Vortex

“Captain de Sousa, while you were in hospital, the Cuban government approached us with a proposal that would dramatically alter our strategy against Renamo. ” He glanced sideways at Colonel Suarez.

“I

reveal no secrets when I say that this proposal has prompted considerable debate at the highest levels of our country’s leadership.

“

Suarez nodded once, a thin, meaningless smile fixed on his narrow face.

Cuellar folded his hands.

“Cuba’s recent victories in Namibia made us want to listen. And South Africa’s recent aggressions against us have compelled us to agree to President Castro’s proposal. “

De Sousa’s questioning look was all the prompting the general needed to continue. His voice grew deeper, more dramatic.

“Essentially, Captain, we are going to cooperate with the Cubans and their other socialist allies in launching an attack against South Africa. We shall advance into their territory, capture their capital, and knock

Vorster and his racist cronies from their thrones.”

Stunned, de Sousa sat up sharply, ignoring the pain in his leg. The

Mozambican Army was in a pitiful state, only able to mount occasional raids against Renamo strongholds. The idea of invading South Africa with such a ragtag force was so outlandish that Cuellar might as well have talked of invading Russia or North America.

Colonel Suarez saw his dismay and hastened to reassure him.

“Cuban and other troops will be used to make the actual assault, Captain. Your men are needed too badly here, close to their homes. We understand this. But we do need your country’s cooperation for bases, intelligence, and security. In return, we offer the material and training cadres needed to upgrade your forces. In addition, President Castro has promised that

Mozambique will receive significant trade concessions from the new South

African government-once we have installed it in power.”

De Sousa stared from the Cuban back to his general, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing.

Cuellar’s voice changed again, becoming sterner, less the voice of persuasion and more the voice of command.

“Captain de Sousa, this decision has been ratified by both the President and the party leadership. You do not question their wisdom, I hope?”

“Of course not, General. ” De Sousa shook his head. Questioning orders was a fast track to oblivion, even for a proven combat veteran.

Cuellar smiled.

“Good.” He gestured toward the Cuban colonel.

“You will serve as Colonel Suarez’s liaison with our forces. We must arrange transport and security for all the Cuban and other military forces who will shortly begin arriving by air and sea. It will be a massive undertaking, Captain. A great responsibility.”

De Sousa nodded, intrigued despite his misgivings. He’d never imagined having the opportunities now being laid out before him.

“For the moment, most of the Army will know nothing of this upcoming operation. They will be told that the Cuban forces are arriving to assist us in counterinsurgency operations and training. Other cover stories will be used to deceive outside ‘observers. ” Cuellar didn’t bother to conceal his contempt. The general never bothered to distinguish between diplomats, journalists, businessmen, and spies. They were all variations on the same theme as far as he was concerned.

Cuellar picked up a thick folder and pushed it across the desk.

“This is the operational plan conceived in Havana. Study it with care. Your new office is two doors down from mine. “

Thinking he had been dismissed, de Sousa started to get up from the chair, but Cuellar waved him down.

“One final item, Jorge. This new assignment is too important to leave to a mere captain. Accordingly, you are now a major. Congratulations.

“

A major? Careful to keep a tight rein on his conflicting emotions, de

Sousa shook hands with both men, saluted the general, and got out as quickly as he could.

CHAPTER

– 14

Investigations

SEPTEMBER 1 8-JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA

Emily van der Heijden didn’t hide her envy as she studied the busy newsroom. By rights, she should have been a part of this noisy, exciting chaos.

The staff of the Johannesburg Star was on final countdown-working frantically to put the afternoon paper’s last edition to bed. Copyboys, harassed reporters, and redfaced, fuming editors threaded their way through a maze of desks, filing cabinets, and overflowing wastepaper baskets. Loud voices, ringing phones, and clattering typewriters and computer keyboards blended in a swelling, discordant clamor.

“Looks almost like the real thing, doesn’t it?” Brian Pakenham said bitterly.

Emily looked up at the tall, gangly, balding young man beside her. When they’d been in classes together, Pakenharn had been widely teased for his naivete and innocent good nature. He’d never shown a trace of the cynicism so necessary to thorough reporting. Four years as a real journalist working under South Africa’s press restrictions had changed him.

“But the Star is a fine paper, Brian.”

Pakenham shook his head.