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Authors: Wilbur Smith

BOOK: Rage
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W
ith the Republic safely launched Verwoerd could at last select his praetorian guard to protect it and hold it strong. Erasmus, the erstwhile Minister of Justice who had acted neither as ruthlessly nor as resolutely as was expected during the emergency, was packed off as the ambassador of the new Republic to Rome, and Verwoerd presented two new ministers to his cabinet.
The new Minister of Defence was the member for the constituency of George in the Cape, P. W. Botha, while Erasmus's replacement as Minister of Justice was Balthazar Johannes Vorster. Shasa Courtney knew Vorster well, and as he listened to him make his first address to the cabinet he reflected how much like Manfred De La Rey the man was.
They were almost the same age and, like Manfred, Vorster had been a member of the extreme right-wing anti-Smuts pro-Nazi
Ossewa Brandwag
during the war. Whereas it was generally accepted that Manfred had remained in Germany during the war years – although he was very mysterious and secretive about that period of his life – John Vorster had been interned in Smuts' Koffiefontein concentration camp for the duration.
Both Vorster and De La Rey had been educated at
Stellenbosch University, the citadel of Afrikanerdom, and their political careers had run closely parallel courses. Although Manfred had won his seat in parliament in the historic 1948 elections, John Vorster in the same elections had gained the distinction of being the only candidate in South African history to lose by a mere two votes. Later, in 1953, he vindicated himself by winning the same Brakpan seat with a majority of seven hundred.
Now that the two of them were seated at the long table in the cabinet room, their physical resemblance was striking. They were both heavy rugged-looking men, with bulldog features, both obdurate, unflinching and tough, the epitome of the hard Boer.
Vorster confirmed this for Shasa as he began to speak, leaning forward aggressively, confident and articulate. ‘I believe we are in a fight to the death with the forces of Communism, and that we cannot defeat subversion or thwart revolution by closely observing the Queensberry rules. We have to put aside the old precepts of
habeas corpus
, and arm ourselves with new legislation that will enable us to pre-empt the enemy, to pick out their leaders and put them àway where they can do little harm. This is not a new concept, gentlemen.'
Vorster smiled down the table and Shasa was struck by the way in which his dour features lit up with that impish smile.
‘You all know where I spent the war years, without the benefit of trial. Let me tell you right now – it worked. It kept me out of mischief and that's what I intend to do with those who would destroy this land – keep them out of mischief. I want power to detain any person whom I know to be an enemy of the state, without trial, for a period of up to ninety days.'
It was a masterly performance and Shasa felt some trepidation in having to follow it, especially when he could not be so sanguine in his own view of the future.
‘At the moment I have two major concerns,' he told his colleagues seriously. ‘The first is the arms embargo placed upon us by the Americans. I believe that other countries are soon going to bow to American pressure and extend the embargo. One day we might even have the ridiculous situation where Great Britain will refuse to sell us the arms we need for our own defence.' Some of the others at the table fidgeted and looked incredulous. Shasa assured them: ‘We cannot afford to underestimate this hysteria of America for what they call civil rights. Remember that they sent troops to help force blacks into white schools.' The memory of that appalled them all and there were no further signs of disbelief as Shasa went on. ‘A nation who can do that will do anything. My aim is to make this country totally self-sufficient in conventional armaments within five years.'
‘Is that possible?' Verwoerd asked sharply.
‘I believe so.' Shasa nodded. ‘Fortunately, this eventuality has been anticipated. You yourself warned me of the possibility of an arms embargo when you appointed me, Prime Minister.'
Verwoerd nodded and Shasa repeated, ‘This is my aim; self-sufficient in conventional weapons in five years—' Shasa paused dramatically. ‘And nuclear capable in ten years.'
This was stretching their credulity and there were interjections and sharp questions, so that Shasa held up his hands and spoke firmly.
‘I am deadly serious, gentlemen. We can do it! Given certain circumstances.'
‘Money,' said Hendrik Verwoerd, and Shasa nodded.
‘Yes, Prime Minister, money. Which brings me to my second major consideration.' Shasa drew a deep breath, and steeled himself to broach an unpalatable truth. ‘Since the Sharpeville shootings, we have had a crippling flight of capital from the country. Cecil Rhodes was wont to say that the Jews were his birds of good omen. When the Jews
came, an enterprise or a country was assured of success, and when the Jews left you could expect the worst. Well the sad truth, gentlemen, is that our Jews are leaving. We have to entice them to stay and bring back those who have already left.'
Again there was restlessness around the table. The National Party had been conceived on that wave of anti-Semitism between the world wars, and although it had abated since then, traces of it still existed.
‘These are the facts, gentlemen.' Shasa ignored their discomfort. ‘Since Sharpeville, the value of property has collapsed to half what it was before the shooting, and the stock market is at its lowest since the dark days of Dunkirk. The businessmen and investors of the world are convinced that this government is tottering and on the point of capitulating to the forces of Communism and darkness. They see us as being engulfed in despondency and anarchy, with black mobs burning and looting and white civilization about to go up in flames.' They laughed derisively and John Vorster made a bitter interjection.
‘I have just explained what steps we will take.'
‘Yes.' Shasa cut him off quickly. ‘We know that the foreign view is distorted. We know that we still have a strong and stable government, that the country is prosperous and productive and that the vast majority of our people, both black and white, are law-abiding and content. We know that we have our guardian angel, gold, to protect us. But we have to convince the rest of the world.'
‘Do you think that's possible, man?' Manfred asked quickly.
