‘Mr Kumalo, this is hearsay and that’s not allowed.’
‘Sir,’ Looksmart Kumalo said with clenched teeth, his one-eyed scarred face murderous, ‘I am here to tell you that the CIA were hand-in-glove all those years with the South African army in Angola, and they were the same in this massacre. To protect the South African assassins the CIA told the FBI that the massacre was committed by drug-barons, or by the anti-Castro Cubans from Miami. But the ANC has many informers in the Cuban-exile community in Miami, and it is clear that nobody knew about the meeting – if they had known they would have kidnapped the Cuban officers to get information out of them, they would not have killed them.’
‘And what is your feeling now towards the people, whoever they are, who did this to you?’ the lawyer ended.
Six thousand miles away, Harker could see the glint in the man’s eye as Kumalo quietly hissed, ‘I oppose this so-called Truth and Reconciliation Commission because I do not want the people who killed my comrades and mutilated my body to be forgiven. I do not want them to be given amnesty. No, I want them to be prosecuted, and I want them to pay damages for my pain and suffering, and for the handicaps I now have. I feel great bitterness and if I could do so I would personally be their hangman, I would personally put the rope around their apartheid necks and watch them fall … But first I want them to pay me damages for my suffering. That is how I feel.’ He shook his head. ‘I will never forgive. Nobody must get amnesty, sir.’
Harker wanted to shout, And what about the women and children you were plotting to blow up? But he had his eyes closed, sick in his guts.
‘Oh, Je-zuz …’ he whispered.
28
The next afternoon, as he walked back grimly to Harvest House from another lonely lunch watching the Truth Commission proceedings on television, he was astonished to find Felix Dupont suddenly beside him.
‘Keep walking,’ Dupont said. ‘And get into that green car over there.’
Harker’s heart was racing. He glanced at the green car: a man sat in the back seat, looking at him. He stopped.
‘Go to hell, Felix, you’re not my boss any more, I don’t want to get into any green cars. If you want to talk we can do so in my office across the park. If you want to take me for a ride so you can dump my body in the Hudson, forget it.’
Dupont smirked. ‘Always the wise guy, huh? Okay, go to that park bench.’ He pointed.
The other man was getting out of the car. Harker walked to the bench just inside little Gramercy Park. He sat. ‘Well?’ he demanded.
Dupont sat down beside him. The other man appeared and sat down beside Dupont. ‘Who’s our friend?’ Harker said.
‘“Mike” will do. CIA,’ the man said.
CIA, huh? Harker gave a smile. ‘I can’t wait to hear what you heavyweights want.’
Dupont said: ‘Two points.’ He held up a finger: ‘First: a matter of fraud. Fraud committed against the South African Defence Force, because your girlfriend’s book Outrage was not buried by Harvest, it was a bestseller.’ Before Harker could respond Dupont continued, eyes narrow: ‘Don’t argue; you cheated Military Intelligence and that is always a dangerous thing to do. Very dangerous.’
Harker glared at him. ‘Don’t tell me you still work for Military Intelligence now that Nelson Mandela has taken over?’ Dupont started to speak but Harker continued, ‘Didn’t the Chairman let you buy the Royalton Hotel?’
Dupont ignored the interruption and held up two fingers. ‘Secondly, the so-called Truth and Reconciliation Commission started this week.’
Harker felt sick. ‘No kidding?’
‘And a kaffir called Looksmart Kumalo gave evidence.’
Harker tried to look mystified. ‘You don’t say. Who’s he?’
‘I do say. And you know very well who he is, because you tried to murder him. So I’m told. And I’m told you succeeded in murdering his four companions.’
Harker had been expecting this but it was nonetheless like a blow to the guts. ‘You’re told, huh?’
Dupont’s blue eyes were narrow, his round face looked waxen. ‘And I’m here to tell you – advise you – that under no circumstances should you consider applying to this Truth Commission for amnesty.’ He paused. ‘Don’t even dream about confessing in order to ease your exquisite conscience.’
Harker looked at Dupont. ‘You don’t say?’
