Rage (91 page)

Authors: Wilbur Smith

BOOK: Rage

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âIt's all right,' he reassured her. âIt all worked out fine. Where is Minister De La Rey?'

âHe left soon after you, sir. He said he would be at home at Groote Schuur. You could reach him there if you needed him.'

âThank you, Tricia. You may go home now.'

Shasa went through to his own office and locked the door. He went to his desk and sat down in his studded leather chair. He took the envelope from his inner pocket and laid it in front of him on the desk blotter, and he studied it.

It was of cheap coarse paper, and his name was written in a round girlish hand. The ink had smeared and run.

âMeneer Courtney.'

Shasa was suddenly reluctant to touch it again. He had a premonition of some terrible revelation which would turn the even tenor of his existence into strife and turmoil.

He picked up the Georgian silver paper knife from his desk set and tested the point with his thumb. He turned the envelope over and slid the point of the knife under the
flap. The envelope contained a sheet of ruled notepaper with a single line of writing in the same girlish script.

Shasa stared at it. There was no sense of shock. Deep in his subconscious he must have known the truth all along. It was the eyes, of course, the yellow topaz eyes of White Sword that had stared into his own on the day his grandfather died.

There was not even a moment of doubt, no twinge of incredulity. He had even seen the scar, the ancient gunshot wound in Manfred's body, the mark of the bullet he had fired at White Sword, and every other detail fitted perfectly.

âManfred De La Rey is White Sword.'

From the moment they had first met that childhood day upon the fishing jetty at Walvis Bay, the fates had stalked them, driving them inexorably towards their destiny.

âWe were born to destroy each other,' Shasa said softly, and reached for the telephone.

It rang three times before it was answered.

âDe La Rey.'

âIt's me,' Shasa said.

â
Ja
. I have been waiting.' Manfred's voice was weary and resigned, in bitter contrast to the powerful tones in which he had exhorted and rallied his supporters just a short while before. âThe woman reached you. My men have informed me.'

âThe woman must be set free,' Shasa told him.

âIt has been done already. On my orders.'

âWe must meet.'

â
Ja
. It is necessary.'

âWhere?' Shasa asked. âWhen?'

âI will come to Weltevreden,' Manfred said, and Shasa was taken too much by surprise to respond. âBut there is one condition.'

âWhat is your condition?' Shasa asked warily.

âYour mother must be there when we meet.'

âMy mother?' This time Shasa could not contain his amazement.

âYes, your mother â Centaine Courtney.'

âI don't understand â what has my mother got to do with this business?'

âEverything,' said Manfred heavily. âShe has everything to do with it.'

W
hen Kitty Godolphin got back to her suite that evening, she was in a mood of jubilation. Under her direction, Hank's camera had captured the dramatic moments as the bloodstained body of Dr Verwoerd was carried from the chamber to the waiting ambulance, and she had recorded the panic and confusion, the spontaneous unrehearsed words and expressions of his friends and his bitter enemies.

The moment she entered the suite, she booked a call through to her news editor at NABS in New York to warn him of the priceless footage she had obtained. Then she poured herself a gin and tonic and sat impatiently beside the telephone waiting for her call to come through.

She lifted it as it rang.

âKitty Godolphin,' she said.

âMiss Godolphin.' A strange voice, speaking with a deep melodious African accent, greeted her. âMoses Gama sends you his greetings.'

âMoses Gama is serving a life sentence in a high security prison,' Kitty replied brusquely. âDon't waste my time, please.'

âLast night Moses Gama was rescued by warriors of the
Umkhonto we Sizwe
from the Robben Island prison ferry,' said the voice, and Kitty felt the flesh of her cheeks and lips go numb with the shock of it. She had read the reports of the ferry sinking. âMoses Gama is in a safe place. He
wishes to speak to the world through you. If you agree to meet him, you will be allowed to use your camera to record his message.'

For a full three seconds she could not answer. Her voice had failed her but her mind was racing. âThis is the big one,' she thought. âThis is the one that comes only once in a lifetime of work and striving.' She cleared her throat and said, âI will come.'

âA dark blue van will arrive at the ballroom entrance to the hotel in ten minutes from now. The driver will flick his lights twice. You are to enter the rear doors of the van immediately, without speaking to any person.'

