room came on and he saw the farmer. The window was too high to see what was happening without going closer but he kept in the grass. Krige again showed and the light went out. He was puzzled.

As he thought about going nearer he was startled by the emergence of Nofomela and Ngwenya further along, making for the house.
They were at nearly fifty metres and he saw Ngwenya stop and Nofomela run to the door. Then Nofomela dived through like a man possessed.

Dalton left his position at a run, just as he saw Ngwenya also go into the house and shut the door.
He was low as he moved to the kitchen wall. There was scuffling and he braced himself to go in. But before he could act he heard Ngwenya cry out. He did not understand the language but he felt he had more time. It came again and then quiet.

Dalton waited a moment and then went in.
As he came to the passage he was brought up as Nofomela cried out. He looked out and saw Dhlamini pulling Krige into the room. The door was banged shut and with a strange feeling of loyalty to Krige he went to it. When he neared it he heard shouting and someone being beaten and then the distinctive noise of a silenced pistol.

With full power Dalton went through the door, counting on surprise and his ability in close combat of any kind.
              He landed down the wall and pivoted rapidly to face the centre of the room, readying himself like a fighting tom. Almost touching him was Dhlamini’s corpse and diagonally from him was Krige, alone as if he carried a plague. In front, a metre apart, stood the two guerillas, both watching him as if they had known he would show.

Aiming
the pistol, Dalton fired at the black on his left then altered to the other and fired again. The noise shook the brick, as if trying to bring the dead to life. To his disbelief the blacks kept on, their arms reaching out for him like a net. He felt the wall, a third force set against him. With a cry he found the gap between them, a forward flip that took him across the room. He crashed into the bed and fell, just missing Krige’s outstretched legs and hitting his gun hand on the iron bed.               Like a man reawakening from a journey into Neverland Krige opened his eyes, slowly taking in the spectacle before him.

When Nofomela saw Dalton lying on the concrete, his gun diverted
and Krige conscious, he halted.

‘No, white boy, keep still or you’ll die like this miserable coward.’
Without taking his eyes off the whites he kicked at the corpse. Dalton and Krige were motionless.

‘Slide your gun from you, white boy,’ continued Nofomela.
‘Do it slow and easy and then stand next to your friend.’

Without the gun Dalton knew the odds were reduced.
The kaffirs had been taught to fight and with a firearm they were formidable. That the one had not used it when he was against the wall meant they preferred a brawl, which was in his favour.

‘Where do you want it?’ he inquired looking up at Nofomela.
He kept his gun still and cautiously drew in his legs.

‘Under the bed,’ said Nofomela.
‘Do it now.’

Krige
watched Dalton carefully, ready, knowing he was the type who would never give up his gun unless forced into submission.

‘Come and get it black man.’
The contempt lashed Nofomela like a rider’s crop and Dalton moved, leaping for Ngwenya. The black ducked, his fists wild. He shouted as Dalton swerved and held him, his body between him and Nofomela. Dalton kept on, gathering his strength and throwing Ngwenya at his comrade, all the while firm on the gun. Nofomela tried to avoid the body and bring in the Beretta. In a flourish he grabbed Ngwenya, taking him in and then pushing him off, concentrating on the white. But before he could assemble himself, Dalton cut his pistol onto his arm, callously destroying his grip on the gun.

Halting, Dalton
lifted his pistol and cried: ‘You’re finished kaffir.’

Krige
got up, mostly recovered, his eyes on the blacks, Ngwenya on his knees and Nofomela not far from him.

‘You’ve been saved again M
ajor. One day you’ll learn to take me along.’ Dalton grinned, keeping the pistol on the two guerillas. He glanced at Ngubane. ‘What did you do to him?’

‘I
put a bullet through his head. He’d already been shot after making a hit on Shozi.’

Dalton
looked at the corpse on the bed. ‘Well, well. What a small world,’ he said phlegmatically. ‘Now we will deal with these two.’

Krige
ambled over and retrieved the Beretta from next to the bed. There was a round in the chamber and he covered Nofomela. ‘You nearly had me. In this game each mistake can be fatal. I was lucky, you’re not.’

The two guerillas watched the whites clos
ely. Two metres separated Nofomela from Dalton, with nearly three to Krige. He could reach either white in a second but to be successful in his attack and prevent being gunned down he would need a distraction and it would have to come quickly. He thought of the woman and wondered where she was, why she hadn’t come to investigate. There was enough sound to alert her.

Then like a repentant monk Nofomela bowed his head.
‘The mayor of this town was an enemy of peace between our peoples,’ he began. ‘It was necessary to take his life.’ He gave the whites an impartial stare. ‘We have always cooperated with the security in this area. We didn’t know you were working for them.’

Dalton inched a pace
forward, dangling his pistol. ‘You still don’t. We’re of no name and you’re killers. There’s nothing in this country for you. You shouldn’t have come back.’

