Roots of Outrage

‘Right,’ the colonel said. ‘They only ever found merchandise samples.’ He spread his hands. ‘If we were going to frame somebody, surely we would frame Miss Gandhi, who we know is ANC.’

Mahoney stared, Ms mind fumbling, an awful thought dawning on him that perhaps the bastard was telling the truth. He looked so convincing.

The colonel said: ‘So, who put the explosives in your car? Miss Gandhi, who knew she was likely to be searched on the border? Or you? Or both?’

Mahoney rasped desperately: ‘Neither of us!’

The colonel sat back. Then he said thoughtfully: ‘When you went on these lovers’ jaunts, were both your cars parked in the same place?’

Lovers’ jaunts. ‘Yes.’

‘But Miss Gandhi wasn’t in your company the whole time?’

‘You’re suggesting that she sneaked out and put the explosives in my car? Bullshit. You put them in my car!’

‘But she had the opportunity to instruct her ANC friends to hide explosives in your car while your back was turned?’

Mahoney glared at him. The man was offering him an escape route. And, oh God, the cleverness of the swine, planting the doubt in his mind! All he wanted was to get out of there and find out the truth. Yes, he was prepared to make bargains. But play it cool … ‘I don’t believe she did it.’

‘You don’t believe she would expose you to the death penalty?’

The words struck dread in his breast. No, he did not believe Patti would do that, but they had planted the doubt and, oh God, he would do anything to get out of there, out of South Africa. ‘That’s right, I don’t.’

‘So you did it?’ He suddenly became angry: ‘Got, man, admit it!’

It shocked him all over again – the suspicion was suddenly back on him. ‘I deny it! You planted that stuff on me!’

The colonel sneered. ‘Why d’you think she wouldn’t do that? Because she loves you? And, are you in love with her?’

Relief that the suspicion was shifting back to her. What did they want to hear? Yes, so he wouldn’t betray her and hang himself. No, so he would betray her? He tried to think fast. ‘I don’t know now.’ Doubt was what the bastard wanted to hear.

Krombrink took a breath of satisfaction. And proceeded to poison the hook. ‘Do you know what Miss Gandhi does on the nights you don’t visit her for the purpose of contravening the Immorality Act?’ He studied a typewritten page.

Mahoney’s heart gave a pump of black jealousy. Oh, that poisonous doubt again. ‘She has numerous business meetings.’

The colonel nodded over his file, reading. ‘Ja, some business meetings also … and other types of meetings?’

Mahoney wanted to snatch the page from him. He said grimly: ‘Friends.’

Colonel Krombrink did not look up, running his finger down the page. ‘Friends, ja … boyfriends?’

Oh Jesus … ‘I don’t know. You tell me.’

‘Would you be angry if you found out she was sleeping around?’

‘Yes.’ That’s what the bastard wanted to hear. And he was jealous already.

‘And you would be disgusted if in addition she placed those explosives in your car so you unwittingly took the risk of smuggling them across the border on her behalf?’ He added: ‘Exposing you to the gallows.’

Mahoney closed his eyes. He almost believed the bastard now. ‘Yes.’

‘Yes.’ The colonel nodded. ‘And what would you do about it?’

Thank God the man was at last getting to the point of this torture. ‘I’m not sure, I’ve never been in this position.’

The colonel leant forward and said softly: ‘Mr Mahoney, that girl is sleeping with two men apart from you.’

It was a shock, even though he had known it was coming, even though he didn’t believe it. He stared; the colonel went on: ‘And one of them, Mr Mahoney, is a kaffir, hey.’

Mahoney blinked. It was intended as a sickening blow, and it was. He had to bite his tongue to remind himself it was lies. The colonel looked at him:

‘The kaffir is called Amos. The other is a white called Michael. Both are ANC. Communists. And terrorists. Mr Mahoney, the explosives in your car ended up on Lilliesleaf Farm. And we’re sure that these two men used them. To blow up Johannesburg station. And other jobs.’ He paused. ‘The men who’re screwing Miss Gandhi, for whom you now stand in risk of the gallows.’

If this was for real it was mind-blowing. This wasn’t true! ‘Have you arrested these two guys?’

‘They weren’t on the farm when we raided. But we’re working on it.’ He paused. ‘Evidence, Mr Mahoney. We need evidence, and I do not fabricate evidence, contrary to what you think. Remember that, when you accuse me of planting traces of explosives in your car.’

Oh God, God.

‘Do you see,’ Krombrink demanded gently, ‘that you were used? As an expendable pawn – to be hanged if you were caught.’

It was mind-blowing. He did not believe it. And he did not know what to believe.

Krombrink continued: ‘Doing the dangerous dirty work for Miss Gandhi’s other lovers? The men she fucks.’ The colonel went on softly: ‘Mr Mahoney, we have enough evidence to hang you …’

Mind-blowing … He hung on his words, like he was meant to, desperate for reprieve.

Krombrink said quietly: ‘Are you going to go to the gallows for those two guys? And for Miss Gandhi?’

Oh God, of course not. And he wanted to roar with outrage that the bastard was terrifying him. He rasped: ‘No.’

‘But how’re you going to escape those gallows?’

Oh, he knew how he was going to escape them – get to the border and run like hell! And he didn’t care that the man was lying – run like hell and never come back!

Krombrink sat back again, in deep thought. Then he said: ‘Mr Mahoney, speaking personally – and not for my superiors – I do not believe you are a terrorist. An ANC sympathizer, definitely. But not a terrorist, in the normal sense of the word.’ (Oh God, the relief. The veritable rush of gratitude. Just like he was meant to feel.) ‘But we have this evidence. And I can assure you that any court will convict you on this evidence.’

Mahoney stared at him, desperate for his deal, his mercy.

‘Mr Mahoney, the only way to escape evidence like this –’ he tapped the file – ‘is to prove that you’re the victim of a terrible, cynical plot by these people.’ He held his eye. ‘I am prepared to give you a chance to do that.’

Mahoney closed his eyes in relief. He wanted to gush his gratitude. ‘And how do I do that?’

Colonel Krombrink nodded solemnly. ‘Only by cooperating completely with us. Doing exactly as we say Reporting absolutely everything to us.’ Then his eyes took on a steely glare. ‘And not only will you prove your innocence but we will make a break into these communist cells. Do you agree to cooperate?’

Oh yes, yes, he agreed. ‘Okay,’ he said.

Colonel Krombrink studied him, assessing. Then gave a judgement: ‘Okay.’ He sat up. ‘We’ll get you to sign a statement to that effect.’ (Mahoney wanted to whoop for joy.) ‘And another statement. Our insurance, hey, that you don’t cheat us.’ He shrugged. ‘Not important to you, really, in your circumstances, just a Cautioned Statement admitting to contravening the Immorality Act on various occasions with Patti Gandhi.’