Dark Intent (15 page)

Pretoria

After catching the last night train in Pietermaritzburg, the two guerillas, Nofomela and Ngwenya, reached Pretoria the next day at noon.
They had something to eat in a station cafeteria and then found the nearest phone box. Nofomela pulled his dog-eared diary from his pocket and after finding Rupert Bosch’s number made the call.

When Bosch answered, Nofomela said:
‘Rupert, it’s a voice from the past. Do you want to know who it is?’

‘Tell me,’ said Bosch.
‘The suspense is killing me.’

‘It’s John Nofomela. Paul Ngwenys’s also here. Does that ring any bells?’

‘It certainly does,’ said Bosch. ‘I still remember the great times we had together. Where are you now?’

‘We’re at the station,’ said Nofomela.
‘We’ve just arrived from Pietermaritzburg.’

‘I normally break for lunch about now,’ said Bosch.
‘How about meeting me?’

‘Where do you suggest?’ said Nofomela.

‘When you come out of the station you will see the main street,’ said Bosch. ‘Walk down it on the right side and you will soon come across a restaurant named Strada. It’s Italian and very good. I can meet you there in a few minutes. We are just around the corner.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Nofomela.
‘We’ll see you then.’

Rupert Bosch was born in Cape Town of Afrikaans parents.
He went to the prestigious private school Bishops and excelled academically. He was an outstanding athlete at school and in his last three years was awarded the most coveted honour for athletic prowess. After school he went to Stellenbosch University, regarded by many as one of the finest in the country and read political science. Military service followed university and again he excelled, particularly in the use of weapons. He was very interested in joining one of South Africa’s elite special forces regiments, but he was becoming inexorably drawn to politics. The party to which he gave his support and allegiance was the governing Nationalist Party of the apartheid era, now a shell of its former self. With no real opposition he joined the African National Congress in 1988, which later in 1994 formed a black government under Nelson Mandela. To Bosch, the ANC had the diversity and potential to be one of the strongest political forces in Africa. It was during the late apartheid period that Bosch got to know some of the activists who were fighting for black rule and it was then that he met John Nofomela and Paul Ngwenya. After two years, he became an operative in the security wing of the ANC. Unlike some of his colleagues he avoided any alliance with the developing factions and for that reason and his intelligence, was favoured by the head of security. In the early 1990s, Bosch was asked to infiltrate the higher echelons of the group of no name because the party was suspected of being a seditious power that craved the previous Afrikaner state with whites in control.

The three men met at the Strada as planned and took a table at the rear.
It was obviously not a cheap restaurant.

‘Well, tell me what you two guys are doing in Pretoria,’ said Bosch.
‘I thought you were forever captivated by life in KwaZulu-Natal.’

‘This might sound strange, but two whites came to kill us,’ said Ngwenya, speaking for the first time. ‘We were lucky to escape.
Earlier they had killed Moses Shozi, a leading member of Inkatha and the provincial government.’

‘Do you have any idea who they were and who they are working for?’ said Bosch.
‘It sounds as if these men had you two earmarked for extermination. To me, that means they were working for someone or, alternatively, an organization.’

‘Agreed,’ said Nofomela.
‘We all know there are mavericks running around with a grudge killing at random, but these guys were highly trained professionals.’

‘That means there is an organization of some sort behind them,’ said Bosch. ‘Leave this with me and I’ll see what I can find out.
This organization, if there is one, might be on my doorstep.’ He glanced knowingly at the two guerillas. ‘Where are you guys staying?’

‘We were hoping you might be able to suggest something,’ said Ngwenya.

‘I will see what I can do,’ said Bosch. ‘It will have to be a hotel for a couple of nights. There are plenty of reasonably priced ones in this area. See what you find this afternoon and give me a ring at the office. This is my home number in case you need it.’

‘Thank you,’ said Nofomela.
‘I knew we could rely on an old comrade.’

