In Pretoria, Englehart received reluctant confirmation from Barrett that the sabotage would be carried out. The message made him decide it was time to reduce the strength of his team in South Africa. During the day he ordered the twelve operatives who had worked under him to rebase to Washington. The last left on the lunchtime flight. Alone, Englehart spent the time pacing his smoke-filled room, never more than a few yards from the constantly tuned radio, tensely waiting for the news flash which never came. He didn’t even hear about the arrests, because Knoetze imposed complete censorship.
By the evening Englehart realised something had gone wrong and his nerve finally snapped. As overall controller, he should have been the last to quit and his intention had been to remain a further two days until those in the neighbouring countries had followed his instructions and he had received confirmation from Langley that they had all safely rebased. Instead, he tried to run. He thrust his belongings into a suitcase, telephoning Johannesburg airport for a seat on the first outgoing flight, which happened to be to England, with stops at Salisbury and Zurich. He booked as far as Switzerland, intending to change there for America.
As a result of the folder which Collington had produced, Englehart’s name had been alerted to every air- and seaport, and even while the American was standing with the telephone to his ear, waiting for flight confirmation, the immigration computer hitched by link-line into the larger machine, in which all reservations were processed, was throwing it up with a priority listing.
Englehart sat hunched in the taxi taking him from Pretoria to the international airport, his suitcase clutched protectively against his knees. He was sweating so badly that he stank and chainsmoking, thrusting one half-burned cigarette against another and stubbing out the stump in a shower of sparks and split tobacco. He tried to force rational thought, to convince himself that the absence of news didn’t mean there was a failure or detection and that even if there had been arrests, there was nothing whatsoever to link him with them. But there was no cohesion. Between every logical sequence he attempted there intruded images of Moreton, posturing in the Treasury office, and of Ruth, going with him all those weekends to the Cape, until they found the cottage they wanted at a price they coulri afford.
The seizure was perfectly co-ordinated. Englehart was immediately identified the moment he entered the embarkation hall, but they allowed him to approach the ticket desk, to identify himself and become preoccupied with signing the credit card docket before they moved. Before anyone spoke Englehart became aware of the encirclement. He whirled around, crouching, the despair whimpering from him when he saw how many there were.
Knoetze had helicoptered from Pretoria, assessing the political importance of the arrest and determined to organise it personally. ‘If you try to run,’ he said, ‘we’ll shoot you. Not to kill, of course. To cripple you. I want you alive.’ The customary smile wasn’t there because there was no need to trick this man. He was beyond tricking: beyond everything.
Because of the Russian influence in the other countries, the earlier arrests had been as complete, if slightly less efficient. Hank Barrett had been seized with five men at Maputo airport: he’d booked for the Seychelles again, intending to sneak an unofficial weekend vacation before returning to Washington. As international air routings were easier from Salisbury, Peter Grant had taken his group of six across the border from Namibia into Zimbabwe by road. There he linked with Nelson Siebert and twelve of them had a farewell lunch at the Meikles Hotel to celebrate the end of a successful operation. During the arrests afterwards at Salisbury airport, two of them tried to run: one had his leg broken by a bullet, and the other actually got outside the building, where he was quite accidentally knocked down by a taxi.
Walter Blake and his group almost made it. They got through passport and immigration control at Luanda airport and were waiting for take-off when the security men stormed aboard. Literally belted into their seats, the Americans accepted that any sort of resistance was pointless: at the same time a Swiss businessman had a heart attack, and when he was undressed in hospital, it was discovered he was attempting to smuggle £10,000 wonh of diamonds out of the country.
Back in Pretoria, Englehart was subjected to a physical examination for self-destructing drugs that was far more painful and extensive than anything contemplated at Witwatersrand Four. At the moment he entered the cell, stripped of tie, shoelaces and belt, to find he was going to share it with two guards remaining inside the ten-foot-square rectangle, Brigitte re Jong was entering the residential penthouse of the SAGOMI building. Since his reconciliation with Hannah, the servants had been re-assigned to Parkstown, and Collington considered it the safest place for the encounter after Knoetze’s warning.
Brigitte wondered if, after all, he was going to attempt some sort of seduction. She hoped not. Despite all the obvious reservations, she had begun to admire him.
She refused wine and then spirits and even coffee, anxious to maintain a distance between them, and so Collington stopped bothering, finally sitting down opposite her and telling her simply of the gold release.
‘Three weeks?’ she queried.
‘A normal sale,’ he confirmed.
For the first time there was an indication of relief: she appeared to sag physically, as if the tension had been released.
‘How much are you short?’
She hesitated, reluctant to concede anything more. Then she realised it was a pointless reserve and said, ‘Two and a half tonnes.’
‘It’s a lot,’ admitted Collington. ‘But if you buy into short-term contracts, you should cover it, at a cost.’
She nodded. ‘I’m grateful for your help.’
Remembering Knoetze’s suspicions, Collington said, ‘Will you be going back to Amsterdam immediately?’
