After a wistful breakfast, a hurried packing, and a quick stop at the bank; Stuart drove to the airport with few attempts at verbal conversation. He alternated stroking Skoelkie's thigh with holding her hand; concentrating more on the recollection of various tactile impressions, recalled from more physically active moments, than on anything he had yet learned how to put into words. She rested a free hand, without further provocation, on his inner thigh; more to let him know her peaceful acquiescence in their ongoing relationship, than to arouse him to that for which there was presently neither time nor place.
There was a catch in both throats, as they pulled into the airport, and necessarily returned to the world of nouns and verbs.
"Love," he said, drawing her hand to his lips and kissing the insides of the fingers with an almost slavish tenderness, "go as high as you need to buy the '78, and bid within reason on any white you think we would like. And," starting to nibble the previously reverenced digits, "get us a case of a good dry sparkling. Something we can drink cold, but which would be palatable enough warm that I could drink it out of a very special vessel--without putting the cup bearer into a state of shock."
"Then something brut indeed. I don't want to attract flies!"
"Yes, that's fine. Although, I promise you, it won't be in long enough to attract anything but me!" And he pulled over, and softly kissed her on the neck and mouth.
"All right. Anything else, Sir!"
"Use your own judgment, if you have any money left... And thanks, Skoelkie, for yesterday. As you know, I have had a lot of girls, with all levels of experience, in a wild and worldly life; but none ever did me so well as you."
"My pleasure, Baas. I try to be a good secretary." For a moment only, she smiled again with her eyes. "Oh, Danie, be careful. I'll miss you so!"
Captain Christian Potgieter of the South African Air Force was the pilot of the unmarked, four seat, twin engine jet, which streaked off the runway a few minutes after the scheduled 10:30 A.M. meeting; and but for words of greeting and identification, apparently felt no more like making small talk than did his American passenger. They were almost to the Orange River before he broke the in-flight silence.
"Have you been long in South Africa, Mr. Stuart?"
"Off and on, about three years. But I doubt if I am much older than you. You can call me 'Danny,' 'Charlie,' 'Stuart' or anything but 'Mister.' It makes me feel like I am being rushed through life."
"Very good. But how do you hold this land and her peoples?"
"In the highest regard. From the first day that I came here, I have felt completely at home. That doesn't quite express it! An American has to almost constantly remind himself that he is not at home in your country. You are like our alter ego--perhaps our truer ego in many respects. Here one feels that he knows the America of an earlier, more honorable and spiritually dynamic time.
"I don't mean 'spiritually' in a narrow, religious sense: Not the pursuit of heaven or some after life, which may or may not exist. I refer rather to a tempo of the spirit; to an inarticulable harmony of the soul with the natural order. I hope you won't take this in the wrong way, but I fear your people are even now drifting away from that very quality; just as we did.
"I am talking about character and purpose; the strength to face each day with the conscious mental processes of those who do not regret yesterday's decision, because they did yesterday what they knew to be right rather than expedient. The spirit, I speak of, awakes each morning with the same sense of adventure that we all experienced as children, listening to proud tales of brave deeds in bygone eras; dreaming of playing like part in our own futures."
"What you are saying is that we have too many 'liberals'; 'Verligtes,' they like to be called here. I am not offended to hear you say so."
"That is not quite it. The spiritual death of a people starts with the sophisticated, the followers of fads and fashions --those into phony reasoning, because it is seen as an indication of cultural supremacy. It is true that most modern liberals--yours and ours--fit into this grouping; but so, too, do many so called 'conservatives,' who really do not understand the natural base for what they seek to defend.
"But I do not despair for South Africa. Everywhere one looks, one sees the sculptured images of the same rugged settlers who won both our lands from an elemental wilderness. The main difference is that more of you still 'march to the same drummer,' while we have lost our ear for the old tune--our sense of purpose has become diffused. But you didn't want a speech!"
"I am very interested in the attitudes of Americans toward my country, and wish you would continue. The ones who come here are never neutral. They either love us or hate us; and seem generally to have decided which before they ever get off the plane. We sometimes get the idea you are on the verge of civil war, from the intense way your people divide over this land. I spent a year in your country, as a military aide to our Embassy, but it wasn't the same there."
"You are quite perceptive." ("Thus far," Stuart thought, and no further.")
He had often expounded his theories in conversation with patriotic South Africans, always stopping at the same point; before it could ever be said that he had betrayed a gathering suspicion among conservative intellectuals, who had watched in frustration as the Reagan counter-revolution had dissolved into Sunday school politics, that the basic schism had passed beyond a possibility for peaceful resolution. He had no doubt that he could trust the pilot. But a gentleman hesitates a long time before he washes any part of the 'family linen' in front of any stranger.
While he spoke with a crisp Virginia drawl, and was not so circumscribed in his affairs as the image required; in his own mind, Stuart always sought to be true to the concept of the Victorian gentleman--to a prototype instilled in his youth and nourished by his father's large, but selective, library and instruction.
It was all part of the training, touched upon previously, which had cultivated his ability to appreciate the delights of the cosmopolitan (the exotic dining, spectator entertainments, artistic repositories and varied merchandise; even the hearty fun to be had in a good whore house) and yet return happily to the more rustic as man's normal life style--neither vulgarized by his amusements nor corrupted by the affected mannerisms of self-proclaimed "epicureans" and "patrons of the arts." With the pleasures went the duty to tend to his own.
"The liberals hate you because your very existence embarrasses their fairy tale illusions as to how the world operates. The conservatives love you because they feel you have thumbed your noses at the socialist shibboleths, our media and politicians force us to live with. You are a beacon of hope on a dark and depressing horizon. Perhaps it is only a delusion on our part; but we think that if one nation can remain true to her political faith, others--in time--may regain theirs."
