Gold (21 page)

Andreis du Plessis had presented the cultured face of apartheid to a financial world not too concerned with civil rights. Articulate, intelligent, respectable by all the criteria that counted in that closed community, he had been a tangible reason for bankers and monetary officials to believe in the future of South Africa.

But bankers, too, finally had to yield to the pressure of public opinion. Du Plessis no longer made public appearances abroad. Rumor had it, though, that he still found a hearing in quiet, discreet meetings with financiers, usually in London or Switzerland.

“You will understand that considerations of national security prevent me from answering your question with any precision,” du Plessis responded finally. “We have imposed a complete news blackout on the subject in our own country. You are the first foreign journalist I have met with since the sabotage took place.”

Drew waited.

“The damage was extensive, as we indicated in our original announcement.” Du Plessis’s eyes bored into Drew, recalling to him what had precipitated the original announcement. “We’re still assessing the damage. But”—he paused, to heighten the impact of what he was going to say—”it’s certain that our gold production has been reduced by more than half for several months.”

Drew was taking notes as the official spoke. Without looking up, he said, “Our information is that nearly four fifths of gold production has been taken out.”

“I cannot, as I said, be any more precise for reasons of national security,” du Plessis said. “I don’t know the source of your figure,” he added, as though daring Drew to use unverified information.

“What has the impact been on South Africa’s economy, on its foreign trade?”

“As an American, you should know that South Africa does not have much foreign trade anymore,” du Plessis said, with a theatrical smile that had no mirth in it. “The United States, after all, has successfully pushed for an international boycott against us.

“It’s an example of what we have always wanted to avoid here,” du Plessis continued. “Because of certain faults in the American democratic structure, it is very easy for a vocal organized minority to impose its will on a whole country.”

Drew looked up into the sober face of the Afrikaner official and bit off his response, deciding not to rise to the bait. “It is well known, though, that South Africa still does considerable trade on a barter basis, or through so-called ‘neutral’ businessmen,” he said.

“Fortunately, not all of our friends have abandoned us. And here and there we have found new ones.”

“Which friends are you referring to?” Drew asked, intrigued by this new line opened up by the official’s response. Israel reportedly had intensified its relationship with South Africa, in spite of U.S. pressure. Latin American countries had found a clandestine barter trade with South Africa helpful in relieving the worst effects of the debt crisis.

Du Plessis just smiled enigmatically.

“Do you mean Israel? Argentina?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” du Plessis snapped. “I’m not going to expose our friends to American slander because of their willingness to help us.”

Undaunted, Drew went on. “Has the mine sabotage affected foreign trade?”

“We are nearly self-sufficient. We continue to import vital necessities through bilateral agreements with our trading partners.” Du Plessis paused. “Don’t forget, gold is not our only exportable commodity.”

South Africa had been nearly self-sufficient in grain production at one point but had been importing massive amounts before the embargo. Drew had not seen any hungry whites, but Cyril’s remark about food shortages in the townships confirmed reports in the Western press.

In addition to gold, South Africa was a major producer of platinum, chromium, and other strategic metals, as well as the world’s leading producer of diamonds.

“And the higher world price for gold partially compensates for the lost production,” the South African said quietly.

“Do you think the present price is justified?” Drew asked.

Du Plessis shrugged. “The market, in its wisdom, has set the price.”

“The market seems confused. Gold seems to be coming into the market in larger quantities than expected, given the lost production here,” Drew prompted. But du Plessis only looked at him.

“Do you know where the gold is coming from?”

“Perhaps the higher price has drawn out some stocks,” the director general speculated.

“Has South Africa stockpiled gold that it’s selling now?”

“Again, national security keeps me from answering you. But I think Western experts who follow this market generally felt we were selling or trading our full production.”

“Do you know if the Soviet Union has increased its sales of gold?”

“You must go ask the director general of the Soviet finance ministry that question.” Du Plessis smiled his humorless smile. “We have our estimates of Soviet production and sales, of course, but they are only estimates, and they are ours.”

“Do you think the Soviets are responsible for the sabotage of your mines?”

“As we reported, the sabotage was the work of the ALF. We have said for many years that the ALF, like the ANC, receives substantial support from the Communist bloc.” The South African official grimaced. “For many years, we received the support of the American government, because they accepted this. They realized that our fight is their fight.”

“Do you think the Soviet Union played a direct role in the mine sabotage?”

“This is a question better raised with our National Defense Ministry or our Foreign Ministry,” du Plessis said. “But I am sure they would not answer you, for reasons that are obvious.”

“I’ve requested interviews in those ministries,” Drew said. “But they’ve been turned down.”

“You are a financial journalist, are you not? You have the opportunity to ask your financial questions in the Finance Ministry.”

“Do you have now, or have you had, any agreement with the Soviet Union to coordinate sales of gold?”

Drew himself was surprised at his question. It came out spontaneously as a way to get himself out of the corner du Plessis was pushing him into.

Du Plessis seemed taken aback. His face, expressionless until that moment, stiffened and his eyes widened involuntarily. He recovered quickly.

“I think the history of our opposition to the Soviet Union dictates that such an arrangement would be out of the question,” he said evenly.

“Yet the Soviet Union finally joined the diamond cartel controlled by South Africa.”

“That was strictly a business decision. It was not possible for the Soviet Union to sell its diamonds outside the cartel. But the Soviets have been selling their gold quite successfully without any arrangement with us.” Du Plessis looked at his watch. Drew realized his time was nearly up.

