by Wilbur Smith
"union steel closed at 98 cents tonight. i told you to buy."
"over-priced, over-capitalized," snorted frank lemmer.
dan lay on his side in the dirt and laid out his instruments, and they argued stocks and shares. when dan had the syringe full of pentathol and was swabbing frank lemmer's stringy old arm, lemmer rolled his head towards rod again.
"we made a good dig here, rodney, you and i. i wish they'd give it to you now, but they won't. you're still too young. but whoever they put in my place, you keep an eye on him, you know the ground don't let him balls it up." and the needle went in.
dan cut through the arm in four and a half minutes, and twenty-seven minutes later frank lemmer died of shock and exposure in the mary anne on his way to the surface.
once he had paid patti's alimony there was not too much of rod's salary left for extravagances, but one of these was the big cream maserati. although it was a 1967 model, and had done nearly 30,000 miles when he bought it, yet the instalments still took a healthy bite out of his monthly pay cheque.
on mornings like this he reckoned the expense worthwhile. he came twisting down from the kraalkop ridge, and when the national road flattened and straightened for the final run into johannesburg he let the maserati go. the car seemed to flatten against the ground like a running lion, and the exhaust note changed subtly, becoming deeper, more urgent.
ordinarily, it was an hour's run from the sander ditch mine into the city of johannesburg, but rod could clip twenty minutes off that time.
it was saturday morning, and rod's mood was light and expectant.
since the divorce rod had lived a jekyll and hyde existence. five days of the week he was the company man in top-line management, but on the last two days of the week he went into johannesburg with his golf clubs in the boot of the maserati, the keys to his luxury hillbrow apartment in his pocket, and a chuckle on his lips.
today the anticipation was keener than ever for, in addition to the twenty-two-year-old blonde model who was prepared to devote her evening to entertaining rodney ironsides, there was the mysterious summons from doctor manfred steyner to answer.
the summons had been delivered by a nameless female caller describing herself as "doctor steyner's secretary. it had come the day after frank lemmer's funeral, and was for saturday at 11 A.m.
rod had never met manfred steyner, but he had, of course, heard of him.
anyone who worked for any of the fifty or sixty companies that comprised the central rand consolidated group must have heard of manfred steyner, and the sander ditch gold company was just one of the group.
manfred steyner had a bachelor's degree in economics from berlin university, and a doctor's degree in business administration from cornell. he had joined crc a mere twelve years previously at the age of thirty, and now he was the front runner. hurry hirschfeld could not live for ever, although he gave indications of doing so, and when he went down to make a takeover bid on hades, the word was that manfred steyner would succeed him as chairman of crc.
chairmanship of crc was an enviable position, the incumbent automatically became one of the five most powerful men in africa, and that included heads of state.
the betting favoured doctor steyner for a number of good reasons. he had a brain that had earned him the nickname of "the computer, no one had yet been able to detect in him the slightest evidence of a human weakness, and more than this he had taken the trouble ten years previously to catch hurry hirschfeld's only granddaughter as she emerged from cape town oniversity and marry her.
doctor steyner was in a strong position, and rod was intrigued with the prospect of meeting him.
the maserati was registering 125 miles an hour as he went under the over pass of the kloof gold mining company property.
"johannesburg, here i come!" rod laughed aloud.
it was ten minutes before eleven o'clock when rod found the brass plaque reading "doctor m. k. steyner" in a secluded lane of the lush johannesburg suburb of sandown.
the house was not visible from the road, and rod let the maserati roll gently in through the tall white gates, with their imitation cape dutch gables.
the gates, he decided, were a display of shocking taste but the gardens beyond them were paradise. rod knew rock, but flowers were his weak spot. he recognized the massed banks of red and yellow against the green lawns as cannas, but after that he had no names for the blazing beauty spread about him.
"wow!" he muttered in awe. "someone has done a hell of a lot of work around here." around a curve in the macadamized drive lay the house.
it also was cape dutch and rod forgave doctor steyner his gates.
"wow!" he said again, and involuntarily braked the maserati to a standstill.
cape dutch is one of the most difficult styles to copy effectively, where one line in a hundred out of place could spoil the effect; this particular example worked perfectly. it gave the feel of timelessness, of solidarity, and mixed it subtly with a grace and finesse of line. he guessed that the shutters and beams were genuine yellow wood and the windows hand-leaded.
rod looked at it, and felt envy prickle and burn within him. he loved fine things, like his maserati, but this was another concept in material possessions. he was jealous of the man that owned it, knowing that his own entire year's income would not be sufficient for a down payment on the land alone.