The vehicle was a small Toyota delivery van, and Kitty and Hank with the sound and camera equipment were cramped in the interior so that it was difficult to move, but Kitty crawled forward until she could speak to the driver.

âWhere are we going?'

The driver glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. He was a young black man of striking appearance, not handsome but with a powerful African face.

âWe are going into the townships. There will be police patrols and road-blocks. The police are everywhere searching for Moses Gama. It will be dangerous, so you must do exactly as I tell you.'

For almost an hour they were in the van, driving through darkened back streets, sometimes stopping and waiting in silence until a shadowy figure came out of the night to whisper a few words to the driver of the van, then going on again until at last they parked for the last time.

âFrom here we walk,' their guide told them, and led them down the alleys and secret routes of the gangs and comrades, slipping past the rows of township cottages, twice hiding while police Land-Rovers cruised past, and finally entering the back door of one of the thousands of identical undistinguished cottages.

Moses Gama sat at a table in the tiny back kitchen.
Kitty recognized him instantly although his hair was now almost completely silver and his great frame was skeletally wasted. He wore a white open-neck shirt and dark blue slacks, and as he rose to greet her, she saw that though he had aged and his body was ravaged, the commanding presence and his messianic dark gaze were as powerful as when she had first met him.

âI am grateful that you have come,' he told her gravely. âBut we have very little time. The Fascist police follow closely as a pack of wolves. I have to leave here within a short while.'

Hank was already at work, setting up his camera and lights, and he nodded to Kitty. She saw that the gritty reality of the surrounding, the bare walls and plain unadorned wooden furniture, would add drama to the setting, and Moses' silver hair and enfeebled condition would touch the hearts of her audience.

She had prepared a few questions in her mind, but they were unnecessary. Moses Gama looked at the camera and spoke with a sincerity and depth that was devastating.

âThere are no prison walls thick enough to hold the longing of my people for freedom,' he said. âThere is no grave deep enough to keep the truth from you.'

He spoke for ten minutes and Kitty Godolphin who was old in experience and hardened in the ways of a naughty world was weeping unashamedly as he ended, âThe struggle is my life. The battle belongs to us. We will prevail, my people.
Amandla! Ngawethu!
'

Kitty went up to him and embraced him. âYou make me feel very humble,' she said.

âYou are a friend,' he replied. âGo in peace, my daughter.'

âCome.' Raleigh Tabaka took Kitty's arm and led her away. âYou have stayed too long already. You must leave now. This man's name is Robert. He will lead you.'

Robert was waiting at the kitchen door of the cottage.

âFollow me,' he ordered, and led them across the bare
dusty backyard, through the shadows to the corner of the road. There he stopped unexpectedly.

âWhat happens now?' Kitty asked in a whisper. âWhy are we waiting here?'

âBe patient,' Robert said. âYou will learn the reason soon.'

Suddenly Kitty was aware that they were not alone. There were others waiting like them in the shadows. She could hear them now, the murmur of voices, quiet but expectant. She could see them as her eyes adjusted to the night, many figures, in small groups, huddled beside the hedges or in the shelter of the buildings.

Dozens, no hundreds of people, men and women, and every moment their numbers increased as more came out of the night shadows, gathering round the cottage that contained Moses Gama, as though his presence was a beacon, a flame that, like moths, they could not resist.

âWhat is happening?' Kitty asked softly.

âYou will see,' Robert replied. âHave your camera ready.'

The people were beginning to leave the shadows, creeping closer to the cottage, and a voice called out,
âBaba!
Your children are here. Speak to us, Father.'

And another cried. âMoses Gama, we are ready. Lead us!'

And then they began to sing, softly at first, â
Nkosi Sikelel
'
iAfrika
â God save Africa!' and the voices joined and began to harmonize, those beautiful African voices, thrilling and wonderful.

Then there was another sound, distant at first, but swiftly growing closer, the sobbing undulating wail of police sirens.

âHave your camera ready,' said Robert again.

A
s soon as the American woman and her camera man had left the cottage, Moses Gama began to rise from the table.

âIt is done,' he said. âNow we can leave.'

âNot yet, my uncle,' Raleigh Tabaka stopped him. âThere is something else that we must do first.'

