by Wilbur Smith
At the end of the conference at Maison des Alizes Garry had personally collected all the leather-covered dossiers and seen to the shredding of the contents. He was very concerned that no detail of the Cyndex project fall into unauthorized hands. Isabella had made a few careful notes during the discussions, but he had relieved her of these also.
"Don't you trust me, Teddy Bear?' She had made a joke of it, and though he chuckled he had been adamant.
"I don't even trust myself.' And he had held out his hand for her notepad.
"You want to remember any details, you come and ask me, Bella, but you don't write down anything - I mean anything." She knew better than to make an issue of it.
Even though she had no notes to refer to, the Red Rose report that she sent was shaky only in the area of the chemical composition of Cyndex 25. She knew that it was an organophosphate of the G group of nerve gases but could not recall the exact atomic structure of the constituent parts or the sequence of manufacture. However, she gave them the proposed location of the plant and the tentative timetable for construction. The forecast was that the plant would be in production within seven months.
At this stage the only ingredient that needed to be imported was a phosphate precursor - again she was uncertain of the exact chemical structure of this agent. However, she was able to report that the reason that this catalyst could not be manufactured in South Africa - at least, for the time being - was that the correct grade of stainless steel for the redoubt in which it was mixed was not obtainable locally. However, the state-owned steel works of ISCOR would work on the production of this grade of steel and it was anticipated that they would be able to supply within eighteen months. After that time Cyndex would be a hundred percent locally manufactured. In the meantime the precursor would be supplied through a Pignatelli front company in Taipei who were already holding stocks sufficient for the first year of operation of the Capricorn plant.
Apart from the problem with the supply of chemicalgrade stainless steel, the other difficulty that the conference had foreseen was the availability of skilled technicians to operate the plant. Pignatelli Chemicals had declined to provide any personnel. It was anticipated that these would be recruited in Britain or in Israel. The conference had placed emphasis on the security clearance of any foreign technicians who were thus engaged.
The rest of Isabella's report covered the transportation, storage and dissemination of the gas in battlefield situations. Both Puma helicopters and Impala jet fighters of the South African air force could be adapted to serve as delivery vehicles. In addition, work would begin immediately on the design and testing of a shell for the G5 howitzer which would be designated '155 mm CW (Chemical Warfare) ERFB Cargo'. This shell would deliver eleven kilos of Cyndex to a maximum range of thirty-five kilometres. The rotation of the shell in flight would centrifugally open valves in the cargo-head and mix the two constituent ingredients of the gas prior to impact in the target area.
She was fully aware of the value of this information and so she was emboldened to add a final line to the twenty-six pages of her report.
"Red Rose requests access as soon as possible." She waited anxiously for a reaction to her request after she had delivered it. There was none.
As time passed with no reply she understood that she was being punished for her impertinence, and at first she was defiant. Then as the weeks became months she started to become truly worried. At the end of the second month she sent an abject apology to the London accommodation address.
"Red Rose regrets importunate request for access. No insubordination was contemplated. Awaiting further orders." It was another month before those orders came. She was instructed to use any means necessary to ensure that she was a member of the team from Capricorn Chemicals that would travel to London and Israel to interview and recruit personnel for the operation of the Cyndex plant.
Isabella had difficulty imagining how she could justify any claim to be a member of the recruiting team. What possible reason could she give Garry that-would not immediately arouse his suspicions as to her motives? She agonized over this for weeks before the next board meeting of CCI, and then at the meeting itself it all fell into place with an ease that amazed her.
The subject of recruitment came up at the meeting, even though it was not on the agenda, and Isabella saw her opportunity and gave her views on the subject in an impromptu but articulate and well-reasoned address.
When she finished, she saw that she had impressed Garry, and he remarked in not entirely jocular fashion: 'Perhaps we should send you to do the job, Dr. Courtney." She shrugged, not to appear over-eager. 'Why not? I could fit in a little shopping - I need a few new frocks." 'Typical woman,' Garry sighed, but six weeks later she found herself back in the Cadogan Square flat. The personnel manager of CCI was ensconced in the Berkeley Hotel, only a short walk from Cadogan Square. The two of them conducted the preliminary interviews in the dining-room of the flat.
The night she arrived in London, there was an anonymous phone caller. She did not recognize the voice. The message was simple.
"Red Rose. Tomorrow you will interview Benjamin Afrika. Make certain that he is selected." She couldn't place the name, so she looked up the application in her file.
To her surprise she found that Benjamin Afrika had been born in Cape Town.
This, however, seemed to be his strongest claim to the job on offer.
Despite the fact that his academic qualifications were good, he was really too young - only twenty-four years of age. He had four A-levels and a BSc in chemical engineering from Leeds University with two years' experience as a scientific assistant with Imperial Chemical Industries at one of their factories near Liverpool.
