CHAPTER 5

This Little Girl Went To Market.

Skoelkie drove directly from the airport to Nederburg; parking the rented Peugeot as close as possible to the scene of the vast open-air auction (held annually at one of South Africa's most beautiful wine estates), while still securing immediate access to the highway. She was already starting to feel lonely --so close had they grown, physically and mentally, over so many months;--although she expected to see several farmers from the Western Cape, whom she had known all her life; now, moreover, without having to feign the reserve she might have considered necessary with Stuart, lest old friends suspect the job a sham.

But the confluence of the wrong time in her monthly cycle, with the delegation of a far more "liberated" role than that, which she would ever have desired, increasingly depressed a usually ebullient spirit. Yet things were destined to get only worse.

Native to the area, she comfortably greeted a number of familiar faces--land owners in whose homes the du Plesses had sometimes visited, and whom they had as frequently entertained. But she soon decided to seek her assigned place, considering it the "better part of valor" to get off her feet and conserve her neural energy. It did not take her very long to find that she had been seated in a section amidst hundreds of Continental Europeans--presumably all wine connoisseurs--almost all of whom were men!

As the bidding got under way, the awkwardness of her situation was further compounded by a realization that only a few of this large foreign contingent, all around, would be actually bidding on any one item; while most would be merely observing. And more and more clearly, she perceived that when not actively bidding, more and more of this congregation were more and more closely observing Sarina Skuilhoekie du Plessis.

Here was she: The epitome of a girl, who like the songstress of more than a generation before, "enjoyed being a girl"; mated, if not wed, to a man who even more totally rejected the modern evolution (or erosion) of the "female role," than did her own conservative society and kin. And yet here was she, indeed at her man's direction, preparing to bid against vastly more experienced and worldly males, drawn from a significant portion of the cultivated world--not one of whom was having what is vulgarly labelled as a "period"--in pursuit of so masculine an object as the furnishing of a wine cellar!

Skoelkie did not know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, she carried on to her original purpose.

On balance, Danie had been insensitive to the potential perils of the position in which he had placed her; but then the NEED for her present assignment had only just arisen. Besides, as those perils had not occurred to her either, and as the present position was certainly not demeaning; she was not really angry--beyond a slightly playful indignation. Rather quite the opposite: Full of love for her man, and the emotional strength, which that love provided, she determined to treat the whole affair as an adventure.

Danie, after all, could always accept the untoward situations in life as adventures; not always equally welcome, to be sure, but affording the necessary variety to make each day a not wholly expected delight. Certainly, bidding against even a veritable army of French and German wine fanciers, did not compare on any scale of hardship with the vigorous role forced upon many a pioneer woman, both in South Africa and in America, by the rigors of settlement. That was survival. Surely this, by contrast, could be fun. Thus she buoyed up her courage, anticipating the inner joy to be derived later, recounting a "daring" enterprise to her love.

But a new problem soon confronted her.

Shortly before bidding was scheduled to begin on the first case of Zonnebloem '78, she made up her mind that a Stein (about to be announced) would satisfy the injunction to "bid within reason on any white you think we would like"--as well as to help her past any latent nervousness at participation in the male dominated proceeding. Taking the emotional bit firmly, she opened with a moderately low bid; and when that was almost instantly bettered, upped a succession of responsive offers by nominal amounts.

She again perceived--whether the attention resulted purely from her "gender," or was largely consequential to her unquestionable physical attractions--that more eyes were on her, even outside the immediate section, than on the auctioneer. Embarrassed but game, she persevered, and now became aware of one steadfast male voice with an American accent; which, in staccato like tones, immediately topped her every bid with a mechanical persistence. Glancing to the right, across the narrow aisle and over two or three seats, four rows back, she instantly recognized the pasty, acne-scarred features of Mortimer Baldwin.

"Simpel, skuimnagereg," she muttered to herself; only with some effort avoiding the Afrikaans version of the more vulgar slang, which Danie had used in a candid moment. The object, a young American engineer who looked no more than twenty-eight, was somehow connected with Professor Roper--her "employer's" chief adversary on the Laser project. They had met at a cocktail party the year before, and from the first, Baldwin had seemed thoroughly offensive: although it was only afterward that she had learned something of what Stuart really thought of him.

While she could not remember exactly what the Virginian had told her, she knew that there had been bad blood; that Baldwin came from New York City, which would earn him no favor in her lover's eyes; and that, although nothing was said about it directly, there had been some sort of previous altercation. She knew her man well enough to have concluded--without the benefit of any of the specifics--that Danie had gotten the better of the larger foe, and was satisfied with his own performance.

"What would he want me to do," she pondered equivalents in her native tongue, "try to outbid him, quit bidding or trap him into paying more than the wine is worth?"

Her instinct would have been to let go. The wine was not one which she had been specifically delegated to obtain, and was hardly worth the aggravation. But she was now, more or less, fully committed to getting through this day from the prospective of how the events would sound in the relating; continuing to draw strength from the fancy, which in her case she assumed to be readily attainable, of lying in the arms of her lover and amusing the two of them--in between various erotic interludes--with a verbal recital of sundry encounters, which would prove her ability to accept all life as an adventure. Danie, she decided, would want her to stick Baldwin with the overpriced purchase; and she made up her mind that if she did not "prevail," she would at least "endure."

There had been one intervening bid, since her antagonist's last shot, and this she now topped by the least possible amount, while she deliberately cast a look of anguish at the New Yorker. When she saw the passing, but imperfectly concealed smirk, she knew that he was toying with the bait. And he instantly upped her bid by another Rand, still employing the same staccato intonation.

Skoelkie again cast a tormented glance behind her--again noting the slight smirk, which he either could not quite suppress or was flashing deliberately to increase her discomfiture--waited for an intervening bid that in turn topped Baldwin's by only the minimal amount; and, with a look of feigned desperation, "set the hook" with one more small increment. Once more, like a recorded message, he raised her by a Rand.

She listened to hear whether anyone else was still interested. No one bid.

