by Brian Reeve
The fourth black is a Zulu gangster named Moses Shozi. He plays a prominent role in the Inkatha Freedom Party who want their own state as much as we do. They are natural enemies of the ANC who have been in power since Mandela’s release. Shozi is guarded and extremely dangerous. He should be the first hit followed by the guerillas.
Shozi's a member of a gang called Amasignora. It is the Zulu equivalent of the Afrikaner Broederbond as it used to be known although the reason for its existence is less subtle, quite simply the murder of those who obstruct the political ambition of Inkatha. Their favourite target is the ANC and ultimately they're behind much of the head-on violence in the townships. Apparently some of our people would have been content if the activities of this gang remained at that but some of them were too clever. Before and after the ANC was unbanned it is no secret that there have been a number of attacks on white farmsteads. Invariably these were attributed to Umkhonto we Sizwe and Azapo, the Azanian Peoples Organization, but evidence shows this is not true. Inkatha were the villains in some of these attacks and quite cleverly stamped the carnage as the work of their black enemies. As recently as four months ago, three families were killed on farms in northern KwaZulu-Natal. Years before they had moved down from where they farmed near the Zimbabwe border. One of the families was related to a senior member in the group and he never rested until he believed he knew who had done it. His findings pointed to Inkatha, specifically Shozi. That is one of the reasons why he is on the list.
Shozi lives in his own house in KwaZulu-Natal. He seldom leaves and then only for short periods when warring against those to whom he has taken a dislike. The three guerillas appear to spend most of their time in Malakazi township. The resting places of these four men should be ideal for your purposes and details are attached. Other information you will need are in other sections of this document.
‘That is a comprehensive statement on these four blacks,’ said Dalton. ‘I’ll read the rest in the car, where they are staying and their movements. Teichmann said you wanted to drive.’
‘Yes,’ said Krige. ‘For part of the way you can concentrate on the document. First, I want to park further down the road or up a side road, somewhere less conspicuous. Wandering eyes soon take an interest in a vehicle that doesn’t move for three days. Bring the Ford.’
Dalton followed in his car and when Krige parked in a side road he drew up behind. He opened his car boot and took out the 7mm Remington, in its scabbard, a Browning 9mm pistol and the Beretta 93R for Krige, both in holsters. The Beretta had the unique capability for a pistol in that it had a 20-round magazine and could fire, if necessary, three rounds in a single burst. It was the finest pistol Krige had used. There was a silencer for each gun.
The two men were soon on the main road that went through Pretoria and on to Pietermaritzburg 800 kilometres away. The turning to the heart of KwaZulu-Natal, home of the blacks, was in Pietermaritzburg.
‘You will see in one of the sections the locations of the men,’ said Krige. ‘As far as their movements go it is a guess and we will have to find that out for ourselves. The group don’t know the details and I can imagine their difficulty. Very briefly, Shozi’s house is in the Edendale Valley, fifteen kilometers from Pietermaritzburg, five kilometers from Umbali township and four kilometers this side of Malakazi township. It is shown on the map. The area is very pretty, very quiet and the house, with quarters for the guards, is near the main road. It is the only road around. The Xhosas are staying in a room in Malakazi that belongs to the mayor of the township, a man named Dhlamini and is a few hundred metres from his house. I am confident both houses will be easy to find. If not we will have to call on the mayor.’
Krige paused then went on. ‘As the document said we should go first for Shozi. Before then, I want to go and picture the layout of Malakazi. There is a footpath that goes along the side of the main road between Umbali and Malakazi and passes Shozi’s house. The whole area is grass and woodland and I believe there are trees partly blocking the house from the path and the road.’ Krige turned down the window. ‘Amongst the trees there is a kopje and a trout stream that virtually follows the path. After Malakazi we will head for Shozi and take a vantage point in the kopje.’
‘You have certainly prepared yourself,’ said Dalton. ‘I am impressed.’
‘It is all in the document,’ said Krige. ‘There is quite a bit more. I have spent time reading it. Teichmann and his people did a good job. In a while we will stop for something to eat and buy some food and water for later. This could be a long job and we won’t find a shop on every corner.’
Chapter 9
Berea, Durban
While he was involved with the Cartwright affair, Steiner had left a senior student to take the karate sessions. He did not know how he could help Smith any more and there would be little chance of getting the original file from Staples, unless the copy was found and the National Prosecuting Authority became involved. And, Smith had not asked him for any advice.
On a cool evening when he did not have a class he phoned Sophie Carswell.
She picked up the phone and was pleased to hear him. After a few words he said: ‘Would you like to go to the beachfront for something to eat.’
‘I would love to but I have been asked out by a guy at the dance school,’ she said. ‘I don’t particularly like him but he was insistent and I said yes. He is a bit strange and before and after every class he parades himself in front of the wall mirror. I’ll be back at around nine. Come up here for a drink.’
