Roots of Outrage

‘You look tired. Haven’t you been sleeping?’

‘Like a baby, Colonel. Maybe I’ve been overdoing it on the exercise. Jogging on the spot, press-ups.’

‘I hope you thought while you did it. That bullshit about Mac and the cottage and your briefcase being stolen.’

He managed a frown. ‘It’s the truth!’

The colonel opened a file and withdrew a typewritten sheet. He put on his spectacles and said: ‘Mr Mahoney, we have a new charge against you. The same charge the others face.’

‘What bullshit –’

‘Forensic tests were done on your car. And under the back seat –’ he consulted the report – ‘were found numerous particles of explosives, identical to those found on Lilliesleaf Farm.’ He sat back and took off his spectacles.

Mahoney stared at him, aghast, his heart pounding. Krombrink went on: ‘The evidence at your trial will be that these explosives from Russia usually come wrapped in cheap plastic which often cracks and small crumbs fall out, hey.’ He smiled. ‘The evidence against you now is: one, that you used the cottage on Lilliesleaf Farm; two, that you wrote a story to try to blackmail the police force on a typewriter found on the farm, three, that said story was found buried on the farm which was clearly the underground headquarters of the ANC; four, that Russian-made explosives were found in and around that farmhouse; five, that traces of identical explosives were found in your car.’ He raised his eyebrows, then spread his hands. ‘And, six, that you regularly went to Swaziland and Botswana where we know there are ANC bases with supplies of explosives.’

Mahoney stared, his mind fumbling, his heart white with fear. ‘You’re lying!’ He scrambled to his feet and smashed his fist down on the desk. ‘Ridiculous! You’re lying …’

Colonel Krombrink said quietly: ‘And point number seven: you’re the lover of the notorious Patti Gandhi.’ He raised his eyebrows again. ‘Who is well known to us as an ANC operative.’

Mahoney’s mouth was dry. He smashed his hand down on the desk again and cried: ‘You’re lying! You didn’t find explosives in my car! I’ve never touched explosives in my life!’

The colonel smirked: ‘The gallows, Mr Mahoney …

‘You bastards put the explosives in my car!’

The colonel had not moved. ‘Why would we want to hang an innocent man? That doesn’t suppress terrorism, does it?’ He sighed, then sat up. ‘Mr Mahoney, either you put those explosives in your car on one of your trips with Miss Gandhi, or she did.’ He added: ‘With or without your knowledge.’

Mahoney stared. And, Jesus Christ, the bastard was trying to make him pin the explosives on her, to hang her! He rasped: ‘Patti wouldn’t have anything to do with explosives!’

‘Then you put them in your car?’

‘No! You did!’

‘Why should we waste our time framing people when we’ve got our hands full catching real terrorists – like Miss Gandhi?’

‘To blackmail me into giving information about her! And she’s not a fucking terrorist!’

Krombrink smirked. ‘There’re easier ways of getting information without resorting to the dangerous crime of blackmail. Mr Mahoney, your car was never searched at the borders, was it?’ He tapped the file. ‘They keep records at the borders of cars searched.’

‘No! And if they had they’d have found nothing!’

‘But,’ Krombrink said significantly, ‘they usually search an Indian’s car. Because you know what bladdy crooks they are.’

‘And they never found anything in her car either! Or you’d have hanged her long ago!’

‘Right,’ the colonel said. ‘They only ever found merchandise samples.’ He spread his hands. ‘If we were going to frame somebody, surely we would frame Miss Gandhi, who we know is ANC.’

Mahoney stared, Ms mind fumbling, an awful thought dawning on him that perhaps the bastard was telling the truth. He looked so convincing.

The colonel said: ‘So, who put the explosives in your car? Miss Gandhi, who knew she was likely to be searched on the border? Or you? Or both?’

Mahoney rasped desperately: ‘Neither of us!’

The colonel sat back. Then he said thoughtfully: ‘When you went on these lovers’ jaunts, were both your cars parked in the same place?’

Lovers’ jaunts. ‘Yes.’

‘But Miss Gandhi wasn’t in your company the whole time?’

‘You’re suggesting that she sneaked out and put the explosives in my car? Bullshit. You put them in my car!’

‘But she had the opportunity to instruct her ANC friends to hide explosives in your car while your back was turned?’

Mahoney glared at him. The man was offering him an escape route. And, oh God, the cleverness of the swine, planting the doubt in his mind! All he wanted was to get out of there and find out the truth. Yes, he was prepared to make bargains. But play it cool … ‘I don’t believe she did it.’

‘You don’t believe she would expose you to the death penalty?’

The words struck dread in his breast. No, he did not believe Patti would do that, but they had planted the doubt and, oh God, he would do anything to get out of there, out of South Africa. ‘That’s right, I don’t.’

