“Well, my friends, today’s story has something in common with this tale. The HIV programme that we have built in South Africa is something I have been immensely proud to be a part of. To be a part of its inception, its implementation, and in guarding it for as long as it is needed. And, my friends, we need it more today than we ever did before.” She looked directly into the camera, knowing that the feed would be projected into the homes of millions of South Africans.
“Over the past two years the statistics for our programme have been developing a worrying trend. Our numbers for those in treatment going on to develop full-blown AIDS have been considerably higher than the global average. Why? Do we have worse poverty than countries like Nigeria, Mozambique, or Liberia? No. Do we have worse sanitation than India? No. Do we have worse lifestyle situations than any other country in Africa? No, we do not.
“So why? Why were our people dying when we were using the same treatment regimens that all the other countries were using? A short time ago, I got a call from Dr. Derek Marais, the CEO of this very hospital, and he’d been asking himself the very same questions. Fortunately, the doctor was an exceptional man in the position to start finding the answer to his questions. I’m here today to share those answers with you all.
“Dr. Marais managed to isolate the areas performing worst in the trials. He managed to obtain samples of the medications they were prescribing, where they were getting their drugs from, and then obtain samples directly from the source. He was able to test those samples and determine that the drugs being prescribed as Combivirine was in fact aspirin. Nothing more.”
A roar of outrage and questions erupted from the crowd of reporters. People wanted to know where Marais was, who was selling the counterfeit drugs, how many people were affected, how many hospitals, how were they going to stop it. So many questions, so many voices that they all ran together as each member of the press stood and stepped toward her, trying to ensure their question was the first she had to deal with. She felt a presence beside her on the podium. Two, actually. She glanced over her shoulders and smiled as Imogen stood to her left, and on her right, Lieutenant General Solongo.
“They’re in custody,” he said.
“All of them?”
“Not quite. Still no sign of Claudia De Villiers, and we haven’t arrested the minister yet, but PharmaChem won’t be trading anymore.”
“Thank you.”
Amahle held her hand up and waited, silently requesting they stop and let her continue. It took several minutes before the noise level was manageable again.
“Thank you, thank you. Let me finish, and if I haven’t answered your questions, I’ll do so then. I promise. So, where was I?”
“Aspirin,” Julius shouted from the crowd.
“Thank you. With a little digging, Dr. Marais was able to ascertain who the supplier was for the hospitals who were unknowingly prescribing aspirin, and he even managed to get samples from them himself to test. When he brought this to me, we expanded the testing to uncover just how many hospitals were being defrauded in this way. The results were shocking. The company in question supplies almost half of the hospitals across the country. Only the private hospitals supplied by this company have been receiving genuine drugs.
“The company involved is called PharmaChem, and I’ve just been informed that three of the four directors of the company have been arrested. The fourth will be apprehended very soon, I’m sure. Everyone else involved in this conspiracy will also be brought to justice.
“We have evidence, hard evidence, of the other people involved in this, and there are officers on the way.” She looked directly into Julius’s camera. “No one involved is getting away with this. Everyone involved will be charged with the mutilation of Thambo Umpala, the murder of Dr. Derek Marais and his wife, the torture and attempted murder of Sipho Nkosi, and the attempted murder of more than three million South Africans.
“You have all been given a list of known hospitals where their supplies have been contaminated. As I speak to you, they are already in the process of removing them from circulation, and my office is coordinating with them to get them emergency supplies of the correct drugs. Everyone watching, if you are taking Combivirine and your medication looks like this”—she held one of the white pills up so that every camera could focus on it—“then it is more than likely that you have been given the incorrect medication. My office is arranging collection depositories as we speak. Everyone here today has been given a list of those locations. Please, please, display those lists on your screens now. If you have these pills, go to one of the depositories, take your medication with you, and we will give you an emergency supply to get you through until we can get normal supplies to every hospital and pharmacy within affected areas.
“Give the volunteers your name and we will arrange blood tests for you. We want to ensure you are getting the correct dosages of medications and that your health has not suffered. For your health and your peace of mind, I encourage every single South African who has HIV to go to one of these depositories as soon as you can. There will be queues, and I know you will be scared, for yourselves, for your children, and you have every right to be angry. I’m angry too, my friends.
“I know you all think we politicians sit around doing nothing but lining our own pockets, and keeping away from the rest of the population, that your problems are not our problems. I wish I could disagree with you. I wish I could tell you that you’re wrong to think that, but I can’t. What I’m going to say to you instead is this.
“You all know me. You all know my story. I fought for this programme from the very beginning. Trust me. Trust me to fix it. Trust me to do what is right for us. What is right for South Africa, and what is right for everyone who is suffering. Because I suffer with you. My mother is HIV positive. She has been given these pills. And like you, we don’t know how long she has had them, or how that has affected her health.
“I am angry that it was possible to perpetrate this crime. And there will be steps taken to ensure that it can never happen again. I will not play with peoples’ lives. I will not play with the health of the nation. And I will not stand by while anyone else does. Trust me. Be patient. And please go peacefully to the depositories for help. I will not let you down. We have been deceived, but unlike the chameleon, we need not feel ashamed. Do not hide away from this. Come and let us help. Thank you.”
