Unofficial and Deniable

by John Gordon Davis

  Harker stared across the marina. ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is good news for you,’ Luke said, ‘because I think a lot of people who’ve been considering confessing to the Truth Commission will now feel they would rather take their chances in court. So less information is going to come to light. However, next week those five policemen from Platplaas are going to give full details of their crimes. There’re a lot of worried cops waiting to hear what these five guys say. Indeed they could drop so many people in the shit that they’ve been closeted overseas somewhere in the Truth Commission’s witness protection programme in case they’re bumped off. You’ll remember that they’ve subpoenaed General van der Merwe, the former Commissioner of Police, to give evidence – to get him to admit that he knew all about Platplaas and therefore politicians like the president must have known and approved. And next week the army must make its submissions to the Truth Commission.’

  Oh Jesus, Harker was worried about what the army would say. ‘So what do I do?’

  ‘Just lie low. I’ll keep you in the picture, I’ll telephone again in a week. How long will you be in Nassau?’

  ‘We need another month here to get absolutely seaworthy.’

  ‘Well, the sooner you get going the better.’

  The Truth Commission had become a remote phantom until this telephone call; now once again it was screamingly real. The next day a wad of newspaper cuttings arrived from Josephine’s friends in South Africa, and a faxed newsletter from the League. It all brought Harker back to earth. It was a long seven days waiting for Luke to call back. It was noon in the Bahamas when he did. Harker was sitting in his dinghy drinking a beer while Josephine snorkelled along a reef.

  ‘Well,’ Luke said soberly, ‘it’s been a big day for the Truth Commission. What do you want first, the good news or the bad news?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Luke!’ Harker glanced over the water for Josie.

  ‘Well,’ Luke said, ‘the army made its submission to the Truth Commission today, through General Mortimer as its spokesman. The good news, from your point of view, is that the general got on his high horse and virtually told the Truth Commission to mind its own bloody business – war is war, which softie civilians sitting in their snug suburbs know nothing about, so don’t dare to presume to tell us officers and gentlemen how to run our business.’

  ‘Mortimer said all that?’

  ‘That was his line, I believe. The army confessed to nothing, by gad sir. But the bad news is that Archbishop Tutu sent him packing with a flea in his ear. The newspapers described his one-sided submission as “quite breathtaking” in its arrogance. The Truth Commission refused to accept his blanket denials and told him to go back to HQ and have another damn think on-the-double before the Truth Commission loses patience and subpoenas the whole damn General Staff. But most Military Intelligence files have been “lost”, and raids on military bases haven’t come up with anything, so I don’t think the army is going to admit to much.’

  Thank God for that.

  Luke continued: ‘But the cops from Platplaas may be a problem.’

  ‘Why?’ Harker demanded. ‘The army hasn’t got anything to do with the police.’

  ‘Well, these five Platplaas officers have now given their evidence, admitting to forty high-profile political murders. They have spilt the beans on their superiors, and they publicly urged the relevant politicians to own up. All very humble and contrite. General van der Merwe, the last Commissioner of Police, had to appear on their behalf, and he not only corroborated their evidence, he also admitted again to being responsible for bombing Khotso House, headquarters of the South African Council of Churches and of the ANC, and for the first time he told us where he got his orders from! From the former President of South Africa himself, P.W. Botha! How do you like them apples?’

  Harker stared across the water. Christ … ‘How does this affect Military Intelligence. And me?’

  Luke sighed. ‘Well, these five cops and the Commissioner of Police have revealed that in addition to the CCB there was a kind of combined police and military operation called CRITT – the Counter-Revolutionary Task Team – which decided on targets for their hit-men. CRITT held monthly meetings where police and Military Intelligence sat down together over coffee and biscuits at a nice big varnished table and solemnly compared lists of political opponents and discussed who should be assassinated for the good of the apartheid government. In other words, official Murder Incorporated. And they “prioritized” these names – they made solemn decisions as to who should be hunted down and killed first. Having made those decisions, CRITT in collaboration with the army and police would hunt their targets. But they had to be killed in such a way that the government was not suspected – or at least so that nothing could be proved.’ Luke snorted. ‘The Commissioner of Police and the five Platplaas cops explained that they murdered their victims rather than detain them under the state of emergency legislation because, firstly, it was easier and secondly, murder was a permanent solution. And thirdly, in the madness of the Total Onslaught Total Strategy era, any tactic was acceptable.’