Bosch left, followed shortly afterwards by the two blacks.
‘Let’s work our way down some of these side roads and get a hotel,’ said Nofomela. ‘We’ll also have to buy some clothes.’

Pretoria

Nofomela and Ngwenya soon found a small hotel down a side street and then went and bought casual clothes, denim jeans, cotton shirts and soft shoes at a department store.
They were both tall, handsome, powerful men and the clothes were ideal for showing off their physiques. When they got back to their room in the hotel, Nofomela phoned Bosch.

‘We’ve got a place,’ said Nofomela.
‘It’s near the restaurant.’

‘Great,’ said Bosch.
‘I have been thinking about what you told me at lunch and I might have something that sheds a lot of light on this business in Natal.’

‘When can we meet?’ said Nofomela, ice in his voice. He wanted nothing except to find the men who tried to kill them in Malakazi township.
‘We’re available.’

‘I can meet you tomorrow night,’ said Bosch. ‘It gives me time to find out as much as I can.
There is a bar, the Voortrekker, on the other side of the station and down the second road on the left. It is quiet. How about meeting me there at eight?’

‘We’ll see you then,’ said Nofomela.
He replaced the receiver.

The next evening after a meal in the hotel, the two blacks went to the bar suggested by Bosch.
He was already there, a pint of lager in a long glass on the table. Nofomela and Ngwenya joined him and he ordered two beers for them. Once seated, Bosch went to the point.

‘I’ll describe a sequence of events that I am sure are connected in some way with the attempt to kill you.
About three weeks ago a file, File A, was removed from a safe in the offices of the group of no name where I work. It was sent to an eminent trial lawyer in Durban, Andrew Cartwright. I am sure you have heard of him. He has always been an ardent supporter of the ANC and funded them heavily in their fight against white rule. He has continued to pour money into their coffers.’ Bosch swallowed the last of his beer, relishing the bitter taste, and ordered three more from a passing waiter.

‘The group found the man who took the file. He was one of those who had played a central part in compiling it.
He then vanished.’

‘Where’s the file now and what’s in it?’ said Nofomela, already transfixed by the little they had been told so far.

‘This is where the fun starts,’ said Bosch, delighting in the attention he was getting. ‘I’ll answer the second question first. The file is a compilation of those whites who were in positions of power and influence during the apartheid period. This covers government leaders, members of the state security council, the senior commanders in the security forces and police and other prominent organizations. The file contains minute details of the private and public lives of these men including documents of significance that were authorized and signed by them and orders they gave in writing, all of which could result in their prosecution if found. A by-product of the information compiled was a complete set of false identities and contacts, here and overseas, which they might need for protection against intense scrutiny of past actions. For your interest the white file, as it is sometimes called, is entitled State Security 1960 to Present, File A. I add that a similar file, File B, containing the names and details of prominent blacks has also been created, but it is still secure in its safe. The difference between this black file and the white file is not only that one is for blacks and the other for whites, but that the former is for persecution and execution and the latter for protection. Now, I will answer your other question.’ He paused and Nofomela immediately interrupted.

‘Are our names in the black file?’ he asked.

‘I knew that was coming,’ said Bosch. ‘Yes, they are and with high priority.’

‘That explains the other night,’ said Ngwenya.

Bosch continued. ‘The group sent three men to Cartwright’s home to retrieve the file, which they were guessing was there. Two of the men fled and the leader of the operation in the field, Jan Krige, killed Cartwright.’

‘So he works for the group,’ said Ngwenya,
startled by what he had heard.

Bosch went on. ‘Krige says that he never found the file and the group believes him. Now this convoluted plot gets heavy.
An outsider or unknown man appears to be involved in all this. The deaths of the two who fled from the action in Durban, the group leader of the operation based in Pretoria, and an informer for the Directorate: Special Operations, the Scorpions, were all killed by, it is believed, this outsider. It is not known if this guy got hold of the file. But, an agent of ours, John Kallis, who was working inside the DSO, intercepted a copy of the file sent anomalously to the DSO. John Kallis was caught after he sent it to the group, dismissed and he now works for us in Pretoria. The stark reality in all this is that nobody knows where the original of this file is, except those who have it. And, the group wants it back’

‘What a story,’ said Nofomela. ‘It is almost unbelievable.
What does Kallis do?’

