by Wilbur Smith
As she let herself into the kitchen she heard men's voices in the front room that Roelf used as a study. He was back early from the university today, and then her pulse quickened as she heard Manfred's voice. She felt guilty and disloyal that he could still have that effect upon her. Manfred had not been to the cottage for almost three weeks, and she realized that she had missed him and thought about him almost every day with feelings that oscillated from bitter hatred and resentment to tremulous physical arousal.
She began to prepare dinner for Roelf and the children, but the men's voices carried quite clearly from the front room. Occasionally Sarah paused to listen, and once she heard Manie say, While I was in Jo'burg, I So he had been in Johannesburg. The bank robbery had taken place the night before last, time enough since then for him to come down by road or on the mail train. She thought about the two men who had been killed. She had read in the paper that the bank manager had a pregnant wife and two small children. She wondered how the woman felt now, with her husband gone, and three little ones to care for.
Then she was distracted by the men's voices again, and she paused to listen. What she heard filled her with foreboding, Where will this thing end? she brooded. Oh I wish they would stop. I wish Manie would go away and leave us alone, But the thought of that filled her with a sense of hopelessness.
Shasa flew down alone from the Witwatersrand in the Rapide and landed at Youngsfield after dark. He drove directly from the airfield to Blaine's home in Newlands Avenue.
Tara opened the door to him, her face lighting when she realized it was him. Oh, darling, I missed you! They kissed rapturously until Blaine's voice made them start apart.
Look here, Shasa, I don't like to interrupt anything important, but when you can spare a moment I'd like to hear your report. Tara was blushing furiously. Daddy, you were spying on us! Public display, my dear. No spying necessary. Come along, Shasa. He led the way to his study and waved Shasa to a chair.
Drink? I'd like a ginger ale, sir. How are the mighty fallen! Blaine poured a little of his hoarded whisky for himself and handed Shasa the ginger ale. Now what is it that you couldn't talk about on the telephone? We just might have had a bit of luck at last, sir. On Blaine's orders Shasa had flown up to Johannesburg as soon as the Fordsburg bank robbery had been linked to the Ossewa Brandwag. He had been at Marshall Square, the headquarters of the CID, while the captured bank robber was being interrogated. As you know, the fellow is an official on the Crown Mines. Thys Lourens is his name, and sure enough he was on our list of known OB members. Not one of the big fish, however, but quite a formidable-looking chap, although I'd expect him to be a bit of a boozer. I told the police inspector that you wanted answers No rough stuff. Blaine frowned.
No, sir. It wasn't necessary. Lourens wasn't as tough as he looked. We only had to point out that the penalty for armed robbery and accessory to murder was the gallows, but that we were prepared to do a deal and he started to gush. I gave you most of what he told us when I telephoned you this morning. Yes. Go on. Then he gave us the names of the other men involved in the robbery, that is, three of them. We were able to make the arrests before I left Johannesburg. However, the leader of the gang was a man he had only met three days before the
robbery. He did not know his name, or where we could find him. Did he give you a description? Yes. Big man, black hair and beard, crooked nose, scar over one eye, a pretty detailed description, but he gave us some thing else which may be vital. What is that? A code name. The leader is known only as Die Wit Swaard, the White Sword, and they were ordered to cooperate with him from the very top level of the stormjagers!
White Sword, Blaine mused. Sounds like something out of Boys Own Paper. Unfortunately not so childish, Shasa went on. I impressed upon the inspector in charge that the code name and the description must be withheld until he had orders from you personally. 'Good. Blaine sipped his drink, pleased that his trust in Shasa Courtney had been so soon vindicated. White Sword, I wonder if this is the trigger we have been looking for, the catalyst that has at last brought the O B to the point of action. It could very well be, sir. All the arrested members of the gang are obviously very much in awe of the man. He was clearly the force behind the entire thing, and he has disappeared completely. There is no trace of the missing money, incidentally, we have established that it is over one hundred and twenty-seven thousand I pounds., A tidy sum, Blaine murmured, and we must presume that it has gone into the war chest of the O B, probably along with the gelignite from the railway hijacking., As far as this code name goes, sir, I would like to suggest that we continue to keep it from the press and everybody not directly concerned with the investigation. I agree. However, let me hear your reasons, see if they are the same as mine. Firstly, we don't want to alert the quarry. We don't want him to know that we are on his track. Blaine nodded. Quite so. The other reason is that it will confirm the reliability of any informant who uses the code name. I don't follow you, Blaine frowned.
Your appeal to the public for assistance has resulted in a flood of telephone calls, but unfortunately most of them are bogus. if we let the code name become general knowledge, they'll all be using it. ,I see. Use of the code name will establish the callers credentials. 'That's it, sir. All right then, we'll keep it under the hat for the time being. Is there anything else? Not at present. Then let me tell you what has happened here while you were away. I have met the prime minister and we have decided to declare the O B a political organization. All civil servants, including the police and the army, will be obliged to resign their membership immediately. That won't alter their sympathies, Shasa pointed out.