Stuart would never intentionally have placed this girl--whom he so truly loved--in this predicament, had he had the prescience, or even the prudence, to see the manifold possibilities for embarrassment with which her present role was pregnant. But in the outcome, he would have been proud of her performance.

The auctioneer was about to start his final routine, before selling the case to Baldwin at only a shade over what it was actually worth, when Skoelkie upped the bid by a full R20; almost simultaneously casting a perfectly calculated look of expectant triumph at the American, coupled with just the right degree of defiance, as she correctly foresaw would "land her catch."

This time the tone wavered, the timing delayed for just a second. But with all eyes on him, he felt compelled to raise the bid another R10; and the South African girl, still reading him flawlessly, added ten more on top of that. Now, for the first time, he looked uncomfortable; and she helped his dilemma along by directing back at him--for a few seconds longer than before--a definitely superior smile. He went up another R10 as, laughing to herself, Miss du Plessis retired to a cleared area in the rear for refreshment.

She hadn't enjoyed anything quite so well, in any male/female competition, since she had soundly beaten Stuart at "Scrabble" in his native language. It well exceeded a childhood memory of humiliating her older brother Willem at "Ping Pong."

Of course, she genuinely respected both her lover and her brother; and those victories had been fun as much in providing a greater intimacy with those she loved and admired, as in affording pleasure in the purely whimsical way the sexes have always played at mock antagonism. On the other hand, seeing in Baldwin psychologically, no male figure, she found in the present triumph more a touch of the vindication of goodness over evil.

Yet Skoelkie was too wise and emotionally well oriented a young woman, to long indulge in the self-inflating, but foolish fantasies of a crusader. She knew, indeed, that there were both good and bad in this world; but she understood that few, if any, represented a perfect distillation of either: That human conflicts were more often a matter of choosing sides than vindicating virtue. Whether GOOD or EVIL, friend or foe, or--in this case--clever girl versus fatuous bully; her triumph was a personal one; the reward, real and immediate, but no part of any grand design. She would remain content to support her menfolk in ultimate duties to God and Country; intending, if at all possible, to leave them also all the battlefields in the epic struggles of mankind.

Still the methodology of her victory, and its eventual relation, would remain a small, smiling window in memory's eye; although not, perhaps, quite in the same league with that "Scrabble" contest, to which she had silently adverted.

She had actually bested Danie on several occasions at the popular word game; one they always played completely naked, with the loser being obligated--upon completion of board play--to perform any physical service within his or her capability, required upon the person of the winner. On the particular evening, to which her thoughts recurred, they had added a rule that no turn could be completed, and no points claimed, until the player, playing, kissed the private parts of the opponent; and she had become so aroused as the game progressed, that she had had a tremendous orgasm against his lips after he had spelled "fetish." When play had finally ended, she had demanded a complete tongue bath--which, as she had come to the board fresh from a lavender scented one, had been no real forfeiture;--but did suffice to rewind her spring, before she finally allowed him an entrance.

But such daydreams would get her nowhere. The basic problem remained. The first case of the Zonnebloem '78 would be offered shortly, and she had no assurance, whatsoever, that Baldwin (or some other "fluff-pudding") might not further interfere with her effort. From the level of attention, which her previous participation had attracted, such an obtrusion was really to be expected. For the moment perplexed, she looked around for someone who might help.

While she was sufficiently imbued--if not with a sense of her own independence, certainly with a sense of THEIR independence--much to have preferred not to involve others in effecting their purpose, it now seemed clearly advisable. But on whom could she call?

Her eyes scanned the crowd, soon placing two of the three farmers of her father's generation, with whom she had already exchanged friendly salutations. She surely did not want to presume on their good offices. For while she eschewed any vulgar female assertiveness--having no desire, whatever, to be independent of men--she was equally disinclined to play the helpless female, who failing to do what she well can do, becomes (in fact) an unredeemed burden rather than a complement to the male world. Her mother had taught her that no one can be complete, who does not tend to complete; and she had been an apt pupil.

Given all of these considerations, she determined her best course to find someone, old or young, whom she could candidly enlist--perhaps with a mild Platonic flirtation, fueled by a humorous description of the problem (at least the non-cyclical part). Yet no one really suitable appeared.

She was almost to a point, in desperation, of approaching a Handsome Stranger--a` la the heroines of scores of Hollywood movies she had seen;--when a brief break was announced, and she saw coming in her direction a new challenge, replete with obvious opportunity: There of all people was Ursula Smit, arm in arm with a tall young Naval Officer.

Ursula had been her chief, though never totally hostile, rival at school dances in their pre-university days in the Swellendam District; and Skoelkie noted with satisfaction that while her erstwhile competitor was as big as ever in the bosom, she still suffered from a comparative lack of rump. That had always been Ursula's principal weakness in that former time; which across an eventful three years seemed in many ways as only yesterday; yet in the most important way of all, was like a distant epoch.

Skoelkie remembered a comment Danie had once made about the long term sexual limitations of girls who were built like Ursula, and with a genuine smile, moved forward to her object. Neither Scarlet O'Hara nor Becky Sharp, in one of her most outrageous forays, could have been more boldly aggressive than our heroine now appeared in her own eyes; nor could either Scarlet or Becky have managed to seem less so to the unsuspecting male target.

She greeted Ursula warmly; could not have been more pleased and excited to meet Derik Reynolds (whom the former introduced as her fiance'); and almost immediately succeeded in confiding her frustration at having been outbidden on the Stein by the American "fluff-pudding."

When Lt. Reynolds offered to bid on her behalf for any other wine she might desire, she was only a little surprised at his gallantry; and far more restrained than Scarlet would have been in her expressions of gratitude; which were sincere and adequate, but not excessive. It would have been easy enough to lose credibility. After all, for a young naval officer to fail to offer "imaginative" succor to the daughter of the head of his service (and the Nation's chief military officer) would have had to be an exception rather than a rule--unless her homeland was far less intelligently defended than she fondly believed to be the case.

