Agents of the State

by Mike Nicol

  Fish put foot, shifted into the fast lane, drove parallel to an old Merc towing a caravan, hid him from Vicki’s sight. Trouble was, being ahead of her wasn’t his plan. He slowed, went onto the hard shoulder when he no longer had sight of her in the rear-view. Stopped. Checked the map. If she was heading for Trekkersburg, he could go on, take a chance. Except Fish was no gambler. Had already got one call wrong today.

  Instead slid down in the seat, angled the mirror to give him the rear view. Didn’t have long to wait, Vicki in the Cruze came past at speed. Fish gave her the count of sixty, jumped out, took off the front number plate. No need to give her any advantages.

  Ten kays later had her in sight, doing the speed limit. About six cars between them. Stayed that way, the speed slowing. Most of the cars overtook the Cruze. Fish dropped back. Noticed a small white car, probably a Fiat, stuck to Vicki. She’d be aware of it too.

  26

  The president in the bunker at the long table. Nandi on his left, her hand on his thigh. His first wife to his right, her hands in her lap, her head bowed. Major Vula standing.

  Major Vula saying, ‘We think this occasion must be reconsidered, Mr President.’ Major Vula thinking the little bitch looked ripe for patta-patta. Always looked ready when he saw her. Her words again, ‘I hate that man. I really hate him.’ Wondered what had happened to that hate.

  ‘Oh, no, impossible. You can’t do that.’ Nandi turning to the president. ‘Please, Baba, it is all organised. This morning everybody is coming. From Joburg. Cape Town. They are flying right now. In a few hours they’re here. All your people.’

  ‘I think you must listen to the major,’ said the first wife. Still she didn’t look up.

  ‘You hear them, Major. They talk different things into my ears.’ The president enjoying this to Kaiser Vula’s way of thinking.

  Nandi talking over him, not letting up. ‘No, Mama, no. This time is important. How can we tell people they must go home? Why? Why, Kaiser?’

  Major Kaiser Vula thrilled at the use of his name. Kaisy, she used to call him. Darl, too. Come to me, darl. He glanced down at her. Lovelier than ever in a silky shift. The lure of her bare arms, the sheen on her skin. He could feel the velvet beneath his palm.

  ‘You are a child,’ said the first wife. ‘You do not know about these things.’

  ‘I know Major Vula. He has no reasons.’

  Kaiser Vula’s face flushed with embarrassment. The little bitch. These things she said.

  ‘Also the president is ill.’ The first wife saying this implacably. No love, no concern on her face.

  ‘Baba?’ Nandi caressing the president’s arm.

  ‘Mr President?’ Kaiser Vula said.

  A grimace passed over the president’s face. ‘It is nothing. Some stomach cramps. It is nothing.’

  ‘It is a witch,’ said the first wife. ‘It is a witch has done this. We will find the witch.’

  ‘Wait. Wait.’ The president stood. ‘Enough. I am fine. This problem is indigestion. Let me talk to the major alone.’ Spoke in Zulu to his first wife. To Nandi said, ‘Give me some time.’

  ‘You promised,’ she said. ‘You promised me this.’

  Kaiser Vula waited while the two women left the room, the first wife sweeping out ahead of Nandi.

  The president sat down. ‘One wife should be enough. Why do I have more?’ Gestured at an opposite chair. ‘Sit down, Major, tell me what the problem is.’

  The major pulled out the chair, hitched his trousers as he sat. Was about to ask how serious was the president’s stomach pain. Did he need a doctor?

  The president held up a hand. ‘Tell me first, where is Zama?’

  ‘He is here. He has come to the palace. At the moment he is training, running in the forest.’

  ‘With bodyguards. He is safe?’

  ‘He is protected. We have people everywhere.’

  ‘You are sure it is still my comrades?’

  ‘I am sure.’

  ‘But will they act, Major? Will they act? It is not possible to think so. They are conspirators, they like to plot and plan, they have no balls to be assassins.’ He sniffed. ‘We will not catch them with a smoking gun.’

  ‘We have intelligence.’

  ‘What is intelligence but rumours? It is what your agents want you to know. What they think you expect.’

  ‘We cannot take risks.’

