Per Fine Ounce

by Peter Vollmer

  He requested permission to land and asked them to advise the local British Embassy of his arrival. He provided his name and special code and requested that the Embassy contact him direct on VHF frequency 124.8.

  Ten minutes later, the Embassy contacted him on the radio. He asked that they make arrangements to have an ambulance standing by and to ensure the aircraft could be parked in an isolated area on landing. He did not want to mention that there were dead aboard and lastly, he didn’t want the Botswana authorities first on the scene. He insisted that the Embassy’s chief liaison officer — who was an undercover MI6 operative — await the plane as he would be aware of who Peace was and be able to deflect questions from the local authorities.

  Once the aircraft had landed, the air traffic controller instructed Peace to taxi to an area north of the usual parking apron — this was usually reserved for military aircraft only. Peace wondered what the chief liaison officer could have said to persuade the authorities to grant them permission to park there. What was surprising was that a few soldiers, who clearly looked like British military, took up position around the aircraft to secure it.

  Minutes later, an ambulance arrived and took Cherry, who had regained partial consciousness, to the American medical station on the airfield.

  Peace was quickly whisked off to the Embassy in a car, accompanied by two other official vehicles. The man in the front passenger seat swung round to face Peace. Peace estimated him to be in his early thirties, and his tan tropical suit offset his African tan, making it evident he was no new arrival in the country.

  “I’m Jonathan Knowles, the local British Ambassador’s secretary,” he said. “I should warn you of the recent developments you’re about to be brought up to speed on.” He laughed and offered his hand to Peace in the rear through the front seats. They shook hands. “Actually, I must admit, so am I. Obviously, you’ve powerful friends, if all this has been arranged for your benefit. We got a top priority message that you were on your way here,” he added smiling.

  Peace was thankful that none of the people he’d disturbed seemed to be annoyed.

  As they left the airfield, Peace didn’t miss the US Army C130 Hercules on the tarmac and the activity around its lowered rear ramp. Alongside stood an RAF Transport Vickers VC10, disgorging a troop of what had to be military personnel.

  “Sir Brooke can fill you in on what’s happening,” said Knowles as they drove through the entrance to the Embassy. “He’s the local British Ambassador, and has a direct line to MI6, or so I believe.”

  Peace was ushered in to the large entrance hall. The ambassador and his wife were there to greet him.

  “We’re glad to see you. We’re sorry your colleague was hurt,” the ambassador said, shaking Peace’s hand vigorously. “It’s extraordinary how events have suddenly accelerated around here. No doubt you’re wondering what’s going on, but first, you need to get out of that evening wear.”

  “What day is this? I was drugged and only came round an hour or so ago,” Peace asked.

  “Thursday, 14th of May.”

  “I’ve been out for more than a day!”

  “Yes, you’re right. Your people kept tabs on you and observed you being moved to the airport. It was soon evident that your captors proposed putting you on a plane to some place, but we didn’t know where. At the risk of revealing ourselves, our people thought it too dangerous to intervene at that stage.”

  Peace was about to remark that had they intervened he would’ve missed all the fun on the plane. Wisely, he chose to bite his tongue. Of course, he saw VA somehow had to have had a part in this, but now was not the time to be sarcastic. Did they even know that he and Cherry were destined to make a parachute-less drop? They were lucky to be alive. Peace was so caught up in that thought, that he failed to latch on to what Knowles was saying about being observed by his people.

  “Okay, I’ll let Jonathan take over from here. It’s really his show,” the ambassador said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Sir John and his team were quick to put a plan in motion. He has a rather good relationship with the Chief of the SA Air Force, General Maritz. They’d met on several occasions before and Maritz is a staunch supporter of de Klerk. Rather fortunate, I’d say. Anyway, to cut it short, when you were taken out to the aircraft, two Atlas Impalas were scrambled from Kimberley’s training base and kept your aircraft under surveillance. When the aircraft began to lose speed and descend in mid-flight, they closed in but kept out of the cockpit’s view. However, when the aircraft then set course for Gaborone, and the new destination was broadcast, they returned to base,” the secretary said.