Stuart eyed the pilot for a moment before adding, "Thus you have become for some psychologically, what Rome was for centuries to distant Catholics; or what Israel has become for many Jews."
"All we really want is to be left alone."
"I know. But without seeking it, you have acquired a vicarious role in our destiny. Judging from some of the things that Dr. Verwoerd said in his time, there are those among your leaders who understand this."
"And yet here are YOU, helping US." Potgieter smiled at him for an instant, and then turned back to the controls.
Stuart wondered what the tall, Lincolnesque pilot knew of the overall purpose of the trip, but said nothing further for several minutes. There was certainly nothing incongruous about an American helping South Africa, if South Africa were indeed as important as he had suggested. But then he realized that he had been making speeches to buoy his own confidence in the present undertaking. Did the pilot see through him?
In doubt, he decided it safer to return to oft covered ground.
"Popular orators, during our first century or so, used to speak of America as a shining example to the world: 'The last, best hope for mankind.' One still hears the rhetoric; but the politicians of today, generally, don't even comprehend what the earlier user had in mind. The form may remain, but the substance is gone."
"Most South Africans, I fear, don't see themselves as playing any kind of world role."
"I know. What do you, personally, think of all this?"
"I am not a politician. As your General MacArthur once said, 'My job is to fight our wars.' But," he added after a short pause, looking straight into his passenger's eyes, "I am glad we have friends like you. I couldn't have put it so well."
The rest of the trip was passed in small talk, ranging from sporting events to women's fashions and male attitudes thereon.
The plane landed outside of Pretoria a little after noon. It was met by van Schoor--who at thirty-five, in a charcoal toned suit, looked ten years younger, with sandy brown hair crowning a trim but muscular, five foot eleven and a half inch frame--and two other men in business suits: One tall and thin in grey; the other short and stout in blue.
The tall, thin man had very dark brown or even black hair--cropped short, except in front, where it reached perhaps an inch and a half--and brown eyes. He had the leathery look of the African bush, was introduced as "Ted Chowne," and took the wheel of the sleek maroon Mercedes 600, into which van Schoor beckoned the American.
The short, stout man was almost completely bald, with only a fringe of very pale blond hair around the side and back, and a fair but very flushed complexion; which reminded Stuart of a typical high school swimming coach. This turned out to be Gert Kallie Venter, no more than thirty himself, despite the lack of hair; but well known by name--although never publicly photographed--as the Department of National Security operative who had, on at least five separate occasions, killed urban terrorists in 'James Bond' type encounters.
After at least one of those events, the opposition press had headlined allegations of a "LICENSE TO KILL," with unconfirmed reports of high level interference in normal investigative procedures. (There being no evidence, according to such commentators, that the two well dressed Bantu carrying attache' cases--mysteriously slain by the "short man in a trench coat," later identified as Venter--were doing anything but walk slowly by the Diagonal Street headquarters of the Johannesburg Stock Exchange.)
The pro-Government press had generally kept to the barest bones reporting; except for one columnist--usually known for his unimpeachable sources--who had reported that there was enough plastique in those attache' cases, to turn the center of South African Capitalism into a parking lot.
Stuart rode in the back with van Schoor, but felt vaguely uneasy in the presence of the other two; especially of Venter, who sat beside the driver. Emotionally and philosophically, the American was perfectly comfortable with a South Africa--obviously the target of a well-planned aggression by international forces--that defended its citizens with appropriately vigorous counter-measures. He had long wished that America had remained equally diligent on behalf of her people and interests. But it was difficult to dismiss as totally hysterical, all of the charges that individual D.O.N.S. operatives were being empowered to act as prosecutor, judge and executioner, for suspected terrorists.
He reflected on how far from infallible were the judgments of many of the policemen, he had known. And yet, taken all in all, he was very glad South Africa had her Venters, even if the sensational press reports were substantially correct. And there really was no analogy between security work and ordinary police procedures.
As the car--the passengers still travelling in total silence--moved into a suburban area, Stuart began to wonder if his real ambivalence was occasioned not by questions of political morality, but by a vague, ill-defined anxiety; the bones of which soon began to crystalize.
Considering his own engagement in a highly sensitive and now hazardous international venture, might he someday be held to answer--either in South Africa or at home--for some action of Venter's? Was it even possible that his present friends might assign Venter to kill Stuart; if, at some point, he became a substantial embarrassment?
By the time the car approached the central business district, he had shrugged off anxiety well on the sunnier side of apprehension; and found himself musing whether--if indeed the D.O.N.S. operatives were "licensed to kill"--did they discriminate racially? Would Venter kill a white conspirator or terrorist as casually as a Bantu? By the time Chowne had swung the car into a large underground garage, the Virginian was fairly chuckling to himself at this flight of fancy. Was Venter an "Equal Opportunity" killer?
He remembered how, when he was a boy, his father had laughed over a magazine article on the hiring practices of the Mafia, appearing under the sub-caption, "The Mafia Is Not An Equal Opportunity Employer." It had been a year or two later--when he was about twelve--that his father, an old friend and avid supporter of the then late Harry Byrd, Sr., had related the advice, which the former Senator had given to a Shenandoah Valley entrepreneur (well known to both Stuarts), shortly before the senior Byrd's retirement.
The constituent had asked the Senator what he might do, when the Federal Civil Rights Act became applicable to his small manufacturing enterprise the following year, if (and when) those entrusted with enforcement were to come and question his personnel policy, inquiring as to the number of Negroes in various job categories?
