Vortex

“Our buildup should be complete by the middle of November. Correct?”

Suarez nodded. All the troops, equipment, and supplies should be in place by then-poised within a hundred kilometers of South Africa’s borders.

Very well. If the Soviets don’t give us their full support by then, we will attack without them.”

Suarez started to exclaim, but Vega hushed him.

“We won’t be operating completely on our own, Colonel. We’ve received assurances of additional aid from Libya and North Korea-should it prove necessary. We could also cut the number of attacking columns from three to two. That would reduce the logistical load significantly, true?”

He could see his chief of staff running through the figures in his mind.

Suarez’s razor-sharp brain was one of the things about him that Vega most prized. They’d planned to have thirty days’ worth of fuel, food, and ammunition stockpiled before striking into South Africa. Reducing the number of troops involved in the invasion would allow them to stretch those supplies beyond the thirty-day mark.

Vega’s face lit up in excitement.

“Think of it, Colonel. Think of the looks on those long, sad Russian faces when Cuba shows them their duty!

And when we win, Cuba will gain the lion’s share of the rewards-not just the crumbs allowed us by our socalled Soviet brothers!”

Suarez studied the ground for a few seconds before looking

up.

“Such an attack is possible, General. But we’ll be taking a tremendous risk.”

“More than we are already taking? More than we will take when we launch the attack? High stakes are involved here, Josd, but it’s a game I know. We will strike South Africa with such speed and such fury that we’ll hold

Pretoria before the damned Afrikaners can react. And before Moscow’s caution can thwart us!”

Vega smiled. The war in southern Africa would spread, whether or not the

Soviet Union really wanted it to.

CIA HEADQUARTERS, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

Christopher Nicholson tried to make sense of the information in front of him. Operatives in Libya had reported battle tanks, armored personnel carriers, and artillery being moved from storage dumps and loaded on freighters. The numbers were impressive-enough for an army, literally. But where was it going?

The newest piece of information involved an increased level of diplomatic communications between Mozambique, Zimbabwe, and Cuba. Not disturbing in itself, since it just indicated they were talking a lot. Nicholson rubbed his burning eyes. But what were they talking about?

One more piece of the puzzle. Parts of it were scattered all over his desk.

Or was it the same puzzle? What if it was more than one? And what if

Pretoria’s enemies had slipped some false pieces onto the table?

The director of the CIA, and by statute director of central intelligence for the U.S. national decision-making apparatus, worried the pieces for another hour or so, but in the end put them back in the box until more could be found.

CHAPTER

Full Exposure

OCTOBER 12-WOMEN’S STAFF CANTEEN, MINISTRY

OF LAW AND ORDER, PRETORIA

In a desperate attempt to ward off utter boredom, Emily van der Heijden risked another glance away from the young woman chattering amiably at her from across the table. Unfortunately, her surroundings did nothing to dispel the growing feeling that she was trapped in a place where boredom reigned supreme and idle gossip passed for thoughtful conversation.

Certainly, the architects and interior decorators who’d crafted the

Ministry’s women’s dining area had created a masterpiece of drab institutionalism. Fading off-white walls matched the canteen’s fading black-and-white checkerboard pattern tile floor. Narrow, unwashed windows opened out onto a small interior courtyard long since converted into a parking lot. The dresses worn by the forty or so women still eating lunch provided the only touch of color-and little enough of that. Most of the secretaries, typists, and other

clerical workers clustered around identical, government-issue aluminum tables seemed content with plain white blouses and black or gray knee-length skirts. It was like staring at the bureaucratic soul made flesh.

“Really, Miss van der Heijden, I’m so glad you asked me to sit with you.

It’s such an honor. I mean, imagine me Irene Roussouw-taking lunch with the deputy minister’s own daughter. It’s fantastic!”

Emily forced her wavering attention back on track. She smiled sweetly at the young, red-haired woman in front of her.

“Come now, Irene. None of that “Miss van der Heijden’ nonsense. You’ll make me feel old! My name’s

Emily, remember?” She hoped her real feelings weren’t showing. Flattery was bad enough, but to be flattered and fawned over simply because she was her father’s daughter was infinitely worse!

“Oh, yes, certainly… Emily.” Roussouw still sounded breathless, exactly like one of those giddy, vacant-minded schoolgirls she’d always avoided whenever possible.

But it wasn’t always possible, Emily reminded herself. She, Ian, and Sam