by Deon Meyer
We knew better than to try to answer.
‘I’ll tell you why. Because they are reconnoitring. Why are they reconnoitring? Because they are planning an attack. An invasion. Why do they want to invade us? Because they want to steal our women and our food and our way of life. Why am I telling you this? Because we will not let it happen. Are we clear?’
‘Sir, yes sir.’
‘I am also telling you this because you have the right to know why you will not sleep, you will not rest, you will not relax, you will not have a weekend off until we find and annihilate this enemy. Are we clear?’
‘Sir, yes sir.’
‘Stand easy.’
We followed the order.
Domingo lowered his voice: ‘The Special Ops Teams are to be doubled. I am going to need leaders to help. Are you a leader? Show me. In the next eight weeks, show me.’
Chapter 76
Sofia’s SpOT test: I
Domingo wasn’t exaggerating. We didn’t sleep much, we didn’t rest much, we didn’t relax at all and weekends at home were history. All through September and the first half of October.
I didn’t get the chance to deliver Sofia’s letter.
The restoration of my relationship with my father was like a fruit, ripe and full of promise, that now remained just beyond my reach to pluck. There simply wasn’t opportunity to see him.
Nero Dlamini
Those were troubled times.
Domingo came and convinced the Committee that the rubber duck . . . You know, the inflatable boat, I think that’s what they called it, the boat and the murder of Matthew Mbalo were connected to a pending invasion. He made the case that the absence of biker gangs on the roads was ominous. That the radio silence was an omen. You know, the fact that Number One and the Chair and the Sales Club were just gone. He said people like that, an organisation like that, did not just disappear. That they weren’t stupid, they knew something had happened to the gangs we killed. And Amanzi must be the prime suspect, and now they were scheming, and planning their revenge. He said part of their tactics must be to get us to lower our guard, that’s why they’ve crawled back into the woodwork. He really believed they were going to come for us big-time. Full force. That was the term he used.
And he was right, of course, he was absolutely right.
But when he started talking about spies . . . I have to admit, I didn’t share his sentiments. I . . . Look, let me be honest; I wasn’t one of Domingo’s biggest fans. I respected him, make no mistake, but I didn’t like him much. Ideologically and philosophically, we were worlds apart. And he was aloof, he was antisocial, one of those people who just always believed they were right. He saw the world in terms of good and evil, black and white. I’m much more of a thousand shades of grey kind of guy. And he . . . I think he actually liked violence. While I’m very much against it.
Anyway, troubled times . . . So the Committee let him have his way. Again. Allowed him to double the size of the Special Ops Unit. To four teams.
And then he started with this espionage story. He approached it from a tangent, saying, we have to explain the military expansion, we can’t let the people of Amanzi know we’re expecting a big attack.
So we asked him, why?
He said, obviously because it would create fear and panic. But the real problem is, there may be a spy or spies in Amanzi.
So I said, come on, Domingo, get real, what are you now, a conspiracy theorist?
And he said, go and think about the time of the murder, and the place where it happened. And the circumstances. They knew when to cross the dam. They knew there would be nobody at the reserve entrance, that time of night. Matthew was there by accident. How, Nero? How did they know all those things?
Of course I had no answer.
And he said, because they have someone on the inside.
How do you approach that possibility? How do you manage it? How do you react to it? By mistrusting everybody? By changing your immigration policy of ‘send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me’? I mean, we had hundreds of new immigrants since the last battle, with the Marauders. If it were true, if we did have a mole in our midst, it could be anybody.
So we deliberated and argued for hours.
Eventually we put the matter to a vote. And it was decided: we would lie. We would tell the people of Amanzi we were doubling the Special Ops Teams because of the new trade routes we were developing. We needed more soldiers to safeguard these routes.
Of course, if you lie to people, you will be found out eventually. And there will be repercussions. And politicians like Pastor Nkosi Sebego will exploit that lie. And the repercussions. He was very clever, our dear pastor. He voted against the lie. And he made sure the record showed that he voted against it. And we suspected that he had a reason to do that. But what could we do?
Sofia Bergman
I was stubborn and pig-headed and later I regretted that bitterly. But I was so frustrated and unhappy. And I was a teenager, I know that’s a poor excuse, but there you go . . .
I just wanted to get out of school and out of Groendakkies, and if I could have left town as well, I’m sure I would have chosen to do that too. With all the ordinary Amanzian, post-Fever and puberty reasons for my urge to flee. And one of those reasons was that, on top of everything else, I was bored. In the first six months I didn’t do well at school. The work was easy, so I didn’t go to any trouble and wasn’t stimulated. Of course, my attitude was extremely negative. But in any case, they made me stay with children who were two years younger than me for the rest of the year. You know how it works at school, you normally socialise with the kids in your class. And usually they’re your peers. But my age group were two years ahead of me academically, and they cut me out completely, because I was the dunce going to school with little kids. So I didn’t fit in anywhere, and nobody wanted me . . . Frustrated, unhappy, angry and alone.
