The Colour of Gold (3 page)

"I've got the
job at Deep Reef Gold Mine.” he said with a small smile.

Julia shook
back her long, black hair and looked at Bogdan, her thin black
eyebrows raised. She wore a dark blue dress that showed off her
well-shaped figure, and black high-heeled shoes. Her nose was thin
and straight and her lips full. Her dark brown eyes flitted back to
the contents in the pot on the stove.

“Obviously they
don’t have any connections with Horizon Shipping.” she said.

"No.” Bogdan
replied. “We have to leave tomorrow morning, though. The quickest
and cheapest way to get out of here and up to Jo’burg is by bus so
I’m quickly going to the station to buy tickets. I won’t be
long.”

“Okay. Lunch
will be ready by the time you get back.” Julia said.

Bogdan lit a
thin, brown cigar with his silver Ronson lighter and walked out of
the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. Crime was
the biggest problem in this country and nothing of value was safe,
he thought to himself as he walked briskly along the pavement. The
Durban station was less than three blocks away. Bogdan was soon
bathed in sweat and he could feel the harsh sun burning down onto
his skull through his thinning, black hair. He would be glad to get
to a cooler, dryer climate, he thought.

Bogdan Vodnik
had been born in Belgrade in the Republic of Serbia in Communist
Yugoslavia in 1948. His father, Dobrica and his mother, Irene, had
survived the 1945-1946 mass murders committed by the followers of
the Yugoslav leader, General Tito, when they returned from exile in
Austria after the civil war that ended in 1945, and had gone to
live in Belgrade where Dobrica had found work as a labourer for a
large construction company. The couple lived in a tiny apartment in
the southern part of the city where many other Serbs lived and it
was here that Bogdan was born.

Even as a small
boy, Bogdan had an affinity for risk and during his school holidays
he worked on the construction sites where his father laboured,
learning all about building and the materials that were needed to
create office blocks and apartment complexes. His main interest was
the acquisition and disposal of these materials and as soon as he
had completed his schooling he was eagerly taken up in the buying
department of the company as an assistant buyer. As Bogdan gained
experience in his job he saw opportunities to increase his income
by dealing in materials that were either stolen from the company or
for the company. He was not in the least averse to this practice
and soon had a thriving second job that provided a useful
income.

In 1968
Bogdan’s mother died of cancer and the father and son shared the
little apartment as well as their grief. In 1970, a tall
dark-haired young Serb girl named Julia started work in the buying
department of the construction company. Two years later Bogdan and
Julia were married. The young couple lived with Dobrica until he
died of a heart attack in 1973. As they now had a spare bedroom,
Julia's mother, who had lived on her own in a tiny one-bedroom
apartment since her husband died five years before, sold her
apartment and came to live with them.

When the
government created a new decentralized constitution in 1974 Bogdan
and Julia decided to leave Yugoslavia as it was becoming more and
more evident that this new constitution would weaken the country
both economically and politically and that it was likely that there
could soon be a Muslim domination of the country. Because of their
age and Bogdan’s zest for excitement and the unknown the couple
made no definite plans except to leave the country. They would go
where they could and face the consequences as they
materialised.

Bogdan and
Julia resigned from their jobs and handed the apartment, together
with the furniture, over to Julia's mother. With all their worldly
belongings in a large suitcase they set off for the port city of
Dubrovnik on the Adriatic coast. They travelled through
Bosnia-Herzegovina and then through the Republic of Montenegro by
bus and in Dubrovnik they boarded a small cargo steamer that took
them to the port of Pescara in Italy. From there they took a bus to
Rome.