Of course not, Blaine agreed. We will still have something like forty or fifty percent of the country against us and for Nazi Germany. It can't go on like this, sir. You and the Ou Baas will have to force a showdown. Yes, we know that. As soon as our investigations are complete, as soon as we have a pretty comprehensive fist of the ringleaders, we will swoop. Arrest them? Shasa was startled.
Yes. They will be interned for the duration of the war as enemies of the state. Shasa whistled softly. Pretty drastic, sir. That could lead to real trouble., That is why we have to scoop them all up in the net at one time, we cannot afford to miss any of them. Blaine stood up. I can see you are exhausted, Shasa, and I am sure there are a few things that Mademoiselle Tara has to say to
you. I'll expect you at my office at eight-thirty sharp tomorrow
morning. They moved to the study door and Blaine added as an afterthought, By the way, your grandfather, Sir Garry, arrived at Weltevreden this morning., He has come down for his birthday, Shasa smiled. I look forward to seeing him. I hope you and Field Marshal Smuts will be coming to the birthday picnic as usual., Wouldn't miss it for the world! Blaine opened the study door and across the lobby Tara was hovering innocently, pretending to be selecting a book from the shelves in the library.
Blaine grinned, Tara, you let Shasa get some sleep tonight, do you hear me? I refuse to work with a zombie tomorrow. The meeting in Blaine's office the following morning lasted longer than either of them expected, and later moved down the passageway to the prime minister's office where Field Marshal Smuts personally questioned Shasa. His questions were so searching that Shasa felt drained by the effort of keeping pace with the Ou Baas mercurial mind. He escaped with relief, Smuts's admonition following him.
We want this fellow "White Sword" whoever he is, and we want him before he can do any more damage. Get that message across to everybody involved. Yes, sir. And I want those lists on my desk before the weekend.
We must have these fellows locked up and out of harm's way.
It was mid-morning before Shasa arrived at CID headquarters and parked the Jaguar in the reserved bay that had been set aside for him in.
The special operations room had been set up in one of the extensive basement areas. There was a constable on duty at the door and Shasa signed the register. Entry was restricted to persons on the list. Many of the police force were known OB m
embers, or sympathizers.
Inspector Louis Nel had chosen his team with extreme care.
He was a balding, taciturn man whose age and job classification had prevented him from volunteering for overseas military service, a fact that he bitterly resented. However, Shasa had soon discovered that he was an easy man to like and respect, though a difficult one to please. They had quickly established a working rapport.
Nel was in his shirt-sleeves, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he talked into the telephone, but he covered the mouthpiece and summoned Shasa with an imperious wave.
Where the hell have you been? I was going to send out a search party, he reprimanded him. Sit down. I want to talk to you. Shasa perched on the corner of his desk while the inspector continued his telephone call, and he stared through the window into the busy operations room. Inspector Nel had been allocated eight detectives and a bevy of female stenographers. The room was full of cigarette smoke and the clatter of typewriters as they worked. One of the other telephones on the inspector's desk rang, and he glanced up at Shasa. 'Take that, damned switchboard keeps putting everything through to me. Shasa picked up the receiver. Good morning, this is CID headquarters. May I help you? he said, and when there was silence, he repeated it in Afrikaans.
Hello, I want to talk to somebody, the caller was a woman, a young woman and very agitated, she was speaking Afrikaans, and her voice was breathless and uncertain. In the paper they said you wanted to know about the Ossewa Brandwag. I want to talk to somebody. My name is Courtney, Shasa said in Afrikaans. Squadron-Leader Courtney. I am grateful that you want to assist the police. You can tell me everything. He tried to make his voice warm and reassuring. He could sense that the woman was afraid, perhaps on the point of changing her mind and ringing off. Take your time. I'm here to listen to you.$ ',Are you the police? Yes, madam. Would you like to give me your name? No! I won't tell you- He realized his mistake. That's perfectly all right. you don't have to give your name, he told her quickly, and there was a long silence. He could hear her breathing.
Take your time, he repeated gently. You just tell me what you want to. They are stealing the guns. The woman's voice sank to a whisper.
Can you tell me what guns? Shasa asked carefully.
From the gun factory in Pretoria, the railway workshop. Shasa sat up straighter and held the telephone receiver with both hands. Almost all the military arms and munitions manufacture was being undertaken in the railway workshops in Pretoria. It was the only establishment with the heavy equipment, highspeed lathes and steam presses, capable of turning out barrels and blocks for rifles and machineguns. The cartridge cases for the munitions were being stamped out at the Pretoria Mint, but they were despatched to the railway workshops for final processing.
What you are saying is important, he told her carefully.
Can you tell me how they are stealing the guns? They are putting scrap iron in the cases, and stealing the guns, the woman whispered.
Can you tell me who is doing this, please? Do you know who is responsible? I don't know the people in the workshop, but the one who is in charge. I know who he is., We must know his name, Shasa told her persuasively, but she was silent. He could sense that she was struggling with herself, and that if he pushed her now he would lose her.
Do you want to tell me who he is? he asked. Just take your time. His name, the woman hesitated, was silent a moment longer, and then she blurted out, they call him wit Swaard White Sword. Shasa felt his skin crawl as though it were infested with vermin, and his heart seemed to check, miss a beat, then race away wildly.
