The White Lioness (41 page)

"Three weeks," de Klerk said. "Three weeks in which to stop these lunatics."

"We must work, too, on the assumption that June 12 and Cape Town are a red herring. The people involved in this are very cunning. The assassination attempt could as easily take place tomorrow."

"In other words, any place, at any time," de Klerk said.

Scheepers waited.

"I must speak with Mandela," de Klerk said. "He has to know what's afoot."

Then he turned to Scheepers.

"These people must be stopped without delay," he said.

"We don't know who they are," Scheepers pointed out. "How can we stop something we don't know about?"

"What about the gunman they've hired?"

"We don't know who he is either."

De Klerk looked thoughtfully at him. "You have a plan," he said. "I can see it in your face."

Scheepers felt himself blushing. "Mr President," he said. "I think the key to all this is Jan Kleyn. He has to be arrested immediately. There is a risk he won't talk. Or he might prefer to commit suicide. But I can see no alternative to interrogating him."

"Let's do that," de Klerk said. "In fact we have quite a few skilful interrogators. They can usually get to the truth."

From blacks, Scheepers thought. Who then die in mysterious circumstances. "I think it would be best if I could conduct the interrogation," he said. "I know most about it."

"Do you think you can handle him?"

"Yes, sir."

The President rose. The audience was over.

"Kleyn will be arrested tomorrow," de Klerk said. "I want reports from now on every day." He shook Scheepers warmly by the hand.

Scheepers nodded to the old guard in the antechamber. Then he drove home through the night, with his pistol on the seat beside him.

De Klerk stood at his window for a long time, deep in thought. Then he worked at his desk for three long hours.

In the antechamber, the guard ambled round straightening out ridges in the carpets and smoothing cushions on chairs. All the time he was thinking over what he had overheard with his ear to the door of the President's private office. The situation was extremely serious. He went into the modest room that served as his own office. He removed the telephone from the plug routed through the switchboard. Behind a loose wooden panel was another socket only he knew about. He lifted the receiver and got a direct line out. Then he dialled a number.

The answer came almost at once. Kleyn was not yet asleep.

Countdown to a Void

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tsiki skewered a mouse with a well-aimed throw of a knife. Tania had already gone to bed. Konovalenko was waiting until it was late enough to call Kleyn. He was going to raise the question of his own future as an immigrant to South Africa.

There was not a sound from the cellar. Tania had been down to look at the girl and said she was asleep. For the first time in a long time, Konovalenko felt content. He had made contact with Wallander; he had demanded an unsigned letter of safe conduct from him, in return for getting his daughter back unharmed. Wallander would give him a week's start, and personally ensure that the police search was wrongly directed. Konovalenko was going to make his way back to Stockholm immediately; Wallander would make sure the search for him was concentrated in Skane.

None of this was true, of course. Konovalenko would shoot him and the girl. He wondered whether Wallander really believed what he had said. If so he would go back to being the kind of policeman Konovalenko had begun by assuming he was, the naive provincial drudge. But he would not underestimate the man again.

During the day he had devoted many hours to Tsiki. Just as in preparing Mabasha, he had run through various possible turns of events in connection with the assassination. Tsiki was more quick witted than Mabasha. Moreover, he seemed unruffled by the passing but unambiguous racist remarks Konovalenko could not resist making. He intended to provoke him even more over the next few days, to see if he could press him to the limit of his self-control. There was one characteristic Tsiki shared with Mabasha; Konovalenko wondered if it was a typical African trait, this introversion - the impossibility of reading their thoughts. It irritated him. He was used to being able to see straight through people, and hence give himself an opportunity to anticipate their reactions.

He gazed at the man who had just dispatched a mouse with his strangely curved knife. He'll do a good job, Konovalenko thought. A few more days of planning and weapons training, and he'll be ready to go home. He'll be my entrance visa to South Africa.

Tsiki retrieved his knife with the mouse speared on the end of it. Then he went into the kitchen and dropped it into a rubbish bin and rinsed the blade. Konovalenko observed him, occasionally taking a sip of vodka from his glass.

"A knife with a curved blade," he said. "I've never seen one like that before."

"My ancestors used to make them over a thousand years ago," Tsiki said.

"But why the curved blade?"

"Nobody knows. It's still a secret. The day the secret is revealed, the knife will lose its power."

Konovalenko was annoyed by the mysterious reply, but Tsiki disappeared into his room. He heard the key turned in Tsiki's bedroom door.

