The Colour of Gold

by Oliver T Spedding

  "I've thought about that." Tiaan said. "But apparently he never commits anything to paper. He's got a photographic memory and only passes on information verbally. Even if we lured him into a trap of some kind he would simply say that he was doing his duty as a medical doctor."

  The brigadier stared down at the top of his desk, deep in thought. In the silence Tiaan could hear a typewriter clacking in the adjacent office. Finally the brigadier looked up at Tiaan.

  "If we can't trap him and we can't get him to confess to anything incriminating with regard to subversive activities then I cannot see any alternative but to eliminate the man. We can't let him carry on working for the enemy and we can't detain him for any length of time. The newspapers will kick up a fuss if he tells them that we're harassing him when all he's doing is performing his medical duties. Put together an operation to eliminate the man and let me have it for approval."

  Tiaan stood up.

  "I'll get onto it right away, sir." he said.

  "Oh, by the way, how are you progressing with your investigations into the possible bombing attacks that we spoke about last time?" the brigadier asked. "I'm taking a bit of strain from the big brass."

  "Nothing definite yet, sir." Tiaan said. "My informants say that there appears to be an increase in activities that could be related to potential bomb attacks but there's nothing definite to go on. There's a rumour that an enemy commander has moved up here from Durban, but who it is, we don't know yet."

  The brigadier nodded and Tiaan left the room.

  ***

  "I need a reliable source for explosives." Shadow said to the man sitting on the other side of the desk. "Commercial explosives would be fine. Perhaps someone who works on the gold mines."

  "I'll make enquiries." the man said. "There are several men selling explosives stolen from the mines but none of them are reliable, as far as I know. Some of them work as decoys for the security police."

  "I don't have to tell you that this matter must be kept absolutely secret." Shadow said. "Don't take any risks. If you can't find anyone, don't worry. We'll find some other source. I also need money."

  "I'll arrange that." the man said. "Come here in two days time. Is there anything else?"

  Shadow shook his head as he stood up.

  "Not at this stage. I need the explosives before I can move further." he said. "I'll be here in two days time."

  Shadow opened the office door and walked out into the waiting room. He limped towards the front door as two black men, one wearing large dark glasses and the other with a heavily bandaged head, got up from where they had been sitting and walked into the doctor's office. Shadow stepped out onto the pavement and began walking towards his shack.

  ***

  "Good afternoon, gentlemen." Doctor Mpilo said. "Please sit down and tell me how I can be of assistance to you."

  The two men continued to stand in front of the doctor's desk.

  "You are Doctor Mpilo?" the man wearing the dark glasses asked.

  "Of course I am." the black doctor replied, frowning. "Who else could I be?"

  "I just wanted to be sure." the man replied.

  Suddenly the two men drew ,45 automatics from their pockets and, without a word, each fired two shots in quick succession into the doctor's chest. The heavy bullets knocked the man behind the desk back against the backrest of his chair and blood began to ooze out of the holes in his white shirt. He stared at the two killers in front of him in shock as his life slipped away. Slowly he slumped forward, his head striking the desk top with a small thud. The two men put their weapons back into their pockets, turned, and casually walked out of the office. The three black men sitting in the waiting room and waiting to see the doctor, stared fixedly at the floor in front of them.

  The two killers walked to the entrance of the building and out onto the pavement. They climbed into a small white Datsun without number plates, started the car, and drove away. A block away, Shadow watched the white car drive away, turn into a side street and disappear. He knew with absolute certainty that Doctor Mpilo had just been assassinated by the white security forces. He tried to remember what the two men who had gone into the doctor's office as he left looked like but the dark glasses and the bandage had effectively hidden the men's features.

  "Askaris." Shadow whispered, using the dreaded name given to black people who worked for the white police force. "My own people - traitors."