  “Just as well, but why Gaborone? Although, we thought that if you had the choice, it would be Gaborone,” the ambassador asked.

  “Neutral territory. Also, there’d be no leaks — I knew the Americans had a strong presence there. Part of the airport falls under American jurisdiction as it were. American military aircraft often make a stop here.”

  The ambassador asked one of his staff to escort Peace to the residential block where he was shown a rather spartan room, which had the bare necessities. While he showered and shaved, another arrived with boxes and carry bags containing an assortment of suitable clothing and toiletries.

  “Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to wear those evening shoes. I’ve been unable to find you a pair for now, but be sure, I will have done so by tomorrow lunchtime. Size eleven UK, am I right?” the staff employee said.

  Peace smiled. “Not to worry. Thanks anyway, this will certainly do.”

  Peace had just exited the shower when the man reappeared.

  “Sir Brooke asks that you join him for lunch. Dress is informal,” the man said with a clear denotation that the request was not to be refused. “He said I was to tell you the Americans will be joining us.”

  Now, that did surprise Peace.

  The luncheon was to be held indoors in one of the lesser dining rooms, and he dressed in a light-blue open-neck sport shirt and navy slacks. The colour was fortunate as it would make his evening shoes less conspicuous. When he arrived, he found the ambassador was similarly dressed. Sir Brooke was an unusually tall man with a narrow face and a crown of snow-white hair, parted and carefully combed. He was near sixty but showed no sign of body fat and was still trim. From the suntan he sported, Peace assumed the man had a penchant for the outdoors. Probably golf, he thought. Gaborone boasted an excellent golf course, even though it was situated in a semi-desert.

  Peace entered the dining room and was surprised to see that there were others present. Two men also casually dressed were already there. Sir Brooke introduced them to him — both were American. They greeted him with firm handshakes and he realised their slight American twang was unmistakable. American spooks came first to mind — probably CIA or black ops.

  The ambassador introduced them. The muscular, dark-haired American was Glen Barkly, whose eyes were dark and uncompromising. The other, Jim Croxley, was fair-haired with steel-blue eyes that appeared to portray a lesser degree of bottled-up aggression than his partner.

  Everyone took their seats, with the ambassador at the head of the table and his secretary to his left.

  The ambassador signalled to a steward to pour the wine. He then said, “Matters are developing rapidly in South Africa. Believe me when I tell you that the recent intervention by the two of you in Copperton was absolutely necessary.”

  So, the ambassador had been brought up to date, Peace thought.

  The ambassador looked at Peace and the Americans. “Van Rhyn and his friends are well aware that we were closing in on them. We must assume he must now know that we are aware of his nuclear arsenal as well. You’re lucky we were able to intervene and bring you here.”

  The secretary interrupted, “Had we not done so, I doubt whether you’d have seen another day. I believe that was bloody close!”

  “You could say that. Actually, a definite understatement,” Peace replied matter-of-factly. Clearly, this man
had to be from London. Peace considered the secretary’s words. I wonder if he is VA’s protégé or his ear-to-the-ground in these parts. The man’s actions and words indicated that he carried the necessary clout.

  The man continued. “Unbeknown to many, we have maintained an extraordinary intelligence presence here, as have our American friends. Unfortunately, they had to drastically tone down their operations a good while back when they were caught using modified local civil aircraft loaded with recon cameras and the likes with which they flew some very sensitive territory.” He smiled. “Of course, they got caught red-handed. Very embarrassing at the time.”

  “But weren’t the South Africans supposed to have decommissioned their nuclear arsenal?” Peace asked.

  The discussion halted when two waiters arrived and proceeded to place plates of food before those at the table.

