The White Lioness kw-3

by Henning Mankell

“None at all?”

  “No.”

  De Klerk thought for a moment before proceeding.

  “So they’re going to kill Nelson Mandela,” he said. “Some miserable contract killer selected and paid by the executive branch of this secret committee. The murder will take place in the near future when Mandela is making one of his many public appearances. The consequence will be chaos, a bloodbath, total collapse. A group of influential boere are waiting in the wings to take over the government of this country. The constitution and the social order will be overturned. A corporate regime will be imposed, consisting of equal parts from the military, the police and civilian groups. The future will be one long, drawn-out state of emergency. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” said Scheepers. “If I may be allowed to venture a guess, I would say the assassination attempt will be on June 12.”

  “Why?”

  “Nelson Mandela is due to speak in Cape Town. I have received information to the effect that the army information office has being displaying an unusual amount of interest in the plans made for dealing with the occasion by the local police. There are also other indications which suggest this is the case. I am well aware it is only a guess. But I’m convinced it’s an informed guess.”

  “Three weeks,” said de Klerk. “Three weeks in which to stop these lunatics.”

  “If that is in fact right,” said Scheepers. “We can’t ignore the possibility that June 12 and Cape Town are a red herring. The people involved in this are very cunning. The assassination attempt could easily take place tomorrow.”

  “In other words, at any time,” said de Klerk. “Any place. And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  He fell silent. Scheepers waited.

  “I must speak with Nelson Mandela,” said de Klerk. “He has to know what’s afoot.”

  Then he turned to Scheepers.

  “These people must be stopped without delay,” he said.

  “We don’t know who they are,” Scheepers pointed out. “How can we stop something we don’t know about?”

  “What about the man they’ve hired?”

  “We don’t know who he is either.”

  De Klerk looked thoughtfully at him.

  “You have a plan,” he said. “I can see it in your face.”

  Scheepers could feel himself blushing.

  “Mr. President,” he said. “I think the key to all this is Jan Kleyn. The man in the intelligence service. He has to be arrested immediately. Of course, the risk is he won’t talk. Or he might prefer to commit suicide. But I can see no alternative to interrogating him.”

  De Klerk nodded.

  “Let’s do that,” he said. “In fact we have quite a few skillful interrogators who can usually force the truth out of people.”

  Out of blacks, thought Scheepers. Who then die in mysterious circumstances.

  “I think it would be best if I could conduct the interrogation,” he said. “I know most about it, after all.”

  “Do you think you can handle him?”

  “Yes.”

  The president rose. The audience was over.

  “Jan Kleyn will be arrested tomorrow,” said de Klerk. “And I want running reports from now on. Once every day.”

  The shook hands.

  Scheepers left, nodding to the old security guard waiting in the antechamber. Then he drove home through the night, with his pistol on the seat beside him.

  De Klerk stood at his window for a long time, deep in thought.

  Then he worked at his desk for a few more hours.

  Outside in the antechamber, the old guard ambled round straightening out folds in the carpets and smoothing cushions on chairs. All the time he was thinking over what he had overheard with his ear to the door of the president’s private office. He realized the situation was extremely serious. He went into the room that served as his own modest office. He removed the telephone from the plug routed through the switchboard. Behind a loose wooden panel was another socket only he knew about. He lifted the receiver and got a direct line out. Then he dialed a number.

  The answer came almost immediately. Jan Kleyn was not yet asleep.

  After his conversation with the guard at the president’s private office, he could see this was going to be a sleepless night.

  Countdown to a Vacuum

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Late in the evening Sikosi Tsiki killed a mouse with a wellaimed throw of a knife. By then Tania had already gone to bed. Konovalenko was waiting until it was late enough for him to call Jan Kleyn in South Africa and get the final instructions for Sikosi Tsiki’s return journey. Konovalenko also intended to raise the question of his own future as an immigrant to South Africa. There was not a sound to be heard from the cellar. Tania had been down to look at the girl and said she was asleep. For the first time in ages he felt totally content. He had made contact with Wallander. Konovalenko had demanded an unsigned letter of safe conduct from him, in return for getting his daughter back unharmed. Wallander would give him a week’s start, and personally insure the police search was wrongly directed. As Konovalenko intended to return to Stockholm immediately, Wallander would make sure the search for him was concentrated in southern Sweden.

