Dark Intent (20 page)

‘Yes,’ said Teichmann.
‘If you accept you will be working alone.’

‘What about Kallis?’ asked Krige. ‘We can’t just run around in the dark and pretend the other doesn’t exist.
That could be dangerous.’

‘I think you can handle that quite adequately,’ said Teichmann.
‘Kallis knows of you but he would never suspect you are involved. I will also keep you informed about anything he uncovers, if of course he tells me.’

‘You certainly don’t trust him,’ said Krige.
‘What do you think he will get out of all this by playing a double game?’

‘Personal gain,’ said Teichmann.
‘Many men would sell their mothers for it.’

‘Or their wives,’ said Krige in a whisper.
‘I accept the job. I want to know everything you’ve got on these cases, including the contact details and profiles of Rupert Bosch and John Kallis. I want 100 000 pounds sterling to be transferred to an account in Switzerland for each of the originals of these files that I retrieve. You don’t have to pay me for dealing with the people involved, whether or not I get the files. And, I am not obliged to reveal their identities if I find them.’

‘Agreed,’ said Teichmann.
‘You have my word. You can start when you like.’ He got out of the chair and peered down the track that led to the front gate. ‘Those guys should be here by now.’

As Teichmann uttered the words they saw lights appear near the gate and a large Ford van was driven at speed up to the house.
It stopped in front of the verandah and two men got out. They clearly knew Teichmann and waited for instructions.

‘Come with me,’ said Krige walking past Teichmann and going down the steps.
‘The bodies are round the back.’

In a little over five minutes the two blacks were stretched out in the rear of the vehicle and it left the farm.

‘Thank you,’ said Teichmann, turning to Krige. ‘I will be in contact.’

The group man had soon gone, leaving Krige alone, not sure what he had got himself into. But he was getting used to it and he liked it.

Pretoria

After meeting John Kallis in the lounge of the Plaza Hotel, Kirsty Krige spent hours going over what he had said. It was clear that Kallis was after both files and that his reason was not to gain favour with his boss and the group. It was to satisfy his vanity and above all acquire personal wealth. She had no doubt that the files were of great value and that they had the power to bring white and black leaders of whatever persuasion to their knees. She kept saying to herself that she had to become involved in the whole sordid business and reveal what she knew to someone of influence. But no one would believe her unless she had the originals of the two files in her possession and she could not in her wildest dreams see how she could get them. She was up against men who lived in the world of darkness, the most dangerous breed of all. Against them she was impotent, even if she knew who they were and how they operated. It still galled her that her husband had been so stupid to stray and do their work. By now he was certainly converted and she had no desire ever to see him again. She was reviled by him and she now wanted a divorce.

On the morning after the two guerrillas, Nofomela and Ngwenya, had gone to Jan Krige’s farm, Kirsty went down to breakfast.
She was not one to lie in bed after she woke up, a habit she had acquired on the farm, and now having left the place she still liked an early start to think about where she was going in life.

When she reached the lobby and started to walk across to the dining room on the other side of the lounge, she picked up a copy of the newspaper she preferred to the others.
Half-way through the lounge she chose to have a cup of coffee before going into breakfast. She seated herself at one of the many empty tables and ordered a pot of coffee from a waiter. She rested the newspaper on her knee and casually started to skim the front page. Near the bottom she saw a headline that made her gasp in disbelief. It said: Guerillas killed on White River farm. When she had recovered she lifted the paper and read the article. She sat with her hand to her mouth as the words told their story. When she had finished she left the table and took the lift up to her room.

In her room, Kirsty sat on the bed and read the newspaper article again.
She couldn’t believe it and for her it was like reading the script of a surreal play. She felt debilitated and very much alone. The game never stopped, driven by a strange force controlling people like pieces on a board. She let the paper fall onto the floor and sat bent over, elbows on her knees, feeling as if she was going to vomit.

For minutes Kirsty Krige remained in that position, thoughts flying randomly round in her head.
But slowly her spirit induced a sense of calm and the determination to pull herself together and think clearly. She started to feel bitterly angry that people like those in the group were set on destroying others rather than working for the common good and prosecuting blacks and whites through the courts when the evidence was there. But they would not use the evidence that had been meticulously compiled by intelligent men. It had only been a game. They preferred exacting their own sense of justice.

As she sat on the bed, her emotions becoming more cohesive, a man appeared in her mind, a man she would never forget.
For a moment she was still and then she sprang from the bed and went to the phone. She called directory enquiries and after a short wait she was given the phone number and address of the man in her thoughts. His name was James Steiner.

Durban

Since returning from Japan, James Steiner got back to his way of life, dedicating himself to his insatiable passion, karate.
He trained early in the morning when the city was quiet and still. His movements were simple, fluid and precise and many who had seen him practice knew he had gone beyond technique. For seemingly endless hours he sat in
seiza
, meditating and breathing deeply to calm his mind and strengthen his centre. This was the source of his power and for him pure
zen
.