  The president shrugged. ‘There is security. We must trust the security. I will wear a bulletproof. What do they say in the townships? Two warning shots to the heart.’ He laughed again, put a hand over his chest. ‘They won’t be able to do that.’ Seemed to go rigid, then sighed. ‘You worry too much, Major. You think, what about his head? But a head shot is difficult.’ He jigged his torso from side to side, gasped again. ‘See, too much movement. They will want to be sure. They will want my chest.’ The president drew in a deep breath, puffed out his chest. ‘Maybe we could paint a target for them?’ He let the air out in a whoosh. No humour in his face. Pushed back his chair. ‘Don’t worry, Major. It will be okay. We are ready. I am ready. The bull doesn’t hide from the jackal. There is only one way to stop this. We must catch them after the party.’ Walked to the door, turned to Major Vula. ‘You hear what Nandi says. This is a woman who doesn’t understand no.’

  ‘I hear,’ said Major Kaiser Vula. More quietly, ‘I know.’

  Saw the president bend over, groan at a spasm of pain.

  ‘Mr President. Please. Let me fetch a doctor.’

  The president straightened. Massaged the side of his stomach. ‘No. No. I will be alright. I am sure Nandi has medicine, sangoma’s muti, for stomach problems. You know she has many powders. Without her, the witchdoctors would have no business.’

  27

  ‘Miss Nchaba, I have come to fetch you.’ Again a knock. Tentative. Light. ‘Miss Nchaba, Miss Nchaba. Please, Miss Nchaba.’

  Linda Nchaba fixed her earrings, discreet silver studs with azure drops, frowned at herself in the mirror. A once-upon-a-time present from Zama. Wore a red dress, short on her thighs, a scoop neck that would keep his eyes off her breasts, her feet in black pointy pumps. Those shoes made men look at her legs. She could handle that. Most of the time her legs would be under a table.

  ‘Please, I have come to fetch you.’

  ‘I don’t need fetching,’ she called out. ‘I told Zama I’d get there by myself. Wherever there is.’ Turned from the mirror, stepped to the door, slotted the security chain into place. Only hotel room she’d ever been in there was a chain on the door. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am from Mr Zama. He has sent me to bring you to lunch.’

  Exactly what she’d feared. Zama taking control. Precisely what Vicki had warned against. ‘There’s no need, thank you. I’ve got a car. I can drive there myself.’

  ‘He is worried about drinking. The traffic cops are very strict.’

  She laughed. ‘He doesn’t have to worry. I only drink mineral water. Where is the restaurant?’

  ‘The palace, ma’am. There are no restaurants anywhere in Trekkersburg. It will be easier for me to drive you. You can relax in the car.’

  Typical Zama. Would have some smooth-tongue working for him. ‘I’ll follow you. Wait for me outside the hotel.’ She opened the door the length of the chain.

  A man stood there, good-looking, fit, military stature. Wore a blazer, white shirt and tie, dark trousers. ‘Please ma’am,’ he said. ‘It will be more convenient for me to take you. There is all the security at the palace. It is too much trouble.’

  ‘I am sure you can get me through. We won’t have any problems.’ She smiled. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Me.’ He tapped his chest. ‘I am Mr Zama’s assistant.’

  ‘Sure. But your name? What’s your name?’

  ‘Major Vula.’

  ‘Alright then, Major Vula, I will see you outside the hotel in five minutes.’

  ‘But ma’am, this is not …’

  ‘It’s the way it is going to b
e,’ said Linda Nchaba.

  Five minutes later she stopped her hired Tazz alongside a black Merc. The major standing on the pavement. He walked round her car to the side window. ‘There is no need for this, ma’am,’ he said. ‘You can be driven.’

  ‘This way is fine, Major.’ She gave him a glossy smile, a hint of teeth. ‘I’ll tell Mr Zama it was my insistence.’

  He nodded. ‘It will take about forty-five minutes.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Again a curt nod.

  She followed the Mercedes out of Trekkersburg onto a new road. Wide shoulders, no potholes. A surface of smooth tar. A road of little traffic. A road that went only to the palace. Farmlands either side, cattle ranches of grasslands, acacia plains. Occasional groups of people walking, women with bundles on their heads. There were always people walking, Linda thought. No matter where you were in the country, there were always people walking. From where, to where, you couldn’t imagine. An unsettled nation.