  Harker felt sick in his guts; this was what he had been mixed up in? ‘I assure you I knew nothing about CRITT.’

  ‘I believe you, but we know that President P.W. Botha knew because CRITT reported daily to the State Security Council, and that means that F.W. de Klerk also must have known because he was also a member of the Council.’

  ‘Christ … So, do you have any different advice for me?’

  ‘Have you had any contact from your former colleagues?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, they may come looking for you now to get reassurance that you’re not going to squeal on them. If that happens say as little as possible as they’ll probably be tape-recording the conversation.’

  Josephine was snorkelling back towards the dinghy. Harker said: ‘Luke, I’d better go.’

  And then, that very afternoon, when Harker returned to the boat from jogging, he saw a man sitting on the deck of his yacht talking to Josephine, a bottle of beer in his hand, a white Panama hat on his head. The man had his back to him and Harker did not realize until he was clambering aboard that he was black. And that he had only one hand.

  ‘Darling,’ Josephine said, ‘you remember Looksmart Kumalo …’

  36

  With a wave of his claw, Looksmart said easily, ‘I thought what the hell, I deserve a few days’ break in the sun. I’d promised to send Josie an update to my investigations, so I thought, why don’t I just flip down to the Bahamas and tell her the latest developments in person?’ He smiled wolfishly at Harker.

  ‘Why not indeed?’ Harker said.

  ‘And what are the latest developments?’ Josephine demanded.

  Looksmart took a swig of beer, waved his claw again and smiled at Harker. ‘I believe I told you that we have now convinced the DA that the Long Island massacre was definitely committed by the CCB?’

  Josephine was hanging on his words. Harker nodded curtly, his ears ringing. Josephine demanded: ‘What’s the evidence that proves that?’

  ‘Afraid I can’t get too detailed but, yeah, we’ve got proof.’ He smiled briefly at Harker. ‘And the DA is not an easy man to convince.’

  ‘And?’ said Josephine.

  ‘And,’ Looksmart said, ‘the police have been looking for somebody in the CCB who can testify in exchange for immunity from prosecution.’ He looked at Harker significantly. ‘And they think they have found such a witness.’

  Harker’s heart lurched. ‘Really?’ Josephine said. ‘Who?’

  Looksmart smiled. ‘Afraid I’m not allowed to say. Except that the CIA is proving very helpful.’

  Harker felt sick. Who in the fucking CIA was talking to the DA?

  ‘In what way are the CIA being helpful?’ Josephine asked.

  ‘Not allowed to say, but they have strong contacts with the South African army. People who can be tapped for information.’ He turned to Harker: ‘And of course they hav
e a vast network of agents who are helping us trace Ferdi Spicer.’

  ‘Who’s Ferdi Spicer?’ Josephine asked Harker.

  Harker cleared his throat. ‘A guy who was in the Rhodesian army with me. And later in the South African army. American, ex-US marine. When the Angolan war ended he came back here and set up a brothel in Manhattan.’

  ‘A brothel?’ Josephine repeated. ‘How exotic. You’ve never mentioned him before.’

  Harker tried to smile. ‘Haven’t seen him for a long time.’

  Josephine said with a twinkle in her eye, ‘I hope he gave you a discount, darling. But what’s he got to do with this Long Island massacre?’

  ‘Looksmart thinks he was a member of the CCB so he went to Ferdi’s brothel to talk to him. Now Ferdi’s disappeared.’

  ‘I know he worked for the South Africans,’ Looksmart said, ‘because he regularly paid a certain black diplomat in the United Nations to give him information about the Cubans and the ANC. And as soon as I tried to speak to Ferdi, he disappeared. And his girlfriend was promptly murdered.’

  Josephine was astonished. ‘Murdered!’

  ‘Strangled. In her apartment – their apartment – which was at the back of the brothel.’

  ‘Good God …’ Josephine turned to Harker. ‘Did you know her, Jack?’

