Part 78 (1/2)
”This won't take long,” said Pitt, casually checking his dark gla.s.ses for smudges. ”Did you know Captain Fawkes?”
”I appreciate the fact your rather strange request to meet me in a rural cemetery came down from high sources in your government, but I want it understood that I'm here out of courtesy, not to answer questions.”
”Understood,” Pitt said.
”Yes, I once met Captain Fawkes.” De Vaal gazed into s.p.a.ce. ”Back in October, I believe it was. Soon after his family were murdered. I expressed my condolences on behalf of the Defence Ministry.”
”Did he accept your offer to command the raid on Was.h.i.+ngton?”
De Vaal didn't bat an eye. ”Pure rot. The man was mentally unbalanced by the death of his wife and children. He planned and conducted the raid entirely on his own.”
”Did he?”
”My position and rank do not have to tolerate rudeness.” De Vaal came to his feet. ”Good day, Mr. Pitt.”
Pitt let him walk nearly twenty feet before he said, ”Operation Wild Rose, Minister. Our intelligence people knew about it almost from the beginning.”
De Vaal stopped in midstride, turned, and looked at Pitt. ”They knew?” He walked back until he was standing face to face with the man from NUMA. ”They knew about Wild Rose?”
”That shouldn't surprise you, of all people,” Pitt said affably. ”After all, it was you who leaked it to them.”
De Vaal's haughty composure cracked and he looked to Zeegler for support. The colonel's eyes were unblinking and his face was as hard as stone. ”Preposterous,” De Vaal said. ”You're making a wild accusation based on the wind.”
”I admit to a few holes in the net,” said Pitt. ”But I came into the game late. A neat scheme, and whatever the outcome, you won, Minister. The plan was never meant to succeed. Blaming the AAR for the raid in order to drum up sympathy for the South African white minority was a smoke screen. The real purpose was to embarra.s.s and topple Prime Minister Koertsmann's party so the Defence Ministry could have an excuse for stepping in with a new military government headed by none other than Pieter De Vaal.”
”Why are you doing this?” De Vaal said savagely. ”What do you hope to gain?”
”I don't like to see traitors prosper,” Pitt retorted. ”Incidentally, how much did you and Emma salt away? Three, four, five million dollars?”
”You're chasing shadows, Pitt. Colonel Zeegler, here, can tell you. Emma was a paid agent for the AAR.”
”Emma sold doctored reports from your Defence Ministry files to any black revolutionary sucker enough to pay for them and split the take with you. A most lucrative side venture, De Vaal.”
”I do not have to stand here and listen to this garbage,” the Minister
hissed. He nodded at Zeegler and gestured toward the waiting Bentley.
Zeegler did not move. ”I'm sorry, Minister, but I think Mr. Pitt should be heard out.”
De Vaal was nearly choking with rage. ”You have served me for ten years, Joris. You well know I punish insubordination to the extreme.”
”I'm aware of that, sir, but I think we should stay, particularly in light of the circ.u.mstances.” Zeegler pointed toward a black man who was threading his way between the gravestones. He wore a grim, determined face and was dressed in the uniform of the AAR. A long, curved Moroccan knife was gripped loosely in one hand.
”The fourth actor in the drama,” said Pitt. ”Permit me to introduce Thomas Machita, the new leader of the African Army of Revolution.”
Though the Minister's entourage carried no weapons, Zeegler stood unconcerned. De Vaal spun and shouted to his chauffeur while gesturing wildly at Machita. ”Sergeant! Shoot him! For G.o.d's sake, shoot him!”
The sergeant looked through De Vaal, as though the Minister were transparent. De Vaal turned to Zeegler, his eyes sick with a mounting fear. ”Joris, what goes on?”
Zeegler did not answer; his face was an emotionless void.