  But none of this was true, of course. Konovalenko intended to shoot both him and the girl. He wondered whether Wallander really believed what he had said. If so he would return to being the kind of cop Konovalenko had started by thinking he was, the naive provincial drudge. But he had no intention of making the mistake of underestimating Wallander yet again.

  During the day he had devoted many hours to Sikosi Tsiki. Just as in preparing Victor Mabasha, Konovalenko had run through various possible turns of events in connection with the assassination attempt. He had the impression Sikosi Tsiki was quicker-witted than Victor Mabasha. Moreover, he seemed completely unaffected by the passing but unambiguous racist remarks Konovalenko could not resist making. He intended to provoke him even more over the next few days, to see if he could pin down the limit of his self-control.

  There was one characteristic Sikosi Tsiki shared with Victor Mabasha. Konovalenko started to wonder whether it was something typical of the African temperament. He was thinking of their introversion, the impossible task of trying to figure out what they really thought. It irritated him. He was used to being able to see straight through people, read their thoughts, and hence give himself an opportunity to anticipate their reactions.

  He gazed at the man who had just speared a mouse in a corner of the room with his strangely curved knife. He’ll do a good job, thought Konovalenko. A few more days of planning and weapons training, and he’ll be ready to go home. He’ll be my entrance visa to South Africa.

  Sikosi Tsiki stood up and retrieved his knife with the mouse speared on the end of it. Then he went out into the kitchen and removed the victim. He dropped it into a garbage pail and rinsed the blade. Konovalenko observed him, occasionally taking a sip of vodka from his glass.

  “A knife with a curved blade,” he said. “I’ve never seen one like that before.”

  “My ancestors used to make them over a thousand years ago,” said Sikosi Tsiki.

  “But the curved blade?” wondered Konovalenko. “Why?”

  “Nobody knows,” answered Sikosi Tsiki. “It’s still a secret. The day the secret is revealed, the knife will lose its power.”

  Soon after he disappeared into his room. Konovalenko was annoyed by the mysterious reply he had received. He heard Sikosi Tsiki locking the door behind him.

  Konovalenko was on his own now. He went around the room turning off the lights, apart from the lamp next to the table where the telephone was. He checked the time. Half past midnight. Soon he would call Jan Kleyn. He listened at the cellar hatch. Not a sound. He poured himself another glass of vodka. He would save it until after he had finished speaking with Jan Kleyn.

  The call to South Africa was brief.

  Jan Kleyn listened to Konovalenko’s assurances that Sikosi Tsiki would c
ause no problems. There was no doubt about his mental stability. Then Jan Kleyn announced his verdict. He wanted Sikosi Tsiki to return to South Africa within a week at the most. Konovalenko’s job was to make arrangements immediately to get him out of Sweden, and make sure the return journey to Johannesburg was booked and confirmed. Konovalenko had the impression Jan Kleyn was in a hurry, that he was under pressure. Of course, he had no way of confirming his hunch. But it was enough to put him off his stride when it came to discussing his own journey to South Africa. The call ended without his having said a single word about the future. He felt annoyed with himself afterwards. He drained his vodka glass and wondered if Jan Kleyn intended to double-cross him. But he dismissed the thought. Besides, he was convinced they really needed his talents and experience in South Africa. He drank another glass of vodka, then went out onto the porch to urinate. It was raining. He gazed out into the mist, and decided he should be pleased with himself. Just a few more hours and all his problems would be over, for this particular job. His assignment was almost at an end. Then he would have time to devote to his future. Not the least significant decision he would have to make was whether to take Tania with him to South Africa, or if he should do what he did with his wife and leave her behind.

