Vortex

“As soon as I can, I will go to my fellow Afrikaners. I will speak to them and explain fully what has happened. And once they have heard me out, those who have foolishly allowed communist lies to confuse them will come streaming back to our open arms!”

More mouths around the table dropped open and then as quickly snapped shut.

Too many of them had already learned

the hard way not to challenge any of Vorster’s cherished illusions.

“In the meantime, my friends, we must weather this storm of lies and vicious attacks with whatever measures are necessary.” He turned to

Fredrik Pienaar, the small, skeletal minister of information.

“Schedule a television address for tomorrow morning. I am going to declare an even stricter National State of Emergency. We will forbid any assembly, any whatsoever, until this crisis has passed. And the security forces will impose a nationwide dusk-to-dawn curfew.”

He paused, thinking.

“Heitman.”

The minister of defense warily met his leader’s stern gaze.

“Yes, Mr.

President?”

“Expand the reserve call-up. I want every trained man in South Africa under arms as soon as possible! Use the new troops to restore order and build more detention camps-as many as are needed.”

That stung Malherbe into speaking again.

“Mr. President, we simply can’t afford such a thing! Total mobilization would wreck our economy beyond repair. If you insist on this, we face a depression as well as defeat in war!”

Vorster’s temper finally erupted beyond control.

“And we do not need your negative ideas paralyzing this government! Minister Malherbe, you are relieved of your duties!”

Van der Heijden felt a moment’s elation. First Muller and now Malherbe.

Another of his enemies had managed to cut his own throat-though only figuratively this time, But his elation faded in the face of a whispering inner fear. The minister knew his job. What if Malherbe’s dire predictions were accurate?

Vorster snarled at the shocked official, “Only my memory of your past service stops me from having you arrested.” Contempt dripped from every word.

“Go home-, Helmoed, and rest. You are not equal to the struggle, but that is not your fault. This is not a task for ordinary men.”

White-faced and shaking, Malherbe rose from his chair and left the room without looking back.

Vorster ignored his departure. Instead, he turned to the other men sitting in stunned silence and smiled.

“Now,

gentlemen, let us discuss a more joyful topic. I believe you’ve all seen

Fredrik’s proposal that we make Afrikaans, our sacred tongue, the nation’s only official language .. …. Outside the chamber, an Army messenger trotted up with a manila folder stamped SECRET. He was about to enter when a sour-faced aide stopped him.

“You can leave that with me, Captain. I’ll take care of it for you.”

The officer shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. I have orders to deliver this to the President personally.” The aide shrugged, unimpressed and eager to show it.

“Then you’ll have to wait. The President himself left orders of his own. No one is to be admitted until the cabinet meeting ends. He folded his arms and stared at the wall with studied indifference.

“And when will that be?”

The aide checked his watch and shook his head.

“An hour more? Perhaps two?

Who can say? They’ll finish when they finish.” He held out his hand again.

“Come, Captain. Just give it to me and be on your way. No point in standing idle, is there?”

“You don’t understand! This is an emergency!” The officer glanced quickly around and lowered his voice before continuing.

“We’ve received rumors that troops in the Cape Town garrison may mutiny!”

“Rumors?” The aide arched a supercilious eyebrow.

“I hardly think those are worth troubling the cabinet with. In any event, President Vorster has already said that he doesn’t want to hear any more bad news for the moment.

You’ll have to wait until the meeting is over.”

“But…

“It can’t be helped.” The aide stood directly in front of the door, physically blocking it.

Muttering under his breath, the soldier stomped away.

Like their superiors, South Africa’s lower-level government officials were learning to ignore troublesome realities.

NOVEMBER 11HEADQUARTERS, 16TH INFANTRY BATTALION, CASTLE OF GOOD

HOPE, CAPE TOWN, SOUTH AFRICA

Redbrick ramparts, bastions, and cobblestone courtyards marked the Castle of Good Hope as a relic of the seventeenth century. Patches of scarlet, pink, white, and yellow flowers, emerald-green lawns, and museums full of precious paintings, Cape silver, and delicate Asian porcelain identified that same old fortress as a center of beauty and culture. And the scattering of armored cars, khaki-clad soldiers, and sandbagged machinegun positions marked it as a military garrison of South Africa’s crumbling late-twentieth-century Republic.

Ordinarily, Maj. Chris Taylor found the sight of the castle’s immaculately maintained grounds comforting. They gave him a sense of the permanence and order now in such short supply in Cape Town’s troubled streets.

But not today.