  She considered SMSing Vicki, telling her the destination. Would make sense, give her a heads-up. But Vicki had said no contact until she was back at the hotel. Vicki had said, we’ve got you covered. We’re watching. Like, oh yes, they were watching! No watchers that she could see. No car behind her. She sent it, one word: palace. Vicki would put it together. Relief relaxing the tension in her shoulders. It was just a lunch.

  She hadn’t expected the grandeur of the palace. Came over a rise, there it was on the opposite slope: a compound of buildings, a fantasy of architectural styles, large houses, gardens, lawns, tennis courts, a swimming pool bright as a jewel, a helipad, roads for electric golf carts, closer to her, pastures of cattle, some antelope. All of it behind an electric fence. This flamboyant mirage in the savannah.

  At the gates, she had to leave the Tazz. The guard adamant: ‘No unauthorised inside, sisi.’

  She’d swung her legs out of the car, stood. ‘So authorise me.’

  The guard not giving anything. Eyes behind shades, lips tight.

  ‘You expect me to walk? In these shoes?’

  The guard’s eyes going to her shoes, coming back up her legs. ‘It is security, my sister.’

  When Major Vula intervened. ‘Please, Miss Nchaba, let me drive you. It is a short distance only. Better than walking under this sun.’ His hand at her elbow.

  She’d allowed him to usher her into the cool of the Merc’s air-conditioning.

  They’d driven through the gates, gone left to a grand building, parked. The car driven off by a uniformed woman, who’d opened her door, hadn’t looked at her. The major led her up through Doric columns, held open a glass door. Inside, a cool hush.

  ‘Come, please,’ he said. ‘It is better if you follow me.’ Showing her across wide floors thrown with Persians, her heels ticking against the travertine, down stairs into a reception room. Photographic portraits on the walls of cabinet ministers.

  Major Vula stopped at an antique door. The architrave, carved, ornate, a history of battles. Swept a hand at the photographs. ‘The president calls this his rogues’ gallery, Miss Nchaba. It is his joke.’ Pushed through the doors.

  Inside the light was azure, shot with ziggers of sun dazzle. Linda blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the gloom.

  ‘We are underground, Miss Nchaba.’ The major tapped on the glass wall. ‘You are looking into the swimming pool. The president likes to watch people swimming. At night especially. The pool has underwater lights.’

  Linda Nchaba looked from the swimming pool to the shelves of booze to the cool room of wine. This had to be one of the rooms in the famous bunker complex. Not exactly the concrete hideout she’d imagined.

  ‘You would like mineral water? Still or sparkling? Or some champagne maybe?’ The major held up a white bottle. ‘Lanson. The suppliers of Wimbledon. You see the president is a tennis fan, each year he tries to be there. When he cannot be there he has television. Television and Lanson.’

  Linda smiled. ‘I see why you are friends with Zama. You talk like him.’ Watched the major twist off the cork, pour the bubbly into a flute.

  ‘We can have someone drive back your car. This is no problem. You can relax, Miss Nchaba.’

  She took the glass he held out. One drink. What was the harm in one drink? He filled another glass.

  Linda raised the wine to her lips, tasted, the bubbles rich in her mouth. Let a mouthful lie on her tongue. Swallowed. She raised the glass again. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Akubekuhle,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Your good health.’

  ‘Zama!’ Linda caught his reflection in the glass wall. Turned slowly. Her hands suddenly sweating. Her heart rate up. A flutter in her stomach. ‘Always the man in the shadows.’ Smiled at him. ‘Impilontle, Mr Zama. Cheers.’ Clinked her glass with the one the major gave Zama. ‘I did not expect this.’

  ‘I thought it would be better than KFC. Or the Trekkersburg Country Club. Of course, there are shebeens in Peacehaven township. But Linda Nchaba would not like those places.’ He smiled at her. ‘Would she?’ Reached out to stroke her cheek.

  Linda pulled back. The man’s touch like branding on her skin.