"Why, tell them," the apple cheeked old scion--who had resurrected Virginia's first family--had beamed, "that you don't know, because you are not allowed to ask. And if they retort, 'Can't you tell from the color of their skin?'; your answer is, of course, that you 'don't judge anything about a man by the color of his skin.'"
Stuart wondered if Venter was required to ask suspected terrorists their race? Or was he allowed to "judge a man by the color of his skin?" And he chuckled to himself once more.
Van Schoor and the Virginian got out of the car, and walked up a short distance to the sidewalk; as Chowne--driving back up a ramp to the ground level in the self-parking facility --obtained space at the rear with a clear view of the entrance. To Stuart's surprise, the two in the front remained in the vehicle until it was out of sight.
"Aren't your friends coming?"
"They are making certain we are not followed. They are not going to the meeting."
They walked past a fountain in a large public square; and, for the moment more relaxed, Stuart gave vent to his curiosity:
"Is Venter, who I think he is?"
"I am not sure who you think he is, but one of the cardinal rules of any security operation, is that the identities and responsibilities of one's co-workers are discussed only where, and to the extent, necessary. But to relieve your concern, he is a very nice fellow; a bachelor, with a pet canary for a home companion. He spends many Sunday afternoons taking groups of orphans to picnics or the Zoo."
The American felt a distinct tinge. It was odd how even one familiar with the methodology of press distortion, one steeped in the values of a conservative tradition, could still be induced to consider--in his own heart--ugly media stereotypes of one of the front-line defenders of an established western order.
With van Schoor in the lead, they entered the cab of an outside elevator, and began to ascend the wall of a large bank building. As the glass-sided vehicle surged skyward, more and more of the South African capital rushed into view; the prospect increasing level by level.
At the thirty-fifth floor, the stepped out into a well furbished restaurant; where the head waiter--immediately recognizing van Schoor--guided them to a table affording an impressive vista of a large portion of the city, while offering those at other tables almost no view of them.
"Now, Piet, you didn't fly me up here to substitute Transvaler luxury for Boland. What is going on?"
"In plain English, we have bought your modification of the project. It dovetailed nicely with our contingent scheme; and there are reasons for bringing this to a conclusion. But let us have something to eat, because we have a busy afternoon. As I recall, you prefer to work on a good lunch."
Once they had ordered, and the first course was on the table, the South African--although appearing more interested in soup than conversation--broached a potentially sensitive topic: "How is your pretty secretary?"
"Fine. How is your wife?" (A distinct "Freudian slip," Stuart instantly realized. But perhaps van Schoor would not catch it.)
It proved a futile hope. The rising young special projects coordinator for the Department of National Security seemingly observed everything, and put everything observed into a proper perspective. While he never ran off at the mouth, he had always impressed Stuart with his ability, when challenged on any point, to recall corroborative phenomena with a precision, which no normal human could have mastered.
"My wife is also fine. A fine woman is a great comfort." And he returned to the soup.
During the fish course, Stuart commented on the view; but the other, as though wrestling with the mechanics for articulating some more urgent image, showed little interest. Finally, when the fillets had been served, he trained two light grey eyes on the American; and then, glancing off into the distance, came to the point.
"Miss du Plessis' father is a good friend. The Admiral hasn't said much--almost nothing in so many words--but I know he is concerned about his daughter." He paused, rapidly masticated a piece of beef; and looking out of the window again, resumed. "The du Plesses are what the English would call 'gentry.' If we Afrikaners had no so long a tradition of republicanism, they could be considered aristocracy. The girl is the 'apple of her father's eye,' as the saying goes; and he was disturbed when she quit college."
Stuart began to redden involuntarily, despite a Herculean effort to treat these comments with curiosity, rather than emotion: Curiosity as to where and why van Schoor, whom he knew was neither prude nor gossip and had none of the officious, was headed.
"Du Plessis apparently spoke to the young lady, when she was home at Christmas; and she let him know that she had no interest in anything beyond--well, beyond being your secretary. He has no feeling against her working for you--or going out with you. He would just like to know where this is going to take her.
"I wish no interference in either of your businesses; but since he will be working with us, I thought I should mention it. ...And there is one thing more.
"Because of the project, we had to conduct a tight electronic surveillance of your activities. It was impossible to keep the nature of your relationship out of it. And du Plessis' role in our security is such, that he had no choice but to review the material."
"How tight?"
"Tight enough, that we know which option Miss du Plessis selected before dinner last night. Sorry!"
Both men averted their eyes and reddened markedly.
"It is not your business, of course," the Virginian forced a wry smile--trying to return to a more general tack--though conscious that his complexion must still betray him, "but if some outsider had persuaded the daughter of an old friend to leave college and become a 'personal' secretary, I imagine that I too might be bothered."
"I really have no personal feeling in this. But you could be very important to us. If I can do anything to prevent an emotional issue from cluttering our plans, I must."
Stuart reflected while finishing the steak, which now seemed heavy in his throat; and decided that preventive measures were indeed in order.
"Can I speak to you in confidence?"
"As long as you do not expect me to conceal anything, which might affect State security."
"It doesn't involve State security. It is just that--perhaps without meaning to--you have touched a raw nerve.
"My acquaintance with Skoelkie started largely as a matter of mutual attraction--physical and emotional. But it is very much more than that now--not that there is anything ignoble in the instinctive coming together of the sexes.
"It is not so easy to put basic thoughts, which transcend the verbal, into words; but I can certainly understand and respect a father's feelings. I come from no mean stock, myself; and am a social conservative, as you know.
