Kruger's Alp (23 page)

‘For God's sake, Ronnie, you're not going to stand there and swallow that stuff, are you? Why don't you ask him about Popov?'

Kipsel's eyes widened. ‘You knew Popov?'

‘Knew him! Himmelfarber ran him!' Blanchaille shouted.

‘I asked Mr Himmelfarber, Blanchie, let him answer for himself.'

Himmelfarber placed four fingers over the rim of his glass and put his mouth to the liquid and laughed softly, a frothy resonance. ‘Now you see the trouble with our holy friend here. He's very much the obsessive South African type. He's more of a danger to our country than the entire Total Onslaught. And d'you know why? It's because he combines this horrible puritanical streak on the one hand with an absolutely crusading ignorance on the other. Your friend Blanchaille suffers from the characteristic South African disease. He wishes to blame people. No, Mr Kipsel, I can't promise you the true story of Popov. But I can give you my version.'

‘That will do,' said Kipsel, and he helped himself to more punch.

‘But before you can understand the importance of Popov, you must listen to my story of why we love the Russians.'

‘Do we love the Russians?' Kipsel asked.

‘In our own way, yes we do. We have something in common which completely overrides our political differences – our gold sales. This is only natural since the Soviet Union and the Republic between them possess most of the gold in the world. It's obviously in our mutual interest to regulate the supply of that gold to the world markets and thereby to control the price. Remember that every fluctuation of a few dollars up or down is a total gain or loss of millions to our economies. Let me give you an example of the sort of co-operation I have in mind. For years gold sales were handled in London. But we found that successive British governments were becoming too damn inquisitive about our sales. So we pulled out. London till then was
the
gold market, the next moment we were gone. On our side naturally it gave the Regime great pleasure to kick the Limeys in the teeth, it's an extension of the Boer War, of course – I quote to you President Bubé's choice remark: “We've got nothing against the British – it's the English we hate.” The Russians also had their reasons for pulling out. They said they were concerned about security at Heathrow. But they weren't really worried about the stuff being stolen, although it happens from time to time. What they really objected to was having people sniffing around their gold because word might get out about the amount they were selling. So off we went to Switzerland and there, with the price doubling and redoubling like crazy, we had a high old time in our Zurich years. In fact so much gold was sold that the Swiss threw caution to the winds for once, and seeing a chance of making even more money the Government slapped on a sales tax, something a little over five per cent I seem to recall. It's a long time ago now.
Well, that was a very bad mistake. It wasn't that we objected to the Swiss becoming even richer but having that tax meant that the dealers had to show how much gold they were selling, from which could be calculated the amount that we were putting onto the market. We were right back where we were before. And the amounts of gold we were making available were in danger of being anticipated, even discounted. Even then we might have hung on, but the price crashed as it does every few years and the Swiss dealers, who had grown fat in the good years, dragged their feet over selling our newly mined metal at a much lower price than in the old good gilded days of yore. So back we went to London with some of our business. We and our friends. Not all our business. Never again all of it. What a welcome! Kisses on both cheeks from the Bank of England, no unseemly taxes, or too close a scrutiny of sales – our friends were most insistent about that – and everything looked like sweetness and light.'

Blanchaille turned to Kipsel. ‘You hear what he says? He admits to working with the Russians and he expects us to clap. And yet we know people who did the same thing and were hanged. Look at the first commandment of our country: the Regime kills people who help the Russians. That's the rule. Everyone knows it. Everyone obeys it. Go up to the man in the street and ask what will happen if you help the Russians and he'll draw his finger across his throat. He may even kill you himself. People live and die according to the rules the Regime makes – so how can they change them?'

‘Why not? If it suits them,' Himmelfarber demanded brutally. ‘They're their rules.'

‘But what about Popov, the spy?' Kipsel asked. ‘You still haven't said.'

‘He was no spy,' said Blanchaille. ‘He was a Russian banker who got arrested by mistake. Van Vuuren showed me that.'

