People of Heaven

by Beverley Harper

  ‘And the drugs thing? Exactly who do you work for?’

  ‘Ah!’ Devilliers tried to dismiss it. ‘Look, I’ve told you I’m legit. I’m freelance – army, cops, Bureau of State Security, other organisations. In other words, King, I’m a paid but private soldier. I try to remain impartial, know what I mean. I was working for BOSS this time, most of my jobs come from them. So set your mind at rest about who I answer to. As for the job? It happens. I should be used to it by now. There’s enough there for the bureau to take it on. They won’t get the big boys but at least we hurt the network. It’ll be a while before anything else can be set up.’ He turned belligerent suddenly. ‘Do you have any fucking idea what it’s like? To get that close and then lose it?’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Michael had a fleeting thought that, try as hard as he might, Sacha Devilliers’ idea of ‘impartial’ was well wide of the Oxford English Dictionary’s.

  ‘Yeah.’ Devilliers lit another cigarette. ‘Lucky Strike, good name, hey? Tell me something, King. Just what did you intend to do with Mpande once you caught him?’

  ‘Kill him.’

  ‘Ja!’ Devilliers sounded amused.

  ‘I hated him enough to do it. I wanted him to die hard, the old Zulu way.’

  ‘Stake up the arse? So, courtesy of uBejane you got your wish.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Know what I think, King? I think it’s just as well that old rhino came along. You don’t have the stomach for that kind of thing.’

  ‘I believed I did.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘He’s dead. It’s over.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Devilliers said softly, leaving Michael with the impression he was talking about something else altogether.

  Shortly after that Sacha Devilliers dropped behind Michael, leaving him free to think his own thoughts as they walked in the moonlight. A jumble of mainly unpleasant memories crowded his head but he let them come and, by the time they reached the camp, Michael felt that he could, at last, hope to find the peace that for so long had eluded him.

  Sacha showed Michael to a tent. He was asleep within two minutes.

  Waking with the dawn, Michael felt more relaxed than he could remember, with a hunger on him that could no longer be denied. The smell of frying onions was in the air and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. Leaving the tent he made his way towards the fire where various people sat around warming their hands on steaming mugs of coffee. Sacha sat at a table. ‘Morning, sleep well?’

  ‘Morning, like a log.’

  A figure crouched at the fire stood up and turned around. Michael stared. In the early morning light, Annie Devilliers looked about fifteen, her blonde hair braided into a single plait down her back. She wore khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. ‘Good morning.’ The smile was brief as she went to the table and sat down beside her husband.

  ‘Pull up a chair.’ Sacha waved his hand vaguely. ‘Coffee’s on. Food won’t be long.’

  Michael poured coffee, helped himself to sugar and joined them. Up close, he could see lines of strain around Annie’s mouth and eyes.

  ‘After breakfast we’ll go and pick up that other mine. I want it out of there and rendered safe. Think you can find it again?’ He didn’t wait for Michael to reply. ‘After that you’re free to go.’ He glanced sideways at Annie. ‘Your patient got his wish last night. One SWAPO gentleman, dead as a dodo.’

  ‘He’s not my patient.’ Annie’s voice carried just a hint of exasperation.

  ‘He was your patient.’

  She rose suddenly, snatching up her coffee. ‘Have it your own way. Excuse me.’ She made her way to a big tent nearby and disappeared inside.

  ‘Wrong time of the month.’ Sacha grinned at Michael, shaking his head. ‘Women eh? Who can work them out?’

  ‘Is she here for her own protection?’

  ‘Ja, man. I told you last night. My family were being threatened.’

  Michael made no response but it did cross his mind that Sacha might have shown a bit more sympathy towards his wife who, presumably, had been whisked away from her practice to spend God knows how long hidden away in the bush.

  Bob slapped a tin plate in front of him. Four sausages, bacon, three eggs swimming in grease, baked beans and a heap of burned onions. It was the best-looking meal he’d seen in a long time. Sacha left the table saying only that he’d be back in half-an-hour and that Michael should be ready to come with him. The other men had also departed and were nowhere to be seen.