The recruitment successful, the bidding resumed; and the early afternoon went infinitely more smoothly than had the late morning. By 4:00 P.M., with two cases of the Zonnebloem and one of a Stein loaded into the Peugeot, Skoelkie enthusiastically thanked and said goodbye to Derik and Ursula, prepared to drive off; when she realized that she had forgotten the DRY sparkling. She knew it was foolish, but a part of her had been hoping she could overlook the purchase.

She perceived a certain ambivalence as to the mechanics of what, she assumed, Danie had in mind: Would it be practical or only messy? Would there be any discomfort? In twenty months, he had never hurt her. But she could not help feeling that all eyes would be upon her when she gave the order; experiencing much the female equivalent to the mortification that a teenaged boy knows when--for the first time--he must purchase contraceptives at an open counter.

Skoelkie turned the car around, and drove back to the Estate Sales Office, where she knew that she could purchase the item at a wholesale price. She accepted, intellectually, that it would seem commonplace enough for her to buy the wine, and have one of the workmen load the last case in with the others. But for all that, she felt embarrassed as she parked in the loading area beside the building. Of course, there was no way any one in the office could possibly know what Danie intended. But she was sure that she must have been blushing as she paid the sales clerk; sure that at 4:20, she was blushing still, when she finally drove away.

One last, previously under-anticipated problem remained. What should she do with four bulky cases?

Moving around the country by train, airplane and rented automobile, they always travelled lightly. And she knew that a good Cabernet should be "put down." It certainly should not be bounced around from hotel to hotel, or stored in an overheated facility. She looked at her watch and made her decision. She would take the Zonnebloem '78 to Mooirivier, the family home near Swellendam, where it could be stored until such time as Danie decided upon a more suitable repository.

This had the additional advantage of allowing a reunion with her seventeen year old sister Johanna, whom she realized she had badly neglected. The visit would also serve to help pass a lonely evening without her mate.

The road from Nederburg to Paarl was crowded with the comings and goings of those attending the auction. Paarl itself was filled with vehicles. But just to the south of the city, Skoelkie swung off the highway onto the old dirt road to Franschhoek, and now left the congestion behind.

Wending smoothly, if not rapidly, along the seventeen miles through the foothills of the Wemmershoekberge, she gradually unwound from the pressures of the public bidding. By the time the pleasant little dorp came into view, her mood had changed; the tempo of her thoughts had quieted.

Having no fixed schedule, she parked the Peugeot near the Huguenot memorial, and walked over to stand before the obviously symbolic monument that will arrest the attention of anyone passing into Franschhoek from Paarl. The graceful lines of the small yet proud figure of a young Huguenot maiden, which dominate the foreground, seem actually accentuated by the elongated archways that soar heavenward behind; the whole framed by a handsome stone colonnade, which (described in a great semicircle) forms the background: An image suggesting the combination of faith, true mettle and unspoiled innocence. The young pioneer girl, she realized, could well be one of her ancestors, still virginal in uninitiated promise.

Skoelkie sat down to contemplate the ebbs and flows of life; the coming of innocence, the awakening of the body and the consequential replenishment of innocence through conception and new birth. She felt an overwhelming gratitude to Danie for guiding her to a realization of her own virginal promise in a now functional womanhood; helping her to retain the hopes and decency of the former, while enjoying the ongoing dynamic--and seeking the fulfilment of her destiny in completing his.

Of course, they would never be really whole until they had themselves renewed innocence. She was in no hurry to bear--it certainly could limit the potential for day to day erotic pleasure--but she assumed motherhood to be truly her fated lot; as she gazed upon statuary ancestral innocence and remembered fondly her own quite recent childhood.

She took off the graceful, almost perfectly Edwardian, broad white hat, which had protected her from the late summer sun, and clasped her hands in prayer.

On one of those occasions when--without verbal introduction, or any of the overdone superlatives or exaggerated pledges, which young lovers sometimes indulge in--they had talked without the trivializing banter THEY so often engaged in, as though both accepted the permanency of their union; Stuart had promised that he would never let the BOY in him die if she would never surrender the Girl in her, no matter what trials might lie ahead. She had pledged and he had pledged. And now before the representative promise of a brave innocence with the potential to mother a nation, she thanked God for all His Blessings; as she pledged again--calling the Creator to witness--never to voluntarily surrender any of the qualities, which Danie had helped her to understand went to the very essence of life.

Proceeding on her way, Skoelkie drove through the Franschhoek Pass, across the narrow end of the Sonderend, whose waters carried more directly to Mooirivier than any available road; and thence on to the main highway, to reach Caledon a little before 6:30. Famished after only light fare at the auction, she stopped at a simple but rustic restaurant for a hot supper; satisfied that although she had covered only about half the distance, the rest of the way would prove less time consuming. She should still arrive before dark.

The inner girl recruited, she returned to the road; noting as one must--passing east from Caledon--the storybook, toy village effect, just as the highway curves away from the last white building. Moving along at a substantially better pace, she observed ever more familiar landmarks.

She had covered the thirty-one miles to Riviersonderend, and the twelve past that to Stormsvlei, and had come to a point less than eleven miles from the final turnoff, when it struck her. She had been viewing this journey as though she were merely a visitor. It had never occurred to her, the entire distance, that she was really only going home after an extended absence.

But Mooirivier remained her home. And as still more familiar sights sprang into view, it dawned that though it had been two months since she had last been there for even a few hours, and over eight (save for one night) since she had actually slept in her old bed; she had no other residence.

Moreover, she truly loved everything and everybody about the farm: The rich green fields, rolling against a background of grey-green mountains; her family, the Coloured household servants and farm workers--many of whom had been there all her life;--the gracious, traditional white house, with its red tile steps and brown shutters; the bright white outbuildings, the horses, sheep and cattle. And last, but far from least, was Voortrekker, the family pet among the several dogs, a handsome border collie, now in his prime at seven years.

And yet, she had become so used to thinking of herself at home, only with Stuart, that she could have become a complete gypsy; going from town to town without geographical roots, the one real disappointment in their unsettled domicile being a lack of regular opportunity to cook for her man. This monumental shift in basic orientation had all happened so subtly, she had never been aware of any change, whatever, until this moment. But it was real and perhaps irreversible, unless...