Nofomela launched himself at Dalton, s
eeking the barrel of the pistol and striking for the jaw with a right hook that came from below his waist. ‘Pigs,’ he bellowed. ‘You’ll never take me. Burn in hell.’

Behind him Ngwenya took what he guessed was his last hope, going along the wall to put Dalton and Nofomela between himself and
Krige. He steered for the exit and accelerated down the passage.

Krige
leapt past Dalton, landing square on to the departing figure. With the gun at his hip he aimed at Ngwenya’s back and pulled the trigger. But to his disgust the guerilla disappeared through the door and ran like a buck into the dark.

Nofomela and Dalton
were prancing under the bulb, each on the gun. They were starting to sweat, the salty excretion accumulating rapidly on their faces as it left their pores, amplified by the exertion and their generated heat.

Krige
watched them, a strange look, as if contemplating something other than the safe release of his colleague.

‘Get him Major
,’ shouted Dalton, ‘the smell is killing me. What are you waiting for?’

Nofomela was working hard to wrest the gun loose, hustling with the enthusiasm of a vulture stripping meat.
The white’s hand was hooked in his belt, drawing his trousers up into his crotch and squeezing his testicles. He knew Ngwenya had escaped and couldn’t understand why the other white took his time. At last Krige came in and he released the barrel, springing like an animal on heat, bursting forth. At first he stumbled then he plunged into the passage.

The whites ran after him, jostling as they came together.
‘Leave him to me,’ said Krige. ‘Get back.’ He fired at the running black.

But Nofomela was well ahead and in another second went unscathed into the kitchen.
In an enormous leap he flew into the dark, vanishing like the magic man in a circus.

Krige
emerged outside. Angrily he sank to the earth. ‘We had the bastard and let him go.’ He knew they were both to blame for being careless and he was angry with himself. He couldn’t admonish Dalton. He might be dead now if it had not been for him.

Dalton appeared, replacing the
empty magazine in his pistol with a spare. He was also angry, with himself for giving Nofomela a break and with Krige for thinking he could take on three adept fighters one-handed. ‘I hope you’ve learnt your lesson,’ he said cuttingly. ‘This sort of mission is like scuba diving - don’t do it alone. Teichmann will tear your guts out when he hears that two of the guerillas escaped. It doesn’t help that they know we’re white.’

‘
Teichmann can go to hell,’ said Krige. ‘He’s safe in Pretoria. Anything can happen in the field and there’re no hard and fast rules of engagement. The black’s are no threat to us. They’re criminals and will go for shelter.’

‘I hope so
, for your sake,’ said Dalton.

Krige
reacted angrily. ‘Get this straight. I’m doing your party’s dirty work because you bastards are incompetent. I’m not answerable to anyone.’

Dalton
eyed him provocatively. ‘What’s next?’ he said, smiling thinly. ‘We can discuss our performance at the debriefing. I’m sure there’ll be one.’ He changed the subject. ‘Who lives in this place?’

‘She’s a friend of Dhlamini
’s and not important.’

‘She’s keeping pretty quiet.’

‘Wouldn’t you keep quiet with grown men running round killing each other?’ said Krige. ‘My guess is she’s not here.’

Dalton
started to go into the house.

‘Leave it,’ said
Krige curtly. ‘She’s out of it. The work here is done.’

The two whites went north, before crossing the township and going up the opposite hill.
In seven minutes they were at the road they had come down in the late afternoon and using it as a guide started walking to where they had parked the car.

When they saw it,
Krige marched up to the driver’s door. ‘Get in. I don’t want to drag this shit out any more than I can help.’

Durban, Republic of South Africa

Peter Smith was incensed that someone he trusted in the DSO must have taken the copy of the file from his office and that he had no chance of getting another copy from David Staples, Jan Krige’s lawyer, who had the original.

Only three men had access to Smith’s office when he was not there. They went through the latest deliveries and opened anything that was clearly urgent. Smith’s secretary went through the other mail later. Of the three, two had been in the DSO for a long spell. The third, John Kallis, was fairly new, young and intelligent.

Smith cut to the chase.
It was the kind of thing he wanted over and done with. He spoke first to his secretary and she said she had accepted a package marked Urgent, Addressee only. Next, Smith called in the two older men separately. One said he had been away on the Thursday and that he had not seen anything that drew his attention on the remaining two days. With a feeling of despair Smith summoned the other man.

After a while the man said:
‘When I went into your office I found Kallis there; it didn’t surprise me because he had access. He was standing next to the mail tray and was reading a bound document with a black cover and a gold, embossed title. I asked him if it was a good read. He said yes and that he would have to contact you. At that point I left.’

‘Thank you,’ said Smith.
‘You have been a great help. Keep this to yourself.’

