The Colour of Gold

by Oliver T Spedding

  Isaiah could see that Shadow felt very uncomfortable about having the dynamite so near to him.

  "I can see that you're worried about the dynamite exploding." Isaiah said. "But you can relax. The dynamite can only explode if it is subjected to an electrical current of high magnitude. That's what these detonators are for. When an electrical charge passes through them they magnify the charge so that it sets off the dynamite. So, what we'll be doing is burying the detonator in the explosives and, when we want it to explode we'll connect it to the battery. But we'll only do that when we're ready to set off the bomb. There are types of dynamite that are unstable and can go off if they're struck or dropped but the explosives that the mines use are very stable and won't explode without an electrical charge through a detonator."

  "So, what's the alarm clock for?" Shadow asked.

  "The alarm clock allows us to set the time that we want the bomb to explode." Isaiah said. "But I'll explain how we do that as we build the bomb. So, you can relax. We're not going to blow ourselves up."

  Isaiah picked up one of the pieces of pipe that was threaded at both ends and screwed on one of the steel end-caps that didn't have a small hole drilled in it. He then filled the pipe with explosive from the small plastic container that he'd brought with him. He then took a short length of insulated electrical wire, stripped off the plastic to expose about twenty millimetres of wire and twisted it onto the detonator's wire. He pushed the detonator well into the explosives, threaded the wire through the hole in another of the end-caps and screwed that onto the end of the pipe. He put the pipe with the length of insulated electrical wire protruding from its one end down on the table top.

  "As I understand it, the "bomb" part is now complete." Shadow said.

  "That's correct." Isaiah said. "If we had wanted to cause a lot of damage to any people standing near the bomb when it exploded we could have taped nuts and bolts and other small pieces of metal around the pipe. When the bomb exploded these pieces of steel would have been sent flying at great speed and would have seriously hurt or killed anyone standing nearby. These pieces of steel are called "shrapnel". Now, what we have to do is make the timing mechanism."

  Isaiah picked up the alarm clock and removed the glass face. He grabbed the minute hand with his thumb and forefinger and bent it backwards and forwards until it broke off. He then stripped the plastic covering off the end of a piece of electrical wire and mixed a small amount of chemical glue with which he glued the end of the wire to the end of the hour hand of the clock, making sure that the tips of the copper wire were exposed. Opening the suitcase Isaiah then mixed a much larger amount of glue and glued the clock and the battery next to each other onto its base, making sure that the wire attached to the hour hand could reach the battery terminal. Then he glued the pipe bomb onto the base of the suitcase, again making sure that the wire from the bomb could easily reach any place of the clock face surface.

  "Now, if we connect the wire from the clock's hour hand to the battery and the wire from the bomb to the face of the clock opposite the time that we want it to explode, wind up the clock and let it run, the ends of the wire glued to the clock's hour hand will eventually touch the ends of the wire glued to the clock face. This will set off the detonator and the bomb will explode." Isaiah said.

  "Great!" Shadow said. "So now, all we've got to do is decide what we're going to bomb and when we're going to do it."

  "Exactly." Isaiah said. "Have you decided on a target yet?"

  "Yes." Shadow said. "I've given it a lot of thought and the target that I've selected is the Germiston Magistrates Court. Some time ago I and two of my comrades planned to attack the court with automatic rifles and a few grenades late one night but the security police got to my two comrades before we could carry out the attack. If they had got to the house where I was waiting for them even two minutes earlier they probably would have taken me out as well. Do you remember the burnt-out car in the street in Orlando East where I was staying when you first met me? My comrades died in that car so I believe that we should bomb those courts in honour of them."

  Isaiah nodded.

  "When do you want to do it?" he asked.