As the tree lined drive leading to the great house at last appeared before her, she began to feel at home again here also; yet rather sadly, she recognized that the feeling was not what it had always been. Those happy years at Mooirivier would ever be a part of her, ever a joyous memory; but she was no longer just the Admiral's little girl, no longer Greta's surrogate; and never could be only such again.

The greetings at the door soon over, the Zonnebloem was cellared; and Skoelkie sat down beside Johanna in the sitting room with Voortrekker at her feet, his noble head upon her lap. Although they spoke in their native "Taal," a rough English rendition of a part of that conversation might run as follows:

"Joanie, I have talked enough. What have you been doing all these months?"

"Well, you know this is my final year of high school. But, Sarie, can I tell you something wonderful--a very special secret--which you must promise never to repeat--not ever?"

"You know you can trust me. What is it?"

"I am in love; and--I am a woman now also!"

"Oh!" Skoelkie was not sure she wanted to hear the details; not sure but that the well-springs of hypocrisy, which lie beneath the surface of most of us, were not about to gush forth in a natural, if not completely fair, reaction. She had never told Johanna that she was herself a woman, but could accept the fact that that might be obvious. But this conversation was suddenly out of any anticipated or desired bounds.

"Yes! Do you remember Jaap van der Byl? He is a few months older than you. He took you out once or twice, but I believe decided he was too young to get involved?"

Skoelkie remembered Jaap very well indeed. He was the second boy she had given herself to--she had just turned eighteen. And she remembered his "techniques" more clearly than she would have liked. He had not DECIDED much of anything. She had been the one--realizing his limitations--who had broken things off; but in a nice manner (as she thought), so that there were neither hurt feelings nor embarrassment.

While at first he had seemed a fair lover; from the hindsight of greater experience, she could recall him only as most unsatisfactory and inept. He had left her sore in some of her most sensitive places, because--as she now realized, although being herself too inexperienced, she had not understood at the time--he had been attempting methods only read about, but never practiced until she became available. He had practiced them then, to her considerable discomfort, without much empathy. It had taken her a while to completely relax with Danie, who could do wondrous things with the same parts, thanks to her memories of Jaap.

That this passing fancy, with very little to recommend him other than a common residence in the District, had succeeded in becoming intimate with her "baby" sister, was hardly cause to break out any of Danie's Champagne! This and more, she thought. But she recognized that she had to be very careful what she said, and answered only, "Yes, I remember him, of course. How is he doing?"

"Well! Last week, he told me that he loved me--and I told him that I loved him--and we just kept going! I don't know if I should say this, but I have to tell someone! We have already proven our feelings--as a man and woman(!)--six times."

"Joanie, I hope you know what you are doing. No, wait... Please! I am not trying to lecture you. I know you are too old for that--too big for me to tell what to do." (Johanna was two inches taller and about twenty pounds heavier than Skoelkie--including a few pounds of baby fat in areas where her more active sister had always been slender;--all of which the elder noted, but did not mean and left unsaid.) "I just hope that you realize all the possibilities, which can affect your whole life, when you get physically so involved. I assume, at least, that you are taking precautions--"

"We are not stupid! I thought you'd be happy for me."

"If I could be sure everything would work out for the best, I would be. I just--"

Stuart's mistress caught herself. She was not thinking of Johanna, but about her own reaction to Johanna's news--giving vent to natural anxieties perhaps, but every other word was "ek" (I). Johanna had had the same upbringing; knew intellectually everything Skoelkie intended to tell her. And if the younger did not have the same level of worldly experience as to human needs and hungers, she was certainly going to want to get it for herself. The surest way to guarantee that she would never seek what worthwhile advice her older sister could provide, would be for that older sister to "jack herself off"--as Danie would have put it--with a fountain of unsolicited and unwanted wisdom.

And to be fair, Skoelkie had had no contact with Jaap for over two years. A young man of twenty-one might have a lot more to offer than a boy of eighteen or nineteen. Perhaps, he had even learned to trim the rough edges of his fingernails, before exploring the hidden recesses of a girl's body.

More to the point than any of these considerations: Who was she--so infatuated with the lustful, physical side of her own life, that there were days when almost all she could think about was her man's penetration of her body; so preoccupied with maximizing their sexual time, that the only times when she had come home (unmarried as she remained) in over a year and a half, were times when she was having her "period"--to be giving frumpy advice in a self-important tone?

"Johanna, I talk too much. I hope you will find all the joy in your love life that I have found in mine. There really is no human pleasure that can compare with the fun, which a man and a woman who are really made for each other can have just being alone." And she gave her "little sister" a heartfelt hug.

Before they parted for the night, however, it was settled that they would go horseback riding in the morning. After that, Sarina had to drive back to Stellenbosch to await instructions. But it was agreed--at the older girl's suggestion--that they should invite Lt. Moritz (another young Naval Officer, who had been assigned light duty as a security officer at the farm while recovering from minor surgery) to ride with them. At first, the suggestion had prompted a quizzical look; though the laughing proponent had quickly explained--quite truthfully up to the point--that she was not seeking to play behind anybody's back.

"It is just that it must get very lonely for the Lieutenant, with Pappie always gone and Willem at sea. Surely, it would be a nice, patriotic thing, if we included him more often."

It was only 9:35. But hot and tired from an emotionally draining day, Skoelkie excused herself to seek solace in a warm tub, before retiring for a night in which she hoped to dream of Danie, and all their days to be.

At 5:15, that afternoon, the phone had jingled in Room 1830 of the Carlton Hotel in Johannesburg. It was answered on the first ring by a forty year old man in a grey polyester business suit. Standing a trim five feet ten inches and weighing about 155 pounds, with neatly parted, straight black hair of medium length; he wore large, but plain, dark rimmed spectacles, white shirt, regimental striped tie of rich red and brown hues, and well polished black shoes.

"Yes."

"Roper?"

"Yes."

"Malozemoff. Plan Eleven B."

