The List

Although not planned, it happened on the following Sunday that Vladimir Masilela and Mr and Mrs Whitehead arrived simultaneously early at Rietvlei Dam, perhaps both in deference to the old trade craft of arriving betimes to a secret assignation. Jerry and Bongi’s car appeared behind Masilela’s as he pulled up to the gate and spoke to the guard. They did not acknowledge each other. Once inside the reserve, the Whiteheads followed Masilela at a discreet distance to the spot he had previously chosen.

Once unpacked, they began to set up. It would be at least half an hour before the rest of the team arrived. Jerry set up the Weber braai, placed the firelighters and charcoal and lit the fire. Masilela unfolded the metal table, set up the camp chairs and unpacked the drinks – beers and wine; he had banned the hard stuff for today. Bongi set the bowls of salad and the containers of marinated meat on the table.

Jerry picked up a beer from the cooler bag, but Bongi took it from him and pointed at a bottle of wine. He poured and sat down next to Masilela, reached into his sling bag and handed Masilela two typed documents. ‘You know about The Oracle Project?’

‘Heard about it, but I wasn’t privy. Lusaka once sent us some reports when I was in the forward area, but that’s all I saw – reports about meetings between the boers and the Swazi police.’ Masilela flipped through the first document, a summary of Whitehead’s notes. ‘Jesus, Jerry! This is gold! Where d’you find it?’

‘In the archives – The Room. It was in a trunk that I only managed to open last week. There’s a lot more. Read the second document.’

15 May 1994

IO: CSP

S: ORC

RE: NIS INAUGURATION MEETING

Source reports that on night of inauguration he delivered envelope to members of management of NIS Covert Collection Directorate at NIS safe house (c/f). As trained, source, before delivery, securely opened and resealed envelope. It contained report on meeting of President Mandela with JN and other DIS members on amalgamation process. Source of info was not included. [Note: to check present in meeting]

Source reports following present at safe house:

– Mr Patel (safe house caretaker)

– Ms Marie (secretary to Covert Directorate)

– Mr Otto Bester (head Covert) [Note: Bester recruited source from Soweto SB to NIS in 1988. Source says Bester was previously SB]

– Mr Cline [sp?]

– Mr Johan van Deventer

Source says others arrived as he was leaving, but too dark to identify them ...

Masilela looked up. ‘Bongi, what was the name of that subordinate of yours you asked about former SBs in the Service?’

Bongi balanced her glass of wine on the ground. ‘You mean the Van Deventer fellow?’

Masilela waved the report at her. ‘The bastard lied to you. He was part of the Covert Collection management before amalgamation.’ He turned to Jerry and waved the report again. ‘And this one? Cline? Is that not Graham Kline?’

Jerry cradled his glass. ‘I suspect so, chief. Must be. We only had one Kline.’

Masilela walked over to the fire, peering down at the coals. ‘Check your fucking fire, Whitehead!’ Jerry stood.

Masilela went to the table for more wine. ‘Kline! We were told he had an impeccable career in liaison, a string of foreign postings. That’s what his bloody CV said. When we interviewed him he told us that, because he was English-speaking, he was not really accepted in the NIS, so they kept sending him abroad to keep him out of the way. That’s what the bastard told us.’

Jerry laughed, a dry, hoarse chuckle. Masilela grunted again. ‘Shit, man! We deployed the bastard to London as station chief!’

Jerry stirred the coals with the braai spatula. ‘Here come the others,’ he said, looking up at the sound of a car engine. ‘Shall I start the meat?’

Masilela’s head was back in the reports. He reread both. Bongi took the container with the boerewors over to Jerry and watched while he placed them on the grid. ‘These will take longer, so do them first. Is the fire not too hot, Jerry?’ He didn’t answer.

The car pulled up. Doors and the boot opened and slammed. Vhonani, Velaphi, Senzo and Casper approached, lugging more camp chairs and a large cooler box.

The new arrivals looked at each other and at Bongi. She raised and dropped her shoulders quickly. Masilela noticed. He motioned them to the table to get drinks. When they were done, he pointed Casper to a chair opposite him. ‘Sit, Comrade Casper.’

Masilela raised his glass at him. ‘You’re a real spy aren’t you, Casper? A real fucking spy. The perfect spy. Invisible. Sit down, the rest of you. Listen to this. When were you going to brief us about The Oracle Project, Casper?’

