Dark Intent (7 page)

Moses Shozi’s house

Less than two hours after the attempt on his life the gangster’s men returned to the house and assembled in the yard
, expecting their failure to evoke another rabid outburst. But with a disgusted shake of his head Shozi sent them to their quarters, instructing only Setlaba to stay.

‘The guard was incompetent,’ said Shozi going back and forth on the porch.
‘If I hadn’t seen the Xhosa I might now be a corpse.’

Setlaba held himself abjectly.
‘He’ll not escape,’ he said defensively. ‘At first light we’ll scour the valleys. He was badly hurt.’

Shozi chuckled scornfully.
‘He was one of those guerillas. His friends would’ve been nearby. By now they’ll be far from here.’

Malakazi township
, KwaZulu

Ngubane was still asleep when his comrades rose half-an-hour before first light and rolled up their bedding. His breathing was deep and harsh as his body fought valiantly against the damage inflicted on it and waged war on incipient infection. They cleaned and dressed the wounds, liberally applying antiseptic lotion and binding the tissue in a casing of white bandage.

‘He needs a doctor,’ said Nofomela soberly, poignantly reminding himself of t
he slow deaths of his friends, long since deceased, the victims of lesser wounds incurred in the bush.

‘Dhlamini.’
Ngwenya buttoned his shirt, his thoughts jumping ahead to the mayor in Malakazi. ‘His brother’s a doctor.’

Nofomela frowned.
‘We gave our word we wouldn’t go to him again.’

‘The Zulu’s life is already under threat,’ intoned Ngwenya without feeling.
‘The true test of his loyalty is now.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Nofomela, finding no fault with his comrade’s reasoning.
‘Besides, Ngubane’s in urgent need of help and we don’t know of anyone else in these valleys.’

They ate some stale food from their bag
, then hoisted their drowsy friend and began the trip to Malakazi, along the path they’d taken earlier. It was an arduous journey and they traveled slowly, most of the time bearing Ngubane’s full weight and finding it difficult walking three abreast on what was strictly a single track. Ngubane stirred periodically and they noticed with alarm his rapidly worsening condition. At mid-morning they reached the outskirts of the township and laid Ngubane in the long grass.

‘I will go to Dhlamini.’
Ngwenya surveyed the shacks imperiously. ‘If he doesn’t help us I’ll kill him.’

‘Be patient,’ said Nofomela.
‘Although he is a weak man he was a friend when we wanted one. Ngubane can’t travel much further before he needs attention. He has to be seen by a doctor.’

Ngwenya set off through the grass, going in a circle before coming up to Dhlamini’s house from behind.
He knocked on the kitchen door hoping the mayor wasn’t at the store. Dhlamini’s wife answered and wrung her hands when she saw the guerilla.

‘What do you want?’ she asked in Zulu, her posture unwelcoming.
Her husband had told her the three were about to move on and she hadn’t expected to see them again. As far as she was concerned they would only bring death.

‘I want to see your husband,’ Ngwenya replied.
‘It’s a matter of urgency.’

She was going to lie, but she changed her mind, guiltily reminding herself that men like Ngwenya were allies, part of the black consciousness movement of which she’d been a member since a child.

‘I’ll get him,’ she said, leaving him on the doorstep.

Dhlamini was soon there and he drew the Xhosa into the kitchen, closing the door conspiratorially.

‘It’s not good that you come here to my house,’ he said fearfully. ‘I can’t be associated with you. Inkatha’s spies are everywhere in the townships.’

Ngwenya held him on the arm. He detested the mayor’s lack of spunk but did not show it.
‘I must speak to you privately,’ he said, irritated by the presence of Dhlamini’s wife.

Without addressing the woman directly Dhlamini told her to leave and didn’t speak until he and Ngwenya were by themselves.
‘Why are you here?’

‘Early this morning Ngubane entered Shozi’s house and tried to kill him.
He failed and in the process was wounded. The shoulder needs attention. He’s lost a lot of blood and the wound is already infected.’

