Van der Walt’s thoughts were interrupted when Sergeant Adams knocked at the door. He trusted Adams. He was one of the few English speakers who really understood the threat from the blacks and who knew that for South Africa to survive it would have to remain white. Adams was in charge of one of the Vlakplaas interrogation units and started to explain in Afrikaans something that he wanted to discuss with Van der Walt.
‘Speak in English, Adams. That’s your native language isn’t it?’
‘Sir, we’re holding a black nineteen-year-old male who has a bullet wound to the left arm. He’s claiming that we sent him to do the attack in Cape Town.’
‘Where was he found?’
‘In Port Elizabeth, by Galela.’
‘Is he interrogating the prisoner?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Tell that black bastard not to touch the prisoner, and organise for him to be brought here from the farm.’
Rambo Galela was recruited to the Vlakplaas unit in the early nineteen eighties. A borderline psychopath, he loved killing and had been very successful in dismantling training camps that the African National Congress had tried to establish in Tanzania and Angola. Everyone in the bureau knew of him. Van der Walt had known that the unit would be successful only if they had black operatives as highly trained in counter insurgency as the white operatives. The idea of black operatives was an issue that almost raised as much passion with his superior officers as the ‘one man one vote’ suggestion. It touched the very capstone of white superiority. Blacks, he was repeatedly told, could not fight as well as whites, they could not think as fast and they could not understand discipline.
Nevertheless, when attempts had been made to attack the camps in Angola with conventional troops—an attack that had caused a political furore over infringing the sovereignty rights of South West Africa—permission was given to consider an alternative. That had not meant instant approval, as there were many in the cabinet and the Broederbond who were vehemently opposed to any black being sanctioned with a licence to kill. The opposition was such that Vlakplaas was nearly dismantled. It was only the combined influence of General Coetzee, head of special operations, and the minister of police, Hennie Botha, with the argument that whites could not infiltrate black organisations, that the threat of a rogue black agent had eventually been overcome.
Finding a black man to kill another black man, let alone more efficiently than a white man, was the biggest hurdle. Galela had been one of the few black police officers who could even be considered. A psychopath whose total disregard for authority had seen him in trouble more than once was a high recommendation. Van der Walt appreciated some of the difficulties he would face but felt that Galela’s value was that his only allegiance was to himself, and the satisfaction that he could find through killing was sufficient to keep him under control. Talking with those who had worked with Galela, he was convinced that it was unlikely that he would become a rogue agent.
He remembered one of the police officers he interviewed about Galela saying, ‘Ag, man. The only reason we gave him a uniform is that the blacks figured out that he was working for us. He was the unofficial police officer in Soweto. He killed those we thought were subversives and we supplied him with guns and ammunition. We couldn’t go in there, but Galela could. It made sense!’
Another police officer had said, ‘Look, man, this is one black who likes killing and who can count bodies beyond the number of fingers on his hand. He didn’t want to leave Soweto, but the African National Congress had had enough and increased its firepower. When they killed those other Kaffir police, he was smart enough to come to us for protection. We put him in administration in Durban and gave him another name, but he was like a caged animal—an animal that had tasted blood and wanted more. He set up a protection racket for the Indian shopkeepers. The blacks wouldn’t rob them because Galela would hunt them down. It was like Soweto all over again, except it was Durban. The Indians loved him; he was the best protection they’d ever had.’
When Van der Walt first met Galela, he showed him not the slightest respect. Despite the fact that Van der Walt was his superior officer, he was left with the feeling that Galela believed that his was the presence that counted. It was this presence that Van der Walt, despite all his war experience, found intimidating. Galela was big for a black man, powerfully built across the shoulders, and, although his uniform was loose fitting, tension emanated from beneath it. His eyes appeared to have no pupils; they were black with no definition, as if there was no soul. The scars above his eyes and mouth contributed to the intimidating demeanour. The absence of his left lower ear was further testimony to the violence he lived with.
Galela did not speak to him. He just stared with a look that spat disrespect. Van der Walt pulled over a chair, turned it around and sat in front of Galela. Two feet in front of him he met the black eyes and felt something that he had experienced only once or twice before. It was like being close to the presence of uncontrolled evil. The presence that created intimidation related to Galela’s soul. As he spoke to Galela, he became increasingly uncomfortable. It was not a fear, for fear he recognised from many encounters with it in the past. He had conquered such a feeling many times. It was the presence in Galela that reached out to you, threatened to encircle your throat and squeeze all life from you. For a moment Van der Walt wondered whether he was the devil incarnate and whether, like the devil, he would only ever answer to himself.
When he had finished explaining the concept, Galela still had not spoken. He watched the lifeless black eyes and he was sure they did not blink. Although he knew it would be seen as a victory, he moved his chair back and got up.
‘I’ll come,’ was all that Galela said.