"O.K."

The man in the grey suit opened the top drawer of a dresser, removed the Gideon Bible and, turning to page 121, counted up to the eleventh word from the bottom in the second column. He replaced the Bible, crossed over to a table by the window, opened a black attache' case and took out a small pocket diary to compare the word obtained with those listed in the left- most column on a folded insert of several sheets of tissue thin paper. Finding what he sought after a brief scan, he glanced across to the parallel right hand entry, and silently noted, "Civic Center--1900."

Crossing back to the dresser, he methodically rearranged a few slightly out of place hairs with a small comb; and, without further preparation, left the room.

Richard Revere Roper, Massachusetts Yankee, Harvard Class of '71, had obtained his M.A. in Physics from M.I.T. in 1973, and a Ph.D. from that same institution in 1977. He had been on the faculty ever since. A dedicated, if not brilliant student, Roper's Phi Beta Kappa key--always in plain view--had been earned by a disciplined application that he had in turn expected from his students. In 1987, he had taken a leave of absence to come to South Africa for the same joint Laser project, which had drawn the Virginian.

But there were fundamental differences between the two Americans. Stuart had gone through the University of Virginia in Liberal Arts; majoring, as he quipped, "in fair women, fine booze and fond memories." While he was involved in the project as a supplier of components, who had been included in the U.S. contingent for reasons never completely clear--but apparently because, at the inception, he had not been offensive to those with a final say in the matter (a group most certainly not comprehending Roper);--Roper had been invited as the head of the Physics Department at a major university. Although not himself an expert on the more specialized aspects of Laser research, the latter was sufficiently respected for general scholarship by those who were, that he could call upon a considerable array of real experts, in many closely related disciplines, for consultation and assistance.

Stuart's only connection with anyone employed by the U.S. Government, had been a seemingly casual acquaintanceship with Tom McGuire. He was most unlikely to form any new, even quasi- official connections, in view of the now more liberal orientation in Washington; where there was a clear perception, in sensitive places, of his pro-South African bias.

But while Roper had been recommended originally, as the principal American participant, by someone in the then more conservative Administration; being himself no conservative, he had retained the confidence of the present leadership. He enjoyed the active cooperation of all U.S. Embassy personnel--including the military attache' and his assistants--and, as the recorded call might indicate, was fully coordinated with the C.I.A.'s Southern African operation.

Roper walked several brisk blocks to a small restaurant, featuring yogurt, salads and other specimens of the genre known as "health food." Dining lightly and expeditiously, he paid the check, and continued in the same direction another briskly paced three blocks to a small newsstand; where he purchased a Star, and sat down on a bench in an adjacent park to rapidly, but methodically peruse those portions covering items of world significance; while noting each article on local politics.

Discarding the newspaper, he crossed the street into a corner shopping arcade, swiftly traversed an L shaped corridor, and exited onto a side street with a small cab stand. Finding a solitary taxicab, he got in and gave the driver hurried instructions.

It was just past 6:40, when the cab pulled up at the Johannesburg Civic Center. Roper paid the driver--adding a tip perhaps generous by South African standards, but materially less than he would have given in New York or Boston--and wandered about the grounds (as any sightseer might) for the next nineteen minutes. In front at exactly 7:00 P.M., he strolled absent-mindedly to the curb, where he seemed to awaken from a trance to jump in at the rear door of a huge black Cadillac with heavily shaded windows; which drove up at that instant and as quickly drove away.

"Good evening, Dr. Roper. Do you know if you were followed?"

"No, Dunlap, I don't think so," the entrant responded to a dapper, six foot two inch, thirty-one year old man, with closely trimmed brown hair--also in a grey business suit (although this one a tropical weight worsted)--in the middle row, just in front of him, "But isn't all this a bit ridiculous? Everyone who would be interested knows who I am and who Malozemoff is"--nodding at a slightly shorter, somewhat older, steel-grey man in a pinstriped blue suit, just behind the partition. "What significance could it have to anyone, that we met with two American businessmen? This type of melodrama makes what would otherwise appear normal, seem suspicious."

"We have to deal in possibilities and probabilities. There are very few certainties."

The fourth man in the passenger compartment, who now spoke from the rear seat beside Roper, wore a bright Madras sport shirt and light colored pants. He looked physically enough like the well-proportioned Dunlap to be his two inch shorter, older brother; but he continued with an air of command:

"The whys and hows of our coming together in this manner involve a number of considerations, derived from practical but not always very exciting experiences, which might bore you in a detailed exposition; much as a physics lecture might bore us. We may be indulged in our peculiarities--I am sure you will agree--if we are willing to carry out difficult and unpleasant assignments, which no one else would undertake.

"You want us to be ready to kill, if necessary, a number of our hosts--in their own country--and perhaps a native American. That really isn't our normal line of work, despite what you may have heard. Granted, we have orders to assist you; but you are going to have to adjust to our idiosyncrasies, if you want us to be functional."

"Look, let's get a few things straight. I am a scholar, not a combatant. I hope it won't be necessary to harm anyone. I certainly don't like the idea. But if it does become necessary to employ that level of violence, it will only be to save the countless lives that could be lost, if these Neanderthals were to obtain a functional laser cannon. They have repeatedly demonstrated a willingness to use aggressive force against their less advantaged neighbors."

"I have been Security Officer at the Embassy for eight years," the man in the pinstriped blue suit injected, "and I can't recall an attack on anybody, which wasn't in response to a terrorist attack on South Africa."

"It is O.K., Peter," said the man in the Madras shirt, "We are not here to argue with Dr. Roper."

"No! Just a minute, Worthington," the physicist looked tense and obviously angry around the mouth and eyes. "I think we need to have this out, once and for all. There was a scandal in British Intelligence, a few years back, because of an unholy, pro-South African bias among many of the operatives. There is either something about your line of work, which makes these fascistic regimes appear desirable; or these people are devilishly clever at corrupting other nations' intelligence services. I think we need to be sure that we are all seeking the same object, for the same reasons."

"We will do what we have to do."