Dhlamini ground his worn teeth, reluctant to implicate himself, thinking about the rage of Inkatha
, in particular that of Moses Shozi. ‘I am not a doctor,’ he said, hoping to drive Ngwenya away.

‘But your brother,’ said the guerilla persistently.
‘He’s the man who can help us.’

Dhlamini twitched uneasily.
‘I have medicine here and bandages. Take this.’ He shot eagerly over the linoleum to a cupboard above the fridge.

‘
No.’ Ngwenya was insistent. ‘He has to have professional care. Nothing less will do.’

Dhlamini was already poking in the cabinet. He closed it.
‘Is he so bad?’

‘He will die unless the bullet is removed.
He is our brother, one who has sacrificed years of his life for the struggle. No wife, no children, no home. Everything was done for people who’ve suffered years under oppression. Are you so selfish that you can’t give this little bit of help?’

Dhlamini knew the guerilla wouldn’t back off.
‘Tell me where you are and return. I’ll do what I can to get the doctor. But he’s a busy man.’

‘We’re
up on the hill in the grass. We’ll see you. I’m sure you won’t let us down.’ Ngwenya left the house and was soon lost among the shacks.

Dhlamini saw him go then joined his wife in the living room, where she sat stone-faced, playing with a string of
beads round her neck.

‘Ngubane tried to kill Shozi and was badly hurt,’ he said from the doorway.
‘He’s in the grass. They want my brother to help him.’

‘Is Shozi dead?’ she asked, voicing her main concern.

‘The attempt was unsuccessful. The man was unscathed. He’s still alive.’

She beat her hands together.
‘How can they make a mistake like that,’ she cried. ‘Why couldn’t they have made sure? He’ll destroy the township looking for them. You’ll die.’ She wept.

‘Shozi won’t associate us with Ngubane,’ said Dhlamini, trying to be positive.
‘No one knew they were staying in my room.’

‘No one?’ she replied incredulously.
‘You yourself have said that his spies are everywhere. There’re few ANC guerillas in these valleys, men with the audacity to break into an Inkatha warlord’s house and try and kill him.’

‘You’re being pessimistic,’ he said.
‘When Ngubane’s shoulder is patched up they’ll be gone. I’m going to my brother.’              Dhlamini let himself out and headed for the north of the township, keen to see his brother and finish with the three Xhosas.

The doctor lived in a house similar in design and construction to Dhlamini’s, in keeping with his elevated status in the township.
Attached and set back from the dirt road was his surgery, a plain brick building comprising a consultation room and a compact four-bed wing for critically ill patients.

As it was a Sunday
, Dhlamini went to the house and rang the bell. The doctor opened it, shabbily dressed and not prepared for visitors, but inviting his brother and friend to pass inside. Dhlamini stayed where he was.

‘I’ve an emergency.
A colleague needs urgent medical attention. He’s up on the hill.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked the doctor. ‘Is it serious? Was he in a fight?’ Many of his patients were the victims of knife and gun wounds.

Dhlamini took his brother and led him into the hall. ‘The man’s an ANC guerilla and he’s been shot. You’re the only doctor in these parts loyal to the ANC.’

The doctor spewed out
the first question that came to him. ‘Who shot him?’

‘Inkatha,’ said Dhlamini, not wanting to scare the doctor off by saying it was the result of an attempt to assassinate Moses Shozi.

‘Stay here,’ said the doctor. ‘I’ll get my bag.’

A minute later the doctor joined the mayor, holding a small case.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘We’ll go through the kitchen. Lead me to him.’

They went from the house and amongst the breeze-block dwellings, w
ith their corrugated iron roofs and meagre vegetable patches ravaged by the drought. There were only a few people about, mostly women and children, going about the daily chores of carrying water and wood to their homes while the men were at work in the city. Some greeted the two men, but others, members of Inkatha, showed their disgust for those who had refused to join them even though they were Zulus.