âIt is dangerous to delay,' Moses insisted. âWe have been in this place too long. The police have informers everywhere.'

âYes, my uncle. The police informers are everywhere.' Raleigh put a peculiar emphasis on his agreement. âBut before you go on to the place where the police cannot touch you, we must talk.'

Raleigh came to stand at the front of the table facing his uncle.

âThis was planned with great care. This afternoon the white monster Verwoerd was assassinated in the racist parliament.'

Moses started. âYou did not tell me this,' he protested, but Raleigh went on quietly, âThe plan was that in the confusion after Verwoerd's assassination you would emerge to lead a spontaneous rising of our people.'

âWhy was I not told of this?' Moses asked fiercely.

âPatience, my uncle. Hear me out. The men who planned this are from a cold bleak land in the north, they do not understand the African soul. They do not understand that our people will not rise until their mood is ready, until their rage is ripe. That time is not yet. It will take many more years of patient work to bring their rage to full fruit. Only then can we gather the harvest. The white police are still too strong. They would crush us by raising their little finger and the world would stand by and watch us die as they watched the rebellion in Hungary die.'

âI do not understand,' Moses said. âWhy have you gone this far if you did not intend to travel to the end of the road?'

âThe revolution needs martyrs as well as leaders. The mood and temper of the world must be roused, for without them we can never succeed. Martyrs and leaders, my uncle.'

âI am the chosen leader of our people,' Moses Gama said simply.

âNo, my uncle.' Raleigh shook his head. âYou have proved unworthy. You have sold out your people. In exchange for your life, you delivered the revolution into the hands of the enemy. You gave Nelson Mandela and the heroes of Rivonia to the foe. Once I believed you were a god, but now I know that you are a traitor.'

Moses Gama stared at him silently.

âI am glad you do not deny this, my uncle. Your guilt is proven beyond any doubt. By your action you have forfeited any claim to the leadership. Nelson Mandela alone has the greatness for that role. However, my uncle, the revolution needs martyrs.'

From the pocket of his jacket Raleigh Tabaka took something wrapped in a clean white cloth. He laid it on the table. Slowly he opened the bundle, taking care not to touch what it contained.

They both stared at the revolver.

âThis pistol is police issue. Only hours ago it was stolen from a local police arsenal. The serial number is still on the police register. It is loaded with police-issue ammunition.'

Raleigh folded the cloth around the grip of the pistol. âIt still has the fingerprints of the police officers upon it,' he said.

Carrying the pistol he went round the table to stand behind Moses Gama's chair and placed the muzzle of the pistol at the back of his neck.

From outside the cottage they heard the singing begin.

âGod save Africa.' Raleigh repeated the words. âYou are fortunate, my uncle. You have a chance to redeem yourself. You are going to a place where nobody can ever touch you
again, and your name will live for ever, pure and unsullied. “The great martyr of Africa who died for his people.”'

Moses Gama did not move or speak, and Raleigh went on softly, âThe people have been told you are here. They are gathered outside in their hundreds. They will bear witness to your greatness. Your name will live for ever.'

Then above the singing they heard the police sirens coming closer, wailing and sobbing.

âThe brutal Fascist police have also been told that you are here,' Raleigh said softly.

The sound of the sirens built up and then there were the roar of engines, the squeal of brakes, the slamming of Land-Rover doors, the shouted commands, the pounding footsteps, and the crash of the front door being smashed in with sledgehammers.

As Brigadier Lothar De La Rey led his men in through the front door of the cottage, Raleigh Tabaka said softly, âGo in peace, my uncle,' and he shot Moses Gama in the back of the head.

The heavy bullet threw Moses forward, his shattered head slammed face down upon the table, the contents of his skull and chips of white bone splattered against the wall and over the kitchen floor.

Raleigh dropped the police pistol onto the table and slipped out into the dark yard. He joined the watching throng in the street outside, mingling with them, waiting with them until the covered body was carried out of the front door of the cottage on a stretcher. Then he shouted in a strong clear voice, âThe police have murdered our leader. They have killed Moses Gama.'

As the cry was taken up by a hundred other voices, and the women began the haunting ululation of mourning, Raleigh Tabaka turned and walked away into the darkness.

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