  Michael was pouring a second cup of coffee when he heard footsteps behind him and, turning, saw Annie approaching. In her eyes there was something akin to disgust. ‘I didn’t think you’d do it,’ she said without preamble. ‘I really thought you’d come to your senses.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say,’ he said, stung by her criticism.

  She sat down heavily. ‘Was it worth it? Do you feel better now?’

  ‘Yes. Does that surprise you?’

  She brushed a hand tiredly across her forehead. ‘An eye for an eye,’ she said softly. ‘It’s a bit bloody basic wouldn’t you say?’

  She was very upset and Michael realised it wasn’t just over Jackson Mpande. ‘Basic or not there are things you still don’t know about,’ he told her quietly. ‘Jackson turned up in London, murdered Tessa and then tried to kill my oldest friend, his own brother.’

  ‘Oh, Michael.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I can be a bit of a bitch sometimes.’

  ‘I’m not sorry he’s dead,’ Michael said flatly.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I daresay you aren’t.’

  ‘But I didn’t do it, Annie. A rhino got him. I would have though. I would have killed the bastard. And I don’t know how I feel about that.’

  She reached over and put a hand on his arm. ‘One day, Michael, you’re going to be very glad that you didn’t.’ She seemed unaware that her fingers were brushing back and forth. ‘I know what it does to people.’

  ‘Sacha?’

  She nodded and took a deep shuddering breath.

  ‘It must be very difficult for you, Annie.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘And it makes me so very angry. He has no right to allow his work to impact on mine.’ She broke off, snatching her hand away from his arm. ‘Forgive me, I shouldn’t be telling you these things.’

  Michael smiled at her slightly. ‘Of all people, you should know how important it is to unburden yourself.’

  She gave a tiny grin back. ‘Touché, Mr King.’

  ‘Want some good news?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘You were right about Andrew. He could hear all the time. He’s talking nineteen-to-the-dozen.’

  Real pleasure shone in her eyes. ‘I’m glad.’ She hesitated, then asked, ‘What are you going to do now?’

  ‘Get my life back together I suppose.’

  ‘Is Andrew a part of that?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘It won’t be easy, but yes.’

  ‘You won’t regret it.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  The question startled her. ‘My life is under control.’

  Michael cocked his head to one side. ‘That’s not saying much.’

  Annie looked away. ‘It’s better than some have,’ she said softly. ‘I knew what I was getting into.’

  Michael went to say more but stopped himself. It was none of his business.

  They were talking of other things when Sacha and his men returned. ‘You ready to roll, King?’

  Michael and Annie rose.

  ‘You’re not coming,’ Sacha said curtly to his wife.

  ‘Why not?’ She looked set to argue.

  ‘Because I say so, Annie. That’s why.’

  Behind him Sacha’s men exchanged uneasy looks.

  Annie stepped up to her husband. ‘If I want to come, you can’t stop me.’

  ‘Bob,’ Sacha called.

  ‘Sir?’ The man stepped forward reluctantly.
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br />   Sacha spoke to him but his eyes never left Annie’s face. ‘Stay in camp and make sure my wife stays here too.’

  Furious, Annie spun around and walked stiff with anger back to her tent.

  ‘Come on,’ Devilliers snapped. ‘We haven’t got all day.’ Without waiting he turned and strode out of the camp.

  Michael opened his mouth to protest about the high-handed manner in which he had treated Annie but Bob shook his head and muttered, ‘Better not, Mr King. He’s a good man but he hasn’t a clue how to treat women. The job always comes first. Leave it.’

  Michael wanted to say goodbye to Annie but, with Sacha now out of sight and the others moving off after him, he snatched up the shotgun and set off after them.

  The big male baboon led his troop along the dusty road. It was a large group, nearly fifty in all, strung out along the road for several hundred metres. Newborn babies clung to their mothers’ bellies, older offspring grabbed a ride wherever they could. Individuals would stop to examine rocks, turning them over to check for ants and grubs. One cheeky male near the back leapt at a female in front of him. What took place amounted to rape but she didn’t seem to mind, standing still until he had finished then resuming her seemingly aimless walk.

