Does it Hurt to Die

by Anderson, Paul G

  Christian looked again at Galela and realised this was not advice; this was more an instruction to leave. He wondered why if there was nothing further to uncover about his father.

  ‘That’s all I can do. You’ll not be allowed to take notes. There are many aspects of your father’s life that, as I previously mentioned, indirectly involved foreign governments. They’re still willing to protect these secrets and could possibly kill to do so.’ Galela stared at Christian until he was sure that he understood and then got up and left.

  Isabella spoke first as she translated the Afrikaans. ‘Christian, this section is about his genetic research.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It says they suspected that our father found a gene that was unique to blacks. But they couldn’t be certain because not only was the research coded, but also only part of the research was ever found.’

  Christian moved across the room to try to read over her shoulder. It was in Afrikaans, but he could recognise firstly a list of countries: Angola, Mozambique, Namibia and South Africa. In addition, the medical terms Salmonella, Botulinum, E.coli and Cholera were familiar to him.

  Isabella continued with the translation. ‘It appears in one of the experiments that the security services had infected the water supplies in those various countries with salmonella, as an experiment. The resulting diarrhoea caused a forty per cent increase in children’s deaths.’ She looked up from the folder at Christian.

  ‘Do you think our father would have approved that?’ she asked, visibly shocked.

  Christian looked at Isabella while she paused. Neither of them seemed to want to discuss the implication that their father may have approved such a mephitic act. But clearly, he could have if he had been in charge of the medical research programme, which he was. Isabella glanced at Christian’s sheet of paper.

  ‘What have you discovered?’

  ‘These letters are from agencies and people who were involved with or contributed to the research and the trials. The letters document the involvement of leading researchers in the United States, Britain, France, Taiwan and the Philippines in everything from nuclear bomb research through to germ and chemical warfare. It appears that the co-operativity of those agencies was secured by providing full access to the results of the medical trials and research into chemical and germ warfare that were conducted here in South Africa and surrounding states. These letters indicate all of this was being exported to some of the major powers, many of whom were ideologically and publicly opposed to South Africa’s apartheid regime.’

  Isabella turned back to the title page before speaking to Christian again.

  ‘There are two problems here. The first is that there is too much information for us to ever read in an hour. The second is that while this tells us that our father was head of the medical research, it won’t tell us the extent of his involvement or when he became involved.’

  The sickening feeling he had in his stomach was growing. ‘This is not a memory I want of my father,’ he said. ‘I can only hope that he came to the research late and was revolted and wanted out.’

  ‘I’m sure that the revulsion you and I feel was shared by our father,’ she said, holding his gaze to try to offer further reassurance.

  ‘I believe that initially he didn’t understand what he had become involved with, and that when he did he attempted, in the only way that he could, to stop it, while protecting you and your mother to get out.’

  ‘Where does that certainty come from after you’ve just read that?’

  ‘In my heart. We’re both his children and we both share his genes; neither of us is a monster and I don’t believe my father was either.’

  ‘Don’t believe or don’t want to believe?’ Christian said, looking at her slightly miffed that she had taken the high ground in believing in their father.

  ‘I think that’s enough,’ said Isabella, putting down the folder. ‘I think we should take away a positive memory. We’re never going to be able to go through all this information or understand the complexity of it. And there’s not an ongoing effect from whatever happened; when the apartheid government was toppled, some of this information was made public and there was a very deliberate destruction of the medical germ and biological warfare programmes.’

  ‘Do you think that was really the end of it?’ said Christian. ‘If we had the information in here on his research and were able to decode it with the key that may be on the back of the photo in Australia, that may tell us what he was able to find out and give some indication as to why he stopped.’

  ‘Do you remember Galela warning us that there were others out there more dangerous than foreign agencies,’ said Isabella. ‘I think we should just be content with what we’ve found.’

  ‘But, Issy, you were the one who said we need to give this our best shot. What about the second laboratory that was discussed? What about those twenty-four blacks dying from an unknown virus on the Northern Transvaal border? Some of these things may be ongoing.’

  ‘We have a black government now, Christian,’ Isabella said, trying to dismiss the thought.

  ‘Yes, but there are still white supremacist groups who plan to create an exclusive white homeland. How better to do it than remove some of the blacks so that others take fright and leave, and then any that you have left you can genetically make subservient. Once you have a state established, you could control your borders with the threat of clean nuclear weapons. Remember the first page of that document had a section on nuclear fusion; maybe that’s what Galela was hinting at?’

  ‘But what if they have the folder with the genetic research in it and then they do start to decode it; it’ll give them an undetectable way of controlling a large number of the black and coloured population.’

  ‘You don’t know that that’s what our father was working on, and it may have just been the other contents in the folder that were the priority.’

  Christian was about to reply, when Isabella held up a series of letters and numbers in sequence.