Dupont looked back at him. ‘I do say. And what does that mean?’
Harker managed to glare. ‘It means,’ he said, ‘why? Why do you think I should keep my mouth shut?’
‘Because – not to put too fine a point on it – if you open it you’ll be treated with extreme prejudice.’
Harker had known it was coming. ‘Who says? The Chairman?’
‘I says,’ Dupont said. ‘And furthermore I want you to know a few things. Three things, actually. First, a confession by you to the Truth Commission is no guarantee of amnesty – they can refuse if they feel your crime was disproportionate to your political objective, or if they suspect you’re not telling the whole truth. Secondly, even if you get amnesty in South Africa that won’t protect you anywhere else – you will be prosecuted for murder right here in America where you committed the crime, and the District Attorney will have your full confession as evidence. Thirdly, you expose yourself to revenge – this bastard Looksmart Kumalo will get you.’ He smiled wolfishly. ‘Not to mention your former colleagues. Jack, if you so much as think about putting your name down with the Truth Commission to give evidence you will … shall we say, come to an untimely end?’
Harker had hate in his heart. ‘And what’s your nice CIA friend here got to do with all this? Is he the guy who gave you the tip-off about the meeting in the Russian safe-house, who wanted you to do the CIA’s dirty work for them?’
Dupont smiled. ‘He’s here as a witness to the fact that this conversation never took place.’
Harker snorted. ‘Like the Long Island job you just haven’t mentioned?’ He got to his feet. His blood was up but his legs felt weak. ‘Well, gentlemen, rest assured that I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about either.’ He smiled shakily. ‘Truth and Reconciliation Commission? I certainly have no intention of fronting up to them because, like you, I have nothing to confess. So you needn’t bother killing me.’ He held out a trembling finger. ‘However, just in case you try, I am now advising you two shit-heads that I have written a full affidavit and I have lodged it, sealed, with three different attorneys in three different parts of the world. My affidavit happens to mention everybody involved, by name. Including you, Felix. And our CIA friends. The attorneys have instructions that the affidavit be handed to the police in the event of my untimely death. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’
He turned and walked away across the little park. His face was grim, his gait firm, but his heart was pounding.
He had not written any such affidavit. But, God, should he not do so?
It took Harker several days to make his decision to consult an attorney. It is an unnerving business, confessing to murder.
The attorney’s name was Ian Redfern and his offices were near the World Trade Center. He was the man Harker had consulted to check the contract when he bought the shareholdings in Harvest House – though the lawyer had not been told the true background, he had overseen the legalities. He was a cocky, slick Irishman of indeterminate age with dyed-black hair and a wide rapacious smile. He said in answer to Harker’s question, ‘Of course anything you tell me is absolutely confidential, Jack.’
Harker opened his briefcase and took out a copy of the legislation creating the Truth and Reconciliation Commission: he had ordered a copy to be air-mailed from South Africa. ‘Have you heard of this?’
Redfern looked at it. ‘Read a thing or two about it. There was a bit in Time or Newsweek.’
Harker took a tense breath. ‘You may remember, about seven years ago, two Cubans and two Africans were murdered on Long Island. The FBI blamed it on the Cuban exil
e community.’
Redfern nodded. ‘Yes. Vaguely.’
Harker sighed grimly: ‘Well, I did it.’
The lawyer stared. ‘Jesus, Joseph and Mary …’
Redfern listened to Harker’s story with amazement. Then he picked up the legislation. For almost fifteen minutes he read it, then he tossed it aside, got up and began to pace.
‘Jesus, Joseph and Mary … You’d be crazy to confess to this Truth Commission. Our District Attorney would throw the book at you, even assuming you are granted amnesty in South Africa. He’s a real zealot, a heavy left-winger.’
Harker said, ‘Could he extradite me to face trial in America? Even though I’ve been granted amnesty in South Africa?’
‘He sure could.’
‘And this guy Looksmart Kumalo who’s given evidence – could he sue me in an American court for his pain and suffering?’
‘He sure could! For millions.’