  The dominant male at the front scampered off the road and into a tree, those immediately behind scattering into the bush. What had caught his eye was a curious round thing which he picked up, looking underneath in the hope of discovering something edible. Finding nothing, he lost interest in the flat object and tossed it out of the tree. It landed on its rim and rolled before encountering a scrubby bush and falling, right side up, just under its trailing branches.

  The troop of baboon headed off across country towards their usual watering place.

  ‘Here,’ Michael said, recognising the fork in the road. ‘This is where he laid it.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Up that tree,’ Michael pointed. ‘Hang on, I’ll get it.’

  ‘No, you stay put.’ Devilliers turned to Macmillan. ‘Shin up and pass the bloody thing down.’

  The man unslung his weapon, laid it down beside the road and stepped into the bush. He climbed easily.

  Sacha moved to the foot of the tree, ready to retrieve the mine.

  ‘Nothing here,’ Macmillan called down.

  Sacha stepped back to see better. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Not a damned thing.’

  He looked across at Michael. ‘Are you certain this is the tree?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Sacha shrugged. He took one more step back and froze. They all heard his muttered, ‘Shit!’

  Macmillan jumped down and dropped to his knees beside Sacha. ‘It’s the mine.’ He called out to the others. ‘The boss is standing on the bloody mine.’

  Everyone stared at Sacha. He had not moved. ‘These things need a bit more than my weight,’ he said calmly. ‘What I want you all to do is get the fuck out of here.’

  No-one moved.

  Sacha smiled grimly. ‘Do as you are ordered. Now.’

  The men backed off up the road slowly. Michael went to follow.

  ‘Hey, King.’

  He stopped.

  Devilliers was pale and sweating. ‘I hadn’t planned to say this so it could come out all wrong. And I haven’t the time to fuck around because this thing could blow at any time. So listen and don’t interrupt. Annie likes you. She liked you right from the beginning. A man like me, hell, there’s no place for a woman in my life. Marrying Annie was a mistake. So here’s what I’m saying. If I walk away from this thing I’m going to walk away from Annie too. She’ll need a friend. That’s all I’m saying, King.’

  Michael saw fear in the man’s eyes.

  ‘Well?’ Devilliers demanded. ‘Can I count on you?’

  ‘Why don’t you come over here and we’ll talk about it?’

  ‘I don’t need this, King. Can I count on you or not?’

  Michael nodded slowly.

  ‘Deluxe. Now, get the fuck away from here.’

  Michael walked away and stood with the others.

  They heard Sacha bellow, ‘Here goes fellas.’ Michael saw him dive over the low bush. Nothing. Devilliers was rolling and scrambling to his feet, running desperately towards them. Nothing. Fear was being replaced by relief. He stopped halfway up the road where they waited, hands on hips, grinning, when the mine exploded. The force of the explosion blew him off his feet, flat on his back, landing in the middle of the road. Even before the last of the flying debris hit the ground, they were all, Michael included, running back towards him.

  Devilliers had a thin trickle of blood coming from his nose. Otherwise he appeared uninjured. ‘Boss,’ one of the men shouted.

  Sacha Devilliers lay perfectly still. As they hovered anxiously wondering whether to move him or not, a deep, rasping chuckle began. He was coughing and laughing at the same time. It grew into a bull-roaring belly laugh that had the others staring incredulously. When he could speak he said, ‘You’d think those fucking Russians could get something right wouldn’t you?’

  The conference was over, the delegates enthused and still talking about their rhino sightings. Sacha arranged for one of his men to fly Michael to Ulundi in the helicopter so he could collect his vehicle and camping equipment.

  Michael retrieved his belongings from Edward’s unlocked house. Then he headed north, alone, into the valleys of the Black Umfolozi River. He spent six days on his own, not seeing another soul. There, he spoke to Jennifer, Jeremy and Tessa. He remembered his childhood on UBejane. He thought back on conversations shared with Dyson and Wilson about their growing concern for South Africa and in particular, the Zulu nation. He recalled Tessa’s turbulent youth and realised how glad he was that she’d found peace in her last few years. He cried for Jennifer. He ached to think that Jeremy had not even reached four short years before his life had been so brutally taken from him. And he missed Andrew.

