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The dossier on Jan Christian Smuts meticulously assembled by the Abwehr in Berlin, which he had studied so avidly, had shown that for the last ten years, on every a
Shasa drove through the Anreith gates and up the long driveway to the chAteau. There were a dozen motor cars parked in front of Weltevreden, Blaine's Bentley amongst them. He parked the jag beside it and checked his wristwatch. It was ten minutes past eight o'clock. He was late and Mater was going to be huffed, she was an absolute stickler for punctuality.
She surprised him again by springing up from the long table in the dining-room and ru
They were all there, everybody Shasa loved, Grandpa Garry at the head of the table, sprightly as a phrie; A
Shasa went to each of them in turn, laughing and exchanging banter, embracing and shaking hands and kissing. There were whoops and whistles when he pecked Tara's blushing cheek. He handed Grandpater Garry his present and stood beside him as he unwrapped the specially bound first editions of Burchell's Travels and exclaimed with delight.
He shook hands with the Ou Baas respectfully and glowed with pleasure at his quiet commendation, Good work you are doing, Kerel. Finally he exchanged a quick word with Blaine before loading his plate at the sideboard and taking the chair between Tara and Mater.
He refused the champagne. -we got work to do today, and played with Tara's foot under the table while he joined in the hilarity that resounded around the long table.
Too soon they were all rising and the women went to get their coats while the men went out to the cars and made certain that the rugs and picnic baskets were loaded.
I'm sorry you can't come with us, Shasa. Grandpater Garry took him aside. I hoped we could have a chat, but I've heard from Blaine how important your work is. I'll try and get back here tomorrow night. The pressure should be off by then. I won't go back to Natal until we've been able to spend a little time together. You are the one to carry on the Courtney name, my one and only grandson. Shasa felt a rush of deep affection for this wise and gentle old man; in some strange way the fact that they had both suffered mutilation, Sir Garry's leg and Shasa's eye, seemed to have forged an even stronger bond between them.
It's years since I have been up to visit you and A
Still talking, old Garry, do you ever stop? Come along now, we have a mountain to climb, and the last one to the top will be sent to an old-age home. The old friends smiled at each other. They could have been brothers, both slight of build but wiry and dapper, both with little silver goatee beards and disreputable old hats upon their heads.
Forward! Sir Garry brandished his cane, linked his arm through the field-marshal's and led him to the back seat of Centaine's yellow Daimler.
The Daimler led the procession, followed by Blaine's Bentley and Tara blew Shasa a kiss as it passed. He stood on the front steps of Weltevreden and it was very quiet after they had all gone.
He turned back into the house and went upstairs to his own room, selected a batch of clean shirts, socks and underpants from his drawers and stuffed them into a grip.
On the way downstairs he turned aside, went into Centaine's study and picked up the telephone. One of the duty sergeants in the operations room at CID headquarters answered.
Hello, Sergeant. Have there been any messages for me? Hold on, sir, I'll have a look. He was back in a few seconds. Only one, sir, ten minutes ago. A woman wouldn't leave her name. Thank you, Sergeant, Shasa hung up quickly. He found that his hand was trembling and his breath had shortened.
A woman, wouldn't leave her name. It had to be her. Why hadn't she called him here? She had the number.
He stood over the phone, willing it to ring. Nothing happened. After five minutes he began to pace the floor moving restlessly between the wide french windows and the huge ormolu. Louis Quatorze desk, watching the silent telephone. He was undecided, should he go back to CID headquarters in case she called there again, but what if she came through here? Should he ring the sergeant, but that would block the line.
Come on! he pleaded. Come on! He glanced at his wristwatch, thirty-five minutes he had wasted in indecision.
I'll have to pack it up. Can't stand here all day., He went to the desk. He reached for the instrument, but before he could touch it, it rang. He hadn't been ready for it, the sound raked his nerves shrilly, and he snatched it up.
Squadron Leader Courtney, he spoke in Afrikaans. Is it you, Mevrou? I forgot the number, I had to go back to the house to fetch it, she said. Her voice was rough with exertion, she had been ru
I couldn't call before, there were people, my husband, she broke off. She had said too much.
That is all right. Don't worry, everything is all right., No, she said. It's terrible what they are going to do. It's just terrible. Do you want to tell me? They are going to kill the field-marshal The field-marshal? The Ou Baas, Field-Marshal Smuts. He could not speak for a moment, and then he rallied. Do you know when they plan to do it? Today. They will shoot him today. 'That's not possible, he did not want to believe it. The Ou Baas has gone up Table Mountain today. He's on a picnic with, Yes! Yes! The woman was sobbing. On the mountain.
White Sword is waiting for him on the mountain., Oh my God! Shasa whispered. He felt as though he were paralysed. His legs were filled with concrete and a great weight crushed his lungs so that for a moment he could not breathe.
You are a brave woman, he said. Thank you for what you have done. He dropped the telephone onto its cradle and snatched open the drawer of Centaine's desk. The gold-engraved Beretta pistols were in their presentation case. He lifted one of them out of its nest of green baize and checked the load.
There were six in the magazine and an extra magazine in a separate slot in the case. He thrust the pistol into his belt and the magazine into his pocket and turned for the door.
The pistol was useless at anything farther than point-blank range, but the hunting rifles were locked in the cabinet in the gunroom, the ammunition was kept separately, his key was in the jag, it would take precious minutes to fetch it, open the cabinet, unchain his 9.3 Marmlicher, find the ammunition, he could not afford the time. The picnic party had a start of nearly forty minutes on him. They might be halfway up the mountain by now. All the people he loved were there, and an assassin was waiting for them.
He sprinted down the steps and sprang into the open cockpit of the jag. She started with a roar; he spun her in a tight circle, gravel spraying from under the back tyres, and went down the long drive with the needle climbing quickly to the eighty mph notch. He went out through the Anreith gates, and into the narrow curves and dips as the road skirted the base of the mountain. More than once he nearly ran out of road as the jag snarled and screeched through the turns, but it was fully fifteen minutes before he snaked her in through the gates of Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens and at last pulled into the parking area behind the curator's office. The other vehicles were there, parked in a straggling line, the Daimler and the Bentley and Deneys Reitzs Packard, but the parking area was deserted.