"Protea Eight, a package will be delivered to you on Wednesday afternoon by a man who will introduce himself as Solomon. He will deliver it to your shop between two and four. Make sure you personally take delivery of it. Do not open the package under any circumstances and ensure that it is stored safely. On Friday morning take the package and fifty rand to Newcastle. Go to the Stone Mills Bread Factory. Ask for Gys. Hand him the package and the fifty rand. In turn, he will give you two bags with fresh bread and rolls. Do not ask questions, do not linger, get out of there as quickly as possible. Message understood?” Protea Seven asked.
“Yes, yes, message understood. Loud and clear. Thank you,” Venny replied hastily, trying not to sound overexcited.
“Don’t let us down. Protea Seven out.”
Venny sat in his chair for a few moments just staring at the microphone. After all this time of being kept in the dark, he could finally see a sliver of light. He was part of the action.
Outside the locked metal door of his operations room, he could hear his wife calling, but in here, nothing else mattered. He had a mission. He would deliver that package like a pro. What could it be? Surely a bomb? It had to be. Something big was going to happen in Newcastle, something profound, and he was the key to its success. Yes, he, Venny Naidoo of Dannhauser, master freedom fighter, hero of the cause. He desperately wanted to tell Sarita, tell her that her dad wasn’t just some overweight shopkeeper in a small town, with a moaning wife and love of Gunston plains. No, he was a man who leaped over the white fence of fear and faced his enemy head-on. If only he could tell her, she would no longer give him those disappointed looks. If only she knew he was doing all of this for her. It was all for her. Everything, always.