‘You might be held up,’ said Steiner. ‘What about tomorrow night.’
‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘You can pick me up at eight.’
‘That’s fine,’ said Steiner. ‘I will see you then.’
After the call Steiner sat in the living room and thought about Sophie. She hadn’t changed since he saw her before he went to Japan and he regarded her as one of the most attractive girls he had met. Her passion for life, the way she moved, only enhanced her good looks. He knew he could easily fall in love with her and in some ways that was something he feared. He was in part a loner and even though he knew his natural ability and determination had helped his development in life, it was the other that had put ice in his veins.
The following evening Steiner finished the class at seven-thirty. He went to his flat round the corner and after a shower drove up the Berea to where Sophie was staying. He rang the bell and she opened it. She wore a knee-length black dress and high heels, and her make-up was perfect. They greeted one another and she was about to lead him inside when someone came out of the shadows near the gate and walked up to the door.
Sophie was momentarily stunned and then said: ‘John Kallis, what are doing here? James Steiner and I are going out for a drink.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Kallis. He eyed Steiner. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘You were not asked and I don’t know what you are doing here, hanging about in the shadows. That’s very strange behaviour.’
He laughed humourlessly. ‘So this guy has got you all to himself.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That is the way I want it. Please go.’
He walked to within an arm’s length of her. ‘Just leave him and we will go alone.’ He was starting to lose his cool and took hold of her arm. ‘I’m getting impatient.’
‘Leave her,’ said Steiner. ‘She’s too good for you.’
Kallis let Sophie’s arm go and stared at him. For a moment he was still, unsure. There was something strange about Steiner, something dangerous. He smiled at Sophie, turned and slowly walked towards the gate.
Steiner faced Sophie, who was amazed at the way he had dealt with Kallis.
‘Let’s go in.’ he said. ‘He won’t come back.’
They went inside and locked the door. Sophie sat down in the nearest chair. Her mind went to what Steiner had told her about Japan and she wondered what he had done to the three men who came for him. When he had taken sexual
advantage of her in London she had sensed his presence and feline strength and she felt it now.
Steiner stood near her. ‘You will never rid the world of men who behave like that and enjoy it. The only chance you have of defending yourself is through the law or doing what you can to the best of your ability.’
She got up. ‘After that I’m not in the mood to go out.’ She walked over to him and held his hand. ‘Let’s have a drink here and call it a night. That creature has spoilt the evening.’
She led him into an adjacent room. There was a drinks cabinet against the wall. ‘What would you like,’ she said. ‘Everything is here.’
He asked for a glass of water and she poured a Campari for herself. When they were seated on the sofa she asked: ‘When were you last in Japan?’
‘Just after I saw you in London,’ he said.
‘When you went for me?’
He was quiet and then said: ‘Not the best thing I have done.’
‘But you showed such passion,’ she countered. ‘I enjoyed it even though I was angry. You were so gentle. I heard you had left for Japan.’
‘You were very attractive,’ he said.
She smiled and stared at him. ‘How would you like to take me to Japan? It’s coming up for their autumn, apparently the most beautiful season in their year.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Paul Adams told me. That was before we broke up.’
‘Why did you?’ he said.
‘We had nothing in common. All he was interested in was aikido and watching television. Essentially he was an empty shell. Not my type.’
‘What is your type?’ he said.
‘I’ll tell you one day,’ she said, the hint of a smile caressing her lips. ‘What about Japan? I would love a break from South Africa.’
‘We will go,’ he said. ‘At the moment I don’t know when. There is something I want to see concluded, even though I am not involved anymore.’
‘That sounds very mysterious.’
He looked at her. ‘We will go to Japan as long as you behave yourself,’ he said cryptically and with a smile.
She was about to respond when he changed the subject. ‘What will you say to John Kallis. People like that have to prove something and that is when they are dangerous.’
‘I want nothing to do with him,’ she said emphatically. ‘He will get the message. He can be pleasant when he chooses but that is when he thinks he has a chance with me. He is very charming with women and very intelligent, though that did not show tonight. I must have been blind to go out with him, even if it was only now and again. I turned him down several times.’
‘What does he do?’ asked Steiner.
‘Have you ever heard of the Directorate: Special Operations, the DSO?’ she asked. ‘They are known as the Scorpions and have a crime fighting capacity to investigate and prosecute national priority crime. I know his boss is a Peter Smith. He talks a lot about the DSO and is obviously drawn to his work’
They spoke for a while longer then he said: ‘You need some sleep. I will phone you.’
She let him out through the front door and when she had closed it, said softly: ‘Sleep well James Steiner. If you don’t make a play for me, stay away. I’m falling in love with you.’