He went round the room turning off the lights, apart from the lamp next to the table where the telephone was. He checked the time. Half past midnight. He listened at the cellar hatch. Not a sound. He poured himself another glass of vodka. He would save it until after he had finished speaking with Kleyn.

The call to South Africa was brief.

Kleyn listened without comment to Konovalenko's reassurance that Tsiki would cause no problems. There was no doubt about his mental stability. Then Kleyn announced his verdict. He wanted Tsiki to return to South Africa within a week at the most. It was now Konovalenko's job to make the arrangements, immediately, to get him out of Sweden, and make sure the return journey to Johannesburg was booked and confirmed. Konovalenko had the impression Kleyn was in a hurry, that he was under pressure. He had no way of confirming his hunch. But it was enough to put him off his stride when it came to discussing his own journey to South Africa. The call ended without his having been able to raise the subject. He felt annoyed with himself afterwards. He drained his glass and considered whether Kleyn was going to double-cross him. But he dismissed the thought. They needed his talents and experience in South Africa. He drank another glass of vodka, then went out onto the porch to urinate. It was raining. He gazed into the mist. He should be pleased with himself. A few more hours and his problems would be over, for this particular job. The assignment was almost at an end. Then he would have time to devote to his future. Not the least of the decisions he would have to make was whether to take Tania with him, or if he should do what he had done with his wife and leave her behind.

He locked the door, retired to his own room and lay down. He did not get undressed, but just pulled a blanket over him. Tania could sleep alone tonight. He needed rest.

She was lying awake in her room, and heard Konovalenko shut the door and lie down on the bed. She lay still, listening. She was scared. Deep down, she judged it would be impossible to get the girl out of the cellar and leave the house without Konovalenko hearing. Nor would it be possible to lock the door to his room without the noise waking him. She had tried it earlier in the day, when Konovalenko and the African were shooting rifles in the quarry. Besides, he could jump out of the window even if the door had been locked. She wished she had some sleeping pills. She could have dissolved them in one of his vodka bottles. But she had only herself, and she had to try. She had prepared a small case with some money and clothes. She hid it in the barn. She also left her rain clothes there, and a pair of boots.

She checked the time once more: 1.15 a.m. She knew the meeting with the policeman was to be in the early morning. She and the daughter would have to be well away by then. As soon as she heard Konovalenko start to snore, she would get up. He was a very light sleeper, she knew, and woke often, but rarely during the first half-hour after falling asleep.

She still was not sure why she was doing this. She knew she was risking her own life. But she did not feel the need to justify her actions to herself. Some things were just dictated by life itself.

Konovalenko turned over and coughed. 1.25 a.m. Some nights he chose not to sleep, just lay on his bed resting. If this was one of those nights, there was nothing she could do to help the girl. That made her feel even more frightened. It was a threat that seemed to her greater than any danger she might herself run.

At 1.40 a.m. she finally heard that Konovalenko was snoring. She listened for a minute. Then she carefully got out of bed. She was dressed. All the time she had been clutching the key to the padlock on the chains round the girl's ankles. She slowly opened the door of her room and avoided the floorboards she knew would creak. She closed the door behind her and crept into the kitchen, switched on her torch and started very carefully easing up the hatch. It was a critical moment: the girl might scream. That had not happened so far. But it could. Konovalenko was snoring. She listened. Then she climbed cautiously down the ladder. The girl was curled into a ball. Her eyes were open. Tania squatted beside her and whispered while stroking her cropped hair. She said they were going to run away, but she would have to be very, very quiet. The girl did not react. Her eyes were expressionless. Tania was suddenly afraid she would not be able to move. Perhaps she was immobilised by fear? She had to turn her over on her side to get to the padlock, and at once the girl suddenly started kicking and punching. Tania just managed to clamp her hand over the girl's mouth before she started screaming. Tania was strong, and pressed as hard as she could. One half-stifled yell would be enough to wake Konovalenko. She gasped at the thought. Konovalenko was quite capable of nailing down the hatch and leaving them both there in the darkness. Tania tried to whisper to her at the same time as she pressed. The girl's eyes had come alive, and Tania hoped she would understand now. She slowly took away her hand, unlocked the padlock, and gently removed the chains.

At the same moment she noticed Konovalenko had stopped snoring. She held her breath. Then it started again. She hurriedly got to her feet, reached for the hatch, and closed it. The girl had understood. She sat up, and was quiet.

Tania suddenly thought her heart would stand still. She heard footsteps in the kitchen. Someone was walking around above them. The footsteps stopped. Now he'll open the hatch, she thought, shutting her eyes. He's heard me.

