Kruger's Alp

The photograph showed Craddock standing in a snowy Red Square surrounded by what appeared to be curious bystanders.

‘Yes,’ said Blanchaille, ‘he seems to be crying.’

‘Odd, isn’t it? Why go all the way to Moscow for a cry? It’s as odd as the spy Popov’s behaviour when he was arrested outside this very building. He was reported to be very, very angry. It puzzled me. That he was upset I can understand, even anguished, but angry? No, I can’t make sense of that. And I can’t clear up the mystery by asking anyone. What strikes me about this investigation is that there are more and more mysteries and fewer and fewer people to question. I’ve had the urge, increasingly hard to resist, to call off the whole damn investigation and start praying. It starts with Ferreira. Somebody has been telling stories about Ferreira. He dies. Shares fall on the Exchange. People disappear leaving behind only the stories we go on telling about them. Craddock has not been seen since the photograph was taken. And his uncle, Himmelfarber, is abroad. So many people are overseas. Have you noticed? Minister Gus Kuiker and his Secretary of Communications are out of the country. The President is said to be travelling overseas for medical treatment. Even you will soon be gone.’

‘You could ask Popov yourself, you’ve got him here. “Why the rage Nikita?” you could say.’

‘I heard why — from Himmelfarber. Popov’s gone. He was spirited away by the Bureau and now he, like it, may or may not exist. You see how isolated I am, Blanchie? Even those who assigned me to investigate the murder of Tony Ferreira have gone. I had no shortage of instructions. First to put me on the case was the President himself. It’s his prerogative when he wears his other hat as Minister of Police so I went to it with a will. President Bubé implied that Minister Kuiker might have had some involvement. As I knew that Gus Kuiker is a rising star in the Regime, tipped to succeed Bubé one day, or even replace him, I put this down to professional jealousy. After all Kuiker took over Bubé’s baby platform. The President went around the country encouraging white women voters to breed; but Kuiker took positive steps to reduce the opposition birth-rate and he used science. He made it his aim to reduce the non-white breeding potential by one half and he got the boffins involved. All Bubé did was to encourage white women to have more babies. Whereas Kuiker hit the enemy where he lived — in the womb. He got the reputation of a modern whizz-kid. Bubé never forgave him. But Kuiker didn’t care.’

Of course Kuiker did not care. Augustus Carel Kuiker, Minister for Parallel Equilibriums, Ethnic Autonomy and Cultural Communication, cared only for success. Kuiker with the thick, ridged, almost stepped hairstyle, a rugged jaw and heavy, surprisingly sensuous lips. He looked like a rather thuggish Charles Laughton. Blanchaille recalled Kuiker’s speeches, how he tirelessly stomped the country reeling off figures. The total population was already over twenty-seven million, it could rise to thirty-eight million or more by the year 2000. The number of whites was dropping. Zero population growth might be all very well for the rest of the world but for the Europeans of the southern sub-continent it was suicide. The percentage, now about sixteen, would fall to eleven after the turn of the mille

‘Why have you got me here? I was heading out under my own steam. It would have been easier, cleaner.’ Blanchaille stood up knowing the policeman was not ready to release him.

‘Two reasons. Mine and Lynch’s. I wanted to make you take another look at things you thought you knew all about. I don’t want to be left alone with my mysteries. You’re going out. Fine. So maybe you’ll be able to use some of what I show you to get some answers out there in the outside world. That’s my reason. Lynch’s was more practical. He knew you’d never get out without my help.’

‘Why not? How many have gone already?’

Van Vuuren’s look was cold. ‘Not all those who disappeared have left the country. Getting out is not what it was. It has become a police matter. Things got difficult when Bubé and Kuiker issued instructions that disappearances were becoming too frequent and a close watch was to be kept on ports and airports.’

‘Then disappeared themselves.’

‘Yes, but the orders are still in force,’ Van Vuuren said.

Blanchaille sat down again. ‘O.K. What else do you want to tell me?’ he asked warily.

‘Turn around,’ Van Vuuren ordered, ‘and watch the screen.’

On a television monitor behind him there appeared a group of men sitting at a long table, six to a side, all wearing earphones.