"But do you really understand what is involved here? Do you know how the Third World views this repressive regime? As long as it even exists, it embarrasses our efforts and those of our allies to build a world society based upon democracy and freedom, as an alternative to sitting by and watching more and more of the planet take its cue from Moscow.

"Can you not imagine who will get the blame, and what will be the consequence, if it should develop that as a result of a joint project with the United States, the South Africans have the single most formidable weapon ever devised? Imagine what would follow if, faced with the total frustration of their aspirations, the Freedom Movement pulled out the stops, in an all or nothing effort to topple the minority government before it could consolidate power, and called upon the world to aid in a great war against the last vestiges of a racist colonialism. Surely, much of the Third World and many of the Communist nations would respond, with only escalating bloodshed."

"Do you really think the so-called 'Third World' would attack?" Peter Malozemoff assumed a patronizing air. "That crowd has been threatening South Africa for over thirty years--with what effect? Why should they be emboldened by a South African technological breakthrough? And what business can we possibly have, trying to prejudice the survival of a friendly nation?"

"Not only a strategic position, but a great store of raw materials are at stake. We would be forced into a direct involvement.

"But I think you should leave an understanding of such things to the specialists who study all aspects. You can't over-simplify other people's reactions. Your own viewpoint may not reflect the common sense perspective that you fancy. You told me once how well you relate to the local Greek community. Social identification can certainly interfere with objectivity.

"I have met several South African Greeks who had worse attitudes than the Afrikaners. Human memory may be very short, but it was not that long ago, when the Greeks themselves were oppressed by the Turks and others. Maybe in those days, your community would have been more sympathetic to the plight of the world's non-white majority."

Malozemoff gave the speaker a fierce look. "Dr. Roper," he asked with just a trace of sadism, "do you have a family?"

"You know my wife and I are divorced. We have two children, who live with her in Connecticut. But what has that to do with anything?"

"Only that I do feel at home with these people; not just the small Greek community, but with most of the others also. They are still family oriented, with the same values that I have. That--it seems to me--is what life is really all about. And it doesn't make a lot of sense to kill someone who has your values, just because you think that somebody else--who doesn't have those values--might try to do it if you don't."

"You know you are distorting the issue. The Freedom Fighters have families. What about them and theirs? Do you have to be White to share your vision?"

"Oh, come Professor! The main thing, which I am talking about, is that each generation seeks the right--hell, insists on the right--to pass family achievements on to the next. The agitators and terrorists, whom you choose to call a 'Freedom Movement,' aren't asking that. They are demanding--without achievement--the fruits of other people's labor, savings and investment."

"You continue to distort the issue!"

"Am I! Look, I may be airing a lot of gripes; but when you started on this Laser project three years ago, there wasn't any talk about killing anyone. Now we have been told to prepare contingency plans to have 'Freedom Fighters' waste several prominent South Africans--and quite possibly an American! Why? Because what was supposed to be a project in international cooperation, turns out to be potentially of greater benefit to our host and partner, than you bright academic boys foresaw--or than our common enemies would like!

"Well, we may have to do it; but we sure don't like it! And if there is any way you scientists can get out of the situation without us, we certainly hope that you will do so."

"How can anyone respond to that? You have raised several distinct issues, without developing any. I can't follow you all over the map, and still keep this on a logical basis. But I will try to explain the problem once more!

"But first, you need to face the fact that much of the world is past the point of accepting a dispensation, which leaves them always behind, because of something somebody else's grandfather or great-grandfather acquired under different circumstances--often by methods that no one would tolerate today. The more the 'haves' try to rationalize systems, which--whether correctly or not--are seen as leaving the rest of humanity in a permanent 'have not' status; the more violent will be the tidal wave of resentment that breaks upon us.

"We got into this project three years ago, because someone in the previous Administration--which had some of your same reactionary notions--thought that there might be positive benefit to the United States from participation. But they overlooked three vital aspects:

"First, the actual possibility of a breakthrough, with not only tactical, but significant strategic military implications;

"Second, the logistics for utilizing any development, where all prototypes tested are designed on the site (although most of the components are ours), with the data analyzed daily in a local computer;

"Finally, the catastrophic psychological implications, were it to be generally discovered that a now, at least likely tactical breakthrough, in the context of those logistics, would give military advantage to a nation that is perceived by the entire Third World--whether correctly or not--as the one surviving relic from a universally despised, but still quite feared, colonialism.

"The original appeal was purely scientific. The North Mariocafontein Gold Mine, with incredibly long, straight tunnels--over two miles down and in some instances over two miles in length--and one of the most complex ventilating systems ever devised, had been exhausted; and was being made available. It offered what was clearly the best site in the world for testing certain new theories, being simultaneously explored in both countries: The immediate objective, a solution to the problem of 'thermal bloom' (i.e., atmospheric defocus of long distance laser projections).

"The beauty of the North Mariocafontein site lies in our ability to retract an operating laser device, over specially installed tracks, for comparatively great distances, under conditions that permit the simulation of various altitudes and air densities; and the measurement of even microscopic distortions in the resulting rock cut at the end of each tunnel, by means of a perfectly parallel laser tracking system: The data--as to the precise distortion at each distance, under each set of conditions--being then simultaneously fed into the mine computer.

"Early in the project, this procedure became directed towards testing a new hypothesis: That it might be possible to reduce such distortion to an almost meaningless level, by creating a wider pattern of motion in the atmosphere.

"What we have been doing is analogous to firing a Gatling gun: With a ring of smaller, rotating lasers creating a heat induced tunnel, through which the main beam is directed--conceptually similar, although scientifically very different from the rifling effect in a conventional firearm. The data gathered at each trial are analyzed in comparison with all previous measurements, so that a progression of computer recommended adjustments can be successively tested.

"Thus closer and closer approximations to a conceptual model are pursued; although, because of the almost infinite permutations in patterns of molecular movement possible in an atmosphere involving several elements, it is a slow process--with many false starts, leading from time to time to seemingly complete bafflement. Still, significant progress towards the theoretic goal has been achieved.