  "As soon as possible." Shadow said. "Tomorrow night. We'll go from here to Germiston by car and stop a block away from the building. Then when we're sure that there's nobody in the vicinity, I'll hide the bomb behind one of the flowerpots at the front entrance. Then we'll read about it in the following morning's newspapers. What's important is the message that the bombing will send out. It will tell the world that the white government is not in control and that we are able to bomb any target that we wish to and their security forces are powerless to stop us. It will also tell the world that we have chosen to target government buildings and avoid endangering the people of our country, regardless of whether they are black or white. We are therefore "freedom fighters" and not "terrorists".

  ***

  Bogdan Vodnik leant back in his office chair and rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck. He lowered his arms and glanced at the bruised knuckles of hi right hand. He felt his anger rise in his chest as he remembered Catherine's betrayal. How could he have been so stupid? he asked himself. He had never been so humiliated in all his life when that black bastard had shown him the three photographs. And now he was trapped. Those black terrorists wouldn't stop blackmailing him, that was for sure. They had him by the balls and they surely wouldn't ever let go. And if they were ever caught by the Security Police and implicated him he was quite likely to get the death penalty.

  The telephone on Bogdan's desk rang.

  "Hello, Bogdan speaking." he said as he lifted the receiver.

  "Sorry to bother you, Bogdan." Sally the receptionist in the front office said. "There are two men here to see you. They say that they don't have an appointment but the matter is urgent. They're police officers. Shall I send them up?"

  Bogdan went cold. The police were onto him already? How was that possible? Surely the black bastard couldn't have been an undercover policeman. He struggled to regain his composure.

  "Okay, send them up." he said.

  Bogdan stood up from his desk as the two men entered his office. They were both in their thirties and both wore safari suits, one a light blue suit and the other a grey one. The policeman in the grey suit closed the office door.

  "Mister Bogdan Vodnik?" the first policeman said, raising his eyebrows inquiringly.

  "Yes, I'm Bogdan Vodnik." Bogdan replied with a sigh. "What can I do for you?"

  "I'm Detective Smit from the Vice Squad and this is detective Beyers." the man in the blue safari suit said. "I'm not going to waste time with formalities. Two days ago we received a request from the caretaker at the Grande Mansions complex in Hillbrow. Apparently the front door of apartment number five had been standing open for two days and he suspected foul play as there appeared to be a large stain on the lounge carpet that he thought might be blood. We sent a detective to investigate and tests proved that the stain was in fact blood. We were then informed that the apartment was being rented by you. Is that correct?"

  "Yes, that's correct." Bogdan said.

  "Are you living in the apartment?" Smit asked.

  "No." Bogdan replied. "I use the apartment when I'm visiting clients in town and don't have time to come back here to the office."

  "So, apart from you, nobody else uses the apartment?" the detective asked.

  "No. But there is a maid who comes in once a week to clean the place." Bogdan replied.

  "So you've no idea how the bloodstain came to be on your carpet?"

  "No." Bogdan said.

  "Really?" the detective asked as he reached into his safari suit pocket and withdrew the three photographs that Isaiah Zuma had given Bogdan. He placed them on the desktop in front of Bogdan "So, how do you explain these photographs that were found on the lounge carpet? Isn't that you in the photographs?"

  Bogdan stared down at the photographs, relieved that the detectives were not there to arrest h
im for treason.

  "Yes, that's me." he said.

  "Mister Vodnik." the detective said. "From our investigation we notice that you've been resident in South Africa for just over three years. Long enough, I believe, to be aware of the Immorality Act of 1950 which makes it a criminal offence for a white person to have sexual relations with a person of colour. Are you aware of this law?"

  "Yes." Bogdan said, sighing.

  "And do these photographs show you having sexual relations with a black person?" Smit asked.

  "Yes." Bogdan said.

  "As yet, we've been unable to identify your black conspirator. Was she black mailing you?"

  "No." Bogdan replied. "Her name is Catherine and she works for my wife and me as a domestic worker at our house on the mine."

  "And the bloodstain?" the detective asked. "Can you explain that?"

  "We had an altercation and I hit her." Bogdan said.

  "Is she still alive? Have you seen her since this altercation?" Smit asked.