Harker got up and began to pace also. He said, ‘The law says that the confession made by the applicant cannot be used against him in any subsequent prosecution. And amnesty, if it is granted, wipes out any civil liability for damages. But could the DA here use my confession in an American court?’
‘The DA here isn’t bound by any funny legislation in South Africa, Jack,’ Redfern said. ‘If your confession satisfies our American rules of evidence it could be used in an American court, absolutely. And remember’ – he tapped the Act – ‘the Truth Commission has the power to seize documents, including secret military documents. Our DA here would have access to those documents once they were seized and became matters of public record. Or he could lead any witnesses who gave evidence to the Truth Commission.’
Oh Jesus. ‘The Truth Commission has already raided several military bases in South Africa, looking for records. But all the files have gone missing. Obviously destroyed.’
The lawyer snorted. ‘Don’t bank on that. I imagine that spymasters have a habit of hiding files that may be useful as leverage one day – or worth money.’
Harker said worriedly, ‘The Act gives the Truth Commission the power to subpoena witnesses who can give information about any crime. Well, this guy Looksmart Kumalo has testified, and blamed Military Intelligence – the CCB. So presumably the Truth Commission can now subpoena the head of Military Intelligence, General Tanner, and ask him questions?’
‘Absolutely,’ the lawyer said.
‘General Tanner would doubtless deny that the CCB was responsible but he can’t deny the CCB existed because President de Klerk has admitted its existence and announced he’s disbanded it. So if Tanner is asked whether the CCB had an office in New York he may well say yes and tell them that I was the guy in charge here. Then the Truth Commission may subpoena me?’
‘Yes,’ the lawyer said.
‘So what should I do if that happens?’
Redfern snorted. ‘Lie,’ he said flatly. He added, ‘I’ll deny I ever said that.’
Harker was ashen. He nodded. ‘I understand.’
Redfern looked at him. ‘Do you? Do you understand that, contrary to public misconception, lawyers do not, or should not, concoct evidence or tell their clients to lie? If lawyers do that, and they’re found out, they’re struck off.’
‘I understand,’ Harker said.
‘Okay,’ the lawyer said. ‘So if the Truth Commission subpoenas you, tell the truth about everything else but don’t admit to any crime.’ He looked at Harker accusingly. ‘Have you committed any other crimes?’
Harker snorted grimly. ‘One can’t be a spymaster and not commit a few crimes.’
‘Like what?’ Redfern demanded.
Harker sighed. ‘Bribery. Extortion. A spot of burglary.’
‘Who have you bribed? And blackmailed?’
Harker shook his head wearily. ‘African officials at the United Nations. And my flunkies have burgled a few offices to get information.’
The lawyer sighed. ‘Well, admit none of it. You tell them you were just an honest gatherer of military information from sources within the United Nations.’
‘But if they don’t believe me? They cross-examine me and the whole story may start to unravel. Then I’m a proven liar, a non-credible witness.’
‘But they can’t prove you were involved in the Long Island assassination unless you confess. Or unless Clements or this guy Ferdi Spicer or Felix Dupont applies for amnesty and drops you in the shit. But I doubt they’ll do that.’
Harker massaged his eyelids. ‘They certainly might. Something may happen to make a guy like Dupont decide to rush for amnesty – perhaps because somebody else has dropped him in the shit when they applied for amnesty, implicated him in another crime I know nothing about. For all I know Dupont is in all kinds of other trouble.’ He frowned at the lawyer feverishly. ‘If that happens, and I’ve already lied to the Truth Commission, I’ll be refused amnesty when I rush back to them applying. Because I’ve lied.’
The lawyer nodded as he paced. ‘Well, that’s a risk you’ll just have to take.’ He added thoughtfully: ‘Unless you do a disappearing trick, so that no subpoena can be served upon you.’ He turned and paced back, thinking. ‘Disappear over the horizon until this whole Truth Commission has blown over. A few years should do it. And hope that nobody like Dupont puts his finger on you if he applies for amnesty.’