  ***

  "Well done, Tiaan." the brigadier said. "Doctor Mpilo's dead and, although the press suspect us of taking him out and have kicked up quite a fuss, they've got no proof. In a week or two the whole incident will be forgotten. Another one bites the dust but there are still plenty to come."

  "Thank you, sir." Tiaan said. "The doctor's death will create communications problems for the A.N.C. but, as you say, it won't stop them. Now we've got to increase the pressure on them and hope that they make mistakes."

  ***

  "I've received very specific instructions from our leaders outside the country." Shadow said as he sat in his shack with his two comrades. Even with the door wide open the heat inside the little structure was stifling. "We are to avoid shedding blood at all costs, especially with regard to civilians. The aim of our operations from now on will be to attract attention to the plight of black people in South Africa. By operating in this manner the world will see us as "freedom fighters" and not as "terrorists"."

  "How will we do that?" Moses asked.

  "We got to be more careful about when we attack a target." Shadow said. "In the past we've been more concerned with creating havoc, regardless of what human damage we inflicted. Now we must try to time our attacks so that we keep the possibility of injuring civilians to a minimum. Our immediate mission is to attack the Westdene police station and so, to avoid the possibility of hurting or killing any civilians, we're going to attack the place at one o'clock in the morning."

  "We're not likely to kill many policemen at that time of night." Peter remarked.

  Shadow nodded.

  "Yes, but we're also not likely to come under heavy return fire." Shadow said. "We'll be able to carry out the attack quickly and get away safely. And, if our leaders are right, we'll create an incident that will make the rest of the world sit up and take notice."

  "Okay." Moses said. "So, what's the plan?"

  "The police station faces south so we'll park our getaway car two blocks away to the east." Shadow said. "Then we'll circle around to the west side of the building and move past the front of the building on foot, firing at the top half of the windows and the any blank walls. We'll also toss a few grenades at the front of the building and under any vehicles that we see. We've got to cause as much visible damage as we can without causing any casualties. Then we run to the car and get the hell out of there."

  "That's all we're going to do?" Peter asked.

  "Yes." Shadow replied. "I know it sounds as if it won't achieve much but these are our instructions. The next day's newspapers will tell us if we've been successful or not."

  ***

  The three black men, their heads covered with dark brown balaclavas, stood silently in the shadow cast by a large ornamental bush, staring at the floodlit police station building, their AK 47s pressed close to their bodies. They were dressed in dark civilian clothes.

  The front of the structure was covered with large beige ceramic tiles and two flagpoles, their flags hanging listlessly, stood on each side of the brick pathway leading up to the glass doors of the brightly-lit entrance hall. Neatly mown lawns, bordered by colourful flowerbeds, filled the space between the building and the edge of the street. Floodlights, facing inwards, bathed the building in bright light. A uniformed white policeman stood guard at the entrance, armed with an automatic rifle. A solitary yellow police van stood in the car park close to the building on the eastern side.

  "What do we do about the bastard standing at the entrance?" Moses asked.

  "Wait and see what he does." Shadow replied. "If he star
ts shooting at us, take him out, but I've got a feeling he'll rush into the building for safety."

  Shadow looked at his watch in the dim light, a dull feeling of fear in the pit of his stomach. He glanced at his two companions. Even in the dim light he could see the fear in their eyes. Damn it! he said to himself. You're fighting for the freedom of your people! This isn't about you; it's about freedom. Do it! Fight for what is rightfully yours!

  "Okay." he said. "It's one o'clock. Time to move. I'll take the lead, Peter you follow me and Moses, you take up the rear. Your task is to toss in the grenades while Peter and I are shooting up the windows. If you get a chance, Moses, try and get a grenade under that van. It'll go up with a big bang and lots of flames from the petrol."

  Moses nodded, his big white teeth glowing in the darkness as he grimaced in anticipation of the action to come.

  "Let's go!" Shadow said as he burst out of the shadows in a limping gait.