Steiner met up with Sophie Carswell frequently and they enjoyed dining together, dancing at the city’s nightclubs and sometimes at weekends going for walks in the local countryside.
She had fallen deeply in love with him and to her he was unlike anyone she had ever met, tall, handsome in a ruthless way, intelligent and with a strong sense of care for others. How he could easily change into someone so dangerous and powerful, as she had witnessed, was a mystery to her but all that interested her was that she loved him. She had come to accept that at times he kept his feelings to himself as if he was part of another world, and that he never told her he loved her. But deep inside she felt he did, and she couldn’t help thinking he held back because someone had badly hurt him earlier in his life.

Sophie’s parents were now living in England where her father had been born and one day she told Steiner that she was taking time off work and going to visit them for six weeks.
He was pleased for her and when she left he told her how much he looked forward to seeing her when she returned and how empty his life would be without her.

After Sophie had gone Steiner spent even longer in the
dojo
, updating student records and giving private classes. One evening at a little after nine he returned to his flat and when he was about to insert the key a woman stepped from the shadows. She was beautiful, wearing a red dress, navy blazer and carrying a small bag.

‘James Steiner,’ she said softly.
‘Do you remember me?’ She took a step closer.

‘Kirsty Krige,’ said Steiner, amazed at seeing her so far from home and standing outside his flat.
‘What are you doing here?’

‘I need to see you,’ she said.
‘I believe you are the only person who can help me.’

He opened the door and stood aside for her to pass.
‘Please come in. I’m afraid it’s a bit untidy.’

‘It’s great,’ she said, as she seated herself.
She went silent and looked at him, not knowing exactly where to start and explain her presence.

Steiner had last seen her and her husband on their farm three weeks ago when he had thought the affair concerning the missing file had been resolved.
She was the most attractive woman he had ever seen, with dark brown eyes that matched the colour of her silken hair and a figure that would ignite the flame of any man who had the good fortune to meet her. He ignored his feelings. He could never have her. He walked a few steps closer. The expression on her face portrayed a state of abject turmoil.

‘You’re in trouble,’ he said.
‘Tell me about it.’

She sat back, still looking at him.
‘I am not in trouble but I want the business in which you were involved to end. For whatever reason, it is driving me insane with confusion and anger. I am referring to the work my husband did in Durban for the group and the things that have occurred since.’ She paused, drank some water he had placed next to her and then continued. ‘You will remember that my husband said he had retrieved the file. He was telling the truth because he showed me a copy of it the next day, a copy that was made by his lawyer, David Staples. You will also recall that he said he would instruct Staples to send a copy to the DSO. I believe a copy was sent but it was intercepted by someone in the DSO and sent to the group. The man you were working for in the DSO, Peter Smith, phoned my husband and told him the copy had not arrived. My husband knew nothing about it and Smith then phoned Staples. He asked for the original and Staples refused. Smith then asked for a copy but Staples told him to find the one that had been sent.’

‘I know everything you have just told me,’ said Steiner. ‘But I am not doing any work for the DSO and as far as I am concerned the matter is closed.’
He thought for a moment. ‘I admit I am a little curious when you speak of things that have gone on since we last met. What do you mean?’

‘Three days ago a man phoned me in the hotel and said he wanted to see me,’ she said.
‘Like you I was a little curious.’ She smiled, contrasting white teeth against red lips. ‘I agreed to meet him the next morning in the hotel. When he arrived we sat at one of the tables in the lounge.’ She drank some more water and adjusted her dress. ‘I will be brief. He related what I have told you and what you already know. He then said he believed my husband had in fact retrieved the file from Cartwright’s place and that he was lying when he told the group he hadn’t. I of course knew this but when he asked me I denied it. He then said a file called the black file, File B, had been removed from its safe in the group building two days before. He said it was identical in structure to what he termed the white file, File A, except that it was for elimination. I am sure you know what that means. He also told me something I had wondered about when my husband retrieved the white file. He said the original of each file can only be determined by checking to see if there is a small Oriental seal stamped on the back cover between the attached synthetic backing and the cover itself.’

‘That is very interesting,’ said Steiner.
‘Presumably only a few men know that. And, I do know what elimination means.’

‘Before I continue, my husband and I are separated and I am suing for divorce.
I have already contacted my lawyer.’

‘You surprise me,’ said Steiner, wondering how that was connected to the meeting in the hotel with the man.
He waited for her to go on.

‘This man then asked me if I trusted my husband.
I said yes when in fact I don’t. I wondered what he was getting at. He asked me if my husband had recently spent a few days away from the farm. I said he had gone to Pretoria for three days on business. He then told me what I feared. He said that was a lie and my husband had gone to KwaZulu-Natal with a man, John Dalton, at the behest of the group to eliminate four blacks, a Zulu member of the provincial government and three ANC ex-guerillas. Three of the men were killed and the other two escaped. I was literally torn apart because it reinforced my belief that he was doing another job for the group. Before I was told this I had challenged my husband about his business trip and I accused him of not telling me the truth. I said the group had a hold over him and that I was going to leave him. That was when I went to Pretoria.’

‘And now you are going to divorce him,’ said Steiner, understanding her sentiments.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Even though I had no proof of the operation in KwaZulu-Natal I believed he was involved and that is enough for me. Quite frankly I can’t stand the sight of him anymore.’