  ‘Does this look familiar?’

  ‘A formula?’ he ventured, without really taking in what she was pointing out having returned to the BOSS folder.

  ‘Don’t ignore me.’

  ‘Sorry—what did you find, Issy?’

  ‘It’s similar to the formula that was in our father’s handwriting, which was in the folder that was stolen the other night.’

  ‘Let me have a look.’ Christian tried to read the figures and formulas over her shoulder.

  ‘There are only a few small figures and they appear as though someone has added to the section; but it’s not in the same writing that we saw from our father.’

  ‘We’re running out of time,’ said Christian, glancing up at the clock and noticing that they had about six minutes remaining.

  ‘We knew we’d get only a brief insight.’

  Christian quickly scanned through the rest of the folder and then, looking up, noticed the single camera that was above, which continuously swept the room. He quickly counted as it took its return sweep, estimating that it took ten seconds to survey the room from one corner to the other. Without saying anything to Isabella, he grabbed the folder and stood underneath the camera; he removed several sections and placed them inside his shirt. Isabella looked disapprovingly at him but said nothing. As Christian tidied himself, exactly on the hour, the doors opened and Galela entered. He looked at them both for a moment, and Christian wondered whether he knew they had taken something from the folder.

  ‘One hour is not enough for you to discover all you want to know. However, it is enough time to let you know there was another side to your father. In my opinion, after his initial efforts, he was blackmailed. He had no option. The only reason I’ve shown you the folder today is that Sibokwe requested it and I owe a debt of gratitude to him and his mother. You’ll have seen what your father was involved with; but you’ll not have had time to fully understand who he was involved with. Some of what you might have seen will hav
e shocked you. I’m hoping that my explanation and the folder may give you some peace about your father.’

  As he finished the sentence, he reached forward and picked up the folder. Isabella felt sure he was going to open it; her heart raced. However, Galela opened the top drawer of his desk and placed the folder back inside.

  Christian shifted, trying to hunch his shoulders a little, hoping that his shirt hung forward and hid what he had tucked under his belt. A nod was the best he could manage.

  ‘Thank you for your help, honesty and advice,’ Isabella said as they carefully walked out of the door.

  Outside the main door, he tried to smile reassurance at Isabella, but her gaze was purposefully away from his. He knew she was not happy with the removal of parts of the folder. Her disapproval was even more evident on the drive back to the Engela’s, old friends of Mike and Sian’s, where they were staying, and she refused to talk to him or even look at him. Once at the Engela’s Isabella could contain herself no longer.

  ‘Why did you do that, Christian? You put us both at risk.’

  ‘I thought you wanted us to complete the jigsaw.’

  Isabella transfixed him with a look that reminded him that insulting her intelligence was a treasonable offence; answering a question with another question was a jejune response that she would not have expected from him.

  ‘I’m sorry, Issy, that was a trite reply. I realise now that it was a stupid thing to do and it’s difficult to defend, but I just want to know what our father had discovered that was so important that it had to be encoded.’ He looked at her to see if this was an acceptable explanation. Her look was still disapproving, but he could sense with his apology that her mood had calmed a little.

  ‘I thought that there was still so much to know and just didn’t want to leave it at that.’

  Chapter 32

  They soon found the instructions that the Engela’s had left for them, and while Isabella made coffee, Christian tried to e-mail his mother. They had left a password so that they could use the Internet, but it seemed that the Engela’s server was off-line. Then he noticed a fax machine next to the computer and used that to send some of the pages from the folder. At least she could compare what they had found to what was on the back of the old photo. He included a covering letter to his mother telling her where they were and what they had discovered and then loaded the five pages and pressed transmit.

  Initially the fax did not connect and he wondered whether he had entered the incorrect code for Australia. He redialled and heard a strange dial tone. He was just wondering whether the machine had a fault when it flashed its green light and processed the sheets. He was waiting for the transmission confirmation when he saw out of the corner of his eye a black can headed for the window next to where he was standing. Instinctively, he ducked as glass smashed and the can entered the room emitting a thick white smoke. He tried to call to Isabella to warn her as she entered the room, but his mouth was paralysed and he felt lethargic and sleepy.

  He opened his eyes and tried to clear his brain. He could see he was lying on a plain steel floor with his hands and ankles bound with tape. Isabella opposite him looked terrified. Around them was a large cage, which was dimly lit, and it was travelling down like a giant lift. Every few feet it clanked and clattered so that he had to shout to ask if she was alright. She nodded as he tried to roll closer to reassure her.

  After about five minutes the clanking stopped, as did their downward motion. Christian looked over his shoulder and noted fluorescent light enter the front of the cage. It struck him that wherever they had been taken, it was obviously underground and very deep as it was very cold.