At the salary they were offering she could have found a hundred applicants with similar or better qualifications in South Africa.
She could not squeeze him into any of the vacant senior posts. There were, however, two more junior positions to fill.
Benjamin Afrika was the third interviewee on the morning's list. He walked into the Cadogan Square dining-room at eleven o'clock in the morning, and Isabella felt herself go icy cold with panic.
Benjamin Afrika was a coloured man, but this was not what caused her consternation. Benjamin Afrika was her half-brother, the man whom she knew as Ben Gama, bastard son of her mother and the notorious terrorist and black revolutionary Moses Gama.
So great was the shock of seeing him that she was unable to utter a word.
A host of turbulent thoughts tumbled in confusion through her mind as she stared at Benjamin. She thought how his name, and the name of Tara Courtney, their mother, was never mentioned at Weltevreden - even after all these years the scandal and tragedy ~surrounding them cast a darlk shadow over the family. How would it be possible for her to secure employment for Benjamin in one of the Courtney companies? Nana would have a hernia, and Pater would throw a blue fit. Then there was Garry... Fortunately for Isabella, the CCI personnel manager was also evincing symptoms of acute distress, but the source of his concern was much more straightforward than Isabella's. It was merely the colour of Benjamin's skin. In the long pregnant pause that followed Benjamin's entry, Isabella was able to take control of hirself again and bring some order to her jumbled emotions. Benjamin had shown no sign of recognition, and she took her lead from him.
Abruptly the CCI manager leapt to his feet. To compensate for his initial reaction he now became over-effusive and ducked round the desk to seize Benjamin's hand.
"I'm David Meekin, head of personnel at CCI. I'm delighted to meet you, young man,'he babbled enthusiastically, and pulled out a chair for Benjamin. 'We have been studying your credentials and your CV. Very impressive -I mean truly impressive." He seated Benjamin and offered him a cigarette. 'This is Dr. Courtney who is a director of CCI,' Meekin introduced them.
Benjamin half-rose from his seat and made a small bow. 'How do you do, ma'am." Isabella did not trust herself to speak. She nodded and then gave all her attention to Benjamin'
s letter of application while Meekin began the interview.
He asked the usual questions about the work that Benjamin had done at ICI, and his reasons for wanting this job, but clearly Meekin's heart was not in the task. He wanted to get it over with. Meanwhile, Isabella was working out her own plans. If she had not recognized Ben's name, Afrika, then it was highly unlikely that anyone else athome would do so, either. Apart from Michael, no other member of the family, as far as she knew, had ever met Ben. There was no reason why they ever should. He would be a junior employee in one of a hundred factories in a town over a thousand miles from Weltevreden. Michael, of course, could be relied on to support her and Ben completely.
David Meekin had no more questions to ask, and he glanced at Isabella enquiringly.
"I see you were born in Cape Town, Mr. Afrika,' she spoke for the first time. 'Do you still have South African citizenship? You haven't taken naturalized British citizenship?" 'No, Dr. Courtney,' Ben shook his head. 'I am still a South African. I have a passport issued by South Africa House here in London." I 'Good. Can you tell us something about your family? Do they still live in Cape Town?" 'Both my father and my mother were schoolteachers.
They were killed in a motor accident in Cape Town in 19e9." 'I'm sorry.' She glanced down at her file. It was possible that Tara, their mother, had tried to conceal the facts of Ben's birth by contriving a false birth certificate. She could check that easily enough. She looked up again.
"I hope you will forgive my next question, Mr. Afrika. It may sound impertinent. However, Capricorn Chemicals is a defence contractor to Armscor, and all its employees are vetted by the South African security police. It would be best if you tell us now if you are, or have ever been, a member of any political organization." Ben smiled softly. He really was a good-looking young man. By some fortunate chance he seemed to have inherited the best features from both sides of his racial ancestry.
"You want to know if I am a member of the ANC?' he asked, and Isabella's mouth tightened with annoyance.
"Or any other radical political organization,' she said curtly.
"I am not a political creature, Dr. Courtney. I am a scientist and an engineer. I am a member of the Society of Engineers, but of no other body." So he was not interested in politics?
She remembered the bitter political argument they had become embroiled in at their last meeting - when was that? Almost eight years ago, she realized with surprise. Of course, the Red Rose instructions that she had received gave the lie to his protestations. None the less, she had to cover herself 'Again you must pardon the personal nature of my questions, but your frank replies now may save us all a great deal of embarrassment later. You must be aware of the racial situation in South Africa. As a coloured person you will not be allowed to vote, and furthermore you will be subject to a body of legislation and a policy known as apartheid, which, to say the least, restricts many of the freedoms which you will have taken as your natural right here in England."
"Yes, I know all about apartheid,' Ben agreed.