In the grass on the hill Dhlamini and his brother found Ngwenya and Nofomela crouching next to their sick comrade.
The doctor knelt beside Ngubane, releasing the clasp of his bag and drawing out his stethoscope. He felt the man’s chest and examined the dressings without removing them, prodding carefully.

‘He’s lost a lot of blood.
That’s the cause of his weakness. The bullet must be removed and the wounds cleaned. They should heal. He’s young, strong and will recover. For a few days he needs plenty of rest and regular treatment.’

‘That means you, doctor,’ said Nofomela.
‘We don’t want to take any risks with his life.’

‘I’ll replace the bandages,’ said the doctor.
‘Find a place in the township where he can stay.’

Ngwenya rubbed his growth of stubble.
‘We can’t use Dhlamini’s room. You’re the only one left, doctor. He can stay in your surgery. Anyone else will have to go.’

The doctor leapt angrily to his feet.
‘There are two old people there. They’re critically ill.’

‘Do they have relatives, visitors?’
said Nofomela.

‘
There are a few who visit infrequently.’ The doctor blanched under his mottled skin. ‘But he can’t go to the surgery. Inkatha will go there first.’

Ngwenya sprang over Ngubane and slapped the doctor’s face.
‘You swine,’ he cried. ‘We’re fighting for you and you treat us as if we’re diseased.’

Nofomela went between them.
‘This will not help Ngubane.’ He confronted the doctor. ‘Where else?’ he demanded.

The doctor shuddered, wishing he was somewhere else.
‘Who shot him? Inkatha is a band of cut-throats, disorganized. It may give us a day or two.’

‘
No,’ said Dhlamini, unapologetically. ‘They’ll come to us before anyone else. Ngubane tried to kill Moses Shozi.’

Heaving his stomach as if he was about to vomit the doctor screamed:
‘They’ll be here in hours. He knows you’ll need a doctor.’

‘Ngubane can’t lie in the bush,’ said Nofomela, despising the man’s cowardice.
‘Find a place where he can be treated.’

The doctor trembled like a man facing a death squad.
‘My sister-in-law lives further up the valley from me,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to her.’

‘Arrange it,’ said Nofomela bluntly.
‘You’ve an hour. We’ll be here with Dhlamini.’

Slinking off
, the doctor went from sight and the two guerillas squatted next to their friend. For forty minutes they waited, Ngwenya tugging impatiently at stems of grass, breaking them into small pieces, and Nofomela gazing vacuously into the distance. Dhlamini sat obediently, keeping himself apart, silent, hoping the doctor would come up with something.

Quite suddenly the doctor was on
them. ‘There’s a room in the house,’ he whispered, his lined features tense. ‘He’ll not be disturbed.’

‘Lead us to it,’ said Ngwenya, rising and dusting his shorts.
‘It’s in your interest to make sure we’re not seen by the wrong people.’

Edendale Valley, KwaZulu-Natal

Leaving Pretoria, Krige and Dalton travelled to Pietermaritzburg and then the Edendale Valley. They bought food and canned drinks at a general store and it was mid-afternoon when they came to the turn-off to Umbali township. There was little sign of other life, only a few aging American sedans used as black taxis and the occasional small groups at the side of the road, the children waving in welcome.

‘Where’s the Zulu’s house?’ said Dalton, looking at what to him was a green wasteland.
‘I don’t like this place. It’s only grass and hills. There’re no cars. We stand out like pimples on a baby’s arse.’

‘KwaZulu’s fragmented, broken up by white farms,’ said
Krige. ‘It’s not unusual to see whites on these roads.’ He glanced at Dalton. ‘Keep to this road. We’ll see the gangster’s house.’ He uncased a pair of binoculars and held them on his lap.