‘So you did it?’ He suddenly became angry: ‘Got, man, admit it!’

It shocked him all over again – the suspicion was suddenly back on him. ‘I deny it! You planted that stuff on me!’

The colonel sneered. ‘Why d’you think she wouldn’t do that? Because she loves you? And, are you in love with her?’

Relief that the suspicion was shifting back to her. What did they want to hear? Yes, so he wouldn’t betray her and hang himself. No, so he would betray her? He tried to think fast. ‘I don’t know now.’ Doubt was what the bastard wanted to hear.

Krombrink took a breath of satisfaction. And proceeded to poison the hook. ‘Do you know what Miss Gandhi does on the nights you don’t visit her for the purpose of contravening the Immorality Act?’ He studied a typewritten page.

Mahoney’s heart gave a pump of black jealousy. Oh, that poisonous doubt again. ‘She has numerous business meetings.’

The colonel nodded over his file, reading. ‘Ja, some business meetings also … and other types of meetings?’

Mahoney wanted to snatch the page from him. He said grimly: ‘Friends.’

Colonel Krombrink did not look up, running his finger down the page. ‘Friends, ja … boyfriends?’

Oh Jesus … ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘Would you be angry if you found out she was sleeping around?’

‘Yes.’ That’s what the bastard wanted to hear. And he was jealous already.

‘And you would be disgusted if in addition she placed those explosives in your car so you unwittingly took the risk of smuggling them across the border on her behalf?’ He added: ‘Exposing you to the gallows.’

Mahoney closed his eyes. He almost believed the bastard now. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes.’ The colonel nodded. ‘And what would you do about it?’

Thank God the man was at last getting to the point of this torture. ‘I’m not sure, I’ve never been in this position.’

The colonel leant forward and said softly: ‘Mr Mahoney, that girl is sleeping with two men apart from you.’

It was a shock, even though he had known it was coming, even though he didn’t believe it. He stared; the colonel went on: ‘And one of them, Mr Mahoney, is a kaffir, hey.’

Mahoney blinked. It was intended as a sickening blow, and it was. He had to bite his tongue to remind himself it was lies. The colonel looked at him:

‘The kaffir is called Amos. The other is a white called Michael. Both are ANC. Communists. And terrorists. Mr Mahoney, the explosives in your car ended up on Lilliesleaf Farm. And we’re sure that these two men used them. To blow up Johannesburg station. And other jobs.’ He paused. ‘The men who’re screwing Miss Gandhi, for whom you now stand in risk of the gallows.’

If this was for real it was mind-blowing. This wasn’t true! ‘Have you arrested these two guys?’

‘They weren’t on the farm when we raided. But we’re working on it.’ He paused. ‘Evidence, Mr Mahoney. We need evidence, and I do not fabricate evidence, contrary to what you think. Remember that, when you accuse me of planting traces of explosives in your car.’

Oh God, God.

‘Do you see,’ Krombrink demanded gently, ‘that you were used? As an expendable pawn – to be hanged if you were caught.’

It was mind-blowing. He did not believe it. And he did not know what to believe.

Krombrink continued: ‘Doing the dangerous dirty work for Miss Gandhi’s other lovers? The men she fucks.’ The colonel went on softly: ‘Mr Mahoney, we have enough evidence to hang you …’

Mind-blowing … He hung on his words, like he was meant to, desperate for reprieve.

Krombrink said quietly: ‘Are you going to go to the gallows for those two guys? And for Miss Gandhi?’

Oh God, of course not. And he wanted to roar with outrage that the bastard was terrifying him. He rasped: ‘No.’

‘But how’re you going to escape those gallows?’

Oh, he knew how he was going to escape them – get to the border and run like hell! And he didn’t care that the man was lying – run like hell and never come back!

Krombrink sat back again, in deep thought. Then he said: ‘Mr Mahoney, speaking personally – and not for my superiors – I do not believe you are a terrorist. An ANC sympathizer, definitely. But not a terrorist, in the normal sense of the word.’ (Oh God, the relief. The veritable rush of gratitude. Just like he was meant to feel.) ‘But we have this evidence. And I can assure you that any court will convict you on this evidence.’

Mahoney stared at him, desperate for his deal, his mercy.

‘Mr Mahoney, the only way to escape evidence like this –’ he tapped the file – ‘is to prove that you’re the victim of a terrible, cynical plot by these people.’ He held his eye. ‘I am prepared to give you a chance to do that.’

Mahoney closed his eyes in relief. He wanted to gush his gratitude. ‘And how do I do that?’

Colonel Krombrink nodded solemnly. ‘Only by cooperating completely with us. Doing exactly as we say Reporting absolutely everything to us.’ Then his eyes took on a steely glare. ‘And not only will you prove your innocence but we will make a break into these communist cells. Do you agree to cooperate?’