The barrage of questions that followed felt like a wall of sound hitting her. It was hard to pick out individual voices, it was hard to keep track of who was asking what, and it was exhausting. Amahle wished she could sleep for a week, but the hard work was just beginning. There would be a reshuffle in the Ministry of Health, there would be outrage up and down the country, and there would be calls for compensation, retribution, and justice. Then there was her mother to deal with, Sipho’s rehabilitation, Thambo’s. God, the list was just never ending. Imogen threaded her fingers through Amahle’s and squeezed gently. One step at a time.
Chapter Forty-nine
“You’re still on every channel.” Imogen handed Amahle a glass of wine and sat on the sofa beside her.
It had been a week since her press conference, and Amahle’s image was still plastered on every newspaper and TV across the country. It was the first time they’d been back at the house since Sipho had been left on the pavement to die, and they were both exhausted from sitting by his bedside and trying to coordinate the efforts of police, hospital staff, volunteers, and local aid agencies in the cleanup and redistribution. A week where they had spent every moment together. A week where Imogen had offered her comfort without asking anything in return. A week where they’d touched and talked, cried and held each other, and every second, Amahle had felt herself fall more and more in love with her. Despite all the distractions, despite all the pain, fear, and uncertainty, she wanted nothing more than to be with Immy. To touch her and not have to stop. To hold her and never let go. A week in which every aspect of her life had changed, morphed into somethin
g full of colour and life. She knew now that there were many incarnations of her grandmother’s tale, about the curse of the chameleon, and that shame manifested itself in many ways. She wasn’t hiding anymore. Not from life, not from people, and not from herself.
“Did you hear about that news broadcaster who tipped you to be the next president of South Africa?”
“I don’t want his job.”
“Really?” Imogen tugged Amahle’s foot onto her lap and pressed her thumbs against the sole, kneading until she elicited a purr from Amahle’s lips.
Amahle shrugged. “Not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Some of the pundits are saying this scandal will cost him his presidency.”
“Still don’t want it. I’ve got enough on my plate with my own job, thanks.” She sipped from her glass and closed her eyes, obviously revelling in the contact. “I’ll give you a week.” She pushed her foot further into Imogen’s hands. “Okay, two. Then you have to stop that.”
Imogen chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.” She switched feet. “I want to talk to you about something.”
“What?”
“Sipho.”
“What about him?” Amahle opened her eyes, a look of near panic set upon her face. “Did the hospital call? Is he okay?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I haven’t heard anything new. I was meaning about everything that happened at the vineyard. The stolen money.”
Amahle closed her eyes again. “I don’t want to talk about it, Immy. I know he’s going to go to jail for it. The evidence is—”
“That’s what I want to talk about. I don’t want to press charges.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The only person who was really hurt out of that was my dad, and he’s not here to worry about it anymore.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Sipho’s been through enough. He’s more than paid for his mistakes. And I really do think he had good intentions.”
She couldn’t disagree. They knew now that he would survive his injuries. But at what cost? Scars marred his face and body, his leg amputated mid calf, and he faced many months of surgeries to reshape what they’d saved of his penis. Yes, he’d paid a price for his mistakes in ways the authorities would never be able to exact from him. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t still come after him. And even if Imogen didn’t press charges, there was still the matter of the destruction of Dr. Marais’s office, the assault on Thambo, and the murders of Dr. Marais and his wife. There were still so many questions about his role in those acts that he would have to answer for, despite the deal she knew he was being offered—amnesty for his testimony. “He still broke the law.” And she knew her brother well enough to know that his actions, the decisions he made, would haunt him for the rest of his life.
“No, he borrowed money from me. We’ll work out something like a repayment plan so that the accounts can be ratified, but I think you’ll find the repayment terms are pretty reasonable.”
“Payment plan?”
“Yeah, I was thinking one rand a month. Sound okay?”
Amahle chuckled. “I think I can manage that.”
“Why would you have to manage it?”
“Well, he doesn’t have means to support himself.”
“Sure he does. He has a job at the vineyard as soon as he’s up to it.”
“You’re still going to employ him?”
“Sure. He’s the manager at the vineyard.”
“How can you trust him?”
“I think he’s learned his lesson. Don’t you?”
“You have a point.” She settled back to enjoy Imogen’s ministrations again.
“Any news on your mum?”
“Yeah.” Amahle closed her eyes again. “And in other joyous news, she hasn’t been taking a cocktail. Ever. It seems like Sipho did it all for nothing. Her blood is so thin from all the aspirin, the doctor said it took hours for the needle wound to heal when they took her blood.”
“And?”
“She has AIDS. With all the drinking, cirrhosis, too. He doesn’t think she’s got long left.”
“I’m so sorry, Ami.” Imogen shifted so that she could pull Amahle into her embrace. She might have been a rotten mother, but she was still her mother, and you only got one of those.
