A
: Two years ago, he came in and said he was finished. I thought he was playing me for an increase, but he wasnt interested. Next thing we know, he was working in a motorbike shop, gofer and general cleaner, can you believe it? Works for peanuts; he earned a small fortune with me. But now it seems he was busy with something on the side.
w
: So you have had no contact with him the last two years?
A
: Sweet fuck all.
w
: I wont take up your time any longer, Mr. Arendse.
A
: Now theres a relief.
w
: You can send medical backup to Mitchells Plain. We will withdraw from the property.
A
: Mr. Williams, you know nothing about Tiny Mpayipheli, am I right?
w
: Why do you say that, Mr. Arendse?
A
: Just call it a sneaking suspicion. So let me give you some advice: Start ordering the body bags now.
8.
S
he went quickly to phone from her office. The maid said Lizette was asleep already. She thanked Suthu for the extra bother of sleeping over and asked to talk to Lien.
I know my work now, Ma, even though you werent here to help me.
I knew you could handle it.
Can I watch
Big Brother
on DSTV, Ma? Till ten?
Kids. Tried to manipulate every situation to maximum advantage. She wanted to be angry and laugh at the same time.
You know the rules, Lien. The age restriction is sixteen. And even as she said it she knew exactly what the response would be.
All my friends watch it, Ma. Im nearly sixteen. Im not a child anymore. All three basic arguments in one breath.
I know youre not a child anymore. You are a wonderful, lovable fifteen-year-old who needs to wait only a couple more months. Then you can watch with your undisciplined friends. Get enough sleep, you need it for the exam.
Maa-aa
And tell Lizette I was just too late to say good night. Tell her I love both of you very much and Im very proud of you, too.
Dont work too hard, Ma.
I wont.
We love you, too.
I know, kid. Sleep well.
Night, Ma.
She hurried back to the Ops Room, impatience gnawing at her.
Look again, Rahjev. If he was MK, there must be something, she said as she entered.
Yes, maam. But the Indians body language said he knew what the result would be.
You dont believe we will find anything?
Maam, the methodology we use to search the known data is very refined. There was nothing. I can run it again, but the result will be the same.
He could have lied to Arendse about his background, said Quinn. Work was very scarce in the early nineties; people were prepared to say anything.
Things dont change much, said Radebe drily.
And now we have a fugitive sharpshooter with two pistols, said Janina.
Rajkumars brain was working overtime: The ANC had a paper filing system, too: for Umkhonto we Sizwe. Isnt it on Robben Island?
Pretoria, said Radebe. The MK files are at Voortrekker-hoogte.
What can you tell us about it?
It was never much of a system. With the big influx of recruits after seventy-six, there was too much paper and too few administrators. But it could be worth looking.
What about the old National Intelligence Services microfiche library. The Boers computerized the index, but its a secure unconnected system. Its still active, in Pretoria. We can put in a request, said Rajkumar.
It was Radebe who made a disparaging noise, and Janina knew why. Her colleagues at the new National Intelligence Service did not command much respect from her and her people. But she liked the idea.
If the request comes from high enough up, they will jump to it, she said. Im going to talk to the director.
Maam, said Quinn, holding up his hand to stop her.
What is it?
Listen to this. He selected keys, and the electronic hissing of the speakerphone filled the room.
Tell us again, Nathan.
We managed to track down the owner of Mother City Motor-rad. His name is Bodenstein and he lives in Welgelegen. He says Mpayipheli isnt a mechanic, just a gofer. Quiet man, hard worker, punctual and trustworthy. He knows nothing about a military background.
Tell us about the alarm again, Nathan.
While we were busy with the interview, the phone rang. Bo-densteins security company reported that the bike shops alarm was turned off more than an hour ago and hasnt been reactivated. He said he must go immediately, and we are following him there.
And what did he say about the key, Nathan?
Oh, yes. He says Mpayipheli has a key to the place and he knows the alarm code, because Mpayipheli is the one who opens up in the morning.
* * *
Mpayipheli almost fell before he was properly on his way. The power of the huge bike caught him totally unaware as he turned onto Oswald Pirow and opened the throttle. The reaction of this bike was so different from his little Honda Benly that he nearly lost it. And the size the GS felt massive, heavy and high and unmanageable. He was shocked, adrenaline making his hands tremble, his breath misting the visor of his helmet. He wrestled the bike back in line and this time twisted the throttle with great care and progressed to the traffic lights at the N1. He pulled the front brakes and nearly tipped again, the ABS brakes kicking in hard and urgent. He stopped, breathing heavily, knees trembling, not willing to die on this German machine. The lights turned green, slowly he pulled away, turning slowly to the right with an over-wide arc and exaggerated care, keeping the revs low, through the gears bloody hell, the thing had power, he was at ioo kilometers per hour before he was properly in third gear, that would be just about the Benlys top speed.
The traffic on the freeway was light, but he was painfully aware of the cars around him. He was riding slower than the flow of traffic, cringing in the left lane, trying to get a feel for the GS; once you were going, the balance was easier, but the handlebars felt too wide, the tank in front of him impossibly big.