  The front of the cage then crashed open and two men in khaki uniforms manhandled them on to an electric golf cart. The cart had been converted into a small utility by placing a tray on the back of it. The man drove slowly down a long passageway lit on either side by small fluorescent lights. There was no natural light and the walls were hewn from rock, the rough surfaces painted white. Christian guessed they must have been taken to an abandoned mine.

  After what he estimated was about eight hundred metres, they came to a T-junction. The passageway became much wider with a perfectly sealed road complete with markings. It was also fully lit and Christian could see in the distance a supermarket, pharmacy and what he suspected was a small church. It looked to him like a whole village had been created underground complete with street names such as Verwoerd Laan and Wit Mul. It appeared highly organised and had been established for quite some time. As they drove the main street, he noted a setting off to one side; a group of about fifty people were seated in front of a large screen. Projected on to the screen was someone that Christian had often seen when doing research into his father on the Internet. It was the political leader of the Afrikaner resistance army, Eugene Terre Blanche. Christian had remembered that despite his fanaticism when it came to creating a separate white South Africa, he had enormous charisma. As they passed the big screen, no one turned to look at them—each spellbound by what Terre Blanche was saying.

  Their drivers neither looked at nor talked to them but they acknowledged several of their colleagues in Afrikaans along the way. After they passed the church, they stopped in front of a small building, no bigger than a two-bedroom flat, with a steel grille as a front door. The drivers came around to the back of the vehicle and undid their ankle bindings. They were escorted through the open door, the bindings around their wrists were cut and the door was closed and locked as the two men left.

  Christian tried to stand up and stretch but found the ceiling too low.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘How could you just take the contents out of that folder?’ she said, barely able to hide her disgust. ‘You must have seen my look of disapproval and realised it could put us both in danger, and now look at what you have caused.’

  Christian was tempted momentarily to justify his actions but thought the better of it and simply said, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘They’ve taken us down a disused mine shaft, and we must be almost a mile down judging by the temperature in the cage,’ she said angrily.

  ‘They must think we have something that they need to have gone to all this trouble.’

  ‘The formula and or whatever you’ve taken out of the folder.’

  ‘But no one knows that I have it. The only time it was mentioned was in Galela’s office.’

  They looked at each other and realised their naïveté and their lack of understanding of what they had become involved in. Someone must have been watching them and still believed that they had information that would help them with whatever they were planning. Somehow, they had learned through Galela’s office that they had valuable information. From what Christian had been able to see as they drove along, it was the white supremacist organisation that Galela had talked about.

  Christian moved across the small cell until he was right next to Isabella.

  ‘If they were listening in Galela’s office, I’m sure they’ll be listening now,’ Christian whispered in Issy’s ear.

  ‘I don’t care if they are listening now,’ she said loudly, glaring at him.

  The tears welled up in her eyes as she pleaded with him. ‘You have to give them the formula or whatever it is they want—get it from your mother, get us out of here, Christian.’

  ‘I would think as long as we have part of the formula, which they think is the key to the research, we’ll be safe,’ he again whispered. ‘What we have to work out is a way to trade it for our lives.’

  He looked at Isabella, trying to see whether she was reassured, when they heard voices and footsteps beyond the steel grille that formed the front door. The two guards reappeared, unlocked the front door and beckoned them out.

  He showed them to the back seat of a golf buggy unconcerned about their personal freedom. They were not handcuffed or bound this time, suggesting that they were not expected to escape or that escape was not thought possible. Sitting in the back Christian sque
ezed Isabella’s hand to try to reassure her. She moved further away from him on the seat, withdrawing her hand and turning away from him at the same time.

  After travelling a couple of hundred metres, they turned right on to Verwoerd Laan. Christian noticed there were now more people about, some in similar uniforms to their guard, others in white coats or casual clothes. It was a small, functioning underground town and all the people that he could see seemed to have a purpose.

  The golf buggy stopped outside an entrance that had above its portals in large letters ‘Eie arbeid maak ons vry’.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Christian turned to Isabella indicating the sign.

  ‘Our own labour will free us,’ she said, ‘and it’s the catchphrase of those Afrikaners who believe in a whites-only state. Have you noticed that everything is white down here; I may be the only coloured person who has ever seen this place.’

  The guard took a step back from the golf buggy and indicated that they were to walk in through the main door. Inside was an impressive foyer, a shiny marble floor, with statues of people Christian assumed were old Afrikaner leaders.

  ‘Sit here,’ said the guard, indicating a low bench before taking up a position alongside them.

  A few minutes later, another guard appeared from behind sliding doors. He indicated that they were all to follow him. Inside, behind a long wooden desk sat eight men. Three were dressed in army uniform with Nazi-like insignia and with various medals. The others wore white coats. As they walked towards the desk, one of the military personnel, who appeared to have the most medals, told them to sit. There were two chairs opposite the wooden desk that he gestured to.