  As soon as they left, the secretary continued. “You’ve got to remember, this, the disclosure of the bombs and then the proposed de-commissioning was all negotiated and done under a veil of secrecy. The South Africans were paranoid. They wanted to do this in secrecy and at their own good time — the purpose of this was to publicly declare this when all was done and only when the inspectors from the Atomic Energy Association were about to do their inspection. Up to then, all would believe the country still had the bomb, ready for deployment if necessary, and therefore was not to be pressurised or messed with, particularly by the communists. Brilliant actually, because all trod warily when dealing with the South Africans. Everything had to be at their own good time.”

  Peace realised that in diplomatic circles, something had to be going on. Clearly, there were now two Afrikaner factions, those in favour of a move to a more democratic persuasion and political representation for all and those who wished to maintain the status quo at all costs even if this resulted in conflict. De Klerk had to know what the right-wing was trying to do. One had to wonder whether de Klerk was aware that the bombs previously held in the vaults at Pelindaba, which adjoined the nuclear research centre run by the South African Nuclear Energy Corporation, were no longer there and that only a lesser number had been decommissioned as had been instructed? Did he believe all had been decommissioned?

  They all began to eat, the discussions now far removed from politics and bombs. The meal was excellent and of course, Botswana being renowned for its game and cattle-ranching, there were sumptuous, open-fire barbequed steaks — his rare just as he liked it. It was only when coffee was served that the conversation again drifted towards Van Rhyn.

  The secretary resumed from where he had left off.

  “The bad news is that the bombs you saw have been spirited out of Copperton on three enormous articulated trucks and well hidden under tarpaulins as ordinary cargo. Anyway, I’m also sure their contents are well disguised. The damn vehicles are already on the move and we don’t know the destination but do know the direction. They’re heading south, stopping only to take on fuel. This convoy is led and followed by other vehicles — most definitely there for protection,” he said, unable to hide his frustration.

  “The convoy’s direction appears to confirm our suspicions that they’re on the way to Overberg at Arniston, or Waenhuiskrans as the Afrikaners choose to refer to the place. In military circles it is referred to as the OTB, an abbreviation of the Afrikaans phrase Overberg Toetsbaan, the Overberg Test Range, if you like. This is the South African Defence Department’s weapons systems testing facility, which includes rocket launch sites. It is near Cape Agulhas, which as you probably know, is the southernmost point of Africa. This is an area of flat sandy soil, coastal dunes, and windswept stunted vegetation — an ideal testing ground,” the ambassador said. “It’s actually sheep-farming country,” he added as an afterthought.

  The American, Jim Croxley, looked at Peace. “We’ve been keeping an eye on the place, satellite over flights and you probably know the rest. Over the years, they’ve brought in sophisticated equipment, tracking radar, optical tracking equipment, and mobile cine-theodolites. Launch sites have been erected and it was from there that the RSA-3 intermediate-range ballistic test missiles were launched. The site borders on the town of Arniston. It’s a holiday resort which is very popular during the year-end holiday months, but otherwise virtually deserted except for a few die-hards and pensioners who have chosen to spend their last years away from the humdrum of normal everyday life. Actually, a damn nice place to retire. There’s only one access road, which ends at Arniston. This joins Arniston and Bredasdorp, a country town with a South African Air Force base nearby.”

  “As you can imagine, it’s an ideal place to launch rockets armed with nuclear weapons. The rockets they have were built as a joint venture with the Israelis; we know they’re damn accurate,” Barkly interjected.

  Listening to the Americans and the ambassador, Peace knew Van Rhyn, who must surely know that his plan had been compromised, had done the unexpected. Obviously having realised the mine was under surveillance, he understood that the aircraft at Copperton could no longer be used to deliver the nukes. Christ, the bastard would launch these from on top of a rocket! Clearly, the man must have considerable pull among the disenchanted in government and the military.

  “Whatever he’s planning can’t be too far in the future,” Peace said.