‘You serious? Just disappear? I’ve got a publishing house to run. Business loans to pay off to the bank.’
The lawyer rubbed his chin. ‘You said Josephine doesn’t know anything about this. But would she be supportive if you told her about the assassination?’
‘Christ no. She’d be devastated. Possibly even denounce me to the police.’
‘But she knows your military background?’
‘Not that I was in Military Intelligence. She thinks I was invalided out of the army after being wounded.’
‘But she must be well-off?’
‘She’s made a lot of money.’ He added: ‘And, of course, Harvest House has made quite a good profit out of her.’
‘But you say Harvest is still in debt to the bank?’
‘Publishers are always in debt to their bank. And Harvest signed a contract with Josephine that commits us to a great deal of money. But all up, Harvest is in fair shape. It’s me personally who is still in trouble with the bank because I borrowed money to buy those shares in Harvest.’
The lawyer stroked his chin. ‘And when is the cut-off date for amnesty applications?’
‘Fifteenth of December 1996. This year.’
‘Seven months,’ Redfern said. He thought a moment. ‘But Harvest would continue making money if you weren’t there?’
Harker shrugged. ‘I’ve got a good staff.’
‘The point is, after the deadline nobody is going to confess to the Truth Commission, are they? Because they won’t get amnesty. So you should be safe from anybody fingering you after that date.’ The lawyer looked at him pensively. ‘Would Josephine be disposed to the pair of you taking off for the next six or seven months – to Tahiti, say, or Turkey – on a holiday. Would she go along with that?’
Harker sighed grimly. ‘We’ve often talked about buying a boat and seeing the world. But I can’t afford that now.’
The lawyer looked at him. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you should think about it fast. Once somebody stands up at this Truth Commission and points a finger at you it will be too late to disappear. So …’ He sat down, swivelled in his chair and looked out of the window at the Hudson. ‘What we must do is this.’ He raised a finger. ‘You must keep several irons in the fire. You should admit nothing to the Truth Commission now – you don’t apply for amnesty – but we should record a detailed affidavit from you now, confessing to everything, as if you were applying for amnesty. I will keep this affidavit here in New York in case something happens to make us change our mind and decide to grab for amnesty before the deadline. For example, if this ex-boss of yours – what’s his name?’
‘Dupont.’
‘If Dupont decides to make a last-minute dive for amnesty – perhaps because one of his accomplices in some other crime decides to drop him in the shit, as you say – well, if that happens we’re prepared, we can bash your amnesty application in at a moment’s notice, perhaps even blaming me as your attorney for the delay.’
‘I don’t want your secretary to know about this affidavit,’ Harker said feverishly. ‘Or anybody else but you.’
‘Sure,’ Redfern said. ‘So we’ll record it right now, on to my computer, you sign it, I’ll place it in my safe, to which only I have access. Okay?’
Harker sighed worriedly. ‘And then?’
‘Well,’ Redfern said, ‘I think I should get a second opinion from a lawyer in South Africa. Without mentioning your name, of course. And instruct him to keep a watching brief for us reporting any developments so we can take appropriate action.’
Harker hated all these people knowing. ‘And what’ll those guys cost?’
‘Depends. I’ll find out before I commit you, of course, but it won’t be much by American standards. Or do you have anybody in South Africa, somebody reliable who will keep track of events and warn us immediately if something worrisome is developing?’
‘I’ve got a relative in South Africa who’s a lawyer. I’ve never met him but he’s my second or third cousin. His name is Luke Mahoney, he’s a QC, used to be a big wheel lawyer in Hong Kong, now he’s in Johannesburg. I would prefer him to give us our second opinion rather than anyone else.’
‘And who do you know who will give you reliable updates on developments in the Truth Commission?’
Harker snorted. ‘Josephine’s out there right now, she’s phoning me every second day. And her friends in the old anti-apartheid movement will fax through any information if I ask for it, newspaper cuttings and so on. Josephine and her buddies will happily keep us up to date.’
‘When is she coming home?’
‘God knows, she’s only recently got there. This Truth Commission is going to go on for months.’
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