  ‘Only met her a couple of times, through Ferdi.’

  ‘But,’ Josephine demanded, ‘why haven’t you ever mentioned this to me? This is riveting stuff. And you knew her. But why was she murdered?’

  ‘Because,’ Looksmart said, ‘Ferdi Spicer had probably told her who was involved in the Long Island massacre. Or she could have been murdered by one of his former comrades in the CCB to stop her talking to the DA. Or to me.’

  ‘If,’ Harker said grimly, ‘Ferdi knew anything. I doubt Ferdi was in the CCB. He was just a solid, dumb marine.’

  ‘Well,’ Looksmart said with ill-concealed smugness, ‘the DA disagrees with you.’ He gave a small wave of his claw. ‘What did the police say when they interviewed you, Jack?’

  Josephine turned to Harker, astonished. ‘The police came to you?’

  Harker concealed his fury. How did Looksmart know this detail?

  ‘No policeman came to see me – I was telephoned by a certain Detective Morgan. Evidently Ferdi had mentioned it around the brothel that we had been in the wars together; when Stella was murdered and Ferdi did a disappearing trick the police followed every possible lead. I told them the little I knew.’

  Josephine was staring at him. And Harker hated Looksmart. ‘But you told me nothing of this,’ Josephine protested.

  Harker barely controlled his anger. ‘What’s there to tell? I told them I knew Ferdi in the old days. The police didn’t even want to take a statement from me.’

  ‘But … I’m amazed you didn’t mention any of this.’ She turned to Looksmart. ‘So what other exciting developments have you come down to the Bahamas to tell me?’

  Harker got up. He could not bear to sit still and let this Looksmart bastard taunt him with his veiled threats. ‘Another drink, anybody?’

  Looksmart said, ‘Not for me, I must go, I’ve got some urgent phone calls to make. But to put the latest developments in South Africa in a nutshell, you’ve heard of the recent discovery of CRITT, haven’t you?’

  ‘No,’ Josephine said.

  Looksmart stood up to leave. He put his dark glasses on again, his Panama hat tilted just so. ‘The world will be hearing a lot more about CRITT in the next few months. Anyway, the Truth Commission has just learned that CRITT was a bunch of police and army hit-squad people who met regularly to decide who had to be assassinated next.’ He smiled. ‘CRITT reported directly to the State President and his State Security Council. So all the top brass knew and approved of all these murders.’ He smiled again. ‘Well, you can imagine the reaction in South Africa. Panic reigns, while ex-president P.W. Botha is hotly denying he has anything to be in the slightest ashamed of. And F.W. de Klerk is strenuously maintaining he knew nothing. But you can be sure that the tempo of applications for amnesty is going to hot up now. The flood is about to start as the villains realize that the Truth Commission is their only escape from Nuremberg-style trials.’ He turned to Josephine. ‘Well, I must away.’

  Josephine protested: ‘But this is getting so interesting. Will you drop around tomorrow?’

  ‘Thank you, I will.’

  Harker said he would walk up the jetty with Looksmart. When they were out of sight of the boat Harker stopped, turned to the man and said quietly, ‘You will not drop by the boat tomorrow, Looksmart.’ He glared. ‘You obviously suspect me of knowing something about this massacre. I do not, repeat not. I deeply resent your innuendoes. And if you come near my boat or my wife or me again I will knock your fucking head off.’ He grimaced a smile. ‘Is any part of that unclear, Looksmart?’

  Looksmart Kumalo gave a broad white grin. ‘All perfectly clear, Major. But I must say I’d like you to know where I’m staying, in case you change your mind and want to see me. It’s a little private lodging house called Ma Jenkins’s.’

  ‘I won’t change my mind!’ Harker turned and strode back down the jetty to the yacht. He was trembling.

  By God, he was getting out of this place fast …

  As he clambered aboard, Josephine called from below, ‘Wasn’t that fascinating?’

  That evening Harker went for a walk, telephoned Redfern on his cellphone and told the lawyer about Looksmart’s visit.