  "No. I haven't." Bogdan said. "But I'm sure that she's alive because she left the apartment."

  "Do you know how to contact this Catherine?" Smit asked.

  "No. She lives somewhere in Soweto." Bogdan said.

  "Unfortunately, Mister Vodnik, I have no alternative but to arrest you under the Immorality Act of 1950 and also on suspicion of murder." Smit said. "Once we find this Catherine we can decide what to do about the second charge."

  The detective read Bogdan his rights and then formally arrested him.

  "I'm not going to handcuff you unless you resist." Smit said. "Shall we go to the charge office and complete the formalities?"

  Bogdan nodded. The second policeman opened the office door and the three men walked out. They went through the reception area and out of the building. They climbed into an unmarked white Datsun and drove away.

  ***

  "Anything more on the Germiston Magistrates Court bombing?" Brigadier van Tonder asked.

  "No, sir." Tiaan Botha said as he sat down in one of the visitor's chairs in the Brigadier's office. "It's becoming very obvious that the enemy's looking for publicity by trying to show that they're "freedom fighters" and not "terrorists"".

  The Brigadier nodded, his expression grim.

  "We've got to find a way to stop them." he said. "Show the world that they're murderers working for their own agenda. What kind of bomb was it?"

  "A homemade bomb using commercial explosives probably stolen from one of the gold mines." Tiaan replied. "These mining companies are far too lax with their explosives. We need a law that will make them responsible for the damage that's done when the enemy uses their explosives."

  "That's a good idea." the Brigadier said. "I'll push it at the next ministerial meeting on defence. Anything further on that kaffir who went to Lesotho?"

  "Yes. Something quite interesting, in fact." Tiaan said. "One of my informants followed him one Saturday morning a week or two ago. The guy went to Hillbrow and met with a white guy at a pavement coffee shop. They spoke for a while and then this Zuma fellow handed the white guy and envelope and the guy left. My informant decided to follow the white guy who went to an apartment block in Kotze Street and then left shortly after in his car. My guy took down the vehicle's registration number and we checked it out. The car belonged to a white immigrant from Yugoslavia who works for the Deep reef Gold Mine as a buyer. A man by the name of Bogdan Vodnik. The guy's been in trouble with the police before, mainly for dealing in stolen goods. He got fired from the shipping company where he worked in Durban and came up here to work for Deep Reef Gold Mine."

  "That's interesting." the Brigadier said. "If that Zuma fellow is working for the A.N.C. then you may have a valuable lead."

  "Yes, but there's even more to this Vodnik chap." Tiaan said. "Our intelligence chaps followed up on the information they had and tell me that he was arrested a few days ago for immorality. Apparently he's been having an affair with the domestic worker who cleans house for him and his wife."

  The Brigadier smiled and shook his head.

  "These immigrants." he said. "They'll fuck anything that moves. But if he was seen with that Zuma fellow then perhaps you should take him aside and have a friendly "chat" with him. He might be able to tell you something interesting."

  "I'm planning to do that, sir." Tiaan said. "I'm just waiting for Detective Smit to find the domestic worker. Apparently she's disappeared and Smit thinks that this Vodnik may heave killed her. Once we know that she's alive and can take her into custody we'll be in a strong position to "chat" with the bastard. Of course, if she's dead, so much the better. It's amazing what people will tell you if they think that they have the death penalty hanging over them."

  "Even if she's alive, perhaps it would be an idea not to tell this Vodnik fellow." the Brigadier said. "Let him think he's in really big trouble. That might loosen his tongue even more."

  "Good idea, sir." Tiaan said.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bala, Fatima and Salona stared in disbelief at the single-room barrack that the government had allocated to them. It was less than half the size of the little house that they had just vacated in Pageview. Their furniture and other possessions lay in a large pile on the dusty ground. Fortunately the sky was clear and Bala shuddered to think of what would have happened if it had rained.

  "Why are we coming to live here?" Salona asked as she clutched her mother's hand. "Why did we leave our house to come here? I don't like it here."