Before long
they saw Shozi’s residence on the undulating land below them, the quarters in its shadow. ‘Stick to a crawl,’ said Krige, focusing the lenses on the complex. He studied it for a while then gradually took in the
kopje
that lay close to the bank of a meandering stream and a compact wild growth of trees and other natural vegetation. ‘The rocks are perfect,’ he said sinking into the seat. ‘The notes I have are accurate.’

‘And if you don’t get a shot at him?’ Dalton
angled himself, studying Krige.

‘I’ll go closer,’ said
Krige. ‘What do you expect? You’ve been in this business as long as I have.’

‘You’re forgetting the guards,’ said Dalton.
‘How do they fit into your plans?’

‘I want
to be back here by four o’clock,’ said Krige, as if he hadn’t heard. ‘That gives us three hours of light.’ He put down the glasses. ‘Before then I want to see Malakazi where we should find the guerillas. We need to find a place for the car in that area so we can get out quickly after we have finished with the guerillas.’

Dalton
released the clutch sharply and speeded up. ‘What do we say if the Zulu police find the car?’

‘
The vegetation is a lot thicker round Malakazi than here and leaving the car there gives us a better chance of it not being detected,’ said Krige.

Gradually the terrain changed from the predominant grass to a mix of s
crub and flat-headed trees. After two valleys the township of Malakazi was visible from the road and marked by a corroded sign at the end of a graded track.

‘Go on a bit and let us get out,’ said
Krige. ‘We won’t take long and I want a closer view.’

Further on
Dalton pulled up the car, parked and the two men entered the bush. They walked until they reached higher ground and saw below them the dispersed amalgam of housing, an insignificance compared to the expanse of Soweto, the south western townships of the Transvaal, or Gauteng as it was now called.

‘The path from Umbali comes in from the other side,’ said
Krige, going under a tree. ‘It’s to the east of the room the guerillas are apparently using.’

‘Where is it?’
Dalton looked at the map, scanning the shaded part of the settlement. ‘How do you know?’

‘The intelligence I’ve been given.’ said
Krige. ‘That’s about the end of the path.’ He touched a spot on the map. ‘The mayor’s house is a few hundred metres to the west and the same again south. On a hypotenuse that’s 700 metres. On this scale it’s about there.’ He moved his finger slightly.

‘Very clever,’ said Dalton. He expa
nded his broad chest and frowned. Mathematics had never been his strong subject.

Krige
looked through the binoculars. ‘Dhlamini’s house is obvious,’ he said after a while. ‘It’s twice the size of the others, which is what I’d expect.’ He shifted the glasses a little. ‘I’ve got the room. It’s set alone with nothing beyond it except bush. It couldn’t be better for us when we come back after killing the Zulu.’

‘If they’re there,
’ said Dalton. ‘I’ll be happy when they get some lead and we can get out of here.’

‘They’ll be there and you’ll get your wish,’ said
Krige, his jaw line taut. ‘You really hate them. Some will say they were fighting for human rights.’

Dalton’ bronzed skin drained of colour.
‘You astonish me Major. Life means nothing to them. They’re savages, professional killers. Your children will die on their stakes. Is that what you want?’

‘
I want peace,’ said Krige, baulking at the irony. ‘Ultimately we must live together. There’s enough here for all of us.’

Dalton shrugged in disgust.
‘That’s what I want, peace. These animals don’t make it possible.’

‘They do,’ said
Krige. ‘Many of them want peace. Unless you and others like you change, you’ll be the hunted, erased from this earth until you become a forgotten tribe.’

‘Never,’ said Dalton, stroking his gun.

‘You can’t stop it,’ said Krige softly. ‘But we digress.’ He examined the area around the room. Finally he fed the glasses into their case. ‘No sign of anyone at the house or the room. There is nothing else we can do here. Let’s hide the car and go for the Zulu.’

They drove the vehicle down a deserted track that led further into thick vegetation.
It was out of sight to anyone who wasn’t deliberately looking for it. They took their weapons, the rifle in its scabbard to avoid attention, and started along the path to Shozi’s residence.