"so i've got my flat," he grinned ruefully, and coasted down to park in front of the line of garages.
it was not clear which was the correct entrance to use, and he chose at random from a number of paved paths that all led in the general direction of the house.
around a bend in this path he came on another spectacle. though smaller it had, if anything, a more profound effect on rod than the house had. it was a feminine posterior of equal grace and finesse of line, clad in helanka stretch ski-pants, and protruding from a large and exotic bush.
rod was captivated. he stood and watched as the bush shook and rustled, and the bottom wriggled and heaved.
suddenly, in ladylike tones there issued from the bush a most unladylike oath and the bottom shot backwards and its owner straightened up with her forefinger in her mouth, sucking noisily.
"it bit me!" she mumbled around the finger. "damned stink-bug bit me!"
"well, you shouldn't tease them," said rod.
and she spun round to face him. the first thing rod noticed were her eyes, they were enormous, completely out of proportion to the rest of her face.
"i wasn't-" she started, and then stopped. the finger came out of her mouth. instinctively one hand went to her hair, and the other began straightening her blouse and brushing off bits of vegetation that were clinging to her.
"who are you?" she asked, and those huge eyes swept over him.
this was fairly standard reaction for any woman between the ages of sixteen and sixty viewing rodney ironsides for the first time, and rodney accepted it gracefully.
"my name is rodney ironsides. i've an appointment to see doctor
"oh." she was hurriedly tucking her shirt-tails into her slacks. "my husband will be in his study." he had known who she was.
he had seen her photographs fifty times in the group newspaper; but in them she was usually in full-length evening dress and diamonds, not in a blouse with a tear in one sleeve nor pig-tails that were coming down.
in the pictures her make-up was immaculate, now she had none at all and her face was flushed and de wed with perspiration.
"i must look a mess. i've been gardening," said theresa steyner unnecessarily.
"did you do this garden yourself?"
"only a very little of the muscle work, but i planned it she answered.
she decided he was big and ugly no, not really ugly, but battered-looking.
"it's beautiful," said rod.
"thank you." no, not battered-looking, she changed her mind, tough-looking, and the chest hair curled out of the v of his open neck shirt.
"this is a protea isn't it?" h
e indicated the bush from which she had recently emerged. he was guessing.
"nutans," she said; he must be in his late thirties, there was greying at his temples.
"oh, i thought it was a protea "it is. "nutans" is its proper name. there are over two hundred different varieties of proteas she answered seriously. his voice didn't fit his appearance at all, she decided. he looked like a prize fighter but spoke like a lawyer, probably was one. it was usually lawyers or business consultants who came calling on manfred.
"is that so? it's very pretty." rod touched one of the blooms.
"yes, isn't it? i've got over fifty varieties growing here." and suddenly they were smiling at each other. "i'll take you up to the house, said theresa steyner.
mr ironsides is here, manfred."
"thank you." he sat at the stinkwood desk in a room that smelled of wax polish. he made no effort to rise from his seat.
"would you like a cup of coffee?" theresa asked from the doorway.
"or tea?"
"no, thank you," answered manfred steyner without consulting rod who stood beside her.
"i'll leave you to it, then," she said.
"thank you, theresa." and she turned away. rod went on standing where he was, he was studying this man of whom he had heard so much.
manfred steyner appeared younger than his forty-two years. his hair was light brown, almost blond, and brushed straight back. he wore spectacles with heavy black frames, and his face was smooth and silky -looking, soft as a girl's with no beard shadow on his chin. his hands that lay on the polished desk top were hairless, smooth, so that rod wondered if he had used a depilatory on them.
"come in," he said, and rod moved to the desk. steyner wore a white silk shirt in which the ironing creases still showed, the cloth was snowy white and over it he wore a royal johannesburg golf club tie, with onyx cuff links.
suddenly rod realized that neither shirt nor tie had ever been worn before; that much was true of what he had heard then. steyner ordered his shirts hand-made by the gross and wore each once only.
"sit down, ironsides." steyner slurred his vowels slightly, just a trace of a teutonic accent.
"mr. steyner," said rod softly, "you have a choice. you may call me rodney or mr. ironsides." there was no change in steyner's voice nor expression.
"i would like to go over your background, please, mr. ironsides, as a preliminary to our discussion. you have no objection?"