  He also found himself wondering if Sacha Devilliers really had walked away from Annie.

  After six days of solitude, Michael King knew exactly what he was going to do next. Some of it wouldn’t be easy.

  First, he was going to visit Wilson and Nandi in Kwa-Mashu. There were sorry words ahead but there was no way around them.

  Then he was going back to England to collect his son. He was impatient to see him again and anxious to let Claire know that all was well with her oldest child.

  And after that there was the rest of his life to see to. Those six days of soul-searching revealed to Michael exactly what he wanted to do.

  He’d had three options. He could, as he and Jennifer discussed, consider a political career. There was a woman in Johannesburg, Helen Suzman, the sole remaining member of the Progressive Party in office after the previous year’s elections, who might find a use for him. She was the thorn in the Nationalists’ side, the one voice in parliament that dared to question them. Not that it made any difference to their increasingly repressive policies, it didn’t. But what Suzman was doing by raising questions officially was getting them, and the answers, published in Hansard. And that publication was available anywhere in the world, for anyone to read.

  His second option was to rejoin Umfolozi’s black rhinoceros project. New funding had come from somewhere and it had been made clear to Michael in a letter that reached him in Johannesburg that he would be favourably considered as a member of the team.

  When UBejane was sold, Michael’s share had been placed in a fixed deposit account that paid high interest and rolled over every two years. The next two-year period was due to expire in six months. His third option was to use the money to buy his own cane farm.

  The catalyst for the choice he made was Andrew. A life in politics was a busy one. Michael would have to be both mother and father to his son. And he couldn’t do that if he was constantly travelling or working long hours. He ruled it out.

  The wildlife project would allow time with Andrew and, depending on who else was in the
program, the chance of company his own age. But ultimately Andrew would need schooling. And Michael couldn’t bear the thought of his son in boarding school. He ruled it out as well.

  He supposed he’d always known where he’d end up. It was the right choice for him and he was happy with it.

  It took him a little longer to find Wilson than he’d expected.

  When Michael tried to visit Kwa-Mashu to find him the authorities decided that his reason for doing so, to bring family news to a man who once worked for him, wasn’t good enough. A permit to enter the all-black area was denied. Undeterred, Michael approached various Africans working in Durban until he found one who had heard of Wilson and agreed to get a message to him. After two not unpleasant days of staying at the Royal Hotel on Durban’s beach front, he received a message from Wilson. They met eventually, about a kilometre from the sprawling township, the elderly Zulu looking furtively around before getting quickly into the canvas-covered back of Michael’s Land Rover.

  He drove inland for fifteen minutes, along dirt roads, through fields of lush sugar cane. There was a sliding window behind the cab but they did not speak. Finally, Michael found what he was looking for, a place where they could not be seen. They both emerged from the vehicle and embraced. ‘We should be safe from prying eyes here,’ he said to Wilson.

  ‘We are never safe,’ Wilson replied. ‘Not any more.’

  ‘What is it they fear? Why treat a meeting like this with suspicion? It’s crazy.’

  ‘So it is.’ Wilson agreed. ‘But we forget our manners, you and I. I see you, my son. What is so important that you would risk this meeting?’

  ‘I see you, old father. Many bad things have happened. It is my duty to speak with you now.’

  ‘Even as I fear your words my ears are open.’

  Michael left nothing out.

  Wilson heard him in silence. Whatever his feelings, they did not show. ‘It is as the sangoma predicted so many years ago,’ he said once Michael had stopped speaking. ‘A great evil will touch the lives of two families. And so it has come to this.’ Finally Wilson allowed tears to flow. They slid unchecked down his cheeks. But though sorrow racked him, so too did shame at the deeds of Jackson. ‘It is possible to run from a great evil if it would try to catch you. But if that evil is inside, there is nowhere to run. Justice had to be done. But I am thinking that justice is like a fire. It burns long after the flames have died down. My son, Jackson, broke many of our laws. This is unforgivable. His punishment is just. While I have no quarrel with this I have to tell you, nkosi, that I am glad your hands are not stained with his blood. If that were so you would never wash it off. Not in my memory or your own.’