  “Van Rhyn has left Cape Town with his wife and daughter in tow and guess where he’s staying?” The secretary hesitated for a beat but didn’t wait for a reply. “At the bloody testing range. They have fabulous accommodation within the complex. It houses a private hotel of sorts, which was originally used to accommodate those Israeli scientists who assisted the South Africans with their rocket development as well as the manufacture of the nuclear weapons. Van Rhyn’s helicopter landed a few hours ago, as did General Booyens’.”

  This seemed to be news to Sir Brooke, the ambassador, whose concern was visible on his face.

  “Obviously you’ve been planning something?” Peace stated leaning slightly back. There was no immediate reply. “Well, gentlemen, do we have a plan?” Peace asked again with more emphasis.

  Barkly smiled knowingly. “Damn right we have. My boss, the Section Chief for Southern Africa, and your Vice-Admiral amongst others, have been putting something together for quite a while. The original idea was to hit Copperton but Van Rhyn’s sudden deployment of the nukes to Overberg was unexpected. You saw the aircraft and men on the apron. They’re there to help us. Unfortunately, they’re now in the wrong place at the wrong time. We were going to do a drop on Copperton. The place is so isolated it would’ve been over before the rest of the country realised anything. Somehow, they need to be dissuaded and being as isolated as they are, we’d be surprised if the rest of the world ever heard a thing. Rest assured, Van Rhyn would have hushed it up, since he’d be the last person wishing to draw attention to themselves. All we would’ve had to do was explain, and… And that probably with de Klerk’s blessing. It’s different now,” he said solemnly.

  “Your Vice Admiral Sir John Whitehead has made a suggestion, which our top brass and some high-ups in government have sanctioned. Although, bloody risky, if you ask me,” the ambassador said and then added, “but it might just work.” He looked over at the Americans. “Our friends also seem to like the idea. Of course, President de Klerk and his right-hand men concur. You must understand, the poor man doesn’t know friend from foe; his hands are tied. He sees us as their only hope against the ultra-right if they opt for force.”

  Ultra-right! Christ, that’s putting it mildly. Van Rhyn, and his mob have to be insane.

  “Why aren’t there any military commanders here?” Peace asked.

  “Good question. Actually, there are, but they know naught about WMDs and missiles and we’re not about to tell them. They’re here to create a diversion. That’s all — there’s to be no open conflict. They’ll attend their own briefing when we’re ready but there’ll be nothing said about nukes,” Sir Brooke said.

  “What about the Botswana government?�
� Peace enquired.

  “As far as this base is concerned, they seem to regard it as American territory and leave us alone. Sure, a few locals do work here, and they have a few liaison personnel around, but they’re all rather low-key. Certainly nothing to worry about,” Barkly replied. “Incidentally, American aircraft are flying in and out of here all the time. They’re no novelty, if you know what I mean,” he added.

  “So, what’s to happen?” Peace asked.

  Barkly smiled. “We’re going to kit some of our boys out as South African Air Force trainees, you know, the same as the battle fatigues they use here. Make them look like conscripts who’ve just started their basic training. There’s a basic training ground bordering the main road to Arniston, which has its own barracks. It’s only occasionally used by their Air Force in Bredasdorp. A bunch of trainees suddenly arriving should raise no concern. This has happened before and there’s little, if any, interaction between the Bredasdorp military and the Overberg test site. The place is still top secret. We’re hoping to use our men to create a diversion.”

  The American paused, looking at Peace, awaiting a comment. Peace remained silent.

  “This is where we the four of us come in. This includes Cherry — we’ll brief her in the next few days. She’s essential as none of us speaks Afrikaans, and your boss insisted that you both accompany us. Anyway, I’ve been told she’s a professional,” Barkly said.

  “She is. I’ll vouch for it,” Peace retorted.

  Barkly continued, “Great. Anyway, we’re in for a high altitude drop using ram-air chutes. I understand you’re all familiar with these and have undergone training. It’ll be a night-drop. Our job is to find the missiles and WMDs and neutralise them and take out Van Rhyn, if that’s possible. However, our bosses have agreed the WMDs and rockets are the priority.”