The White Lioness (48 page)
Five minutes to go. The cheering in the stadium hit him at full volume, in spite of the distance.
Nobody would hear the shot, he thought.
He had two spare shells. They were lying on a handkerchief in front of him, but he did not expect to have to use them. He would save them as a souvenir. Maybe one day he would turn them into an amulet. That would bring him good luck for the rest of his life.
He avoided thinking about the money. He had to carry out his mission first.
He raised his rifle, put his eye to the telescopic sight and watched Mandela coming to the podium. He would shoot at the first opportunity. No reason to delay. He put down the gun and tried to relax his shoulders, taking deep breaths. He felt his pulse. It was normal. Everything was normal. Then he raised the rifle again, placed the butt against his right cheek and closed his left eye. Mandela was just below the podium, partly shielded by other people. Then he broke away from the group and strode towards the microphone. He raised his arms over his head like a victor. His smile was very wide.
Tsiki pulled the trigger.
But a fraction of a second before the bullet flew out of the barrel of the rifle at tremendous speed, he felt a thump on his shoulder. He couldn't stop his finger on the trigger. The shot rang out. But the thump had nudged him nearly five centimetres. That meant the bullet did not even hit the stadium, but smacked into a car parked on a street a long way away.
Tsiki turned around. There were two men, breathing heavily and staring at him. Both had pistols in their hands.
"Put down the gun," Borstlap said. "Slowly."
Tsiki did as he was told. He had no choice. The two white men would not hesitate to shoot, he could see that. What had gone wrong? Who were they?
"Place your hands on your head," Borstlap said, handing Scheepers a pair of handcuffs. He stepped forward and locked them on Tsiki's wrists.
"Get up," Scheepers said.
Tsiki stood up.
"Take him down to the car," Scheepers said. "I'll be there in a moment."
Borstlap led Tsiki away.
Scheepers listened to the cheering from the stadium. He could hear Mandela's unmistakable voice over the loudspeakers. The sound seemed to come from very far away.
He was soaked in sweat. He could still feel traces of the horror he had felt when it seemed they wouldn't find the man they were looking for. The sense of relief had still not caught up with him.
What had just happened, he knew, was a historic moment, but it was a historic moment that nobody would ever know about. If they had not managed to get up the hill in time, if the stone he had thrown in desperation at the man had missed, a different kind of historic moment would have taken place. And that one would have been more than just a footnote in the pages of history.
I am an Afrikaner myself, he thought. I ought to be able to understand these lunatic people. Even if I don't want it that way, they are my enemies today. Maybe they haven't understood deep down that the future of South Africa will force them to reassess everything they've been used to. Many of them will never manage that. They would rather see the country destroyed in a cataclysm of blood and fire. But they will not succeed.
He gazed over the sea. As he did so, he wondered what he was going to say to President de Klerk. Verwey was also expecting a report. And he had a visit to make to a house in Bezuidenhout Park. He was looking forward to meeting the two women again.
What would happen to Tsiki, he had no idea. That was Inspector Borstlap's problem. He put the rifle and the cartridges back into their case. He folded the metal frame.
Suddenly he thought of the white lioness on the river bank in the moonlight. He would take Judith back to the safari park. Maybe the lioness would again be there.
He was deep in thought as he descended the hillside. He had realised something that had not been clear to him before, what it was that the white lioness in the moonlight had meant to him. That first and foremost he was not an Afrikaner, a white man. He was an African.
EPILOGUE
This novel was written almost a year before the first free elections in South Africa: April 27, 1994. It is sobering to recall what Nelson Mandela had already said: "A watershed has finally been reached. In the long term, the outcome can already be predicted, albeit with the natural reservations that apply to all political prophesies: the establishment of a democratic society based on the rule of law."
The medium or long-term outcome, in terms of civil peace, was far from certain then. Not all commentators were willing to predict that civil war could be avoided.
Many individuals have contributed - sometimes without realising it - to the South African sections of the novel. Had it not been for Iwor Wilkins's and Hans Strydom's essential work in exposing the realities behind the Afrikaner secret society, the Broederbond, its secrets would have been concealed from me as well. Reading Graham Leach's writings on Boer culture was also a veritable adventure. And to round things off, Thomas Mofololo's stories cast light on African customs, not least with regard to the spirit world.
There are many others whose personal testimony and experiences have been significant. I thank them all, without naming individuals.
Because this is a novel, the names of characters and places, and also the timing, are not always authentic. Since the first publication, in Swedish, in 1993 some towns and districts in South Africa have been renamed. The names then in use are retained here.
The conclusions, and indeed the story as a whole, are my own responsibility. No-one else can be blamed for any shortcomings.
H. M.
Maputo, Mozambique
Table of Contents
Prologue
The Woman from Ystad
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The Man from Transkei
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
A Flock of Sheep in the Fog
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chatper Twenty-Two
The White Lioness
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Countdown to a Void
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Epilogue