"In my heart, Skoelkie and I are already mated; mated as truly as the wild fox who, once he finds his vixen, is as one with her till death. Maybe that is not quite right, after all, because the fox does mate till death--and that is partly what you need to understand.
"This business we are about has many risks; not just the immediate, physical. You know the schizophrenia of much of the U.S. leadership over your country. I could go home to prosecution under our neutrality laws, with accompanying humiliation. I could have an 'accident.' I don't want to put Skoelkie in a position, where her future may be ruined because of anything, which happens to me. At her age, that isn't necessary.
"On the other hand, I cannot bring myself to terminate the bond we do have, even for her own good. The best that I can offer is to keep the relationship, outwardly, in the realm of playful whimsy, without permanent commitment. If I lose her because of procrastination, I will just have to accept that.
"I would not say any of this, but you obviously know our situation. I would hope that you can at least help keep things--Hell, discreet! The thought that I might compromise her reputation, even in 1990, really bothers me.
"If I can stay healthy and out of jail--and if she will have me--I will marry the girl when the dust settles. I am even old-fashioned enough, however it might sound, to ask her father for her hand--if he doesn't horsewhip me first."
Stuart tried a half smile, remembering the scene in an old Tyrone Power movie, where two Voortrekkers duelled with bull whips. He wondered whether the Admiral kept one.
"Danie, I will say nothing to anyone. But it would be well if you could explain your feelings, in some way, to the Admiral. He might be more understanding than you suppose. Our reports will remain restricted."
After dining, the two men descended by interior elevators into the giant safe deposit vault beneath the bank; where Stuart was ushered into a private room, just large enough to comfortably house a twelve foot, oblong, highly polished wood table, surrounded by six matching wood chairs. In one of these, a tall, thin man of about forty-eight, in a grey herringbone, with silver rimmed glasses and almost unmanageable grey hair, was thumbing through a file. He looked up as the heavy door closed behind the newcomers, "Ah, van Schoor. And our good American friend!"
"Professor Skeen! I assumed you two were acquainted." Stuart and Professor Desmond Skeen both smiled and exchanged nods, while van Schoor continued, "Have you been here long?"
"About five minutes."
"Dr. Skeen has completed the theoretical equations, and lab tested a micro model of the new rotator, to better apply the revolving parallel beam concept when testing resumes. We believe he is at least five months ahead of Swede and Collins in the States. He is working on a"--
The door opened again, and to Stuart's extreme discomfiture, the second of the two entrants was Vice Admiral Gerhard J. A. du Plessis, Chief of the South African Defence Force, and father of Miss Sarina S. du Plessis. The first, from the military haircut, gold pince-nez and eagle-like eyes--sparkling with intelligence and difficult to imagine really needing assistance--was obviously Col. Louis Albert Fourie, Director General of the South African Department of National Security and longstanding object of fascination for the local tabloids; reputed to be the most effective counter-intelligence specialist in the history of South Africa; perhaps at that time in the West; quite possibly in the world.
"We will need another chair," he observed, as the ever so slightly greying Admiral took one of the three remaining; and without a word, van Schoor rose and left the room.
When he returned with the required item, a minute or so later, he was closely followed by a muscular man of six feet, with a tanned complexion, coriaceous aspect and powerfully structured neck, who looked to be about fifty.
"Gentlemen," the Colonel announced, this is Mr. Angus Fergusson, Mining Engineer for some of our leading gold mines. He will be working with us." He glanced at his watch. "We will begin in two and a half minutes."
Stuart and the Admiral both seemed preoccupied with their respective shoe shines (although in the case of the former, perhaps it was his need for one) when, in exactly two and a half minutes, the door reopened; and, at one glance at the entrant, every South African in the room was on his feet. The Virginian was at a momentary loss, between concern for his shoes and the hypothetical conversations he was considering, should he later find himself alone with the Admiral. But the cerebral mist cleared, even as the sound of scraping chairs echoed in his consciousness; and he too rose in recognition, just as the last to arrive pulled out the seventh chair to sit down, simultaneously motioning all others to return to theirs.
The new arrival was a handsome, dark haired man, with regular features and an intelligent face, whom the Virginian had seen previously only at a distance, in far less intimate surroundings. For the first time since the phone call the night before, he realized emotionally what he had of course known intellectually from the start: That this day's business was going to be far more important than the long planned events, it had so summarily interrupted. He had certainly not expected to be personally closeted, at this preliminary juncture, with Hendrik Rounicht, President of the Republic of South Africa!
"Gentlemen, Col. Fourie will conduct the meeting. But the subject is of such importance to this country--and I believe to our very civilization--that I wanted to be present, at least at the beginning. I would ask, before turning the proceedings over to the Colonel, that you join with me in seeking the Lord's Blessing upon your endeavors:
"God of our fathers, guide us again to thy purpose; and grant us a renewal of that Covenant which has made us a nation, and preserved us through the generations.
"We thank you for our scientists, and for the aid of our American friends, who help offset the enmity of those who would corrupt thy order to their own designs.
"If in the battle in which we are joined, some among us fall victim, or innocents dependent upon our adversaries are deprived of loved ones; grant thy compassion alike to all who suffer or anguish because of a conflict which was not of their choosing.
"Give us the insight to appreciate the full and proper utilization of thy Blessings; the perception to comprehend the weakness of our enemies; the strength to persevere for the survival of our civilization and the well-being of our children; the humility to know always that without Thee, there is no victory, no order, no future. Amen."
"Thank you, God," Stuart prayed silently, forgetting for the moment, his mortification at being seated at a table with Skoelkie's father, "for bringing me into contact and--I guess--alliance with a modern leader who has such a clear overview of a confrontation. Help me to conduct myself as a MAN in whatever lies ahead..."