  "One day you'll understand, dearest." Fatima said, smiling encouragingly. "It's not what your father and I wanted to do but we are here now and we just have to accept it. Don't worry, my love. In the end it will all work out nicely. Even this is better than what we had in Durban and soon we'll have a new house to live in."

  "But none of my friends are here." Salona protested as she looked around the bare, squalid surroundings.

  "Your mother's quite right, my precious child." Bala said as he bent down and hugged his daughter. "Soon we'll have a brand new house and new neighbours and lots of new friends. You'll also be going to big school where there will be lots of girls your age that you can make friends with."

  "But I liked our house so much!" Salona protested. "Can't we go back there? Please?"

  Bala looked away, frustrated and angry at what was being done to them. The move from Durban to Johannesburg had been very traumatic for Salona and now her newly-found security was again being challenged. How do you explain the evil ideology of apartheid to a five-year old; how do you explain that what we're doing has been forced upon us by uncaring and cruel people; how do you explain race hatred?

  Bala turned back to his daughter.

  "The house that we're going to live in will be even better than our old house, my dearest." he said. "Everything will be new and we can decorate it to suit ourselves. It's going to be so exciting! Just wait and see."

  While the men had been offloading the furniture and other goods, Bala had asked Mister Coetzee how long they would have to live in the barracks before a house became available.

  "I really don't know, Mister Desai." the official replied. "It all depends on the builders. They're under contract to build the houses for the government but, as far as I know, they're all far behind schedule. At a guess, I would say, anything between four and six weeks. Maybe longer."

  Bala forced himself to remain calm.

  "Do you know which house had been allocated to us?" he asked.

  Coetzee consulted the notes on his clipboard.

  "That depends very much on which houses are finished first." the official said. "As each house is completed it is allocated to the next family in line. But all the houses are the same design so, if you've seen one of them, you've seen them all. The house that you'll get will be one of those in that suburb over there."

  Coetzee pointed to a group of about fifty houses in various stages of completion about two kilometres away.

  "When you've moved into your barrack go and look at tho
se houses." Coetzee continued. "As I say, they're all the same design. The only difference is the direction that the houses face."

  The foreman of the black removal crew approached Coetzee.

  "Everything's off the truck, baas." the man said.

  "Okay." the white man said. "Let's go back to Pageview. There's another bloody family to be moved today."

  Without another word to Bala, the white official hurried to his car and climbed in. The black removal team climbed onto the back of the truck. The two vehicles' engines came to life and they drove away in a cloud of dust.

  As Bala walked to where Fatima and Salona were standing staring at the pile of furniture and other belongings on the ground in front of the barracks, he noticed he noticed a group of about twenty Indians approaching.

  "Excuse me." the leader of the group said as he reached Bala's side. "Are you Mister Bala Desai?"

  "Yes, I'm Bala Desai." Bala replied.

  "I'm Mister Varachia." the man said as he extended his hand and then gestured towards the people with him. "We are all residents of Lenasia. Some of have been here for several years while others have only arrived here recently. We've come to help you and your family move into your barrack and to help you in any other way that we can. We've all come to accept the injustice that we've been subjected to and have all vowed never to let the white authorities break us. We are determined to survive and, if possible, even thrive."

  Bala felt tears come to his eyes as he looked around at the people who had come to help him. Their concern for his plight almost overwhelmed him.

  "Thank you so much." he said, his voice husky with emotion. "This is my wife Fatima and my daughter Salona."

  Mister Varachia was a tall man of about sixty with grey hair and a short grey beard. His brown eyes were kindly and direct. From the frayed condition of his light grey suit Bala could see that the man was experiencing difficult times. He also noticed that many of the women were carrying large dishes of food, cutlery and crockery.

  "What I suggest we do is move all your furniture into the house except for the kitchen table." Mister Varachia said. "We'll put the food and drink on the table and, after we've moved everything into the barrack, we can rest and have something to eat and drink. There's more than enough food and drink for all of us."