Casper pulled at his jeans to loosen them over his knees. He turned to Jerry at the fire behind him, to the others, then back to Masilela. ‘Huh? chief? I didn’t think it was relevant now?’

‘Not relevant? You’ve been in this task team for ...’ – he looked at his watch – ‘yes, for three months, a team investigating old-order agents in our new order, and you didn’t think it relevant to tell us you ran a source in apartheid intelligence?’

The other newcomers turned to Casper. Velaphi let out a dark breath. Casper dropped his chin to his chest. ‘It crossed my mind, chief. It did. But I don’t know what happened to the reports, the files. There was so much detail. There’s no way I could remember that stuff.’

Masilela rolled the report into a tube and pointed it at Casper. ‘You remember this?’

Casper pulled himself out of the canvas camp chair and took the report. Masilela watched him as he read. He wondered how on earth this diffident comrade had managed to successfully handle such a sensitive source. Perhaps it was, indeed, his near invisibility that had instilled confidence, a sense of safety, in Agent Oracle.

Bongi handed the container of lamb chops to Jerry. He pushed the wors to the side of the grid and used the tongs to carefully place the chops. They wouldn’t all fit.

Casper finished the report. He gestured with it to the others, but Masilela stood and took it back from him. ‘Where did you find this, chief? Is there more?’

‘Jerry found it. All of it.’ He waited for that to sink in, watched memories flit across Casper’s eyes. ‘So? Where is this Oracle now?’

Masilela suddenly regretted forbidding stronger drink. ‘I was at his funeral? Who?’

‘He was in the Service, chief. He stayed on after amalgamation. But he asked to be redeployed out of covert. We put him in counter-intelligence, investigations. Then he served as one of your protectors for a while. In 2012, I think.’

Everyone stood. Masilela yelled. ‘Hlalani phansi, ma-comrade!’ He turned back to Casper. ‘Who?’

‘He was our collaborator, chief. Very loyal. The boers killed his sister’s only child. He never forgave them. Never.’

Masilela reached for a paper plate. ‘I wish you’d told me this at the time.’ He went over to the braai, cursed under his breath to Jerry.

There was silence as they ate, near silence, or rather, as Masilela observed, an entry into their space of the sounds of eternity: birds chirping, the soft slush of languid water against the dam banks, a gentle spring wind and the flapping of wings. Strangely, these sounds provided a kind of choral resonance to the sounds of clinking bottles, glasses, the bursts of beer cans opening, and the scraping of plastic cutlery on paper plates.

When they were done, they cleared plates, shrank the circle of chairs and took out notebooks. Under Masilela’s stewardship, they each recounted the outcomes of their own investigation, such as he was willing for them to share, enough to decide on the next steps.

Bongi spoke of her attempts to find records of a Bester or Bekker in the Service. They all offered various versions of ‘Aha’ when she described the message ‘Above your pay-grade’ on her computer.

Masilela added the titbit about a Bester or Bekker boasting about top agents in the ANC, and then Jerry described the lists he was making of potential suspects. He left out the interview with S’bu Dlamini. Casper looked at him, but said nothing.

As the light began to dim, Masilela returned his empty glass to the table, signalling the others that it was over. ‘Right. You all carry on with what you’re doing, but the next big thing is to find this Bester fellow.’

They all turned to him. He continued. They weren’t used to so many words emanating from Casper’s mouth in one go. ‘He’s on his farm in Mpumalanga.’

‘Philemon told me. Bester and his secretary – also his girlfriend or his wife – left NIS just before amalgamation. They moved back to his farm. He actually invited Philemon to visit. Recruited him to give him stuff on what was happening among the darkies in the Service after ’95. I encouraged him. Advised him on what to say.’

Casper answered. ‘No, chief. They wouldn’t be. This was after amalgamation. The Oracle reports are from exile and early nineties.’

‘I didn’t submit reports, chief. Philemon didn’t trust the old-order people in the Service. He didn’t want his past double life to be known. He liked to say it was “our secret”.’

Masilela began folding the camp chairs he had brought. Bongi helped him. He snapped one shut. ‘So, how the hell do we find this Bester?’

‘Philemon told me the name of the farm, chief. I wrote it down somewhere, at home. I’ll find it.’