‘No one seems to know,’ said Bosch.
‘To me that indicates undercover work’ Bosch looked hard at the two men. ‘By the way all this stuff is highly confidential. If anyone found out that I had told you, I would end up like the guy who removed the white file.’

‘You know you can trust us,’ said Nofomela.
‘We would like to know more.’

‘I will help you in any way I can,’ said Bosch.
‘But, we must never be seen together and any progress you make must be given to me. You will in essence be working alone.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ngwenya.
‘We will write up everything we know and don’t know. The first thing we want is Krige’s contact details and anything else you have on him.’

‘I will get that for you,’ said Bosch.
‘Ring me tomorrow. But, if you contact him you must find a way of surreptitiously extracting from him anything of relevance that he has not revealed. Remember that if he sees you in the flesh he will recognize you. That would initiate an intensive enquiry that could blow us all apart.’

‘We accept that,’ said Ngwenya.
‘One of us will ring you tomorrow.’

Pretoria

When Rupert Bosch met the two guerillas in the Voortrekker bar and told them that when he left they must never be seen with him again, he did not realize that it was too late.
John Kallis was seated in a corner behind an oak pillar and he saw Bosch when he entered the bar and sat down with the blacks.

Kallis had not been introduced to Bosch, but Teichmann had on one occasion pointed him out across the office floor.
When Kallis casually asked Teichmann what Bosch did, the older man said he was involved in security. Kallis doubted Bosch knew who he was and he thought no more of it. He would meet him sometime.

With nothing to do except drink, Kallis idly watched the three men.
He was curious when he noticed that they were deeply involved in a conversation without a smile ever touching their lips and that Bosch appeared to do all the talking. After they had finished their beers, Bosch got up and left. The more Kallis thought about what he had seen the more interested he became. He knew he could easily find out where Bosch lived and that left the other two men.

When Nofomela and Ngwenya left the bar, Kallis waited a short while and then followed them.
He did not have to keep on their tail for any distance. He saw them go down a side road and then disappear into a small hotel, the name of which Kallis noted.

On the way to his flat, Kallis, deep in thought, went into the group building and up to his office.
He opened a cabinet and extracted a list of all those who had unrestricted access to the safe where the original files were kept. Rupert Bosch’s name was on the list. Kallis replaced the list and left the block. A plan was evolving in his mind.

The next morning Kallis was in his office early and immediately continued working on the notes concerning the missing file.
He was only too aware that retrieval of the file rested on who had taken it and what they had done with it. He knew the answer to the second question effectively meant the case had been solved, but the first could provide a valuable link in the chain.

At nine Kallis picked up his receiver and phoned a close university friend.
The man worked for the main telephone company in the district.

‘Piet, it is John Kallis.
I haven’t spoken to you for a while. I was working in Durban until recently and now I’m in Pretoria.’

The man, Piet Joubert, was pleased to hear his friend’s voice.
‘We must meet up. Where are you?’

‘I’ll ring you as soon as I have a permanent residence,’ said Kallis. ‘I would like you to do a big favour for me.’

‘Just ask,’ said Joubert.

‘I would like you to tap someone’s line for me.
It’s extremely confidential and is to do with the operations of the company for which I work. I would like the tap to be on two phone numbers, one in an office and the other in a private flat, and to be working round the clock for a week to start with.’

‘Give me the numbers and the name,’ said Joubert.
‘I’ll set it up today.’

‘Great,’ said Kallis.
‘The numbers are all in Pretoria.’ He read them out, for the flat and the office. ‘The man’s name is Rupert Bosch. Please ring me if you come up with anything, which I believe you will. I would also like a tape.’