“I still don’t understand why they didn’t go to a clinic, why they didn’t tell me, why they just tried to hide it.”
“Because they were ashamed.”
“It’s an illness. There’s no shame in being ill.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not that naive. Whether you want to admit it or not, there is still a huge stigma attached to HIV and AIDS sufferers here. People who don’t know much about it are scared, and those who do, well, they look down on those who have it as sluts, junkies, and degenerates. I’m not saying it’s right. Far from it. But I am saying that’s what people think. And you know that.”
“It’s not right.”
“I already said that.”
Amahle sighed as Imogen’s hands worked on a knot at the base of her skull. “I got a call from Dingane a little while ago.”
“And?”
“Fred Pugh sold out James Wilson. You were right on the money about all of it. Pugh was also the one in control of the thugs that Sipho was involved with. He’s been in and talked to Sipho. He’s willing to testify, in exchange for amnesty. And now they’re all singing like canaries. Solongo was on his way to arrest Wilson when he called.”
“And Claudia?”
A shadow passed over Amahle’s face. “Nothing yet. Her picture is at every border crossing, port, and airport. They’ll find her eventually.”
“Are you more pissed or embarrassed?”
“It’s a pretty even split if I’m being honest. I thought I was a good judge of people. Thought I had good instincts.” She shook her head. “I feel like a fool.”
“Don’t be. She fooled everyone. I never suspected she was in on it. She seemed like she was your friend.”
“That’s the most humiliating part. She was a friend. A good one.”
“It’s not your fault, Ami.”
“No. But it certainly makes my judgement questionable, and your pundit is calling for me to run for the presidency.” She chuckled. “They’d be laughed out of the studio no doubt.”
“I think you’re wrong. But I don’t want to argue with you.” She pressed her thumb into a particularly tender spot, and her breath caught when Amahle bit her lip. She cleared her throat. “What about Roland? He’s the only one I can’t figure out. Was he in on it or not? Did he know what was going on with Beth?”
“He says not.”
“And?”
“Well, so far no one has implicated him, and they’re pointing their fingers in every direction that will deflect it from them, so I’ve got to say no. He’s not involved.”
“Poor man. It looked like he doted on her at the ball.”
Amahle saw the look of relief flitter across Imogen’s face. Probably glad her own instincts with the man hadn’t been so far off that he was another bad guy. She only wished she had the same instincts, and she felt terrible for what he was going through. “Yeah, his name was leaked to the press and they have his home surrounded. The police are watching too.”
“Why? In case Claudia shows up?”
“Yes.”
“Not going to happen. She’s too smart. I’d be amazed if she’s still in the country.”
“You think she was the brains behind the whole thing?”
“Well, let me put it this way. If I was the barrister for any one of them, she’s who I’d be pinning it all on. You name it—coercion, blackmail, threats—anything I could think of to get the jury to believe she was the one behind it and my client was her puppet.”
“Because she isn’t there to defend herself.”
“Exactly. With a case like this it won’t get them acquitted, but it might get them a reduced sentence.”
Amahl
e snorted a laugh. “Not likely. The country is baying for blood.”
“True.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. People are getting the help they need. The bad guys are going to jail.”
“Yeah. I’m glad they got that Tsotsi chap.” Imogen shuddered. “Did you see his picture on the news? Christ, he gave me the creeps.”
“I did. Now stop talking about it.” Amahle wanted to stop thinking about everything they’d seen, and everything that was still to be dealt with. It seemed never ending, and she needed a break. From both the situation and her own doubts. She’d spent a week wanting and waiting. It was time to forget it all for a little while and let her soul come home. “Let’s see if you can put that mouth to better use.”
“I think I can do that.”
Amahle grabbed her shirt and tugged her close. “So stop talking then.”
Imogen let her close the last of the distance between them and place light kisses along her lower lip. She licked it delicately with her tongue before claiming it fully. Amahle’s mouth opened beneath hers, allowing her inside, and she sighed when she first slipped her tongue inside. The heat of her kiss set a fire in her body, her heart, her soul, and she had no idea how she would survive without it ever again. The touch of her skin was more vital to her existence than air. Her kiss more life giving than water, and her caress as nourishing as food. She pulled back and looked down into Amahle’s eyes. She trailed her fingertip from her temple to her jaw and along to the point of her chin.
“Do you have any idea how I feel about you?”
“Horny?”
Imogen chuckled. “That too.”
“I’m sorry. Tell me.”
“No, no. It doesn’t matter.” She pushed Amahle back until she was on top of her, stretched out on the sofa. “I think I’ll just stick with horny.” She leaned down and kissed her again, moaning as Amahle threaded her fingers into her hair and scratched her fingernails over her scalp. The soft wanton noises Amahle made were driving her crazy, and all she wanted to do was elicit more of them. She wanted to hear every moan, taste every sigh, and feel every tremble as Amahle let go of her control and just felt. She ran a hand along Amahle’s ribs, over her collarbone, and round the back of her neck, easing her head closer as she deepened the kiss.
The Chameleon's Tale Page 29