Vortex

“After that, one word from me and phfft’he snapped his fingers-“both the damned West and the communists go watch their precious fruits of conquest glow in the dark.”

De Wet roused himself. He had to make one more effort to make his leader see some kind of sense before it was too late.

“Mr. President, we know that American carrier aircraft have been attacking Cuban forces along the

N 1. Couldn’t we try to make a separate peace…” His voice faded away as Vorster’s face darkened with rage.

“I did not think to hear such treason from you, General de Wet.”

Vorster’s voice was menacing.

“You know, I have other officers who would be more than happy to take your place. “

Suddenly the door rattled nosily-literally vibrating back and forth under dozens of sharp, thumping impacts. De Wet stared in shock at the sound.

Bullets? Here?

Men in torn, bloodstained South African uniforms crashed into the chamber, their assault rifles aimed straight at the small group of men clustered around Vorster.

“Freeze! Freeze! Get your fucking hands up!

Up!”

One of de Wet’s military aides grabbed for a phone and died in a hail of gunfire. Inside the small room, the noise was terrifying, deafening. What was left of the officer’s body thudded onto the floor.

My God. De Wet put his arms up, palms out and open. The other men standing around the map table imitated him. All but one. All but Karl

Vorster.

The general felt Vorster scrabbling with the flap on his pistol holster and spun away sharply, careful to keep his own hands high in the air.

“You fool! Can’t you see we’ve lost?”

Soldiers pushed into the crowd and yanked Vorster out, throwing him roughly against the table. A burly corporal wrenched the President’s arms behind his back and snapped police-issue handcuffs around his wrists.

Others prodded de Wet and the others into a rough line against the bullet-scarred wall.

De Wet felt his knees trembling. Were they all going to be shot out of hand? He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them to find a man wearing captain’s insignia standing in front of him.

“Where is the minister for law and order?”

For a moment, de Wet could only stare in amazement. The

man before him was Henrik Kruger. Then who were the rest of these men?

Kruger took the safety off his assault rifle.

“I asked you a question . General. “

“In his private office upstairs!” De Wet licked his lips that suddenly felt dry and cracked.

“I swear it. He’s upstairs!”

Kruger swung away contemptuously. He spoke in English to a shorter, dark-haired man wearing sergeant’s stripes.

“I need a fire team, Colonel.

Van der Heijden’s in his office.”

The other man nodded.

“You got it. Collins! Take your guys and go with the kommandant.”

De Wet stared from one to the other. A colonel? In sergeant’s clothing?

And an American colonel, too, from his accent. He swallowed hard against a sudden urge to vomit.

Two soldiers hauled Vorster to his feet and held him there, ashen faced and shaking. South Africa’s President had gone from absolute ruler to abject, broken prisoner in seconds.

PRIVATE OFFICE, MINISTER OF LAW AND ORDER

Marius van der Heijden wasn’t surprised when the door to his outer office broke open. He’d heard the sound of automatic weapons fire echoing through the Union Buildings for several minutes. Attempts to get through to either the Ministry of Defense or to his own security forces had proved useless.

Whoever was attacking them had collaborators inside Pretoria-collaborators who’d been able to cut off phone service.

Any attempt to escape seemed likely to prove equally futile. He could see several bodies scattered in the gardens below his window. Van der Heijden looked down at his own short legs and prominent belly and smiled grimly.

No, he wouldn’t get far trying to run away.

Which left one honorable option open to him. Just one. And that was why he waited behind his desk holding a loaded Browning Hi Power pistol.

Waited for someone to appear in the open doorway.

“Marius?”

The voice took him by surprise. Kruger? Henrik Kruger? He shook his head.

It hardly seemed possible. He stayed silent.

“Marius, I’m coming in. I don’t want to hurt you, so I ask you, don’t do anything foolish. Right?”

Van der Heijden found his voice.

“Come ahead, Henrik. But slowly, you understand?”

Kruger eased around the doorjamb, holding an assault rifle in both hands.

There were other men in the doorway behind him.

“I have come to take you prisoner, Marius.”

, , A prisoner? For which side?” Van der Heijden kept his pistol out of sight, below the desk.

Kruger smiled sadly.

“For the Americans and the British, my old friend.

And for those who have rebelled against this unlawful government. “You have fallen far, Henrik. You keep strange company for an Afrikaner of the old blood.”

“Maybe.” Kruger kept his rifle pointed toward the floor.

“I have seen your daughter, Marius.”

Van der Heijden kept his face rigid. He’d heard the American propaganda broadcasts and secretly praised God for his daughter’s safe deliverance.