Oh yes, yes, he agreed. ‘Okay,’ he said.

Colonel Krombrink studied him, assessing. Then gave a judgement: ‘Okay.’ He sat up. ‘We’ll get you to sign a statement to that effect.’ (Mahoney wanted to whoop for joy.) ‘And another statement. Our insurance, hey, that you don’t cheat us.’ He shrugged. ‘Not important to you, really, in your circumstances, just a Cautioned Statement admitting to contravening the Immorality Act on various occasions with Patti Gandhi.’

The Immorality Act was peanuts compared to that cell for ninety days! Absolutely nothing compared to those gallows!

‘And a third statement. Summarising how you wrote the story for this Gandhi woman at Lilliesleaf Farm, how you often went to neighbouring countries together, et cetera.’

‘And that I knew nothing about the farm being an ANC base? Nor about explosives? Nor did Miss Gandhi?’

‘Not to your knowledge, no.’

‘And if I refuse to sign?’

Krombrink sighed. ‘Mr Mahoney, everything you’ve said has been tape-recorded, we’ve got the evidence against you if we want to use it. But you’re much more valuable working with us than hanging by your neck until SAFFAS – they’re the prison’s contract undertakers – take you away to an unmarked grave.’

Mahoney’s face was ashen, his heart knocking.

‘Okay, I’ll sign.’

Krombrink gave him a small reasonable smile; then clasped his hands together. ‘I personally will be your handler – you will report to me. You will receive all reasonable expenses incurred. Of course, we will retain your passport. But, of course, you will be given it back if and when you need it to travel with Miss Gandhi to somewhere like Swaziland again, provided I approve.’

He heard himself blurt: ‘Why can’t I have it back now?!’

Krombrink smiled. ‘We’re not fools, Mr Mahoney. You must realize you’re on a kind of unofficial bail. Now,’ he hunched forward, ‘remember I explained to you about the snake that laid the eggs? It’s those eggs you’re going to help us find …’

20

It was unreal. The joy of walking back down the long corridor, his car keys in his hand, Colonel Krombrink escorting him to the security grille, shaking his hand … It was unreal that he even felt grateful to the man – he even almost liked Colonel Krombrink, for Christ’s sake … Then walking out of that dread-filled building into God’s own sweet fresh sunset – and, oh, he loved the world with his whole heart. Driving away up the empty streets was a wonderful feeling. Look at those shop windows, look at the lights …

And it was unreal that he could now drive to her shop without worrying about being seen, could spend the whole night with her now without being arrested: Krombrink had ordered him to get back together with her – Krombrink would be expecting him to go to her immediately. No car was following him. He drove down Pritchard Street, turned left into Diagonal Street. Carmel Building, the row of Indian shops underneath, the apartments above – it seemed a long, long time since he had been here. And, yes, there were lights in her window! He parked. He went through the big front archway, for all the world to see. He entered the yard, then climbed the staircase onto the access verandah. He rang her bell.

The door opened. She stared at him, amazed.

He put his finger to her lips, then took her in his arms. And, oh, the wonderful feel of her again! He was trembling. And, oh God, he could not bear to believe what Krombrink had told him about her.

It was likely that her apartment was bugged with a listening device. As he told her his story, they sat in the courtyard, outside the back door of her shop. She listened without interruption, her face grim.

‘And you signed those statements? So they’ve got you nailed down. If you don’t cooperate they charge you on those confessions.’

‘If I didn’t agree to cooperate they’d have pulled you in and put you through the wringer.’ He looked at her shakily. ‘How did those traces of explosives get in my car, Patti?’

She closed her eyes. ‘There never were any explosives in your car, don’t you see? They’re framing you.’

‘Then why not make a good job of it and plant a whole bag?’

She held her face. ‘For credibility. It sounds so convincing, mere traces, whereas a whole bag may sound like a plant.’

‘But they’re after you; you’re the ANC member. If they were going to frame somebody, why didn’t they plant explosives in your car?’

‘Because they don’t want to arrest me yet – they want you to find out what I’m up to, what the ANC cells are doing.’

He took her hands from her face. He looked into her beautiful brown eyes. ‘Patti, the time for need-to-know crap is passed. We’re both in very big shit and I do need to know. The truth! Now, did you or did you not ever smuggle explosives?’

She stared at him, eyes gaunt. ‘You’ve swallowed their poison, haven’t you? You think I really might have hidden explosives in your car, so that you would take the risk instead of me!’

Mahoney closed his eyes. Oh God, he wanted her to say the right thing, to stop their poison working. ‘Did you?’