“Would it be possible for me to visit a gold mine, to see the damage for myself?” he asked, certain of the answer.

“Out of the question. I’ve explained the situation to you. Now, if you’ll—”

“There are rumors of activity at the mines.”

“Of course, we have started immediately to repair the damage. It will take months.”

“There’s been no independent verification of the sabotage. There’s too much gold in the market. Some traders are beginning to wonder if there really was a sabotage.”

Du Plessis’s smile was icy. “Surely, Mr. Dumesnil, no respectable trader would dare question the credibility of your own renowned news service.” He rose and extended his hand. “Have a safe trip home,” he said, cutting off the journalist’s protest.

As he drove back to Johannesburg through the flat, dull countryside outside Pretoria, Drew felt a cold anger growing within him.

Du Plessis was a skilled interview subject. He had effortlessly parried Drew’s attempts to pry more information out of him. Like most veteran journalists, though, Drew had developed an alarm system against the falsehood or, what in fact was worse, the half-truth. A hunch, a sixth sense, whatever name it had, Drew’s experience in hundreds of interviews—thousands, even—told him that he was far from plumbing the depths of du Plessis’s knowledge.

In the end, the South African’s performance had not been convincing. The burden of proof, as far as Drew was concerned, was very much on those claiming there had been sabotage.

The more it appeared likely that the sabotage was a hoax, the greater became Drew’s resentment of the manipulation. Pretoria had coldly calculated how it could dupe Western journalism and Western financial markets and had then unscrupulously done so.

The anger went deeper, though. Drew had struggled to keep his integrity as a journalist, and in profound ways this crisis was revealing to him just how important this integrity was to his whole sense of identity. The falsehood perpetrated by du Plessis, if it was that, amounted to a violation of Drew’s integrity, as violent in its psychological impact as rape.

Drew felt shame as well, shame at his victimization. He was deeply discouraged. But he found the shame and discouragement fueling his anger now. The magnitude of the hoax—if it was a hoax—went far beyond Drew’s personal feelings. His sense of duty obliged him to redress the damage done to society by the falsehood. Half formed in Drew’s mind, too, was the realization that in uncovering the truth now, he could make amends for his former vulnerability.

As he drove past Johannesburg’s northern suburbs, Drew almost reveled in the resolve he felt. The anger from his encounter with du Plessis surmounted his fear at the adventure he was about to embark on with Rampart and Van der Merwe. The need to establish the truth overrode all personal considerations.

~

Abrassimov closed the dossier on his desk, removed his glasses, and lit a cigarette. Du Plessis’s call was due in ten minutes.

The vice-chairman was used to his cramped quarters, though spacious by the standards of the crumbling building at 37 Plyushchika Street. Construction of new offices in Kirovskaya had, predictably, been delayed, so the largest bank in the world remained housed in the plain nineteenth-century building, and Abrassimov stayed where he was.

Little matter, thought Abrassimov. He did not need to impress anyone. For years, the cream of Western banking had trooped through this tiny office or the shabby conference room down the hall, courting him, bidding for his business—his business being to please take their money.

And he had taken it, negotiating Vnesheconombank into one of the best credits in the Euromarket, getting margins within a fraction of triple-A-rated U.S. companies.

The foreign affairs bank, previously known as Vneshtorgbank, was the Soviet Union’s main link to the Western financial world. It negotiated hard-currency loans, invested the funds profitably abroad, and handled all foreign exchange trading. Over the years, Western dealers had learned to respect the “Redman” who had become one of the most important players in international financial markets.

Vnesheconombank was also the selling agent for the Soviet Union’s gold production. Western experts estimated annual Soviet output at 350 tons, about half that of South Africa’s. Abrassimov smiled to himself. Western experts were wrong. The Soviet Union had not disclosed any statistics on production since 1935, though, so Western experts had some excuse.

Of course, they had not fooled the South Africans. Abrassimov remembered his first face-to-face meeting with du Plessis, eighteen months ago.

“We know that you are selling less gold than commonly thought,” the Afrikaner said. “Western estimates say you are selling your full production of three hundred and fifty tons a year. We think it is closer to two hundred thirty tons.”

“It’s actually closer to two hundred twenty,” Abrassimov conceded. “Our traders have become very sophisticated, manipulating futures markets to disguise physical sales, which are made through a variety of new channels, not all of them official. It is very difficult for Western observers to follow. They think we are more desperate than we are.”

“We also think your production has increased well above historical estimates,” du Plessis continued. He paused.

“We are stockpiling two thirds of production,” Abrassimov readily conceded. Obviously, their intelligence in this domain was excellent.

“Which puts your production on par with ours,” du Plessis said, a glint coming into his eyes. “At least, with our official production.”

“But you, too, have increased production, isn’t that right?” Abrassimov said.

“Three years ago we abandoned our policy of mining only a certain percentage of reserves,” du Plessis explained. “Instead, we pushed existing capacity to the maximum. We did not inform anyone of this change in policy.”

“How high is your current production?”

“A thousand tons a year.”

Abrassimov grunted, his opinion of the low quality of Soviet intelligence confirmed again. Their best estimate had been 850 tons.

“The extra production has been very useful in securing essential imports,” du Plessis added.

This exchange of information had also been essential to the talks between the two countries, talks about mutual interest.

The light flashing at the base of his telephone interrupted Abrassimov’s reverie. He picked up the receiver.