‘Do you believe he has changed irreversibly?’ said Steiner.

‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. ‘When someone continues to commit such a crime and deny it I believe they have found their alter ego and it has taken over. That has happened to my husband.’

‘You’ve certainly put some thought into this,’ said Steiner, impressed.
‘I have seen this happen before and I believe you. What else did the man say?’

‘He said the two guerillas who escaped were in Pretoria and that they were in contact with a man, Rupert Bosch, who works for the group.
He also said he had arranged for Bosch’s line to be tapped. When he later heard the recording of a conversation between Bosch and the guerrillas he said it was obvious they had already been told that my husband, who the guerillas had recognized in Natal, had done the job for the group. He also said the guerrillas knew about Cartwright and the missing white file, and that my husband had said on his return that he had not been able to find the file. He also believes there is an outsider involved in all this. You know who that is.’

‘What comes next?’ said Steiner.
‘You tell quite a story.’

She continued.
‘The guerillas expressed a real interest in getting hold of the white file and they were planning to go to the farm to speak to my husband. It was obvious they also wanted to kill him. The guerrillas are keen to get hold of the black file as well because it lists them and provides the evidence that would convict them.’ She smiled, glad she had got all that off her chest. ‘That was all the man said. He was clearly only interested in finding the file and when he thought I could not help him he thanked me for my time and left.’

‘He obviously worked for the group,’ said Steiner.
‘He was too well informed not to be. What was his name?’

‘He gave it as John Kallis,’ she said.

‘This really is a small world,’ said Steiner, finding it hard to believe what he had just heard.

‘Do you know him,’ she asked.

‘I met him once when he was drunk,’ said Steiner. ‘That was before he joined the DSO. He was the man who intercepted the copy of the file meant for Peter Smith and sent it to the group.’

‘It certainly is a small world,’ said Kirsty. She smiled, feeling more secure in his presence than she felt with anyone else. Then she said: ‘You’ve got to help me.’

‘What else is there
?’ said Steiner phlegmatically.

‘This morning it was reported in the press that two ex-guerillas had been killed by Jan Krige when they attacked him on his farm outside White River.
That was when I decided to see you.’

‘Why did you want to see me?’ said Steiner.
‘I told you I don’t work for the DSO. I still see Peter Smith now and then but the Cartwright affair was a one-off job for me. I am not used to that kind of work and I don’t like it.’

‘That means you’re not interested in the truth,’ she said.
‘You’re quietly content with your own little life.’ She had played her last card and she went silent, staring at him, her lovely eyes distracting.

He looked away.
‘How did you get here?’

‘I flew down this afternoon,’ she said.
‘I got your address through directory enquiries.’

‘When are you returning?’ he asked.

‘That sounds as if you don’t want to get involved in this business,’ she said. ‘If that is the case I’ll find someone else.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ he said, admiring her determination and spirit.
He poured water into her empty glass and stood in front of her, his arms folded across his chest. ‘You’ll never find anyone else.’

‘You’re so arrogant,’ she said sardonically.

‘I’m not,’ he said, wondering why he had said that. It was not his style. He turned away. ‘I will help you.’

She came off the sofa and went to him.
As much as she wanted to put her arms round him she resisted.

‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.

‘I’ll find somewhere. That is unless you are willing to let me sleep here.’

He smiled, giving nothing away.
‘I see you came prepared,’ he said, looking at her bag. ‘I suggest you return to Pretoria tomorrow.’

‘What about you?’ she asked.

‘I’ll see you up there in two days. There are some things I have to do before I go.’

‘Great,’ she said, rubbing her hands together.
‘Where’s my bedroom?’

‘You’re lucky,’ he said. ‘I managed to buy a place with two bedrooms. You’re in the master suite.’

Kirsty Krige and Steiner were both up early the next morning.
After breakfast, she confirmed a reservation on the mid-morning flight to Pretoria. She left the flat at eight-thirty after she and Steiner had arranged to meet at the Plaza Hotel in two days at noon.

When she had gone Steiner contacted two of his senior students and told them he was going away for a short time.
When asked, they agreed to take the classes while he was gone. Later in the day he phoned Peter Smith at the DSO.

‘I am going away for a few days,’ said Steiner without elaborating. ‘I thought I would I give you a ring and see if you are having any luck getting the original of the file.’

‘No,’ said Smith. ‘I would give anything to get hold of it but, as I guessed in the beginning, I would never have got the authority I needed to get Staples to release it. I don’t even know for sure that he’s got it. If he was asked for it by anyone else in authority he would deny ever having seen it and I would have sweet nothing to substantiate my belief. For all I know, Krige could still be sitting on it.’

‘It’s the type of case people in your position hope never comes their way,’ said Steiner.
‘Perhaps you should have used a little force.’

‘That’s too dangerous,’ replied Smith.
‘I never told anyone about your nocturnal habits in the Cartwright case. You never existed. If we had got the original they would have leapt on it with glee and they would never have bothered to ask where it came from or how I got it. But when I fail and they know about it, everything I have done is turned inside out and I’m hung out to dry.’