But then I heard they were going to expand Special Ops. I went to tell the headmaster I was going to do the test. He said no, and I said Amanzi’s brand-new, just-approved constitution had moved the entry age for Special Ops up to seventeen. And the law said it was everyone’s choice at that age whether they wished to join. And I was turning seventeen on 16 October. He tried to talk me out of it, saying, Sofia, please finish school first. But I was stubborn. And I was afraid there might not be any vacancies left in the Spotters, because there had been a lot of applications. So they sent Nero Dlamini to talk to me. He really did try . . .
Of course I was completely unaware that my path was so similar to Nico’s. If I had known . . .
I don’t know if it would have changed anything.
16 October
Domingo was a bastard. Domingo was as cunning as the devil.
He made us compete for leadership positions. He gave us each the opportunity to lead a team through intense training scenarios, but he never told us how we fared. He let each one believe they had a chance.
And then that morning Sofia arrived. She said she had heard there were still three places open, and she wanted to do the test.
Domingo called me. He knew how I felt about Sofia. The whole world knew how I felt about Sofia.
He sent the other troops on a run, so it was just the two of us left standing with him. He had a little smile on his face. I knew what that meant. Trouble. Domingo changed the selection test for a place in Special Ops whenever he liked. He liked to surprise, to invent new and inhuman challenges.
I looked at Sofia. She was indescribably beautiful. Her hair was in two long white-blond plaits. ‘Good luck,’ I told her. And I was relieved to see her nod her thanks.
Domingo said, ‘Storm, take Bergman to the Q-store and give her kit.’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘Give her a rifle, and give her a try-out rucksack.’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘And then the pair of you run to Luckhoff, to the stone.’
‘Yes, Captain.’ What was he planning?
‘
And then run back.’
‘Yes, Captain.’ Where was the catch? In the time he would allow? In a new route? Would she have to carry me?
‘You have eight hours.’
‘Yes, Captain.’ Eight hours? Why so long? Everyone knew Sofia Bergman could run. Like the wind, for kilometres on end.
‘But she has to beat you, Storm. Do you both understand?’
I said, ‘Yes, Captain.’ She said nothing, only nodded in determination. It’s too easy, I thought, where was the Domingo-catch?
‘If she gets back to me before you, she’s in.’
‘Yes, Captain.’ Maybe it would be a very enjoyable morning after all. Eight hours with Sofia, just me and her at a steady trot.
‘The problem, Storm, is that you’re one of my strongest leaders. You’re on my shortlist. I want you as my sergeant of Team Bravo.’
‘Yes, Captain. Thank you, Captain.’
‘The sergeant job is yours. But you have to beat Bergman. You must be back before her.’
Cunning as the devil himself.
Sofia Bergman
Perhaps I should clarify one thing: Special Ops were the rock stars of that era, as far as the teenage girls were concerned. We knew the name of each member of the Spotters, we knew who was the strongest and the fastest and the toughest and the best-looking and the sexiest. So there I was, standing next to Nico Storm and looking at him, already a head taller than his father, taller than Domingo, he had these shoulders, and he was incredibly fit, just glowing with health. And I knew he was the second fastest over thirty kilometres and sixty kilometres; not even Domingo could shoot like Nico Storm now.
I had to beat him.
And he wasn’t going to let me win because he liked me, because if he wanted to make sergeant, he could not let me win.
At that moment, nothing counted any more. It didn’t count that I had seen him walking down the street with Okkie and his father, and that he had been kind to his kid brother. Now he was my opponent, my rival, he was the hurdle I had to leap over. And I thought, okay, then, I’ll have to beat you.
Chapter 77
Sofia’s SpOT test: II
Sofia Bergman
It’s one thing to run twenty or thirty kilometres every day with feather-light, comfortable running shoes. It’s quite another thing to run in military boots and uniform with the helmet and the rifle and a rucksack stuffed with stones.
It was even weirder doing it with someone else.
Nico ran just behind me. And he would say, Sofia, no, stay in the footpath. Look out for the sand. Careful of the thorn trees. Or he would say, run slower, don’t burn up your energy too soon. I didn’t say a word, I just ran. And I thought, why is he saying these things? He wasn’t going to let me win. Did he really think I would like him more, or what?
And so we ran.
I ran a few steps behind her, because I loved watching her. She was beautiful and she was a beautiful runner as well. She had a rhythm and grace that I had never seen in anyone else. She ran with consummate ease, as if she were not exposed to the same gravity and drag as common mortals.
Initially she ran too fast. It was adrenalin. I told her to slow down. I knew the route like the palm of my hand, warned her about the holes, the difficult sections, the problem areas. Because I wanted her to stay in the race as long as possible. So that I had time to think, time to decide what to do. There was more than one thing at stake here.
There was the way I felt about Sofia.
There was Domingo, who always worked with a strategy. He was constantly testing us. I had to try to work out what he was testing this time: did he want to see how badly I wanted to be sergeant? The answer was: very badly. Surely he could have seen that in the past seven weeks I had worked like one possessed.