  Again his smile, mocking. ‘You have forgotten my fingers,’ he said. ‘It has been too long. Too long for lovers to be apart. I’m pleased you came back, Miss Nchaba. The lovely Linda.’ He sat down at the table. Indicated the other chair. ‘Relax. Please. We have missed you.’

  Linda sat, aware that somewhere behind her stood Major Vula. Would Zama have him wait on them?

  ‘You came back. This is the important thing. For me it is the important thing. Is it important for you too?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘You are. Here with me.’ He gestured with an expansive arm. ‘You like this room? Kaiser has told you my father sits down here when the girls are swimming.’ He pointed at a leather armchair. ‘That is the chair he sits in, sipping champagne and orange juice.’ Zama shook his head, chuckling. ‘What a strange man he has become.’ He looked down, his voice lowered. ‘The president. Our father.’ Glanced up again, the reflective moment passed. His face alive. ‘But he is our president. We must love him, respect him. We have him, our constitution, our democracy. We are the rainbow nation of God. At least according to the archbishop. Yet the lords of hell are here. Do you think so, Linda? Lovely Linda.’

  Linda frowned, unsure what he was talking about. Went with, ‘I’m sorry? I don’t …’

  ‘Understand,’ he supplied for her. ‘No reason you should. Just saying. Just talking politics.’ He drained his glass. Held it up. ‘But we don’t want to talk politics, do we?’ Major Vula came over with the bottle. Topped up Linda’s glass, filled Zama’s. Retreated into the shadows. Zama leant towards her, reached out, put his hand on her wrist. A loose hand, that began caressing her.

  Linda let him. Didn’t like what he was doing. Remembered Vicki’s ‘Play it cool. Don’t turn him off.’ Left her hand for him to play with.

  ‘It was good, Linda, the time we had. You think we can have that again?’

  His eyes coming up to meet hers. Linda didn’t look away. Saw a hardness set in his face. Held his stare until his smile returned. The spidery movements of his fingers continuing on her arm.

  ‘Those crazy lunches, hey? Flying all the way to Cape Town, Maputo, Vic Falls. What were we thinking? Doesn’t matter, it was fun. Not so, my jet-set model? Straight off the catwalks of Europe, the States. Live fast, die young, be a good-looking corpse. Ja, my honey. Wonderful times, wonderful times.’

  ‘I thought so,’ said Linda. Sipped at her champagne, wondered where Zama was going with this.

  ‘You should’ve stayed. That was a bad thing running away.’ Once more the shake of his head, the tightening lips.

  ‘I came back.’

  He let go her wrist, relaxed on the chair. ‘You’ve said. That’s the important thing. You came back. You still wear my earrings. That says something. It says much.’ A pause. Those dark eyes on her. ‘You know, since you came back it is easi
er. With the girls, I mean. The girls like you.’ He kept focused on her. ‘They feel you are their friend, their mother. They ask where you are, when you are coming to them. This time your help has made it much better. There was one lot, joh!’ He looked back over his shoulder at Kaiser Vula. ‘I have told the major. Joh! That lot. So much trouble. If you had been there it would have been alright. Nothing would have happened to them. Instead …’ He left it hanging, shook his head.

  Linda ran her fingers up the flute through the condensation. Play it cool. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You don’t want to know. It was nasty.’

  Saw the quick stretching of his lips. His face hard. To the side, the major’s low cough. Felt a cramp seize her stomach, almost cried out.

  ‘No, really, you don’t want to know. It was a carnage, a terrible business. Such unnecessary waste. But now I have you back again. Also I have the major now, so this time it is easy, everything according to plan.’

  He came forward, reached out for her hand. Held it. His fingers warm, their pressure closing. ‘Why did you come back, my beautiful one?’

  ‘You had my grandmother hostage.’

  ‘That! That was a joke. I told you, she had a holiday.’ His grip fiercer. ‘No, why did you come back to me? For love?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Linda trying for a lightness. A flippant toss of her long curls.

  ‘Maybe. Ah, my playful Linda. Then tell me, my playful Linda, who is Vicki Kahn?’

  28

  Vicki got wise to the man in the Fiat soon enough. On the national road had decided odds were he was a tail, but discreet. Not like the bm buffoons. They were an embarrassment! After all the training.