‘Correct,' Himmelfarber acknowledged. ‘First inkling I had of it came in a call from Zurich, the Wozchod Handelsbank, and my contact Glotz on the line, screaming at me: “Just what the hell have you done? You stupid, fucking Boers! You morons! What in Christ's name have you done with Popov? I've just had Vneshtorgbank on the line – that's his headquarters, Bank for Foreign Trade in Moscow – absolutely frantic! They say their man has gone cold. Do something!” Well? What could I say? Nothing-at the time and just as well, too. Imagine his reaction if I told him – yes, look I'm sorry about this Ivan, but your man is at the moment languishing in a cell in Balthazar Buildings having been beaten within an inch of
his life. Because he was, you know. The Security Police got so drunk when they realised they'd caught a live Russian that they didn't refer the matter to the Bureau, as they should have done; instead they gave poor Popov the treatment. They strung him up by his toes, they tied him to a broomstick and gave him the Catherine wheel, they put an uncomfortable voltage through each testicle. Then they threw a party. They went to the press and issued self-congratulatory statements. Popov by this stage was past knowing or caring. He didn't tell them much. He
couldn't
tell them much! His English has never been any good and he was in a state of profound shock. Besides that he'd lost his false teeth which fell out when these buggers dangled him from an open window on the tenth floor. They frightened him to within an inch of his life and that put paid to any chance of communication. Fear and the lack of teeth ensured that Popov was talking to no one. But as far as the papers were concerned, as far as the rest of the country was concerned, our boys had caught a Russian and of course the Regime had to play along with it. They had to confirm that their brilliant Security Police had pulled off the most extraordinary capture of a Russian spy, they made him a full colonel in the KGB and they went round saying proudly how clever they'd been. Well they had to, hadn't they? The Government had been warning for years that the Russians were working to destroy us, that they sent their spies into the country all the time, that they had armed and supported the black armies on the borders, that their agents had infiltrated the townships, and the resettlement camps, that their submarines cruised off our coasts and that they were working day and night for the destruction of our country. Now they'd gone and proved it! Well, I had to take some hard decisions. I started taking flack from both directions. The Regime wanted to know what I was going to do about smoothing relations with the Russians. The Russians were muttering darkly about treachery and threatening to end co-operation on gold sales. The Regime, while publicly ordering its ministers to dance in the street, was telling me that I was the only one who could sort out matters with Moscow. In the end I did what I had to.'

‘What was that?' Kipsel asked.

‘I sent my nephew to Moscow.'

‘Just like that?'

‘He's been before. Popov was the Russians' man here. Bennie was our man there.'

‘Bennie?'

‘My nephew. A bright boy, Craddock. A few years ago I was
happy to make him a director of Consolidated Holdings. He's been running missions to Moscow for years.'

‘What happened in Moscow?' Kipsel asked.

‘He was arrested the moment he stepped off the plane.'

‘You shopped him,' declared Kipsel wonderingly.

‘It was my duty,' said Himmelfarber. ‘I had to give Moscow something to hold. He was a kind of deposit against the safe return of Popov. We knew it was necessary.'

‘We?' said Kipsel.

‘Those of us who will seize the chance of a change in our country. Real change! Consider, Ronald, our previous history. Once the Regime consisted of men who believed themselves chosen by God to bring light to a dark place. They were known as the Dark Men, or the Old Guard. In time they were replaced by a new breed, the so-called Men of Light, or New Men. Now the New Men believed also that God had chosen them, but they also believed that the country couldn't be protected by faith alone. They must be protected by rocket launchers and useful business contacts as well as the proper deployment of troops on the borders. Of course the New Men are no longer frightened of the outside world. They want to carry the fight to the enemy, they want to meet the world and beat it. They refuse to see the options closing one by one. They want to get out and do things. It was the New Men who were behind Bubé's foreign tours, and I'm not just talking about the European tour that got all the publicity, the six capitals in five days, or whatever it was. No, I'm talking about the tours, the secret tours that have been going on for years, the clandestine diplomacy on which the President has been engaged for almost a decade now. Why, if I told you the number of countries he had visited you'd be absolutely amazed. Then there's also been a publicity campaign mounted by the Department of Communications and the quite stunning work which Trudy Yssel has done, buying into, buying up, and buying off opinion makers in the West. I tell you there's not a place from the Vatican to the White House where Trudy, yes little Trudy Yssel from the back-of-beyond, a poor little country girl who went to school barefoot, is not welcomed and fêted. Fêted! Do you see the nature of things? Do I make myself clear? Do you see the chances to which I refer? The old ways have gone, or at least are going and others are being adapted. Yes, of course we still believe in God. Yes, of course, we still believe that under certain circumstances a platoon ambushed must fight to the last man for the glory of the country and to add substance to the ancient belief that the entire
country would do so, in need. Yet gradually the realisation has come about, that what we need is not God and bombs, though they may be very useful, but gold. And we have it! By God, we have it and we use it. Hell, can either of you imagine what it's like to turn on your TV and see one of our warlike black presidents in one of the states to the north of us threatening to blast us off the map of Africa and know that not twelve hours before the same guy has been pouring you a whisky and soda in the VIP's guest-house and inquiring after your wife and kids? That's progress! The Regime sees the options and uses them, that's all,' said Himmelfarber, ‘and so do I.'