What did you say? White Sword, his name is White Sword, the woman repeated and there was a crackle and click as the connection was broken.
Hello! Hello! Shasa shouted into the receiver. Are you there? Don't hang up! But the hiss of static on the empty line mocked him.
Shasa stood beside Blaine Malcomess desk while he made the call to the commissioner of police at Marshall Square in Johannesburg.
As soon as you have the search warrant you are to close the workshops. No one allowed to enter or leave. I have already spoken to the military commander of the Transvaal.
He and his quartermaster-general will give you full cooperation. I want you to begin the search right away, open all the weapons cases in the stores and check every item against the factory production sheets. I will be flying up, leaving immediately. Please have a police car meet me at Roberts Heights airfield at, he glanced at Shasa for a time, five o'clock this evening. In the meantime, I want you to impress utter secrecy on all your men involved in the search. One other thing, Commissioner, please select only men who you are satisfied are not members of any subversive organizations, particularly the Ossewa Brandwag. Shasa drove them out to Youngsfield in the Jaguar and as they parked behind the hangar Blaine unfolded his long legs and climbed out of the sports car.
Well, at least the most gruelling part of the journey is over with, he remarked.
There was a police inspector waiting for them on the hard stand below the Roberts Heights control tower as Shasa taxied the Rapide in and cut the engines. He came forward to meet them as Blaine and Shasa came down the landing steps.
How is the investigation going? Blaine demanded immediately after they had shaken hands. What have you found so far? Nothing, Minister. The inspector shook his head. We have checked over six hundred cases of rifles. it's a timeconsuming job. But so far everything seems to be in order. How many cases in the stores? Nine hundred and eighty., So you have checked over half. Blaine shook his head.
Let's go and have a look anyway., He settled his hat on his head and buttoned his overcoat to the neck for there was a cold wind sweeping across the airstrip, bringing memories of the snows of the Drakensberg mountains, and the highveld grass was bleached silvery by the frosts of late winter. He and Shasa climbed into the back seat of the black police Packard and neither of them spoke on the short journey into the centre of Pretoria.
At the gates to the railway workshops there was a double guard of police and military personnel. They checked the occupants of the Packard carefully, not visibly impressed by Blaine's status.
The chief inspector in charge of the investigation was in the office of the workshop manager and his report had little to add to what they already knew. They had so far been unable to find any irregularity in the production or packaging of weapons.
Give me the tour, Blaine ordered grimly, and the entire party, Blaine, Shasa, the chief inspector and the workshop manager, went out on to the main production floor.
Workshop, was hardly a correct description of the large factory that they entered. Originally built to service and repair the rolling stock of the state-owned railway, it had been expanded and modernized until it was capable of building its own locomotives from scratch. Now the long production line along which they picked their way was turning out armoured cars for the desert war in North Africa.
The working of the factory had not been halted by the police investigation and the cavernous sheds roofed with
corrugated iron echoed to the thunder of the steam presses and the cacophony of the lathes and turret head drills.
How many men do you employ? Blaine had to shout to make himself heard in the uproar.
Almost three thousand altogether, we are working three shifts now. Wartime production. The manager took them through to the furthest building.
This is where we turn out the small arms, he shouted.
Or rather the metal parts. Barrel and blocks. The woodwork is manufactured by outside contractors. Show us the finished articles and the packing, Blaine ordered. That's where the trouble is, if there is trouble. After assembly and checking, the completed rifles, British Long Service No 4 Mark 1 in .303 calibre, were greased and wrapped in yellow grease-proof paper, then packed in the long WD green wooden cases, ten rifles to a case. Finally the cases were loaded onto steel pallets and trundled through to the despatch stores.
When they entered the despatch area there were a d
ozen uniformed police constables working with at least fifty factory employees in blue overalls. Each case was being taken down from the tall stacks and opened by one of the constables, then the wrapped rifles were taken out and counted, repacked and the case lids relocked.
The checked cases were being stacked at the far end of the storehouse, and Shasa saw immediately that only about fifty cases remained to be opened and inspected.
The chief storekeeper hurried across from his desk and challenged Blaine indignantly. I don't know who you are but if you are the bloody fool who ordered this, you need your arse kicked. We have lost a day's production. There is a goods train at the siding and a convoy waiting in Durban harbour to take these weapons to our boys up north. Shasa left the group and went across to watch the working constables. 'No luck? he asked one of them.
We're wasting our time, the man grunted without looking up, and Shasa silently reviled himself. A day's war production lost because of him, it was a dire responsibility and his sense of despondency increased as he stood and watched the remaining cases opened, checked and resealed.
The constables assembled at the door of the stores and the overalled factory employees went out through the tall sliding doors to resume their posts on the production line.
The police inspector came back to where they stood in a small disconsolate group.
Nothing, Minister. I'm sorry. We had to do it, Blaine said, glancing at Shasa. Nobody is to blame. Too bloody true somebody is to blame, the chief storeman broke in truculently. Now that you've had your fun, can I get on with loading the rest of the shipment? Shasa stared at him. There was something about the man's behaviour that set off a little warning tingle down his spine, the blustering defensive manner, the shiftiness of his gaze.