The Vlakplaas farm was about twenty kilometres from Pretoria, so Van der Walt wondered why Galela had brought back one of the criminals that they had used in the terrorist attack in Cape Town. His instructions had been to eliminate them all. With Galela, though, you never knew because his psychopathic nature meant that he sometimes prolonged the killing to increase the enjoyment. He wondered whether he should just instruct him to bury the black terrorist at the farm but he had not yet been able to debrief Galela, and having that information would be useful for the Black Watch committee meeting. He knew that it would be approximately an hour before they arrived, which would give him plenty of time to see both Galela and the prisoner. He asked Adams to call him when they arrived.
The prisoner would have been taken to room nine, as this was the non-insulated room favoured by Galela, especially if there were others waiting to be interrogated.
Adams called him forty minutes later, and he made his way down to room nine. When he entered the room, the two white officers stood up. Galela did not look in his direction; he was sitting next to the window holding on to the barrel of his pistol. He could see no prisoner and momentarily wondered whether Galela had killed him and buried him at the farm. Then he saw the black fingers holding on to the window ledge. Galela did not look at Van der Walt, but on hearing him enter the room, smashed the pistol butt on to one of the fingers. The disintegration of bone was a sound overwhelmed by the scream from beyond the window. One hand remained on the window as Galela spat out of the window at the prisoner. He then turned slowly and fixed Van der Walt with a look that suggested no command could change his current course of action and enjoyment.
It was no surprise to Van der Walt that he acted this way. During the many months of intensive briefing, weapons training and hand-to-hand fighting, Galela constantly and successfully fought for control from his white trainers. White officers were given authority to Kaffirise him, break his strength and see whether he returned to being a subservient Kaffir. In one hand-to-hand fighting session that Van der Walt had taken, he watched while Mannais, one of the strongest white officers, took Galela right to the edge, finally stabbing him in the leg to gain ascendancy. There was no sound after the stabbing. Galela did not flinch. He ignored the blood seeping on to his trouser leg a
nd continued fighting.
At the end of the exercise, Galela refused any treatment and returned to the special compound created for them on the perimeter of the enclosed airfield. When he returned to exercises the following day, Van der Walt noticed during the ten kilometre run that Galela ran with a slight limp. The stab had not been superficial, and he thought about the mental toughness required. A week later Mannais was killed in a car-jacking as he entered Johannesburg on weekend leave. It was the only time he had seen Galela smile. From then the legend of Galela was born.
Van der Walt switched to Xhosa. Galela turned his eyes and locked on to him, the pistol butt raised above the fingers. He held that position for what seemed to Van der Walt at least thirty seconds. It was Galela’s way of indicating to all in the room that it was he who was in control, whether spoken to in Afrikaans or Xhosa. It would happen when Galela determined it would happen, not when some white Afrikaner wanted it to happen. Van der Walt suddenly had the feeling that Galela was going to defy them and that there was something going on here that he was not privy to. He saw the muscles tensing under Galela’s chin. Van der Walt reached for his pistol as he carefully watched Galela for further movement. The quickness of his movement was primal. The butt swung through an arc and smashed into the remaining fingers. There was a scream from below the window sill, and the fingers disappeared followed by a muffled thud as the prisoner landed in Galela’s cemetery.
Van der Walt, who by now had drawn his pistol, ordered the two white officers to take Galela to the holding pen on the first floor.
‘Make sure there are no other prisoners in there,’ said Van der Walt as he replaced his pistol and strode out to meet with the Black Watch committee. Galela had to be eliminated. They no longer controlled him.
The Black Watch committee was assembled around a long table; there were three visitors that Van der Walt had not seen previously. Strydom greeted him and introduced him to the visitors: two from MOSSAD and one from the Taiwanese National Security Bureau. Strydom explained that they had requested permission to attend the meeting, given the possible threat to their national securities with the disappearance of the Martyn Stein folder and its ruinous potential for the three governments.
Van der Walt’s summary was concise: the objective, he felt, had been achieved, and the wider public were convinced that it was not possible to negotiate with a population group that had such a violent intent. He saw Strydom nod in agreement. He reported that four of the five terrorists had been eliminated. The fifth had escaped, but they were close to doing away with him, too.
He reported that he had informed de Villiers of their, the bureau’s, involvement, not only in the terrorist attack but also in Martyn Stein’s death, as instructed. He believed that it had had the required effect and that once he was out of hospital his actions might reveal its location, realising that if he did not his life was in danger. He had searched de Villiers’ research laboratory and office and found some information related to identifying population groups through DNA sequences. The research appeared to be related to the different racial groups, and de Villiers had denied not only that but also that there was any further research. A search of his office and laboratories had suggested otherwise, but he had found no further information. He had not found the Stein folder, and de Villiers continued to deny any knowledge of it.
The Israelis and the Taiwanese looked at Strydom as Van der Walt finished. There was a prolonged silence, before Strydom spoke. ‘De Villiers was the last contact with Martyn Stein. The probability is that he has the folder, as Stein had the folder when he left this building. No chances can therefore be taken.’