Bogdan wasn’t
concerned about where they eventually settled so he visited all the
embassies in the city and applied for work in a whole host of
countries. Language was the deciding factor though, and as both
Bogdan and Julia had a reasonable command of the English language,
the job that the South African embassy found Bogdan as a buyer with
a ship building company in the city of Durban appealed to both of
them. The South African government was also very keen to bring in
immigrant workers because of the huge outflow of skilled workers
after the student uprising in Soweto and then the rest of the
country just over two years ago. Neither Bogdan nor Julia knew
anything about South Africa but the prospect of a life in a
sun-filled country was sufficient for them to accept the
opportunity. Two weeks later they stepped off the boat in the port
city of Durban, South Africa.

The directors
of Horizon Shipping were very impressed with their new employee
from Yugoslavia. Although his command of the English language
needed improvement and he was clueless as far as the Afrikaans
language was concerned, he quickly learned about the products that
the company needed and how to get the most competitive prices for
the best quality items. He was not prepared to compromise and was
able to create a good balance between price and quality.

What the
directors didn’t know though was that Bogdan had also quickly
established which suppliers could be manipulated and also which
employees at the company could supply stolen products at very low
prices. Soon he was earning a handy income on the side and looking
for other opportunities with regard to stolen goods.

Julia, however,
had been unable to find work, but the ample salary that Bogdan was
earning together with the extra income that his clandestine
operation produced, enabled the couple to live comfortably and
enjoy their adopted country.

The stolen
materials that Bogdan bought and sold came mainly from a small
Chinese gang that specialized in the theft and sale of items that
were needed in the ship-building and engineering industry. Bogdan’s
predecessor had also been buying from this source but after he was
dismissed from Horizon Shipping for insubordination, he turned
vindictive and reported the illegal dealings to the police.

The South
African Police set a trap for the Chinese gang and Bogdan was
caught in their net with them. The result was that the gang went to
jail and Bogdan was fired. Bogdan’s lawyer pleaded that his client
was new in the country and had been gullible and easily influenced
by the thieves who had assured him that the materials that he was
buying for the company were not stolen. The police and the court
knew otherwise but had no absolute proof of collusion and
reluctantly the magistrate had allowed Bogdan to go free. The
police made it quite clear to Bogdan that they had not been fooled
by his plea and that they would make sure that they had sufficient
evidence to convict him if he ever fell foul of the law again.
Bogdan had shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Bogdan
immediately began scouring the newspapers for job opportunities. He
knew that without a permanent job the government would send him
back to Yugoslavia and he had seen enough of South Africa to know
that this is where he wanted to live. There were just too many
opportunities here for someone who was prepared to take a little
risk.

Eventually,
much to his relief, Bogdan’s application for a job as a buyer for a
gold mine in Johannesburg called Deep Reef Gold Mine was
successful. The problem was that the mine needed him to start work
immediately and this meant leaving the apartment without giving the
landlord the appropriate one-month’s notice. Bogdan reasoned
though, that his needs were more important than those of the
landlord and so, under the circumstances, it wasn’t unreasonable to
leave without giving notice. He had had to put down a small deposit
when he first rented the apartment and this would reduce the
landlord’s losses.

That evening
Bogdan and Julia packed their clothes and a few articles that were
of sentimental value, into their two large, red suitcases and went
to bed, planning to leave early the following morning.

“If we leave
here at eight tomorrow morning,” Bogdan said, “we’ll have plenty of
time to get our luggage stowed and find good seats on the bus. I
still haven’t got used to there being different classes in the
busses and trains here that are all based on the passenger’s skin
colour. We can’t sit with the blacks, even if we wanted to and they
can’t sit with us. We have to sit in the section of the bus
reserved for white people.”

“Yes.” Julia
said. “Even the benches in the park are reserved for white people
only. It’s very strange, isn’t it?"

The following
morning Bogdan and Julia left the apartment carrying a suitcase
each. Bogdan locked the front door and threw the key back into the
flat through the partially open window.