‘You're saying it's possible to do a deal with the New Men?' Blanchaille asked.

Himmelfarber gave the wolfish smile of one who has scented the approaching kill. ‘I don't know about dealing with the Regime. That comes later. But sure, I'll deal
for
them. I already did. More than once. Let me give you one example. The Regime has a lot of trouble securing various supplies which we regard as essential. A little guy from the Department of Commerce comes to see me. Can I suggest a way for our country to acquire certain strategic supplies overseas? Well that's a bit of a problem because you see foreign countries don't exactly like the idea of penetration by South African interests, still less by South African Government agencies. So what did we do at Consolidated Holdings to resolve this difficulty? Well, we did our buying using a group of Panamanian companies which could not be traced back to us. And having bought our way in to certain target industries abroad we left the local management structures very largely intact and operated through a series of interlocking boards. This was a wise move because it's always better not to disturb the people on the ground. But since you have your own directors in there and these directors are linked, and controlled, say from your New York office, you maintain a fairly useful oversight of your operation. Perhaps you might buy a forest in Scotland, because we need pit props in good supply, or a British insurance company, or take over American interests in coal, copper, uranium and so on. Look, believe it or not, and I'd probably be shot if anybody knew I'd told you, but so vital does the Regime consider this programme of strategic acquirements that they're investing millions in its long-term strategy for buying up or buying into key interests abroad. Somebody has to do it for them.'

‘But you'd still consider yourself an opponent of the Regime?' Kipsel asked.

‘Greater opposer is there none,' said Himmelfarber, directing his eyes heavenward. ‘My family has opposed this Regime and all its neolithic predecessors. Consolidated Holdings is in the forefront of the struggle to reform the labour laws, electrify the black townships, promote the inter-racial arts and encourage more black mothers to breastfeed. Yessir, we are opponents! But as opponents the question we must ask ourselves, if we are serious, is do we merely wish to condemn the Regime, or do we want to destroy it? Look, I work with the Government on certain ventures, but that doesn't make me a Government man. I also make donations in an indirect fashion to the Azanian Liberation Front – but that doesn't make me a guerrilla. It's really just a question, as I say, of exploring all the options. This is now Government policy. And believe you me it's going to sink the bastards! Already it has started. Yssel and Kuiker are gone. When you get people using a lot of money, travelling, living well, it's perhaps not surprising that they begin to acquire expensive tastes. They start enjoying certain wines, they become fascinated with a house with a particular view. These things happen. As for President Bubé, I've no reason to doubt that he's abroad because he's ill and he's seeking treatment, as the reports say. As to the rumours – well, I also know that when gold sales were switched from London to Zurich a number of Swiss dealers competed for President Bubé's friendship and co-operation and made concrete signals of their gratitude when he was able to help them. But before you jump to conclusions let's consider that in a way perhaps his motives might have been good. According to the rumours we hear, any money that President Bubé may have acquired has been set aside as a kind of insurance fund against the day when, possibly for military reasons, the Regime finds it cannot any longer operate safely from home base and they have to set up somewhere abroad. In other words, Bubé has set aside funds for the establishment of the Government in exile. Now why should this be a scandal? Surely it's not an ignoble gesture. It might even be quite sensible. You see what forces in the end will destroy them? They will smash on their own logic.'