She hissed: ‘I swear to God I didn’t do that! I would never expose you to that risk – I love you!’ She glared, then sighed feverishly. ‘Oh, what’s the use – you need to know … ’ She looked at him. ‘Yes, I smuggled explosives. But I never did so in your car, always in my own. But on one occasion the fools in Swaziland put the stuff in your car instead of mine – the guy got his instructions mixed up. I discovered the mistake – I looked under my back seat, they weren’t there. I guessed what had happened, looked under the back seat of your car and there they were. I transferred them to my car. That’s how the traces got into yours.’

Mahoney sighed in relief. Thank God she admitted it. Or the poison may have worked. But Jesus, smuggling explosives …

‘And did you know what they were going to be used for?’

‘Yes.’ She jabbed her finger at him. ‘Military targets. Not blowing up women and children on Johannesburg Station.’

‘How could you be sure of that?’

‘Because that was ANC policy! Military targets only.’

He said: ‘Krombrink told me that when they raided the farm the ANC boys were sitting around a table covered with documents about hitting soft targets.’

She glared at him. She said slowly: ‘If that is true, I know nothing about it. I am not a member of the executive. I simply did as I was told. And I was told that only military targets were legitimate.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Do you believe me?’

He sighed. ‘Yes. Thank God.’

‘If I was using you to smuggle my explosives, why did I tell you last week that I was never seeing you again?’

Right. Which brought him to the next bit of poison. And he desperately wanted to believe her on this one. ‘Do you know a man called Michael? And a black called Amos?’

She looked at him steadily. ‘What about them?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Krombrink says you’re screwing both of them.’

Her expression did not change. She looked at him a long moment, then said quietly: ‘That’s an absolute lie. To poison you against me.’

Oh God, he wanted to believe that. ‘But you do know them?’

‘Obviously,’ she said grimly.

‘You’ve never screwed either of them?’

‘No. On two occasions recently I have hidden them in my apartment for the night. That’s all. Obviously the police know about it.’

Oh, thank God. ‘And are they saboteurs?’

She said quietly, ‘No.’

He did not believe that. ‘Did they blow up Johannesburg Station and kill those people?’

She hissed: ‘No. I’ve told you – that was not an ANC bomb! It must have been a bloody Poqo bomb – or those African Resistance Movement guys! No loss of life is our policy!’

‘But lives have been lost, apart from Jo’burg Station. How do you know Michael and Amos didn’t plant that bomb?’

‘Because I would know what’s going on in my cell!’

‘They’re in your cell?’

She closed her eyes. ‘I’m not going to answer that.’

She already had. ‘But it’s possible they did it without your knowledge.’

Her hands were shaking. ‘Anything is possible.’

‘How do you know your smuggled explosives weren’t used in that station bomb? Who did you give them to?’

She looked at him fiercely, tremulously. ‘I wouldn’t answer that question if I knew. But I don’t know. The procedure is secret, so I can’t know, so I can’t tell the police if I’m caught. I simply park my car in an appointed place, and walk away. Somebody comes and collects the stuff.’ She added: ‘For use against military targets.’

Mahoney took a deep-breath, and massaged his eyes. Okay, he believed her. Thank God. He sighed. ‘Smuggling explosives … is that the reason you weren’t going to see me again?’

Her eyes moistened, and she wanted to cry, I’m pregnant, that’s why I can’t see you again! She blinked back the burn and told half of it: ‘The reason is that there’s no future in our relationship. Because I will not leave this country. And I don’t want to break my heart further. Or yours. And because it’s too dangerous now that Lilliesleaf’s been raided. On the day of the raid Krombrink put the screws on you to be an informer, and I refused to let you be a double-agent, expose you to those risks. And anyway you’re not the type.’ She tried to glare, to smother the tears. ‘And if you don’t believe that you can go to hell.’

Mahoney sighed. ‘Well, I was coming back to tell you, before I was so rudely interrupted by Krombrink, that I’d decided I am the type. If you can be, so can I. That you’re right, we can’t take this government lying down.’ He added: ‘And that’s the only way we can be together.’

She was staring at him. Taken aback. She began to argue but he continued grimly: ‘However, I didn’t know you were involved in bombs – even indirectly.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m not prepared to be involved – even indirectly – in things like that, Patti. In murder. Nor am I prepared to let you be.’

‘Are you saying you’re prepared to be a double – work for the ANC and feed Krombrink disinformation?’

He said quietly: ‘That’s what I was coming back to tell you; yes. But that’s before I learnt about the explosives. However, that’s all academic now. Because we’ve got to leave the country. Fast. And never come back until this government’s fallen.’

‘But are you still prepared to work for the ANC?’

He took a deep breath. ‘That very much depends. On a whole lot of things: where we are, what kind of work. Give them free legal advice when I’m qualified? Sure. Do some writing for them? Sure, as long as it’s not Marxist crap. Write about apartheid? I already do that. Do some administrative work? Yes, as long as it’s honest – and nothing to do with bombs. And that kind of thing –’ he jabbed a finger at her – ‘is the only sort of work you

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