Even at this
early hour the air was hot and humid and by the time the couple
reached the station they were uncomfortably hot and sweaty. They
approached the black man who was standing next to the bus and
supervising the loading of the passenger’s luggage, showed him
their tickets and watched as he stowed their suitcases in the hold.
They then went to the front of the big, brown vehicle to board and
find seats in the “white” section. They took no notice of the
Indian family of three who were standing nearby, anxiously waiting
to board at the door to the “non-white” section of the bus nor did
they notice the small black man wearing a colourful blanket over
his shoulders and sitting on the ground with his back against the
brick wall of the building.

CHAPTER 2

The naked black
man lay straddling the long wooden bench, his hands and feet
tightly bound to the legs of the sturdy piece of furniture with
pieces of thin nylon rope. The harsh light from the fluorescent
light on the ceiling flooded the tiny room. The bound man’s clothes
lay in an untidy heap on the floor next to the wall. The ceiling
and walls were painted a dull white and in several places the walls
had been deeply scarred with graffiti depicting the desperate
struggle that previous prisoners had experienced. The bare,
concrete floor was splattered with old blood and urine stains.

The whip, made
of rhinoceros hide, whistled down and bit viciously into the soft
flesh of the black man’s buttocks. The man cried out in pain and
tried to look over his shoulder at the person who was inflicting
the excruciating pain on his body. His eyes were filled with fear,
his lips pulled back in a terrified grimace.

“Please, baas!”
the man cried, “Please don’t hit me! I am not with the A.N.C.! I’m
telling you the truth!”

The white
policeman raised the whip above his head, the slender tip
clattering against the light fitting above.

“Don’t talk
shit! Tell me the truth!” the policeman shouted.

The thin black
weapon cracked down harshly on the soft flesh. The man screamed,
trying desperately to wriggle free from his bonds. The third person
in the fear-filled room stared down at the simpering black man
unsympathetically. Although Captain Tiaan Botha preferred not to
use physical violence he knew that it was a necessity in the job
that he was doing. Psychological torture was far more effective but
the safety of the white people of his country was at stake and any
means of ensuring that safety was justified. Information was needed
and the South African Security Police were certain that the man
lying on the wooden bench had that information. Now they had to
extract it by whatever means they could. Firstly they would apply
physical torture and if that didn't bring the required results
psychological means would be applied. One way or the other they
would get what they wanted. And if the man died during the
interrogation, well, that was too bad.

The
interrogator raised the whip again, but just as he was about to
strike the defenceless man, the door to the interrogation cell
swung open and a black policeman peered into the room. The plain
clothed Captain who had been standing near the door of the cell
watching his colleague beat the black man, looked around, irritated
at the interference.

“Sorry to
interrupt, Captain Botha,” the black policeman said, “but something
very urgent has come up. There’s someone in your office who says
that she has some important information. She says that it may
concern a terrorist bomb.”

Captain Tiaan
Botha nodded and walked to the door. He glanced back at the man
with the whip.

“Carry on.” he
said. “I won’t be long.”

As Tiaan closed
the door behind him he heard the whip whistle down and bite into
the black man’s flesh. The prisoner screamed hysterically as he
realized how helpless he was.

“Who wants to
see me?” Tiaan asked.

“It’s a white
civilian woman who says that she saw something suspicious a few
minutes ago but wants to speak to someone in authority.” the
policeman said. “She’s scared that anybody else won’t take her
seriously. She’s in your office.”

Tiaan nodded
and hurried up the stairs from the holding cells to the police
station offices.

The white woman
waiting anxiously in Tiaan’s office was middle aged and slightly
plump.

“What can I do
for you, lady?” Tiaan asked. “I’m Captain Tiaan Botha, from the
anti-terrorist unit of the South African Security Police.”

“Yes, Mr.
Botha.” the woman said. “I’m Nancy Edgecomb. “I was on my way home
from work and, as usual, walked along the street behind the police
station. About fifty metres ahead of me I noticed two black men
carrying a heavy object in a yellow plastic shopping bag between
them. Suddenly they put the bag with its contents down next to the
wall of the police station building and walked away. Why would they
do something like that?"