"no, doctor "you were born october 16th, 1931, at butterworth in the transkei. your father was a native trader, your mother died january 1939. your father was commissioned captain in the durban light infantry and died of wounds on the pa river in italy during the winter of 1944. you were raised by your maternal uncle in east london.
matriculating from queen's college, grahamstown, in 1947, you were unsuccessful in obtaining a chamber of mines scholarship to witwatersrand university for a b.sc. (mining engineering) degree. you enrolled in the gmts (government mining training school) and obtained your blasting ticket during 1949. at which time you joined the blyvooruitzicht gold mining company ltd as a learner miner." doctor steyner stood up from his desk and crossing to the panelled wall he pressed a concealed switch and a portion of the panelling slid back to reveal a wash basin and towel rack. as he went on talking he began very meticulously to soap and wash his hands.
"in the same year you were promoted to miner and in 1952 to shift boss, 1954 to mine captain. you successfully completed the examination for the mine manager's ticket in 1959, and in 1962 you came to us as an assistant underground manager, and in 1968 you achieved your present position as underground manager." doctor steyner began drying his hands on a snowy white towel.
"you've memorized my company record pretty thoroughly," rod admitted.
doctor steyner crumpled the towel and dropped it into a bin below the wash basin. he pressed the button and the panelling slid closed, then he came back to the desk stepping precisely over the glossy polished wooden floor, and rod realized that he was a small man, not more than five and a half feet tall, about the same height as his wife.
"this is something of an achievement," steyner went on.
"the next youngest underground manager in the entire group is forty-six years of age, whereas you are not yet thirty-nine." rod inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"now," said doctor steyner as he reseated himself and laid his freshly washed hands on the desk top. "i would like briefly to touch on your private life you have no objections?" again rod inclined his head.
"the reason that your application for the chamber of mines scholarship was refused, despite your straight a matriculation, was the recommendation of your headmaster to the selection board in effect that you were of unstable and violent disposition."
"how the hell did you know that? "ejaculated rod.
"i have access to the board's records. it seems that once you had received your matric you immediately assaulted your former headmaster."
i beat the hell out of the bastard," rod agreed happily.
"an expensive indulgence, mr. ironsides. it cost you a university degree." and rod was silent.
"to continue, in 1959 you married patricia anne harvey. of the union was born a girl child in the same year, to be precise, seven and a half months after the wedding." rod squirmed slightly in his chair, and doctor steyner went on quietly.
"this marriage terminated in divorce in 1964. your wife is suing you on the grounds of adultery, and receiving custody of the child, alimony and maintenance in the sum of 450 rand monthly." "what's all this about?" demanded rod.
"i am attempting to establish an accurate picture of your present circumstances. it is necessary, i assure you." doctor steyner removed his spectacles and began polishing the lens on a clean white handkerchief.
there were the marks of the frames on the bridge of his nose.
"go on, then." despite himself, rod was fascinated to learn just how much steyner knew about him.
"in 1968 there was a paternity suit brought against you by a miss.
diane johnson and judgement for 150rand per month." rod blinked and was silent.
"i should mention two further actions against you for assault, both unsuccessful on the grounds of justification or self-defence."
"is that all?" asked rod sarcastically.
"almost," admitted doctor steyner. "it is only necessary to note further recurrent expenditure in the form of a monthly payment of r150.00 on a continental sports car, and a further r100.00 per month rental on the premises 596 glen alpine heights, corner lane, hillbrow."
rod was furious, he had believed that no one in crc knew about the flat.
"damn you! you've been prying into my affairs!"
"yes," agreed doctor steyner levelly. "i am guilty, but in good cause. if you bear with me, you'll see why." suddenly doctor steyner stood up from the desk, crossed the room to the concealed wash basin, and again began to wash his hands. as he dried them, he spoke again.
"your monthly commitments are r850. your salary, after deduction of tax, is less than one thousand rand. you have no mining degree, and the chances of your taking the next step upwards to general manager without it are remote.
you are at your ceiling, mr. ironsides. on your own ability you can go no further. in thirty years" time you will not be the youngest underground manager in the crc group, but the oldest." doctor steyner paused. "that is, provided that your rather expensive tastes have not landed you in a debtors" prison, and that neither the quickness and heat of your temper, nor the matching speed and temperature of your genitalia have gotten you into really serious trouble." steyner dropped the towel in the bin and returned to his seat. they sat in absolute silence, regarding each other for a full minute.