"Gentlemen," Rounicht continued, "minor wars in the next century will probably be similar to those of the past; but major wars may be invisible to the public until they are really over. Maneuvering for advantage will be everything! It is fitting that our pioneer Nation--which in its trek through space overcame a hundred times its numbers; which in its trek through time, introduced the modern concept of guerilla warfare, by which the few could resist the many--should pioneer a technique by which the chosen may survive the multitude, into the next century and beyond. Colonel, you may proceed."
"President Rounicht. Mr. Stuart, my policy towards those with whom I work, requires absolute integrity and reciprocal candor. It is essential that none of us have any doubt or reservation. Therefore, I must disclose the full import of the precautions we have taken.
"You have been under nearly total surveillance for the past year. There is little that you have said that has not been taped. Even your breathing patterns, while speaking, have been monitored by sensitive equipment, designed to duplicate some of the functions of a polygraph. We have a log of your movements, virtually minute by minute.
"This surveillance has confirmed three things relevant to our purpose:
"1. We can trust you to be a man of your word.
"2. You have the competence to work with us towards the problem resolution, you have discussed with Piet.
"3. You will not discuss these matters with anyone outside this room.
"Now that the surveillance is complete, most of the records will be destroyed. Some, which could be useful in better utilizing your talents, or in protecting you in the future, will be retained in our computer. I am sure that I need not elaborate.
"Honor requires that you be given a final opportunity to withdraw. If you do, we will hold you to your commitment to silence; but you will be in no danger. We are not the K.G.B., C.I.A. or Mafia. We are more efficient than they, because we do not compromise honor among ourselves. If you agree to go forward, it will signify that you both forgive the previous intrusion, and accept the responsibility to treat us as honorably as we will henceforth treat you."
Stuart, who had continued to study the lack of shine on his footwear, becoming peripherally aware that the Admiral still sought reflection in the more than adequate polish on his, became gradually more confident. He now understood van Schoor's apparent need to broach the sensitive at lunch. He raised his eyes to the continuing speaker, the sense of embarrassment already beginning to recede.
"With regard to your country: We understand that there may be some danger, when you return home. In some situations, we may have ways of assisting. In many, we will be powerless. We will do all possible, within reason; all we would do for one of our own."
"What you say is understood and accepted. At first impression, your investigation is certainly disturbing--frankly embarrassing," Stuart rediscovered his feet. "But the efficiency and thoroughness is also reassuring. I urged this cooperation to Piet, because I believe it essential that your Nation survive the onslaught of the international collective; not so much for the resources you have in the ground--however vast they be--but for a spirit you and we once shared, but sadly share no more."
For an instant, it seemed to Stuart that the methodical Colonel breathed a little more deeply than he had before; yet he immediately resumed, cutting off further rhetoric:
"Good! Let us shake hands and go to work."
President Rounicht excusing himself, the men settled down to several hours of security reports, psychological profiles, technical analysis, scenarios for the development of possible problems and the contingent strategies to meet them; as well as a review of the complete underground workings of the North Mariocafontein Gold Mine--all punctuated by only the briefest interruptions.
Finally, evening arrived. Angus Fergusson was discussing variables in determining the extent of a laser cut required to rupture the walls in the van der Eerde Dyke at the west end of the 40th and 42nd level tunnels, and prospective times for the resulting water to reach significant volumes, with concomitant impacts; when--without warning--Col. Fourie glanced at his watch, announced that the meeting would resume at the same point, in the same place, at 0800 hours in the morning, and assigned a different exit and arrival procedure to each participant.
Stuart remained at the table, while all but one of the others rose, gathered up their effects, and left the room. His basic dilemma was not whether to go forward. He had made his commitment to the South Africans and, as a Virginia gentleman, honor now forbade disinvolvement. But that "modification of the project" had been born as much in humor, as in serious intrigue; the immediate precipitants, two seemingly disparate pieces of information.
Piet had told him in early December, that Professor Roper had obtained official backing for a plan to betray the working agreement behind the laser test program, and to actually sabotage the project, as part of Washington's ongoing war against South African society; and that Stuart had been specifically selected as a probable target in the coming implementation.
Piet had revealed the second item at a New Year's Eve party, three weeks later. Mining engineers had confirmed that the natural barrier separating the tunnels, where the tests were being conducted, from a known system of fissures immediately connected to the Riviers Fault, was much thinner than had been supposed. Above the level of the test site, over a mile of standing water led up the fault to the bottom of a vast underground lake in the Brakpoort Compartment--with enough water to overwhelm the pumping system of any mine on earth.
In this situation, the Virginian had suggested that (at an appropriate moment) they let the Professor execute himself in a laser induced reenactment of the great West Driefontein flood --but with careful preparation to get the others out safely.
Yet Stuart was far from at peace with this contrived disaster. That Roper's ego was to be the key to his undoing, did not obviate a clearly perceived and potentially crucial distinction: That whereas both had come there, in a primary commitment to the program, with the implied sanction of the previous Administration; the Rockefeller election had given Roper political cover, while Stuart remained on his own--his last contact with Tom McGuire being almost four years past. (And he suspected that the obscure operative had acted outside the line of duty, when he had advised Stuart of the approaching project, to urge participation.) Though Roper still had no acknowledged credentials, the Virginian had been well briefed on his growing connection to the U.S. Government.