Perhaps he wanted to know if I would sacrifice myself for a fellow soldier, for someone else’s desire. Or if I could suppress my own interests, if I could act unselfishly. Maybe that’s what a leader ought to do?
Or he might want to know if I was ruthless, if I could put leadership and the interests of Special Ops above all else. Above the desires of my heart.
By the time we arrived in Luckhoff, I was certain it was the latter. Domingo was completely unsentimental. Domingo believed in animals. Domingo wanted to see if I could be an animal.
Of course I could.
It would be brilliant if Sofia Bergman could become a Spotter. It would be even more brilliant if I could be a SpOT sergeant and she was one of my troops. Then I would see her every day. Be near her, show her what a wise and balanced leader and brilliant soldier I was.
But if she didn’t pass the selection test successfully, if she had to go home to Groendakkies, it meant that I could visit her there. I had to be clever. I had to let her believe that I gave her a fair chance to beat me.
So I kept on offering her advice.
Sofia Bergman
In Luckhoff Nico showed me where the stone was. He lifted it up for me. There was a letter that read: Shake a leg. Time’s a-wasting. There was a water bottle, which he passed to me. I drank some of it.
He checked his watch and said, ‘Wow, your time is very good. But you have to pace yourself. You can burn out. Rather come in a bit late. Domingo gave me seven hours, I didn’t make it, but I was selected anyway. You can’t always take him literally.’
Later he told me he really meant it well, but at that moment I didn’t hear it like that. I thought, you arrogant little show-off. He thought I couldn’t beat him. He was telling me he only got seven hours, and Domingo gave me eight. And what’s more, he didn’t think I could make it in eight?
I lost my temper. Totally. I said, ‘Fuck you, Nico Storm. You can’t beat me.’
And I turned round, and ran back.
You should have seen his face.
For nearly a year I had been fantasising over this beautiful girl, dreaming dreams of tender words about sweet things with her.
And there she stood at the stone and swore like a trooper and I could see she was livid and absolutely determined. I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t believe that a word like that could come out of that mouth. And I couldn’t believe that she really thought she could beat me.
I knew we had run an excellent time to Luckhoff – just as good as my very best time. But the return trip was another story. And she didn’t know that.
I watched her run towards the mountain, and I laughed. To myself, of course. And I ran after her.
Sofia Bergman
It was only about seven or eight kilometres on the way back to Amanzi that my temper calmed and I found my rhythm. And something happened.
My elder brother Dawid won silver in the fifteen hundred metres at the Commonwealth Games. He was the first to tell me about endorphin euphoria. Only now and then, he told me, when he was training, while he was running, he would get the high, the euphoria. Then he felt as light as a feather, he felt he was running without effort, felt like he could keep going for ever. And he ran faster than he had ever run. I always wondered what it felt like; as a school kid I had never experienced it.
But 16 October in the Year of the Pig was my birthday. And nobody had given me a present.
Till I got one from my late brother Dawid.
On the way back from Luckhoff you have to run uphill first. It’s a flat-topped mountain. You run for almost nine kilometres on the top before you have to go down a valley.
A kilometre before Sofia and I had to descend the mountain, she increased her pace.
‘Slowly,’ I said. ‘It’s more than twenty kilometres to go.’
She didn’t listen to me. She just ran. Effortlessly.
I still believed I couldn’t lose. I accelerated too.
Down the mountain. I remained five paces behind her, I felt a bit sorry for her. I would tell Domingo she had set one of the best times in the first thirty kilometres, she had a lot of potential.
We reached the bottom. The footpath that Special Ops had carved out here, over and over, ran al
l along the hills, to the Amanzi Dam. It ran in search of the easiest route between the inaccessible ruggedness of the dry gullies that drained away the water in the rainy season, and the energy-sapping, rocky hills themselves. It was never easy, it was never level, there was no chance of a breather, it just kept on testing you.
She kept up her pace.
Sixteen kilometres to go, and still she ran on with that light-footed grace.
Fifteen, fourteen to go. At thirteen her booted foot hooked on something and she stumbled and I thought she was going to fall. She regained her balance and kept on running.
At ten kilometres I was still in denial. I had never seen a civilian run like this. She couldn’t keep it up.
At seven the possibility wormed its way into my mind: what if she did keep up this pace? Could I?
Of course I could.
At six kilometres I realised I would have to decide when I was going to speed up. I didn’t want to leave it too late.
At five I knew the time had come. I waited for a stretch of terrain level enough for me to pass her, and I accelerated, caught up with her. She was in her own world, completely unaware of me. She was unbelievable.
I ran even faster, lengthening my strides. I had to build up a lead and then I had to increase it, step by step. I didn’t want to be involved in a sprint finish over the last kilometre, in full view of my comrades. Break her spirit. Do it now.
Sofia Bergman
It was the stumble that broke my euphoria. All of a sudden.
I kept my pace, but I could feel my legs and my lungs, I could feel them. And I heard him running just behind me, and I thought he was going to win. I couldn’t keep up this pace. It was the rucksack and the rifle, they were breaking my rhythm.
I didn’t want to go back to school.