The man went from the office and Smith felt he was about to get his prey.
He phoned through to Kallis and said he wanted to speak to him. Kallis appeared immediately and seated himself, a little curious.

‘John, did you find a package on my desk last Thursday marked Urgent, Addressee only.
If you did, what were the contents and where is it now. Jacobs said you were reading it.’

Kallis could feel the noose tightening.
‘I put it back on your desk. It was not that important and I knew you would see it the next day.’

‘What was it about?’ asked Smith, prepared to be patient.

Kallis knew the game was up. He stared arrogantly at Smith and said: ‘It was entitled State Security 1960 to Present, File A.’

‘What did you do with it?’ asked Smith, controlling the desire to eliminate him.

Kallis spoke confidently. He knew he was out of the DSO and that Smith might have him prosecuted. But that was something he would have to bear. ‘I sent it to people I know in the group of no name.’

‘Who are your contacts,’ demanded Smith.

‘I can’t tell you,’ said Kallis.

Smith knew he was not going to get anything from him and he had no hard evidence of what
had happened, except admission.

‘Get your things,’ said Smith.
‘I’ll call security to escort you from the premises. I never want to see or hear of you again.’

That afternoon, Smith phoned James Steiner at his flat.

‘I found out what happened to the file,’ said Smith. ‘I now have confirmation that it did reach this office. After enquiries the finger pointed to an agent, John Kallis He knew I had him and he confessed. The file was sent to contacts he has in the group. I threw him out of the DSO and he was led from the building.’

Steiner did not say he had met Kallis.
It was of no importance. ‘What are you going to do now about the file?’ he said.

‘Well at least I know where it is now,’ said Smith.
‘As I said before, it is only a copy and I want the original. For the time being I just have to wait until I get my chance.’

‘
You will get it,’ said Steiner.

Kallis was born in Pretoria. His mother was Afrikaans, his father English. He grew up in a happy, disciplined environment and did well at school. He was accepted by Pretoria University, one of the prime academic institutions in the country. He was very clever and graduated with a first class degree in political science. He later went through two years of compulsory military training and in the last eighteen months gained his wings as a paratrooper. During his training he won prestigious awards for use of a pistol and survival. He was made an officer and in the next ten years attended the monthly parade of his regiment, a pre-requisite for non-permanent personnel. At one stage he thought of joining a special forces regiment, but it was full-time and he decided he did not want the army as a career, as interested as he was in the military. During the formative years of his twenties he worked in an attorneys’ office. The work held no interest for him and his passion was boxing. He trained at a gymnasium in Pretoria and at one time was thinking of becoming a professional.

At the age of twenty-eight, when he thought he wasn’t going anywhere in life, he joined the group of no name, a fairly new political party.
It was primarily set up to supersede the weak Nationalist Party, which was the governing party during the apartheid years, and provide a political voice for Afrikaners. Kallis found the group intellectually stimulating and he formed a bond with Johan Teichmann. Teichmann was rising rapidly in the party and impressed Kallis by his progressive attitude, unlike some of the right-wing members who were still locked in the past.

Teichmann saw an active political life for Kallis and he wanted him to join the party full time.
But, as involved in the group as Kallis was, he wanted to see more of South Africa and when he was twenty-nine, went to Durban. He immediately took to the city, with its attractive women and exciting lifestyle.

When he was having a drink with a few others in a local hotel, he mentioned that he was interested in getting work in the country’s security services.
One of the others casually referred to the Directorate: Special Operations, a newly established organization designed to investigate and prosecute national priority crime. Kallis contacted the DSO and was taken on as a field operative.

The work captivated Kallis and he formed an active social life with work colleagues.
He kept in touch with friends in the group, particularly Johan Teichmann. Kallis soon found out that Teichmann wanted information on DSO operations and contacts. Kallis’s strong allegiance to the group, which had developed since leaving Pretoria and joining the group, led him to comply with Teichmann’s requests.

Kallis had been employed by the DSO for five years and was annoyed that Peter Smith had found out he had taken the file.
After leaving the DSO building in central Durban, he went to his flat, his seemingly innate stupidity still preying on him. He stood at the main window and looked out over the city. He knew he would not be seeing it for some time. After a few minutes he turned from the window. He was not going to let this setback interfere with the plans he was formulating for his future.

After spending a few hours in a nearby bar, Kallis decided to contact Johan Teichmann. First thing the next morning he phoned Teichmann in Pretoria. After the usual greetings, he told Teichmann what had occurred at the DSO.

‘Why don’t you come back to Pretoria,’ said Teichmann. You have been away long enough. We need men of your calibre and I think I have something that would be just right for you.’

‘I won’t ask you what that is over the phone,’ said Kallis.
‘It sounds very interesting. When can I see you?’

‘Be here on the first flight tomorrow morning,’ said Teichmann.
‘I’ll meet you at the airport.’