‘Yes,’ said Brigitte.
‘What’s happened has only relieved your short-term problem,’ said Collington.
She had staned to rise, to leave, but she relaxed back into her chair, realising the meeting wasn’t over. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked.
‘Another fluctuation, for whatever reason, and you’re extended again.’
‘I know,’ she accepted.
‘Ever thought of another commodity, to replace gold?’
‘Like what?’
‘Oil,’ said Collington.
‘America has its guaranteed supplies,’ said the woman.
‘For the moment,’ said Collington.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The Cabinet meeting had been underway for an hour when Knoetze arrived and they were already planning to use the arrest to its maximum advantage, to impress world opinion with South Africa’s readiness to co-operate with the black governments to the north. When the completeness of Knoetze’s information was realised, the decision became unanimous. Messages were sent to Luanda, Salisbury and Mozambique, and because of the speed with which South Africa responded, their ambassador in Washington was able to lodge the formal protest note with the American State Department by mid-morning.
Having complied with diplomatic protocol, a limited statement was issued to alert the news media, and then a full press conference called, headed by the Prime Minister and supported by the Minister for Internal Affairs. Here the photographs of the Seychelles meeting were released, and the accusation made by both ministers that the United States had attempted a conspiracy in four countries within the continent.
Because it had happened at Salisbury airport, the shooting had already been reported, with no explanation. Zimbabwe issued a full statement within an hour of the South African release, and because it had the heaviest concentration of foreign press, the coverage there was more extensive than from Angola or Mozambique. Anticipating this, the official South African news agency was supplied with additional information through Knoetze’s department.
The American State Department had originally rejected the South African Note, correctly insisting that they were completely ignorant of the affair. That ill-considered acti
on compounded the diplomatic embarrassment which was overwhelming the administration of John William Pemberton like an avalanche.
Pretoria publicly complained of the treatment of its accredited representative and instructed that the protest, unchanged, be delivered again, ensuring that there was television and newspaper coverage of the diplomat’s arrival. It was coincidence that the media were still at the State Department when Zimbabwe made its official objection. By then the statements had been made in Africa and the other two countries confirmed that they were demanding official explanations.
Russia had waited, to gauge the international repercussions of the incident. By mid-afternoon it was assessed to be a major difficulty for America and one from which the Soviet Union could substantially benefit politically. In Moscow, a statement was issued through Tass, insisting that the Soviet Union were interested only in peace and the non-involvement in the affairs of other nations. What had happened in Africa finally identified the true instigators of violence and interference which had for too long been wrongly blamed upon Communist influence; the United States seemed to be a country determined upon colonialisation and undermining, by deceit, the established governments of the world.
The besieged offices of the Secretary of State and the Foreign Affairs adviser sought advice from the President. Pemberton realised he was in trouble. Like the true professional he was, he moved immediately to find someone else to blame publicly.
The Central Intelligence Agency had been monitoring the outcry from the moment of South Africa’s first announcement. An analysis was prepared for Bradley Cowles, but he knew already – as he travelled from Langley to the White House – that the Agency was facing the biggest potential disaster since he had assumed its Directorship. He would have to be careful.
Cowles had expected it to be a full meeting, perhaps even of Cabinet number, and so he was surprised when he was shown into the Oval Office and found Pemberton alone. His normally immaculate waistcoat was unbuttoned, there weren’t any smiles and the man’s hair was disarrayed, as if he had been running his hands constantly through it.
‘What in the name of Christ is going on?’ he demanded, before Cowles had an opportunity to sit down.
It was self-protection time, recognised Cowles. ‘I was hoping you would be able to help me, Mr President,’ he said.
‘Me!’ exploded Pemberton. ‘What the hell do I know about a guy called Englehart and whoever else is involved?’
‘But these men were assigned upon your specific instructions, sir,’ said Cowles. From his briefcase he took the presidential order allocating Henry Moreton covert staff and the presidential endorsement entrusting Moreton with full authority over them. The documents were photocopies. The originals were carefully secure in a safe at Langley, the combination of which was known only to Cowles and his immediate directorship.
‘Moreton!’ said Pemberton incredulously. He snapped down his call button, managing to control his voice for the outside staff, and demanded that the Treasury Secretary be summoned immediately. Then looked up at the Director. ‘He’s the Secretary to the Treasury,’ he said, as if to reassure himself.
From the same briefcase Cowles took records of all Englehart’s protests, passing them to the President. ‘You will see that there were numerous attempts by my officer to question the instructions he was being given,’ said the Director. ‘On every occasion he was over-ruled by Mr Moreton, upon your authority.’
‘That was for a particular thing,’ insisted Pemberton desperately.
‘It was a standing instruction,’ Cowles pointed out. He didn’t give a damn who carried the can – it wasn’t going to leak out all over him.
‘All the charges are right,’ said Pemberton faintly. ‘We’ve mounted a covert operation, not just in one but in four African countries!’ He sat heavily in the high-backed chair, as if his legs were suddenly insufficient to support him. ‘Can you imagine what that means? How it’s going to screw any chance we might have had of maintaining any influence anywhere in the whole goddamn continent!’