  He locked the door, retired to his own room and lay down. He did not get undressed, but just pulled a blanket over him. Tania could sleep alone tonight. He needed some rest.

  She was lying awake in her room, and heard Konovalenko shut the door and lie down on top of the bed. She lay still, listening. She was scared. Deep down she had the feeling it would be impossible to get the girl out of the cellar and then leave the house without Konovalenko hearing. Nor was it possible to lock the door to his room quietly. She had tried that earlier in the day, when Konovalenko and the African were out shooting rifles in the quarry. Besides, it was possible for him to jump out of the bedroom window even if the door was barricaded. She wished she had some sleeping pills. She could have dissolved them in one of his vodka bottles. But all she had was herself, and she knew she had to try. Earlier in the day she had prepared a little suitcase with some money and clothes. She hid it in the barn. She also left her rain clothes there, and a pair of boots.

  She checked the time. A quarter past one. She knew the meeting with the cop was scheduled for dawn. She and the daughter would have to be a long way away by then. As soon as she heard Konovalenko start to snore, she would get up. She knew Konovalenko was a very light sleeper and kept waking up, but rarely during the first half hour after falling asleep.

  She still was not sure why she was doing this. She knew she was risking her own life. But she did not feel the need to justify her actions to herself. Some things were just dictated by life itself.

  Konovalenko turned over and coughed. Twenty-five past one. Some nights Konovalenko chose not to sleep, but just lay on the bed resting. If this was one of those nights, there was nothing she could do to help the girl. She noticed how that made her feel even more scared. It was a threat that seemed to her greater than any danger she might run herself.

  At twenty to two she finally heard Konovalenko start to snore. She listened for about half a minute. Then she carefully got out of bed. She was fully dressed. All the time she had been clutching the key to the lock on the chains around the girl’s ankles. She cautiously opened the door of her room and avoided the floorboards she knew would creak. She sneaked into the kitchen, switched on her flashlight and started easing up the hatch very carefully. It was a critical moment: the girl might start screaming. That had not happened so far. But it could, she realized that. Konovalenko was snoring. She listened. Then she climbed cautiously down the ladder. The girl was curled into a ball. Her eyes were open. Tania squatted beside her and whispered while stroking her cropped hair. She said they were going to run away, but she would have to be very, very quiet. The girl did not react. Her eyes were completely expressionless. Tania was suddenly afraid she would not be able to move. Perhaps she was rendered immobile by fear? She had to turn her over on her side in order to get to the padlock. The girl suddenly started kicking and punching. Tania just managed to place her hand over the girl’s mouth before she started screaming. Tania was strong, and pressed as hard as she could. Just one half-stifled yell would be enough to wake Konovalenko. She shuddered at the thought. Konovalenko was quite capable of nailing down the hatch and leaving them both down there in the darkness. Tania tried to whisper to her at the same time as she pressed. The girl’s eyes had come alive, and Tania hoped she would understand now. She slowly took away her hand, unlocked the padlock, and carefully removed the chains.

  At the same moment she noticed Konovalenko had stopped snoring. She held her breath. He started again. She hurriedly got to her feet, reached for the hatch, and closed it. The girl had understood. She sat up, and was quiet. But her eyes had come alive again.

  Tania suddenly thought her heart would stand still. She heard footsteps in the kitchen above them. Someone was walking around there. The footsteps stopped. Now he’ll open the hatch, she thought, shutting her eyes. He’s heard me after all.

  Then came relief in the form of the clinking of a bottle. Konovalenko had got up for another glass of vodka. The footsteps died away again. Tania shone the flashlight on her face and tried to smile. Then she took the girl’s hand and held it while they waited. After ten minutes she opened the hatch cautiously. Konovalenko had started snoring again. She explained to the girl what was going to happen. They would approach the front door as quietly as they could. Tania had oiled the lock during the day. She thought it would be possible to open it without a click. If all went well they would then hurry away from the house together. But if something did happen, if Konovalenko woke up, Tania would simply fling the door open and they would race off in different directions. Was that clear? Run, run for all they were worth. There was a fine drizzle outside that should make it harder for them to be seen. But she should just keep on running, without looking back. When she came to a house or saw a car on the road, she should give herself up. But the main thing was to run for her life.