  Shadow ran towards the police station and as he reached the corner of the building he raised his AK 47 and began firing in short bursts at the darkened windows. Behind him he heard Peter's rifle begin to fire. The bullets smashed into the glass, spraying it out in silver shards. The policeman at the entrance stumbled into the entrance hall and disappeared behind the counter. Bullets knocked chunks out of the tiles and some ricocheted off the surface, whining into the night sky. Shadow smelt the acrid stink of cordite as he continued to fire short burst at the building. In the periphery of his vision he saw Moses hurl a grenade at the entrance hall. It clattered across the brick pathway, bounced up against the glass doors and fell back onto the paving before exploding with a solid crack. The glass doors shattered and their frames buckled. Shadow reached the end of the building as Moses raced closer to the isolated van and rolled a grenade under it. The three men sprinted away towards their getaway car. A dull explosion filled the air and Shadow looked back, just in time to see the police van burst into a ball of flames.

  The three men reached their car, breathing hard. Shadow climbed into the front passenger's seat, Moses clambered into the back seat and Peter got in behind the wheel. The engine burst into life and the yellow Mazda 323 roared off with a squeal of rubber on tar.

  Far behind them a single white policeman rushed out of the police station and fired a futile burst from his automatic rifle at the distant car.

  ***

  Shadow, Moses and Peter stood in the little shack at the back of the house in Soweto. It was the evening after the attack on the police station. Each man held a can on cold beer in his hand. Even with the rickety door wide open the enclosure was stiflingly hot.

  "From the newspaper reports you'd think that the whole of Umkhonto we Sizwe plus the I.R.A. had attacked the police station!" Shadow said, grinning widely. "Not one paper mentioned that there were only three of us! What's also amusing is that the statement issued by the police claims that the personnel at the police station returned fire and drove the attackers off! Did you guys hear any return fire?"

  Peter and Moses shook their heads.

  "Maybe they had silencers on their guns so as not to wake up the neighbourhood." Moses said. "But did you see that police van go up! Man! That was something!"

  "Yes!" Shadow replied. "I'm beginning to understand the strategy of our leaders. For the cost of about a hundred and fifty bullets and two grenades plus the help of the police we've created the impression that a major battle took place at the Westdene police station last night!"

  Shadow raised his beer can.

  "Here's to our freedom!" he said.

  ***

  Three weeks later every police station in the country was protected by a sandbagged defence post manned by men armed with automatic rifles. This put an additional strain on both the finances and the manpower of the white government, an important objective of the people fighting for their freedom. It also sent a message to the world that the illegitimate white South African government was becoming more and more vulnerable.

  CHAPTER 6

  Bala Desai sat at the table in the tiny kitchen of the house in Pageview with the newspaper spread out on the table top. Fatima stood at the kitchen counter preparing Salona's school lunch for the following day. The child was already asleep in her room and Bala and Fatima were almost ready to go to bed themselves. It had been a busy day at the shop.

  The kitchen was small and cramped. A three-plate electric stove stood next to the shelf where Fatima was standing and on the other end of the counter a small bar fridge hummed quietly. The walls were covered in a pale yellow tile and the floor was covered in dark blue linoleum. A large wall calendar with a photograph of the Taj Mahal and a brilliant sunset behind it hung on the far wall. Two steel kitchen cabinets stood next to the wooden back door which led out to a tiny back yard. As there was no ceiling the underside of the corrugated iron roof had been painted white. A single fluorescent strip light had been fastened to one of the rafters. The absence of a ceiling made the room uncomfortably hot, especially during summer.

  A knock at the front door made Bala look up. He looked at Fatima, his eyebrows raised. She frowned.

  "Who can be calling at this time?" she said.

  "I don't know." Bala said. "I'll go and see."

  "Be careful, Bala." Fatima said with a worried look. "Don't open the door until you're sure that it's someone we know."

  Bala nodded, stood up from the table and walked down the passageway to the front door, the wooden floor creaking under his feet.