‘Yes, Mr President, I can,’ said Cowles. ‘I think it’s an absolute, unmitigated disaster.’
Pemberton’s head came up and Cowles met the look, steadily. It was the President who looked away first and Cowles knew that without a word being spoken the point had been established; he was personally fireproof.
‘We’ve got about twenty-five men in the slammer,’ said Pemberton, as if it were necessary to keep repeating the facts to inscribe them in his mind. ‘One of them is the head of the covert division, for God’s sake! What out have we got?’
‘None that I can immediately foresee,’ said Cowles.
A buzzer sounded on the President’s desk with the secretary’s announcement of Moreton’s arrival and Pemberton rose up to confront the man, supporting himself forward over the desk in a stance of immediate challenge.
In recent months Moreton had cultivated a languid ambiance, an attentive diffidence to the constant praise for his monetarist policies which had consistently worked on the country’s economy. The change in the Treasury Secretary was as marked as it was in Pemberton. Moreton was sweating openly, and he kept opening and closing his hands, as if he were practising strengthening exercises.
‘From you,’ said the President, ‘I want an explanation. And it had better be good.’
Moreton attempted a desperate defence, avoiding Pemberton’s demand and turning instead to the CIA Director. ‘Your men fouled up!’ he said, his voice just below a shout.
Cowles stared back, neither frightened nor impressed by the attack. He pointed towards the President’s desk, where Englehart’s objection lay uppermost. ‘The man appointed to work under your direct control sent a positive memorandum pointing out the dangers of what he was being asked to do. It was not an isolated, personal view. It was supported, by name, by the supervisor of every group that was despatched to Africa upon your insistence. They warned that what they were being asked to do was impossible and that there was a grave risk of failure and detection ….’ From the briefcase Cowles took his last document. This is a copy of your response to that objection,’ he said, offering it not to Moreton but to the President. ‘It is an insistence that the operation be continued.’
If there were a congressional enquiry, Cowles was confident he could make the cable about a directorate enquiry appear to be not into Englehart’s behaviour but into the wiseness of the action. He would then come out of it even more secure.
‘There is a law in this country,’ said Pemberton, speaking slowly and to Moreton. ‘It states that the President has personally to approve of any covert action. Under the Hughes-Ryan amendment, it must go through eight separate congressional committees for confirmation, which hasn’t happened. Do you realise I could be impeached for this?’
‘During the past year I have stabilised the currency of this country more effectively than at any time during the past fifteen years,’ said Moreton. ‘I discovered a situation which I considered might seriously interfere with our oil supplies and jeopardise that stability. I acted accordingly.’
There was complete silence in the Oval Office. Both Cowles and Pemberton gazed at the Treasury Secretary, simultaneously aware that the man did not appreciate the enormity of what he had done. And never would, in his conceit.
‘You started a private, fucking war!’ shouted Pemberton.
‘I thought it important that warnings should be given,’ said Moreton stubbornly.
Cowles looked away from the man, appearing embarrassed. ‘What about my men in the field?’ he said to the President. ‘Can I have the State Department seek consular access?’
‘No!’ refused Pemberton at once. ‘That would imply some responsibility for what’s happened. This thing has been out of control for too long. Now it’s containment time.’
‘We’re going to have to make some kind of announcement,’ insisted Cowles.
‘And I’ve decided what it’s going to be,’ said Pemberton, as the escape
route widened before him. it will say that enquiries are continuing into an episode of which the American government was absolutely unaware ….’ He turned to Moreton. ‘Which is the truth,’ he finished.
‘Were you surprised that he kept his word?’ asked Leonov.
‘Yes,’ admitted Krotkov. ‘I thought there would be some trickery.’
There was vodka between them for a celebration, but neither man had drunk very much, each aware that the knowledge of a gold release date didn’t completely solve their difficulties.
‘I wonder what this solution is that he’s talking about?’
Krotkov humped his shoulders. ‘From the way he’s behaved so far, it might be worth considering,’ he said.
Leonov added to their glasses and then corked the bottle. ‘What would you have done if he hadn’t been straight with us?’
‘I kept the men who followed Englehart in Pretoria,’ reminded Krotkov. ‘If he’d done anything … exposing Brigitte, for instance, I’d have had him killed. After all, we’d have had nothing to lose, would we?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ agreed Leonov. How long had it been since that sort of obscene brutality had ceased to horrify him?
Metzinger was clearly growing increasingly desperate. Collington realised first with amusement and then with apprehension that Metzinger was monitoring his movements, not just with unscheduled telephone calls and visits to the office in the SAGOMI building, but with apparently innocent calls to Hannah at Parkstown. If Metzinger learned of a trip outside South Africa, the only interpretation would be that it was to finalise details with Prince Hassan. And if he publicly leaked the negotiations, he could still cause the upheaval and manipulate the no-confidence vote at the shareholders’ meeting.
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