"But at the time we entered into the working agreement, it was not at all clear what would be the principal thrust; nor how really advanced the South Aficans were in appreciating the military potential in this type of research--as it turned out, they were nearly on a par with our top system designers--nor their ability to improvise and initiate practical military applications. They have less of the institutional inertia, which comes from the size of our defense establishment. And we now suspect that, all else being equal, they could actually accomplish a more rapid deployment of a system based upon new discoveries than could either we or the Russians.

"Ordinarily, this would be more than offset by the fact that the smaller size, which makes them so maneuverable, leaves them without the technical expertise of a great power (despite the agreements that they have with Israel and Taiwan, and other international pariahs, to exchange scientific information). But then along comes the joint project and equalizes 'know-how'--

"No! I am still understating the problem. Because we use THEIR facilities and THEIR computer--which is analyzing raw data twenty-four hours a day--and only get our summaries in weekly doles; it is entirely possible that they could move substantially ahead of us, in the short run, in comprehension and utilization of the subject matter.

"In short, we leaped before we thought; and I am as sorry for that as any of you. But I would not waste any tears on the South Africans. Look how they repress and exploit the non-whites in their own country. You want to talk about families? Families are only people who happen to be related. Let's talk about people!"

"That is baloney, and you know it! Why do natives from neighboring states always fight to get in here for any available job? You aren't really able to look at things from the standpoint of anyone else--just an educated conduit for whatever rationalizations, the axe-grinders of this earth are peddling. And speaking of people, why are you so eager to have us kill another American--and a nice guy like Stuart?" Malozemoff shook his head.

"Nice guy! You should have seen what he did to Baldwin in Kimberley. So far as I am concerned, he is a sadistic fascist. But we don't want anyone killed--not even that bastard-- except as a last resort."

"How NICE of you, Professor!" For some time, Cal Dunlap had followed the argument alertly, though silently. "But if you are going to work with us--and we with you--we need to be honest with one another. I helped Peter with an investigation of the Hettie Crous affair. We know exactly what happened with Stuart."

"What do you mean?!!"

"Do you want me to spell it out for you? I can." Malozemoff took over again.

"I don't know what you are trying to say!"

"I am not TRYING to say anything. We know that you and Baldwin arranged with the maid at the Premier Hotel in Kimberley--last year during a seminar for the Practical Application of The Physical Sciences--to use her body for R50 apiece. When she refused to do more than lay you, Baldwin punched her in the face and body several times, forced himself into her mouth and took his money back; while you satisfied yourself by subjecting her to various other indignities. Do you want me to go on--or to get more specific?"

"What in the hell have you been doing--bugging my rooms?! It wasn't like that--not at all--and the girl was a whore. But I must be the subject of a witch hunt!"

"Welcome to the real world, Dr. Roper," Dunlap quipped. "If we are going to try to protect you, we have to keep tabs on you. You can be damn sure the D.O.N.S. do. That is why we are in this car. It has special equipment to frustrate every known form of electronic eavesdropping. This is probably the only place in South Africa, where you can confer with anybody in confidence."

"That is absolutely intolerable, and you don't seem to be any better. You actually relish this sort of thing, don't you? You don't want to antagonize these people; just play games with them."

"They are just doing a job. And yes, where possible, we do exactly the same. We are professionals, not hypocrites. The only problem is, it's their turf, and many of our efforts get frustrated. For example, it is almost impossible to keep any kind of an electronic watch on Stuart. Something always seems to interfere."

"Then he obviously is working with them--just as closely as I imagined. That reactionary Bourbon is really at home in this country. He ought to be prosecuted!"

"Prosecuted, for what? Working on a project he came over to work on, with the people he came over to work with--with the full consent of our Government? Stuart has never denied an affinity for the South Africans. Looking at that doll he travels around with, I frankly envy him!

"But don't draw the wrong conclusions from all this covert activity. After some of the ways you have shot your mouth off since coming down here, the D.O.N.S. would be negligent not to watch you. You have just explained the importance of the project! As for us, we are only carrying out orders to guard you in situations, you may not fully understand." The younger man smiled patronizingly:

"Our real frustration is in trying to follow the twists and turns in Washington; where they now want to treat these people, who are so much like us, as enemies."

"You are on the verge of anarchy. Even if you disagree with what I have tried to explain, it is not your job to make policy."

The man in the Madras shirt beckoned Dunlap to be still, "We will do what we have to do."

"I think YOU will, Worthington, although I don't know where you stand. But these two," pointing to Malozemoff and Dunlap, "cause me real concern."

"They are just getting some things off their chests--quite as you were. They know their jobs."

"I don't know. I was not just 'getting something off my chest.' What we are talking about could be the difference between having and avoiding a third world war. I will admit that South Africa has a lot in common with America--but it is with a part of our past, which most of us are trying to uproot and live down. If we do not succeed, we are going to be standing virtually alone. And I am concerned that there have been so many unsavory regimes, if not imposed, certainly shored up by your Agency. I would like some operatives, who I can be sure are not part of that pattern.

"On that subject, why don't we ever meet with Manley Wilson? I was promised him, also."

"Frankly, Dr. Roper, we haven't worked that closely with Wilson. We felt it would be best that we only contact him if we decide to use him, and not brief him until we need to."

"You aren't trying to tell me that you don't trust him?"

"Not really. But men have different approaches. We like to keep things close to the belt."

"Well, any difference in approach between Wilson and your other associates would be a difference I want. He certainly wouldn't have any question where the right course lay."

"Oh, Dr. Roper--How do YOU know that?" It was Dunlap's turn.

"I don't KNOW it. But he is Black. And in this country, that leads to an obvious conclusion."

"Black!" chortled Malozemoff. "Why you old racist! He is scarcely any darker than I am."

"He hasn't been over here fraternizing with the White establishment!"

"Oh, what a simple place is the world of the liberal!"

"Pete, it is all right. If Dr. Roper wants us to include Wilson, we can. But you do understand, don't you, Doctor, that the formulation of tactics in the field cannot be relegated to some form of group dynamics?"