  "Who's there?" he called out loudly.

  "It's me, Mister Dhupelia, your neighbour." a voice replied.

  Bala unlocked the door and opened it.

  "Please come in." he said.

  Mister Dhupelia raised his hands, the palms facing Bala.

  "No thank you." he said. "I apologise for disturbing you but I won't keep you long. I just came to let you know that the residents of Pageview had a meeting earlier today and it was decided to hold a peaceful demonstration outside the offices of the Department of Community Development to try and stop the ongoing removal of the residents of Pageview to the new suburb of Lenasia. Do you think that you will be able to participate?"

  "When will the demonstration take place?" Bala asked.

  "On Monday morning at eight o'clock." Mister Dhupelia replied. "We are going to present a petition to the head of the Department requesting that the forced removals be stopped and then we will disperse. We do not intend to cause any trouble. We will have placards but we have decided that there will be no shouting or chanting that might aggravate the situation and the whole affair should be over within two hours."

  "Do you have permission to hold this demonstration?" Bala asked. "I thought that demonstrations of this kind were illegal."

  "They are, and no, we don't have permission." Mister Dhupelia said. "We applied for a permit but there has been no response. We therefore decided that we would demonstrate peacefully and then disperse promptly. By doing this we do not expect any interference from the authorities."

  Bala was concerned about there being no permit for the demonstration. He had read and heard a great deal about the violence that the South African Police used to break up demonstrations of any kind, especially ones that were illegal. He didn't want to be a victim of such brutality. However, he stood to loose his house and possibly his business and thus his whole livelihood if these forced removals continued.

  "If it's only going to take a short while you can count on me to be there." Bala said. "My wife will be able to look after the business during that time and usually Monday mornings are quiet at the shop. Are you sure though, that there will definitely be no violence?"

  "From our side there will definitely not be any violence." Mister Dhupelia said. "We are going to great lengths to show that this is a peaceful demonstration."

  "Okay, I'll be there." Bala said.

  ***

  Bala stood on the pavement outside the offices of the Department of Community Development. Mister Dhupelia stood next to h
im. A crowd of about fifty Indians milled about behind them, the women wearing traditional saris and the men dressed in suits. Several of the protesters carried placards with messages such as: DON'T SEND US TO LENASIA!, IT'S OUR RIGHT TO LIVE IN PAGEVIEW! and FORCED REMOVALS ARE WRONG! Bala glanced at his watch. It was ten to eight. Cars swished passed in the street and a small gathering of spectators stood watching silently nearby.

  The Department building was a single-storey building of dark red brick with a red corrugated roof and white gutters and window frames. Two large wooden doors in the centre of the structure barred the entrance. Bala could see a number of white people staring at them from behind the windows.

  "Is someone from the Department going to be here to receive our petition?" he asked.

  "I hope so." Mister Dhupelia replied. "They haven't acknowledged our request for someone to accept the petition but I know that the request was delivered to them by hand."

  Bala looked around nervously. Although there was no police presence he had no doubt that it wouldn't be long before the riot police arrived.

  "I hope that this is over before the police arrive." he said to his companion.

  At eight o'clock the crowd quietened and turned expectantly towards the Department's building. Minutes passed and the doors remained closed. Suddenly Bala heard the distant wail of police sirens. It grew louder and louder and the protesters began to look at each other with alarm. Bala saw some of them walk away hurriedly. Mister Dhupelia turned to face the crowd.

  "Do not fear, my friends." he shouted. "As citizens of South Africa we have a right to protest against the injustices that we are experiencing. We must remain resolute and not be intimidated!"

  The crowd stared down the road in the direction of the approaching sirens. A convoy of five yellow police vans, their headlight and the blue lights on the top of their cabs flashing raced towards them. Several more of the protesters hurried away. The crowd of spectators grew larger. The air around the protesters reverberated as the police vehicles arrived.