  Did she understand? Tania thought so. The girl’s eyes were animated, she could move her legs, even if she was weak and unsteady. Tania listened again. Then she nodded to the girl. It was time to move. Tania climbed up first, listened one more time, then reached down to help the girl. Now speed was of the essence. Tania made herself hold back so as to avoid the stairs creaking. The girl emerged cautiously into the kitchen. She screwed up her eyes, even though the light was very weak. She’s practically blind, thought Tania. She held her firmly by one arm. Konovalenko was snoring. Then they started walking toward the hall and the front door, one step at a time, painfully slow. There was a curtain in the hall doorway. Tania took great care in pulling it to one side, with the girl hanging onto her arm. Then they were at the door. Tania could feel she was covered in sweat. Her hands were trembling as she took hold of the key. At this point she almost dared to believe it would be OK. She turned the key. There was a point, a certain resistance, where it would click if she turned it too quickly. She could feel the resistance and kept on turning as carefully as she could. She was past the critical point. There had not been a single sound. She nodded to the girl. Then she opened the door.

  As she did so, something crashed behind her. She gave a start and turned around. The girl had bumped into a stand for coats and umbrellas. It had fallen over. Tania had no need to listen in order to know what was already happening. She flung open the door, shoved the girl out into the rain and mist, and yelled at her to run. At first the girl seemed petrified. But Tania pushed her, and she started running. Within a couple of seconds she had disappeared into the grayness.

  Tania knew it was already too late as far as she was concerned. But she would try even so. Most of all she did not want to turn around. She ran in the opposite direction, in an attempt to divert Konovalenko, make him unsure about where the girl was for a few more precious seconds.

  Tania got to the middle
of the courtyard before Konovalenko caught up with her. “What are you doing?” he yelled. “Are you sick?”

  Then she realized Konovalenko did not know the hatch was open. He would not understand what had happened until they were back inside the house. The girl’s start would be sufficient. Konovalenko would never be able to find her again.

  Tania suddenly felt very tired.

  But she knew that what she has done was right.

  “I don’t feel very well,” she said, pretending to be dizzy.

  “Let’s go inside,” said Konovalenko.

  “Just a minute,” she said. “I need some fresh air.”

  I’ll do the best I can for her, she thought. Every breath gives her a bigger start. The game is up for me.

  She ran through the night. It was raining. She had no idea where she was, she just ran. She kept falling, but simply scrambled back onto her feet and kept on running. She came out into a field. All around her frightened hares were bounding off in different directions. She felt like one of them, a hunted animal. The mud was clinging to her shoes. In the end she took them off and kept on running in her stocking feet. The field seemed to go on forever. Everything was engulfed by the fog. Only she and the hares existed. Eventually she came to a road, and lacked the strength to run any farther. She walked along the gravel road. The sharp edges of the stones were hurting her feet. Then the gravel came to an end and she found herself on an asphalt road. She could see the white line down the middle. She had no idea which direction to take. But she kept on walking even so. She still did not dare to think about what had happened. She could still feel some vague sense of evil somewhere behind her. It was neither human nor animal, rather a sort of cold breeze; but it was there all the time, forcing her to keep going.

  Then she saw a pair of headlights approaching. It was a man who had been visiting his girlfriend. During the night they had started quarreling about something. He decided to go home. Now he was sitting behind the wheel of his car, thinking that if only he had the money, he would go away. Anywhere would do, anywhere far away. The windshield wipers were squeaking, and visibility was poor. He suddenly saw something in front of the car. At first he thought it was an animal, and slammed on the brakes. Then he stopped altogether. It was a human being, he could see that. He could hardly believe his eyes. A young girl, with no shoes, covered in mud, her hair a shortcropped mess. It occurred to him there might have been a car crash. Then he saw her sit down in the middle of the road. He got slowly out of the car, and went up to her.