‘Yes, with a full-scale and concerted campaign to give the truth of the situation to the businessmen of the world,' Shasa said. ‘I have recruited most of our own leaders in industry and commerce to assist. We will go out at our own expense to explain the truth. We will invite them here – journalists, businessmen and friends – to see for themselves
how tranquil and how under control the country truly is, and just how rich are the opportunities.'
Shasa spoke for another thirty minutes and when he ended, his own fervour and sincerity had exhausted him; but then he saw how he had finally convinced his colleagues and he knew the results were worth the effort. He was convinced that from the horror of Sharpeville he could mount a fresh endeavour that would carry them to greater heights of prosperity and strength.
Shasa had always been resilient, with extraordinary recuperative powers. Even in his Air Force days, when he brought the squadron in from a sortie over the Italian lines and the others had sat around the mess, stunned and shattered by the experience, he had been the first to recover and to start the repartee and boisterous horseplay. Shasa left the cabinet room drained and exhausted but by the time he had driven the vintage Jaguar SS around the mountain and through the Anreith gate of Weltevreden, he was sitting up straight in the bucket seat, feeling confident and jaunty again.
The harvest was long past and the labourers were in the vineyards pruning the vines. Shasa parked the Jaguar and went down between the rows of bare leafless plants to talk to them and give them encouragement. Many of these men and women had been on Weltevreden since Shasa had been a child, and the younger ones had been born here. Shasa looked upon them as an extension of his family and they in turn regarded him as their patriarch. He spent half an hour with them listening to their small problems and worries, and settling most with a few words of assurance, then he broke off and left them abruptly as a figure on horseback came down the far side of the vineyard at full gallop.
From the corner of the stone wall Shasa watched Isabella gather her mount, and he stiffened as he realized what she was going to do. The mare was not yet fully schooled and
Shasa had never trusted her temperament. The wall was of yellow Table Mountain sandstone, five foot high.
‘No, Bella!' he whispered. ‘No, baby!'
But she turned the mare and drove her at the wall, and the horse reacted gamely. Her quarters bunched and the great muscles rippled below the glossy hide. Isabella lifted her and they went up.
Shasa held his breath, but even in his suspense he could appreciate what a magnificent sight they made, horse and rider, thoroughbreds both – the mare with her forelegs folded up under her chest and her ears pricked forward, soaring away from the earth, and Isabella leaning back in the saddle, her back arched and her young body supple and lovely, long legs and fine thrusting breasts, red mouth laughing and her hair flying free, sparkling with ruby lights in the late yellow sunlight.
Then they were over and Shasa exhaled sharply. Isabella swung the mare down to where he stood at the corner.
‘You promised to ride with me, Pater,' she scolded him. Shasa's instinct was to reprimand her for that jump, but he prevented himself. He knew she would probably respond by pulling the mare's head around and taking the jump again from this side. He wondered just when he had lost control of her, and then grinned ruefully as he answered himself. ‘About ten minutes after she was born.'
The mare was dancing in a circle and Isabella flung her hair back with a toss of her head.
‘I waited almost an hour for you,' she said.
‘Affairs of state—' Shasa began.
‘That's no excuse, Pater. A promise is a promise.'
‘It's still not too late,' he pointed out, and she laughed as she challenged him.
‘I'll race that old banger of yours down to the stables!' And she booted the mare into a gallop.
‘Not fair,' he called after her. ‘You have too much start,'
but she turned in the saddle and stuck her tongue out at him. He ran to the Jag, but she cut across North Field and was dismounted by the time he drove into the stableyard.
She tossed her reins to a groom and ran to embrace him. Isabella had a variety of kisses, but this type, lingering and loving, with a little bit of ear-nuzzling at the end, was reserved for when she badly wanted something from him, something that she knew he was going to try to refuse.
While he pulled on his riding boots she sat close beside him on the bench and told him a funny story about her sociology professor at varsity.
‘This huge shaggy St Bernard wandered into the lecture theatre and Prof. Jacobs was quick as a flash. Better that the dogs should come to learning, he said, than learning should go to the dogs.' She was a natural mimic. As they left the saddle room, she hugged his arm.
‘Oh, Daddy, if only I could find a boy like you, but they're all so utterly dreary.'
‘Long may they remain that way,' he wished fervently.
He made a cup with his hands for her to mount, but she laughed at him and sprang to the saddle easily on those long lovely legs.
‘Come on, slowcoach. It'll be dark soon.'
Shasa enjoyed being alone with her. She enchanted him with her mercurial changes of mood and subject. She had a quick mind and quirky sense of humour to go with her extraordinary face and body, but she alarmed him when she showed flashes of that restless refusal to concentrate for long on a single topic. Sean had been like that, needing constant stimulation to hold his interest, easily bored by anything that could not keep the same breathless pace that he set. Shasa was amazed that Isabella had lasted out a year of university studies, but he was resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to graduate. Every time they discussed it, she was more disparaging of the academic life. Make-believe,
she called it. Kid's stuff. And when he replied, ‘Well, Bella, you are still a kid,' she bridled at him.
‘Oh, Daddy, you don't understand!'
‘Don't I? Don't you think I was your age oncer
‘I suppose so – but that was in biblical times, for God's sake.'
‘Ladies don't swear,' he remonstrated automatically.
She attracted admirers in slavish droves, and treated them with callous indifference for a while and then dropped them with almost feline cruelty, and all the time the restlessness in her was more apparent.
‘I should have been stricter with her right from the beginning,' he decided grimly, and then grinned. ‘What the hell, she's my only indulgence – and she'll be gone soon enough.'
‘Do you know that when you smile like that you are the sexiest man in the world?' she interrupted his thoughts.

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