As Steiner drove home he thought about what Sophie had said concerning Kallis and the man’s work with the DSO. It was incongruous that Kallis’ boss was Peter Smith. He had had difficulty concealing his surprise when she told him. He thought about the file, the job Kallis might have and wondered if he got on well with Smith. He sensed by Kallis’ accent that he was Afrikaans and he found that unusual. There weren’t many Afrikaners in Durban. He told himself to forget about the man. He wouldn’t see him again.
Chapter 10
KwaZulu-Natal, Republic of South Africa
Moses Shozi held up his hand as he came to the crest of a hill, small in the vast theatre comprising the Edendale Valley. The land was KwaZulu-Natal, homeland of the Zulus.
‘Which one?’ he said, grinning.
Behind Shozi in the moonlight of the late evening were thirteen men, strong in stature and in their prime, their heads shaven and reflective like domes of polished wood. They were in single file, their bodies clad sparingly in shorts, loose-fitting shirts and heavy belts, their feet bare, impervious to the thorns and stones scattered among the grass. Firmly thrust into their belts, were wide-bladed pangas, half-axe, half-knife, the time-honoured implement for hacking through indigenous bush and cutting men to death.
‘It’s the third on the left.’ Joseph Setlaba returned the grin. He liked it when his master was in a buoyant mood. ‘They stay with their mother, Mrs Mkhize.’
Below them, several hundred metres distant and couched in one of the many shallow valleys lay half-a-dozen modern houses in a staggered row. Shozi glanced at the cans of paraffin carried by two of his men then urged the group on. The pounding feet crushed the long-stemmed grass as the men descended on the homes before them ignoring the silhouettes they etched against the top of the hill and confident of their authority behind the barrel-chested warrior they had elected to serve.
When they came to Mrs Mkhize’s house Shozi drew his blade, adjusting the .38 Webley revolver poked into his belt. He cut into the door, exploding the lock and ripping into the jamb. Whining on rusting hinges the door surrendered and Shozi went through.
Seated on a sofa and cradling girl twins in her arms an obese woman cried out as Shozi appeared. She held the children tightly, the muscles of her arms hidden by the coating of fat that had accumulated from years of eating a high-starch diet of mielie porridge, sausage and bread.
Skirting his master Setlaba went to the room adjoining and peered inside, noting five untidy bedrolls, three near the window and partitioned from the others by a low sackcloth screen. There was no one there and he ambled back, shaking his head.
‘Where are your sons?’ said Shozi, hovering over her. She started weeping, the tears welling in her eyes and onto her cheeks.
‘Please don’t hurt them,’ she begged. ‘They are good boys.’
Shozi hit her on the face with sickening impact, a steel knuckle-duster, shaped into the horned head of a bull, biting into her, cutting a furrow from her cheek to her jaw, drawing a thin line of blood.
‘Where are they,’ he growled evenly. ‘I’ll not harm them but they must learn to be loyal to Inkatha.’
She sobbed quietly, her hand covering the wound, his words providing a measure of reassurance and reducing her fears. Deep within a voice warned that Shozi was a killer, one who operated with impunity, but she ignored it, choosing to believe her sons would be spared. ‘They work in the city,’ she said softly. ‘Tonight they’ll be late.’ She drew the children closer. ‘They’re on the last bus.’
Shozi dug in a pocket for his watch. ‘Thirty minutes,’ he said, weighing up the information. He glared at her. ‘Take your children and stay in the other room. We’ll wait.’
She bowed, holding her hands together and to her face, as if in prayer to her chosen god. ‘Please don’t hurt them Mr Shozi,’ she repeated pleadingly, bending lower. The girls cowered against their mother, terrified, but too young to understand.
Shozi hit her again, his fist brushing her hands away, feathers caught in a gale. She was thrown back on the sofa and he had drawn more blood, a seepage that spread like new red paint and ran down into her eye. But he was without remorse and gripped her arm, his fingers coils of wire, and jerked her bulk out of the seat, the children clinging desperately to her dress. She was spent, illiterate, unable to comprehend the hatred between men.
With a heave he shoved her towards the bedroom and she tripped, the children with her. Setlaba took over, pulling her onto her feet and pushing her through the doorway, cuffing the girls sharply on the ears as they huddled behind.
Shozi went to the front door. Outside on the sand his men stood obediently in a semi-circle waiting for his command. ‘Hide them in the grass,’ he directed as h
is lieutenant joined him. He examined the broken lock, casually peeling off flaking paint. ‘By the time they see this it’ll be over. We’ll stay in here.’
Setlaba issued instructions to the men and they withdrew into the grass and clusters of bush. Satisfied, he returned inside, settling the door as firmly as he could against the frame.
Shozi nodded and went into the bedroom. Dabbing her bleeding face with a flannel, Mrs Mkhize stared up from one of the beds, the arms of the children around her waist, immersed like sticks in jelly. He locked the room and lowered himself onto a tomato box standing on its end. ‘This night is ours,’ he said. ‘I’ve waited patiently for these two. For too long they have brazenly supported the men who now rule this land.’