Strydom looked at Van der Walt. ‘Observe him when he comes out of hospital; take the necessary steps to ensure that no threat remains to our national security or to our friends.’
Van der Walt nodded to indicate that he fully understood what was meant.
‘You have a plan, I take it?’ said Strydom.
‘It will be taken care of,’ replied Van der Walt, thinking the problem of eliminating Galela could be combined with this instruction.
Chapter 14
Ever since Van der Walt had left his hospital bed Jannie knew that he had been given a message. They clearly wanted him to know that BOSS had orchestrated both the attack on the church and killed Martyn Stein. He could understand them wanting him to know that they had killed a colleague, as that might intimidate him into giving up the folder that Stein had secretly given him; and they clearly believed he had or knew of its whereabouts. Letting him know that they had orchestrated the terrorist attack was more difficult to work out. Did they think that he was so compromised that he could share this with no one because of the personal and professional consequences? Or were they just so certain of being able to influence white destiny and control in South Africa and this was just an instance of being answerable to no one but themselves. Of one thing, he was certain: they were underlining again the ruthlessness of BOSS and their ability to deal with anyone whom they considered a threat. From the tone of the conversation, he understood that he was now a threat and expendable.
After four days in hospital, Jannie had had enough. He had removed his own urinary catheter on the first day and now disconnected his intravenous line. He knew that he had to escape and start formulating a strategy that would protect not only himself but also his family. He phoned Renata to ask her to come and pick him up and then started packing his things. As he took the lift down into the lobby, he was conscious that he was being observed. One of Van der Walt’s men he assumed.
Renata had said that she would be about an hour before she finished her clinic. He took one of the large comfortable chairs in the lobby and sat down to think about how he had reached a point now where his life was threatened. He remembered, after the original approach from Van der Walt, that it all seemed a bit like a boy’s adventure—an adventure within which he got to contribute to the preservation of the Afrikaner culture and history and in return would be able to create a liver transplant and research programme that could be the best in the southern hemisphere. In the beginning, the demands were not too arduous and there were liberal sums of money supplied for his involvement in BOSS. He even struck up a relationship of sorts with Van der Walt. He could remember clearly Van der Walt telling him he was one of five children, with two brothers and two sisters. His oldest brother ran the family farm in consultation with his father, who, in time-honoured tradition, did not retire.
‘My life is my plaas,’ Van der Walt said his father would often say, in broken English, about their family farm.
From Van der Walt’s description, the farms that surrounded his were similar in certain aspects to Jannie’s father’s. However, they mostly grew wheat and raised animals, which provided meat and milk for the families, without any of the vineyards that he was used to and had grown up with. On Sundays or after church, Van der Walt had told him how four or five families would gather at one of the farms for a braai. The women would bring food, and the men steak or boerewors, the traditional Afrikaner sausage. Then everyone would stand around while the cooking was done, talking about politics and rugby. They talked about the blacks and coloureds, but usually only to describe some offence that they had committed or stupid act that reinforced the extant Afrikaner prejudices. The white children were allowed to play with the coloured and black children, until they were teenagers, when they had to join the fully segregated adults. Mostly, this meant a chance for the young children to play hide and seek in the barn and mealie fields. As they grew older, they progressed to catch and kill snakes. It was all very familiar to Jannie and something that he could identify with, realising that tradition was missing from his current liberal academic world.
When Van der Walt told him the story of when he turned thirteen, it was again very familiar to Jannie. Van der Walt recalled how his older brother had said that his father wanted to talk to him, and thinking that he must have done something that had offended the family, prepared his defence. H
e, like Jannie, had had many beatings from his father. While Jannie had felt this was due to a cruel streak in his father, Van der Walt understood his father’s behaviour was to prevent them growing up frightened of the blacks. His brothers had told him it was a toughening process and that it was a father’s duty to ensure that his son was ready to protect both the farm and his country.
As he continued to tell the story, it became even more recognisable to Jannie. It was almost as if through their past shared experiences a bond had developed. While Jannie’s initiation into Afrikaner manhood had been performed by a cousin, he remembered it was remarkably similar to the process that Van der Walt described to him when he was thirteen. He could remember it in great detail and wondered whether Van der Walt’s endorsement of their common identity had been a strategy to get him to commit irrevocably to the bureau. Van der Walt had been so precise with his recollection that for Jannie it was a case of déjà vu.
Jannie had erased these memories since he had left the farm. The more he listened to Van der Walt the more he realised they had a shared identity. Perhaps, Jannie remembered thinking, there was a way of preserving some of the values that were part of his parents’ generation, after all, and it was what they had fought so hard for. It was only when Van der Walt continued his story that some of the misgivings from his past started to surface, misgivings that worried him at the time. He remembered that when Van der Walt had described the Afrikaner plan, Jannie put those misgivings down to the difference in where they had been brought up.
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