He checked again where the blinkers were, how the dims and brights worked, his eyes flicking between the switches and the road ahead, his following distance was long, his speed just under a hundred. He had made a mistake, he had thought this was the way to get a long way from Cape Town very fast; if he could still make Bloemfontein tonight, he would be away because he could catch a plane there, they wouldnt be watching the Bloemfontein airport. But this thing was practically unrideable; he had made a mistake, it would have been quicker to take a minibus taxi, and it was dark, too, the lights of Century City reflected off the helmet. Maybe he should ride to Worcester, or only as far as Paarl, and ditch the bloody bike, what could he have been thinking?
At the N
7
off-ramp he had to change lanes to let a lorry go past and he accelerated slowly, using the blinkers, changed lanes, swung back into the left one, relaxed a little. Through the long uphill turn at Parow, up the Tygerberg, he knew his body was leaning to the wrong side in the turn, but the bike was so unwieldy, the bend uncomfortable. If only there was less traffic; where were all these people going at this time of night? Down the hill to Bellvilles off-ramps and then the streetlights on the freeway became fewer, the traffic dropped off, he saw the signs at the one-stop petrol station beckoning and glanced at the fuel gauge. The tank was full. Thank God. How far could he go on one tank?
His eye caught the speedometer,
no
, and he throttled back, felt out of control again this machine had a life of its own, a wild mustang. All his senses intensely engaged, he knew he must plan ahead. What to do? The tollgate was up ahead, thirty kilometers. What should he do? Avoid the tollgate, go to Paarl, abandon the bike, catch a taxi?
There must be taxis running to Worcester, but it was already very late. And if he stuck with the GS? Take on the Du Toits Kloof Pass with this monster?
The tollgate was a spoor that he would leave; people would remember a big black man on a motorbike, wouldnt they? Lord, he feared the pass in the dark on this thing. But beyond were more passes, more dark roads with sharp turns and oncoming freight trucks. What had possessed him?
What was he going to do?
A taxi was not going to work, not at this time of night.
Look at this positively. He was on the move, on his way. Suppress the desire to get rid of the bike. Use the dark. Use the lead he had. Use the element of surprise. They had no idea, despite the two spooks in the car at the motorbike shop. It would be tomorrow morning before someone realized the GS was gone, he had
He hadnt reset the alarm. That knowledge came out of the back of his head like a hammer blow. In his hurry and wrestling with the GS, he had forgotten to switch on the alarm.
Jissis, he had gotten sloppy.
By the time he passed the Stellenbosch turnoff, his anger at Johnny Kleintjes and the spooks and at his own stupidity had grown greater than his fear of the motorbike, and he cursed inside the helmet, in all the languages he knew.
* * *
I dont believe it, said Bodenstein. I bloody dont believe it. They were standing in the showroom of Mother City Motorrad, the two agents and the owner. Bodenstein held out the piece of paper. Read what hes written. Can you believe this?
Nathan took the note.
Mr. Bodenstein:
I am borrowing the GS demonstration model for two or three days. I also took a suit and helmet and gloves; that is what the money is for that I left in your desk drawer. Unfortunately, I have to urgently help a friend and I had no other choice. Wear and tear and any damage to the motorbike will be paid in full.
Thobela Mpayipheli
You think you know someone. You think you know who to trust, said Bodenstein.
Which one is the GS? asked Johnny, one of the agents.
Its that fuckin huge thing, only yellow, said Bodenstein, pointing to a silver motorbike on the showroom floor. Hes going to fall. Fuckin hard. Its not a toy. Can you believe it?
* * *
See reality the way things are, not as you want them to be is one of the principles of Janina Mentz.
Thats why she accepted the developments calmly.
She thought through the happenings while the Ops Room buzzed around her. She stood still, at the end of the long table with her hand on her chin, her elbow propped on her arm, head bowed, a study in calm pensiveness. Aware that the director would hear every word, aware that the way she responded and what decisions she made, her tone of voice and attitude of body, would all create an impression on her team.
Vision: In her minds eye she saw the road that the evasive persona of Thobela Mpayipheli must travel. He was headed north, and the N
i
lay like a fat, twisted artery stretching out ahead to the heart of Africa. The reason for his single-mindedness, the source of his motivation, was unplumbed and now irrelevant. She focused on the route: the implications, the countermeasures, the preventative and limiting steps.
In a soft and even voice she had the big map of the country put up on the wall.
With red ink she drew in the likely route. She defined the role of the Reaction Unit: they would be her net, the welcoming party seventy-seven kilometers north of Beaufort West, where the route forked and the possibilities doubled Kimberley to Johannesburg left, or Bloemfontein to Johannesburg right.
She asked Quinns and Radebes teams to alert the police stations and traffic authorities along the route, to warn them merely to gather intelligence and not to act, because their armed fugitive was still largely an unknown factor, but they knew he could shoot.
Their ignorance of this factor lay heavily on her, and the next round of instructions must set that right: investigative teams to Miriam Nzululwazi, to Monica Kleintjes. The gloves were off now. Track down the fugitives family. His parents. His friends.
Get information. Who? What? Where? Why? How? She needed to know him, this ghost with the elusive face.
She had the power. She would use it.
* * *
Extract from transcript of interview by J. Wilkinson with Mr. André Bodenstein, owner of Mother City Motorrad, 23 October, 21:55, Oswald Pirow Boulevard, Cape Town:
w
: What do you know of Mr. Mpayiphelis previous employment?