It would be better for Stuart, if Roper were simply arrested for planning subversion and murder. The obvious problem, which the South Africans might have in presenting a case based upon information developed via secret counter-intelligence measures, or in documenting the embryonic scheme to blow up the hoist system that was the only access to the tunnels--without compromising their source;--could not authorize Stuart to wage a clandestine war against official U.S. policy, for the possession of an ultimate weapon.
Unreconstructed Virginian, as many would have viewed him; he still wondered whether Lee had not surrendered his right to fight the Federal Government at Appomattox. Yet he certainly did not recognize the right of any Administration to cancel a personal commitment, made long before its own election.
These and like thoughts raced through his head in far less time than it has taken to write of them, or read of them, as the others filtered out in a staggered order. And it was almost with relief that he glanced up and saw that he and the Admiral, fumbling with some papers in an attache' case, were alone. Now, at least, there could be no doubt as to the right course--even without Piet's admonition. As a gentleman, he had to make the effort.
"Sir," he said in a low voice, rising and then assuming a seat by the father, "I believe it my duty to speak to you about someone very dear to both of us. This isn't easy. But I want you to know that the very last thing in this world, I would ever want to do, would be to hurt your daughter. If I, and my reputation survive this project, relatively intact--and she will have me;--I will ask you for her hand with all the humility a usually arrogant lout can muster; and beg you then, to overlook what God knows I would have spared you, if I could."
Stuart feared that he was sounding too pompous and sophomorish to reflect the sincerity he felt; but the other sighed and came to his rescue.
"I, too, was young--and not so long ago. Though I cannot lie and say that it did not bother me to learn the full--uh, TOTAL--extent of your involvement; my real concern has always been that Sarina--Skuilhoekie, if you prefer--emerge without any scars to plague her future. I will never sit in moral judgment of you, because I know that in a similar situation, I would have behaved substantially the same. My vices may be many, but hypocrisy is not one of them. (You and I are a lot alike in that also.) This does not mean that there have not been times in the past two years, when I would have interfered with your relationship, if I could.
"Now, because I believe you do truly love my girl (our girl, I guess, is the best face I can put on it)," the Admiral smiled drily, "I would like to take this opportunity to welcome you, and to offer certain insights, which you may already have gathered in your--close association;--but which are so important to an understanding of my daughter, that I believe it my duty to speak of them.
"Sarina is no fragile flower, emotionally. Not because she was raised to be a 'modern woman,' or to be assertive in the ways of the 'liberated'; but rather, on the contrary, because her mother did so fine a job preparing her in a more traditional mold. As you once told her, in a conversation we have on tape--and which shows an understanding that may partly explain why we are so willing to trust you;--the primary motivation for most egalitarian movements is an overwhelming and pervasive anger at a real, clearly perceived, if unspoken, inferiority.
"Well, Greta, Sarina's mother, never coveted either the abilities or prerogatives of a man." He chuckled, "That would have been very much beneath her. She delighted in doing the best job possible in all things feminine.
"And in every way that matters, from her personal appearance and very private sexuality, to cooking and ministering to her family's comfort; Greta was the most physically satisfying woman I ever met. But she was also a devoted and loving wife and mother, a superb stewardess and gracious hostess--my best friend;--the wisest and prettiest girl, the noblest human..." His voice fell, and he sighed again.
"I speak to you, in passing, of things I have not spoken of before to anyone except my wife and children. I do not wish to take up your evening; but since it is almost dinner time, perhaps you will join me at the Officers' Club for dinner? I would try not to bore you with any more family history than is reasonably necessary."
"I would like that very much. You are certainly not boring me. But first, I need to find Piet, to get my suitcase and see about a place for the night."
"All of that has been attended to. When we were placed together in the exit order, I was given the task of seeing you to the hotel where you will find your luggage. Why don't I take you there now, and come back for you in about an hour?"
Stuart readily acquiesced, and they left the controlled climate of the vault for the Pretoria streets; which, at 6:15 of a summer evening, were far hotter than he would have liked. The Admiral also drove a maroon Mercedes, although a far less pretentious one than that in which Stuart had ridden from the airport; and the Virginian soon found himself in a quiet suburban hotel, where his bag awaited.
Left briefly to his own devices, Stuart telephoned Stellenbosch, but found to his frustration that "Skoelkie" had not yet returned. He had wished more to reassure himself of her well-being than to talk for the sake of talking, and was bothered at not being able to do so.
The Officers' Club was one of those establishments, both modern and rustic: Modern in the sense of being quite new, well air-conditioned and full of 'gadgetry.' Rustic, in the studied creation of a classic rural atmosphere; in this case, the modified "Cape Dutch," now found frequently far from the Cape, in more recently settled parts of South Africa.
Stuart was afforded a small insight into the military mind by the fact that, although the dining room had menus, the Admiral--without the slightest hesitation, or any "by your leave"-- ordered for both. Fortunately for the Virginian, the fare was entirely to his liking. Once again, their tastes seemed to parallel. Then, over a preliminary cane spirits with tonic, the older resumed his discourse.
"To completely understand my daughter, assuming any man can ever completely understand a woman, you need to understand her mother. Greta was the perfect Navy wife; though different and indeed unique.
"Naval wives, generally, fall into five categories: First, are those who really don't believe the stories about the temptations, pleasures and mischief, available in ports of call. These may have relaxed relationships with their mates, but probably not very close ones.
"Second, are the jealous types who believe the stories, but rely on tactics of intimidation to make their men behave like seminarians rather than seamen. Theirs is surely the least effective of all approaches, and goes with an attitude that usually insures the misery of both.