Then came relief in the form of the clinking of a bottle. Konovalenko had got up for another glass of vodka. The footsteps padded away. Tania shone the torch on her own face and tried to smile. Then she took the girl's hand and held it while they waited. After ten minutes she opened the hatch cautiously. Konovalenko was snoring again. She told the girl what was going to happen. They would approach the front door as quietly as they could. Tania had oiled the lock. She thought it would be possible to open it without a click. If all went well they would then hurry from the house together, collect Tania's case and boots. But if something did happen, if Konovalenko did wake up, Tania would simply fling the door open and they would race off in different directions. Was that clear? Run, run for their lives. There was a fine drizzle and a mist that should make it harder for them to be seen. But she should just keep on running, without looking back. When she came to a house or saw a car on the road, she should give herself up. But the main thing was to run for her life.

Did she understand? Tania thought so. The girl's eyes were animated, she could move her legs, even if she was weak and unsteady. Tania listened again. Then she nodded to the girl. It was time to move. Tania climbed up first, listened one more time, then reached down to help the girl. Now speed was of the essence. Tania made herself hold back so as to avoid the stairs creaking. The girl emerged into the kitchen. She screwed up her eyes, even though the light was very weak. She's practically blind, thought Tania. She held her firmly by the arm. Konovalenko was snoring. Then they started walking towards the hall and the front door, one step at a time, painfully slow. There was a heavy curtain in the hall doorway. Tania took great care in pulling it to one side, with the girl hanging onto her arm. Then they were at the door. Tania was drenched in sweat. Her hands were trembling as she took hold of the key. At this point she almost dared to believe it would be OK. She turned the key. There was a point, a certain resistance, where it would click if she turned it too quickly. She could feel the resistance and kept on turning as steadily as she could. She was past the critical point. There had not been a single sound. She nodded to the girl. Then she opened the door.

As she did so, something crashed behind her. She gave a start and turned around. The girl had bumped into a stand for coats and umbrellas. It had fallen. Tania had no need to listen in order to know what was already happening. She flung the door open, shoved the girl out into the rain and mist, and yelled at her to run. At first the girl seemed petrified. But Tania pushed her, and she started running. Within a couple of seconds she had disappeared into the greyness.

Tania knew it was already too late as far as she was concerned. But she would try even so. Most of all she did not want to turn around. She ran in the opposite direction to divert Konovalenko, make him unsure about where the girl was for a few more precious seconds.

Tania got to the middle of the yard before Konovalenko caught up with her. "What are you doing?" he yelled. "Are you sick?"

Then she realised Konovalenko did not know the hatch was open. He would not understand what had happened until they were back inside the house. The girl's head start would be sufficient. Konovalenko would never find her again.

Tania suddenly felt very tired, but what she had done was right.

"I don't feel well," she said, pretending to be dizzy.

"Let's go inside," Konovalenko said.

"Just a minute," she said. "I need some air." I'll do the best I can for her. Every breath gives her a better chance. The game is up for me.

She ran at the night. At the rain. She had no idea where she was, she just ran. She kept falling, but simply scrambled back onto her feet and kept running. She came to a fence and over it into a field. All around her frightened hares were bounding off in different directions. She felt like one of them, a hunted animal. The mud was clinging to her shoes. In the end she took them off and kept on running in her stockinged feet. The field seemed to go on forever. Everything was engulfed by the mist. Only she and the hares existed. Eventually she came to another fence and a road, and had no strength left to run any further. She walked along the gravel road. The sharp edges of the stones hurt her feet. Then the gravel came to an end and she found herself on an asphalt road. She could see the white line down the middle. She had no idea which direction to take. But she kept on walking. She did not dare to think about what had happened. She could still feel a vague sense of evil somewhere behind her. It was neither human nor animal, rather a sort of cold breeze; but it was there all the time, forcing her to keep going.

Then she saw a pair of headlights approaching. It was a man who had been visiting his girlfriend. During the night they had started quarrelling. He had decided to go home. Now he was thinking that if only he had the money, he would go away. Anywhere would do, anywhere far away. The windscreen wipers were squeaking, and visibility was poor. He suddenly saw something in front of the car. At first he thought it was an animal, and slammed on the brakes. Then he stopped altogether. It was a human being, he could see that. He could hardly believe his eyes. A young girl, with no shoes, covered in mud, her hair a short-cropped mess. Maybe there had been a car crash. He saw her sit down in the middle of the road. He got slowly out of the car, and went up to her.

"What happened?" he said.