"Then, why would you want to give up what you have here and return to a country where you will be treated as a second-class citizen, and where your prospects of advancement will be limited by your skin tone?" 'I am an African, Dr. Courtney. I want to go home. I think I can be of service to my country and my people. I believe I can make a good life for myself in the land of my birth." They stared at each other for long seconds, and then Isabella said softly, 'I can find no fault with those sentiments, Mr. Afrika. Thank you for coming to talk to us. We have your address and telephone number. We will contact you one way or the other, just as soon as we are able to do so." When Ben had left neither she nor Meekin spoke for a while. Isabella stood up and moved to the window. Looking down into the square she saw Ben leave the front door of the building. As he buttoned his overcoat he glanced up and saw her in the second-floor window. He lifted one hand in farewell and then set off towards Pont Street and turned the corner.
"Well,' said David Meekin beside her, 'we can cross that one off the list." 'For what reason?' Isabella asked, and Meekin was flustered. He had expected her to agree immediately.
"His qualifications. His experience..." 'The colour of his skin?" Isabella suggested.
"That, too,' Meekin nodded. 'He would be in a position at Capricorn where he might have to give orders to white employees. He might actually have white females under him. It would cause ill-feelings." 'There are at least a dozen black and coloured managers in other Courtney companies,' Isabella pointed out.
"Yes, I know,' Meekin acceded hurriedly, 'but they have coloureds and blacks under them, not whites." 'My father and my brother are both very eager to advance blacks and coloureds; to managerial positions. My brother in particular feels that bringing all sections of our community to prosperity and responsibility is the only recipe for long-term peace and harmony in our country." 'I would agree with that one hundred percent." 'I found Mr. Afrika a most personable young man. I agree that he is a little young and lacking in experience for either of the senior posts, however-" Meekin changed tack, like the corporate survivor he was. 'I'd like to suggest that we short-list Afrika for the post of technical assistant to the director." 'I agree with your suggestion wholeheartedly.' Isabella smiled her sweetest, most winning smile. Her estimate had been correct. David Meekin's most firmly held principles were subject to negotiation.
They finished the interview with the - last candidate at four o'clock that afternoon and, as soon as Meekin had left Cadogan Square to return to the Berkeley Hotel, Isabella telephoned her mother.
"The Lord Kitchener Hotel, good afternoon.' She recognized her mother's voice.
"Hallo, Tara. It's Isabella.' And then for emphasis, 'Isabella Courtney, your daughter." 'Bella, my baby. It's been ever so long. Let's see now -eight years at least. I thought you'd forgotten your old mamma.' She always made Isabella feel guilty, and she made a lame excuse.
"I'm sorry, Tara. The pace of life - I don't seem to have time for anything..." 'Yes, Mickey tells me that you have been ever so successful and clever. He says that you are Dr. Courtney now, and a Senator,' Tara gushed on. 'Mind you, Bella, how you can bring yourself to have anything to do with that bunch of racist bigots that call themselves the National Party? In any civilized society, John Vorster would have been sent to the gallows years ago." 'Tara, is Ben there?" Isabella cut her off.
"I thought it was too good to be true that my own daughter wanted to talk to me.' Tara's tone was mart I yred and long-suffering. 'I'll call Ben." 'Hello, Bella.' He came on the phone almost immediately.
"We must talk ' 'she told him.
"Where?' he asked, and she thought swiftly.
"Hatchards." 'The bookshop in Piccadilly? OK. When?" 'Tomorrow, ten in the morning." Ben was in the African Fiction section, thumbing through a Nadine Gordimer novel. She stood beside him and picked a book at random from the shelves.
"Ben, I don't know what this is about." 'I'm applying for a job, Bella. It's as simple as that.' He smiled easily.
"I don't want to know, either,' she went on quickly. 'Just tell me - do you really have valid papers in the name of Afrika?" 'Tara registered my birth in the name of a coloured couple, friends of hers. She was never married to my father - and of course their relationship was illegal. She could have been imprisoned for being in love with Moses Gama and giving birth to me.' His tone was easy; there was even a light smile on his lips. She looked for some sign of bitterness or anger, but found none. "Officially my name is Benjamin Afrika. I have a birth certificate and South African passport in that name." 'I have to warn you, Ben. There is terrible bitterness and hatred in the Courtney side of the family. Your father was convicted of murdering Nana's second husband, I mean Centaine Courtney-Malcomess's husband." 'Yes, I know." 'You and I will never be able to acknowledge each other in South Africa." 'I understand." 'If Nana, if my grandmother or my father ever found out about you - well, I just don't know what the consequences would be."
"They won't find
out about it from me." 'If it was up to me, I would not...'She broke off, and lowered her voice. 'Ben, be careful. We have never had a chance to become close; a chasm divides us. Nevertheless, you are my brother. I don't want anything to happen to you. ~ 'Thank you, Bella.' He was still smiling softly, and she knew that she could never penetrate the curtain.