"The third group manage, somehow, to never let the stories, accurate or exaggerated, appear to have any relevance. They do not disbelieve what is said about the Navy--or for that matter, men in general;--they simply fail to see how it could pertain to their husbands. This group, although they include some strict religious sorts, whose assumptions about their mates may in rare instances be correct, ordinarily suffer from all the disadvantages of the first, with the additional one of being unable to properly assess the behavior of their children; who can never be recognized as being at fault in any situation.
"The fourth group would include many different emotional types; distinguishable by a common independence from their families. They may be pursuing careers, enjoying an opportunity to carry on an affair, or some other more self-indulgent, frolic, whenever their husbands are away.
"The fifth group, which in our country is very large, are those who see all of us, man and woman, as sinners. They are a nicer group than the second; seeking to reform the savage nature through Christ. They sometimes appear to succeed, as the fires of youth dwindle; but they never really understand their men.
"Greta had nothing in common with any of these. Of her four brothers at the time of our marriage, two had gone into the Navy, one was doing a short tour of duty in the Army, and the fourth was a young attorney. And she knew every foible or weakness of the lot--'each one worse than the other,' she used to say--but I knew that after me and her father, she loved them better than anyone.
"My wife understood the futility in trying to pick and choose among the traits of an individual. She had none of the self-appointed evangelist or reformer. In a romantic place, the day after our wedding, I asked her what she would change in me, if she could. She scarcely paused, but smiled and said that 'for better or worse,' she had taken me as I came--'before God, as a gift from God'--and who was she 'to question the Giver.'
"Then she took my hand, and laughingly told me that I was a good man; that she had freely trusted her life to me, well aware that I was potentially an even worse rogue than any of her brothers: That being a man, I would sometimes fail to be all I sought to be; that being lusty, I was vulnerable to the wiles of women; that liking the good life, I was ambitious in the ways of the world; that having a temper, I would sometimes be hard to live with; but that she had not sought to marry a saint or angel--'only a man'--and that I was the best to come her way. That 'good or bad,' she would love and accept me; and would live with me until she died--or I put her out.
"Then, after all of that--which for twenty-two years she confirmed by action--she looked up at me with a demure, though slightly coquettish smile (because she also had a many faceted sense of humor) and said, 'Now, Lt. du Plessis, it is your turn to say what you would change in me?'"
"How did you get out of that?"
"Oh, I tried a severe tack. But I couldn't keep it up." The Admiral smiled, then sighed, took a generous sip out of the second drink the waiter had served and added, "Drunk or sober, I never was any match for her conversationally! The really funny thing about it was, that without trying to reform me, Greta actually had. While she lived, I was always a better, more subdued and controlled person, with her or apart, than I had ever been before. But to get back to my daughter--
"When Sarina was small, she and her mother used to laugh at all the neurotic women, desperately trying to play male roles: Not out of arrogance, because I know Greta actually pitied them; but out of a recognition of the absurdity of the whole unfolding pageant of women fleeing from themselves and the aptitudes God gave them, whither no one knows; in pursuit of an equality without meaning. My wife's view of these was very much a female counterpart to the dry humor, which men have always indulged towards other men, who seek what is seen--rightly or wrongly--as a female role. Sarina grew up laughing at 'emancipated' women, much as her brother Willem might have snickered at what you call 'sissies.'
"When Greta died, Sarina was only fifteen. I had observed her developing personality, and her growing skill at many of the domestic arts. I knew she was being raised to be the sort of girl, most men only dream about. But I had never realized how truly my wife's lessons had taken hold until one night, a little over a week after the burial.
"I was seated on the terrace behind the house, reflecting on the twenty-two years we had had together; when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and glanced up to see my daughter's pretty blue eyes. She asked shyly if she could speak, or if I would prefer another time. I pulled over a nearby chair, and she gracefully sat down.
"It seemed that when Greta had realized she was dying, she had decided to trust Sarina as a surrogate; discussing the whole range of possible psychological reactions to what was coming, and pledging the girl to communicate her mother's most private thoughts (as to adjustments, which might be necessary) at appropriate times, to each of us. It was not officious; only a loving insight into the problems, which her death might cause, within our close-knit family.
"Sarina told me quietly, in words appropriate to a fifteen year old virgin--yet revealing the timeless wisdom of her sex--my wife's hope that I would feel no guilt in satisfying any physical hunger with other women, now that she could no longer tend me; but also her feeling that my happiness required many of the comforts, which a GOOD woman could bestow, and her prayer that I find the right one to marry. Greta had known what my reaction must have been, had she broached such a subject while she lay dying. But she had wanted me to understand that she put my contentment ahead of any incipient jealousy, she might feel."
The Admiral looked at his plate for a moment, before continuing.
"We had often spoken of our hopes for the children, and Greta shared my aspirations for our two daughters. While we had always believed that children should perform regular chores, within the family--maturing boys, more and more filling the shoes of men; and developing girls, those of young homemakers;--we did not believe that our own aging needs should ever be allowed to encroach on the growth of that sort of independence, required for children to achieve good marriages.
"My wife knew that I would be speaking of these things to Sarina, when I thought the time was right. I think that she understood the impact in putting my mind at ease, and so contributing to the more rapid emotional recovery of each of us, in having our daughter display, in a practical way, how thoroughly she had been prepared.
"Sarina went on to say how well she enjoyed cooking and otherwise looking after us; that if I would like, she would keep house for me always; but that she understood that I might need more than she could provide; that her mother had made her appreciate how harmful it might be to my happiness, were she to do anything to create a barrier to my finding a new mate. And she calmly swore before the Almighty, without any petulant dramatics, that she would carry out a promise to her dying mother: Never to be jealous or resentful of any woman in my life; that she would do nothing to discourage my future fulfilment.
