Chapter 10

June 2019

The teenaged Rosa Masilela entered with a tray of glasses, followed by her younger brother, Nikolai, with a platter of crisps, peanuts and biltong. They placed their wares on the low glass-topped table in the middle of the room, where their father and five other old men were seated. Rosa went over to the bar, returning with whiskey, a bottle of red tucked under her arm and an ice bucket. She placed them in the centre of the table, made a gesture resembling a curtsy, grabbed Nikolai by the arm and moved backwards with him out of the room, smirking at her father.

Whitehead was the first to extricate himself from his armchair, kneel on the floor and hobble on his knees towards the table to pour himself a whiskey on the rocks, then hobble back and settle into his chair. The other four followed suit, without the hobbling. Masilela grunted as he opened the wine between his legs.

‘Comrades!’

It took a moment for the chatter to subside.

‘Comrades, I’ve briefed each of you about why we are here. I know there’s no need to repeat it, but I will anyway. This discussion is between us and us only. No wives, girlfriends, friends, comrades – nobody – should know about this. I mean this very seriously. I know this is not the first time all of you have heard this. But this time it is life or death. Understood?’

The gathering lifted their glasses in acknowledgment.

‘What we’ve been asked to do is historic, unprecedented. Most of you will know that it’s nothing new, but when we’ve tried to do this kind of investigation in the past we were shackled by the realities of post-apartheid exigencies.’

‘Comrade Vladimir, talk English, please.’

Masilela laughed. ‘Don’t play, Vhonani. You know what I mean. Our attempts to uncover the remnants of the old order in the new were obstructed because we did not know who was old and who was new. Now it’s come to a head. We can’t trust anyone outside this room, except those we agree to trust.’

There was a shuffling of feet, a simultaneous reach for glasses.

‘But, Comrade Vladimir, we are so few. We are dealing with serious stuff here. We don’t know who to trust, where to start.’

‘Comrade Vhonani, I know that. But this is our last chance to clear the decks. We are going to tackle this historically. We are going to look first at who came under suspicion during the struggle. Perhaps even those who didn’t at the time, and look at where they are now.’

Whitehead stood with his glass, moved over to the bar, and spoke over the back of Masilela. ‘And? Are we blaming all our fuck-ups on the old order? Is that it? Are we saying that all of our captured and corrupt comrades were enemy agents?’ He raised his glass to the room.

Masilela craned his neck toward Whitehead. ‘You and I have had this discussion, Jerry.’ He turned to the others. ‘Jerry is being provocative, as usual. But he has a point.’ Whitehead mock toasted again.

‘We are not looking for a third force to explain away all our problems. This is a concrete and scientific investigation into who specifically may be obstructing transformation due to other allegiances.’

‘How on earth are we going to do that?’

‘Comrade Senzo, we have access to the old ANC security records. That’s going to be Jerry’s job.’

Whitehead walked over to the table for a refill.

‘Vhonani’s job will be surveillance. He and I have discussed this, but we’re not sure yet who he can bring into his team from the old structures. We’re also not sure to what extent we’ll need surveillance. But we’re keeping all our options open. As we all know, Senzo still works in SIGINT. Only if absolutely necessary, he can organise intercepts for us.’

Senzo scowled, raised his glass, changed his mind and placed it on the table. ‘That won’t be so easy. There are rules.’

Whitehead grunted from his perch at the bar. ‘Fuck the rules! We’re already breaking every rule in the book.’

Masilela waved at Jeremy in a gesture of dismissal, leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and linked the fingers of his hands together. He spoke over his hands, his left thumb and forefinger massaging his chin. ‘Jerry may be out of order, but he does have a point. We’re operating outside of the controls governing intelligence. Even though we’ve been tasked by the Minister, we are in effect a private intelligence outfit.’

There was a sudden restlessness, murmuring, grunts of protest. Masilela laughed. ‘Yes, yes, I know. Private intelligence has been the bane of our lives since ’94. But that’s, more or less, what we are. We have no legal mandate. At least we’re not a commercial venture. We’re not getting paid for our efforts.’

More grumbling. Velaphi, who had been quiet until now, spoke in his lazy, high-pitched voice. ‘But what about our expenses? There are going to be operational costs.’

Masilela nodded, his two hands in front of him, elbows still on his thighs. ‘Actually, Comrade Velaphi, that’s going to be your job.’

‘Oh yeah, Vladimir, you want me to rob banks, blow up ATMs?’

‘No, Comrade. You’re going to be responsible for, among other things, our admin. The money’s coming from the Minister. Don’t ask where he’s getting it, but he wants us to keep strict records of expenditure. He also wants us to keep a record of all operations. That will also be your task – the operational reports. Jerry will handle the intelligence reports.’

Whitehead brandished his glass, came forward for a handful of peanuts. ‘Oh yeah? And for what archive will that be?’

Masilela ignored him. He pointed his glass at the man sitting perfectly still opposite him, who got his exile nickname from his light complexion, his scarcity with words and the near inaudibility of his voice when he did speak.

‘And Casper will assist me in coordinating investigations.’

They all raised their glasses at Casper. He looked down at his shirt and smoothed it over his large belly. Age had wrinkled and furrowed the skin on his face, jowls hanging down towards his near-hidden chin.

Masilela continued. ‘We may all have our specific responsibilities, but we work as a team. We help each other where necessary. We’re a small enough team as it is. But there is one more person I would like to bring into the team.’

He looked around as if for prior approval.

‘Who’s that, chief?’

‘Bongi. Jerry’s wife.’

‘I thought you said no wives or girlfriends.’

‘I said no blabbing to wives and girlfriends. You all know that Bongi is still a director in analysis in the Service. She can access records for us. If you’re worried about conflict of interest, she will report directly to me.’

All raised their glasses in mock toast, this time to Whitehead who raised his glass back at them and drained it. Before he could get to the table for another refill, Masilela screwed the cap back on the whiskey bottle and pushed the cork back into the bottle of wine. He stood up. ‘Okay, let’s disperse. In dribs and drabs. Not all at once. We were here for a drinking session of old comrades. Let’s not make it look like a meeting has just ended. Jerry, you stay behind for a bit. There’s something I need to brief you on.’