  Redfern said: ‘Yeah, the man clearly suspects you, but don’t panic – unless he finds Ferdi and forces him to give evidence against you – or persuades Clements to do so, or Dupont himself, all of which are highly, highly unlikely. Everything that Looksmart Kumalo has said is only conjecture and hearsay. He’s just trying to intimidate you. But unless you confess, I assure you the DA knows that he hasn’t got a chance of even getting you into court, let alone securing a conviction.’

  ‘Damn right he’s intimidating me,’ Harker said. ‘And I’m terrified he’ll poison Josephine’s mind. Make her smell a rat.’

  ‘Are you still adamant about not testifying for the prosecution?’

  ‘Christ, yes. Apart from losing all military honour I’d lose Josephine.’

  ‘Then,’ Redfern said, ‘you should get away from there as soon as possible. When could you put to sea?’

  ‘Not for several weeks – I’ve still got to strip down the engine. But I’ll move the yacht off the jetty and anchor out in the channel so that Looksmart can’t stroll aboard so easily.’

  That month the Truth Commission issued subpoenas against seven police generals to answer allegations of murder and torture and mayhem – and against former President P.W. Botha, to answer for his role in apartheid. The Big Crocodile had loudly vowed never to apply for amnesty. ‘I do not perform in circuses,’ he said. ‘What I did I did for God, for my country, for all my people …’ Now the Big Crocodile was going to be forced to answer allegations that he and his securocrats sanctioned countless specifiable crimes against humanity: most of the world were rubbing their hands in glee.

  ‘Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy …’ Josephine exulted.

  Then it was announced that the various political parties would have to appear before the Truth Commission to answer for their role in the era of apartheid: the churches would also be called upon to explain how they tolerated such debasement, and Big Business would be required to explain their acquiescence. The Zulus’ Inkatha Freedom Party loudly retorted that they would prove that the ANC murdered countless Zulus in their quest for power. The AWB, the Afrikaner Resistance Movement, had long proclaimed that it ‘refused to be absorbed into the most bizarre democracy in the world, where the unemployed ruled the productive, the ineducable the educated, where squatters govern the suburbs’. Then the National Party, which created apartheid and ruled the country for forty awful years, appeared before the Truth Commission.

  F.W. de Klerk, former president, accepted responsibility for som
e of his party’s repressive measures and admitted that these may have created circumstances conducive to human rights abuses. But ‘no president can know everything that takes place under his management …’ He sanctioned ‘unconventional strategies’ but never authorized murder, torture, rape, assault. Such abuses were the work of ‘bad apples’ in the security forces. However, he said: ‘I want to reiterate my deepest sympathy to those who suffered.’ He was given a hard time in cross-examination.

  ‘Bullshit!’ Josephine cried when she read the faxed report sent by the Anti-Apartheid League. ‘Do you believe he didn’t know? Calling serial mass murder “unacceptable things”! And how many bad apples does he expect the world to swallow? Everybody from the Big Crocodile down! Is F.W. de Klerk such a stupid bad apple himself that he expects us to swallow his claim that he “didn’t know”? The man is adding insult to injury by abusing our collective intelligence! Boy, am I going to tear him to shreds in my book!’

  That fucking book must never see the light of day … ‘Give some credit where it’s due,’ Harker said. ‘He’s the guy who disbanded apartheid, remember, let Nelson out of jail.’

  ‘Bi-i-g fucking deal! He finally acknowledged the writing on the wall the world had been seeing for forty years!’

  The ANC’s submission to the Truth Commission was all about the tyrant’s terror, not its own: During the previous decade, Vice President Mbeki told the Commission, the apartheid forces had invaded three countries, hitting the three capitals, had tried to assassinate two black prime ministers, backed rebels that brought chaos to Angola and Mozambique, disrupted oil supplies to six countries, sabotaged the railway lines to seven. As a result over one million people had been displaced and more than one hundred thousand had died, mostly from famine; the total damage exceeded sixty-two billion dollars. The ANC, he claimed, had fought a ‘just war’. The horrific ‘necklace’, killing someone with a burning tyre around the neck, was never official ANC policy.

  ‘But the ANC leadership never denounced necklacing!’ Harker said. ‘They never issued instructions that its enemies were not to be put to death like that! Over five hundred and forty blacks were executed by necklacing! Make that clear in your goddam book!’