"Thus, in one apt move, Greta had recruited the girl to a constructive course; allowing her to care for her father, brother and sister; but casting her thinking in a direction that it was hoped would spare us both from that sort of half-sacrificial, overpossessive attachment, which fathers and daughters sometimes drift into, when deprived of a well-loved wife and mother.
"Frankly, my reaction to this little conspiracy to remate me, has not been appreciably different than had Greta broached the subject on her death bed. The need to protest was removed, and I have played with the idea; but have yet to find a plausible candidate. The major factor has been an awareness of all that my wife was to me; an awareness reinforced by the conversation, I have related. Greta just isn't replaceable!
"Not that Sarina didn't make every effort to introduce me to a succession of well-screened young women--all ostensibly 'good friends,' and certainly much closer to her age than mine; --young women combining at least decent good looks with traditional aptitudes and outlooks. I would never have thought her the match-making sort; but until you diverted her attention, I think that my daughter spent more time trying to meet desirable young women than eligible young men. Perhaps you know Annetjie van Zyl?"
Stuart had been well content to sip his drink, and let the Admiral continue at as great a length and detail as he wished. It was always wiser and safer with one's elders, to be a good listener; and under the circumstances, it seemed absolutely mandatory. But now--despite his very best intentions--he must have looked slightly startled at the Admiral's reference to Skoelkie's friend. He had been imagining that their tastes were fairly similar; but Annetjie van Zyl did not fit the visual specification.
The Admiral saw the slightly puzzled expression and laughed heartily. "It is not what you are thinking!"
At this point, the wine steward opened a bottle of Tasheimer Goldtropfchen, which had been chilling by the table; as the waiter served an appetizer of Scottish smoked salmon. So the Admiral let the issue hover, while they sampled the more sensual offerings.
"No, my daughter didn't try to arrange matters with Annetjie van Zyl! My sight is as good as yours. It was Christiana van Zyl, her older sister--the former Miss South Africa--whom Sarina cultivated for me. I have long believed the friendship with Annetjie (who is a nice girl, but no better at conversation than she is at setting men's hearts to pounding) was only a means to the intended prize."
He smiled again, and they finished the salmon; which Stuart found markedly better than that which had been served on the train, two nights earlier. Not only did the fish have an incredibly delicate flavor; even the capers, liberally sprinkled on the generous pink slices, seemed remarkably fine. Stuart started to inquire as to the source, but hesitated, lest the Admiral have more to say.
Over a plate of French white asparagus, the latter did indeed return to his subject. "Christiana has many admirable traits, but she is not Greta. Still, we have gone out together a few times. If I could ever accept the idea of a second marriage in my heart, as easily as in my mind, I would certainly have to give her serious consideration--assuming, of course, that she didn't marry in the meantime.
"I suppose the biggest other problem would be our ages. I am fifty-four, while she is twenty-five. Although I have no problem keeping up with the needs of a younger woman, the real question would be what good I might be in ten years? As you probably know, most women require more active physical attention in their thirties."
"A young wife might be the best tonic in the world--a true fountain of youth." Stuart was not certain that he should be taking so 'chummy' a tack on so personal a subject; but now that the Admiral seemed to have turned the conversational corner, he did not feel he should continue as a near mute.
"You are probably right about that. It would also be a bit of a satisfaction to observe the envious looks of some of the other senior officers, who wouldn't dare do the same. But I have serious doubts about having children, who might have to grow up without me. I may be vigorous. I am not immortal."
During the main course, which featured the best rack of mutton, Stuart thought he had ever eaten, served on a bed of white flageolets; the conversation continued to lighten, and now flowed back and forth. By the time the waiter brought the fruit and cheese, the guest had quite ambivalent impressions.
On the positive side, he was aware that the Admiral was prepared to fully accept him. He would not be bull-whipped! But now that the potential for an awkward, unpleasant confrontation had receded, he found himself wondering why he had ever dreaded this meeting; perversely musing as to who had really been master of the du Plessis home as Skoelkie had grown toward womanhood. It had sounded almost as though Greta had understood male psychology well enough, to let the Admiral lead her through life on every road she wished to travel.
Then he realized that nearly any human relationship, which seemed to work smoothly, could be subjected to distorted interpretations as to who was being manipulated by whom; and decided that this tendency to torment himself with unkind and disrespectful speculations--not at all in the gentlemanly spirit--must reflect a mental fidgetiness, brought on by a lack of physical exercise during a sedentary day.
Over brandy, Stuart inquired whether there was any place in the Pretoria area, where he could get a "work out," since it was clear that he would have to remain at least through the morrow?
Du Plessis looked at his watch and seemed to hesitate. Finally he shrugged, and asked the Virginian, if he would care to join him for a game of "muurbal" (or squash), at a private facility?
"Sir, I would like that very much."
"Good! We'll get the car and be on our way. Perhaps, I may take the liberty of calling you 'Danie?' I am used to thinking of you as 'Danie' in correspondence."
"By all means!"
"Very good! And you can go on calling me, 'Admiral.'" He smiled; and Stuart was sure that a man with a sense of humor so akin to his own, could never be dominated by any woman.
"Seriously," the Admiral resumed, after finishing the brandy, touching the younger man lightly on the shoulder as they rose, "you can call me anything you like except 'father,' or some other paternal appellation. I think that I would garrote anybody who thought that proposing to marry one of my girls would entitle him to call me, 'father!'"
It was 9:35 P.M., when the two men left the club.
To Continue With Chapters Five, Six & Seven
To Return To Beginning Of Novel
For Information On Published Novel By Same Author:
Return Of The Gods