"Yes, I understand that. But you all need to understand this: Washington promised me four operatives, including Wilson; and he should have been here for this meeting. I don't know whether you men have a racial bias, or what. Maybe working with Wilson will crimp the socializing with local bigots.

"Frankly, time is growing short; but I think we had better reschedule this. He might have some worthwhile input as to just what our options are. Because of the nature of the problem, Washington guaranteed me full consultation--with a veto over any plan I deem unsuitable;--and I am not going to make any decision until Wilson is here and fully briefed."

Malozemoff and Dunlap both lifted their eyelids slightly, and stared for a moment at Worthington; who, pretending not to notice, answered simply, "Very well, we will drop you near the hotel," and picked up a small phone to give the driver the necessary instructions.

The limousine proceeded in silence to a spot about one block from the Carlton, where Roper was discharged; and then continued on with the other three. It was Philip Worthington who first returned to the subject: "I am surprised that neither of you asked the good Professor, if he planned to have Baldwin or Levy at the next meeting? You sure were 'jerking his chain.'"

"Believe me, I was tempted," Malozemoff replied. "I love to hear him try to justify his paranoia in keeping the one American, over here, who really understands what Swede and Collins--and I guess that South African Skeen--are attempting; keeps him shut up in a hotel, analyzing obsolete computer runs, because he thinks he may be an Israeli agent in league with the South Africans. If there is a gap, between what we are getting out of the Laser project and what the South Africans are getting out of it, the problem is the head of our participation group, not the logistics.

"Cal checked Roger Levy out very carefully. He wasn't even pro-Zionist; isn't political at all, pure scientist; a former student and admirer of Professor Smith Collins. But you can't tell that to the great 'liberal' who is calling the shots."

"You know, fellows, it really doesn't matter whether you like Roper or respect his judgment in handling personnel; or even what you think about that tacky business of fucking a prostitute in the ass, while Baldwin robbed her. In weighing the value of what he has to say in the present area of concern, you need to remember that a man may be personally a jerk, but still an expert in his field. There, at least, he is entitled to be taken seriously.

"My concern is lest your doubts about the wisdom and/or justice of what Roper and Washington want done, translate into vulnerability. As you know, this is not the sort of thing we can go into half-heartedly. The ideal would be to feel nothing; to act only with cold logic in the direction that Washington commands. But that is going to be difficult to achieve. Hell, impossible! Roper's insistence on briefing us on all the unnecessary details, rules that out.

"What we must avoid, however, as fatal, is any depression arising from a disillusionment with our purpose for being here. You can be certain that Fourie's personnel will be both coldly efficient and absolutely convinced of the righteousness of their ends. There will be no wishful thinking, no hesitation, no regrets."

"I will be all right," Dunlap said quickly and quietly. But Malozemoff spoke more slowly, in contrast both to Dunlap and his own usually vibrant manner:

"My distress is with the argument the man uses; which the whole liberal group uses.

"My mother's family come from a small Macedonian village near the Yugoslav border. Shortly after the end of World War II, two young cousins, twin boys only ten years of age--sweet, beautiful children (I have a picture, taken a few months before, in a family album)--were taken away; kidnapped by the Communists. You may have heard how they stole the children from the northern villages. No one ever heard from them--or of them--again. They may be still alive, somewhere, or dead these forty years, for all any of us know. But the men who took them spoke the same kind of 'newspeak' that the Professor uses to justify his undeclared war against South Africa.

"You know the whole thing is completely stupid. There is not a thing wrong with this country's social system. The white settlers didn't take anything away from anybody. They just built something for their families, which along the way has provided employment and opportunity for the material advancement of ALL their neighbors. If you are not a communist, that is what social progress is about: Family progress, generation by generation. The security, Roper fulminates over, merely reflects a reasoned reaction to an unjustified attack."

"I thought this went a little deeper with you. Do you want me to take you off this operation?"

"I'd like to say yes," he sighed. "But no, I am a team player, and understand the problems that would cause. When you need me, I'll be there."

"O.K., fellows. I guess we had better call Wilson. He is an uncertain quantity, and that is another possible danger. But there's nothing really happy about the prospect of having to cross wits--and maybe muscle--with the D.O.N.S. in Randfontein." Worthington, with the physicist gone, sounded just a bit less reserved, not quite so 100% professional, and more than a little less confident, despite his own counsel.

"Perhaps, we should put him in charge," Dunlap smiled. "I notice that no one warned the Professor that Washington thinks Wilson may have had personal dealings with Tom McGuire."

"It is not our place to share Agency security information with anyone. Besides, you newer men must understand that most of us, who have been around for a while, had some dealings with McGuire. He was not only the top regular for a long time--and really not that much more conservative than Pete, here, anyway--but the most successful recruiter we ever had.

"But with regard to Wilson, Roper is probably right about the racial thing. Wilson probably would be his best bet on this job."

"You wouldn't be thinking Boss, that Wilson is just the man to take on the D.O.N.S. in Randfontein? That is about as easy an assignment as a shoot-out with the K.G.B. in Red Square!"

"True enough. That is why we plan to use Black terrorists and pseudo-revolutionaries. But in answer to your question, Peter, yes! That is exactly the idea. Better Wilson, than you, or I or Dunlap. If he's Roper's choice, so be it. Anything else, gentlemen?"

"Just a request--that if Stuart has to be taken out before the blast at the North Marioca, someone else get the job." For the first time, Cal Dunlap sounded grave. "He may be only another rich, playboy adventurer; but I observed him in action in Kimberley. He was quite impressive. I really like the guy."

"That request will be honored. But you should know that life styles can be deceiving. It is funny how we keep coming back to Tom McGuire; but before he got off on his tangent, he was the shrewdest judge of character I ever met. He had scouted Stuart as a possible Agent, when the prospect was only an undergraduate at the University of Virginia. He considered him a real rarity: 'The Adequate Man.'

"'You cannot take him lightly,' he once told me. 'He will rise to the requirements of any situation.'"

"Are you going to contact Wilson?"

"Tomorrow."