Vortex

Ian winced. Emily had always warned him that she had a sharp temper, but he’d never seen it aimed at him until now. The trouble was that she was pretty much on target.

“This is my country. These are my people, the people of my blood. One of them is my father.” Emily’s anger faded into sadness.

“I must be a part of this, Ian. Do you understand? Please?”

She smiled crookedly-a smile that contrasted strangely with the tears brimming in her eyes.

“Besides, I know where you’re going. So even if you refuse to let me come with you, I will still follow. “

“She’s got a point,” Knowles interrupted.

“I’d say Miss van der Heijden’s in on this little jaunt no matter what you say.” He grinned. Emily appeared to have gone up several notches in his estimation.

Ian shook his head helplessly.

“All right already, I give up. We’re all in. And God help us all, because nobody else will!”

Knowles and Emily exchanged knowing looks that made

him wonder just how long they’d rehearsed their little speeches. They must have known that he’d try to give them an out. Was he really that predictable?

Maybe it was better not to know. Ian pulled his chair closer to the coffee table.

“So have either of you two geniuses given any thought to how we go about catching Muller and our hypothetical ANC traitor in the act?”

Both of them looked blank. Good. At least he was ahead in something for a change.

Emily chewed at her lower lip.

“I thought we’d follow Muller to Sun City and see whom he meets . Her voice trailed off as she saw Ian shaking his head.

“Wouldn’t work, I’m afraid. Muller’s a professional intelligence guy. He’d be sure to spot us following him.” Ian drummed his fingers lightly on the glass coffee tabletop.

“Besides, we’d never get a camera close enough to them to shoot some usable footage. And that’s the whole point of this exercise. “

“What are you saying, then? That we cannot succeed?” Emily sounded frustrated. Sam Knowles looked thoughtful.

“Nope.” Ian laced his fingers behind his neck and spoke with elaborate casualness.

“I’m saying we don’t need to follow Meneer Muller at all. We already know exactly where he’s going. All we’ve got to do is be there well ahead of him. Get it?”

Understanding dawned on Knowles’s face.

“Yeah. Sound and Sight R Us. No problem.”

“Well, I don’t get it!” Emily stared from one to the other.

Ian explained.

Emily sat silently for a moment, clearly mulling over concepts and technologies she’d never before contemplated. Finally, she looked up.

“If you say this is possible, then it must be so. But what of all the equipment you’ll need? Do you have such things here in South Africa?”

Knowles glanced up from a piece of scrap paper he’d filled with hastily scribbled notes.

“Not all of it. But I know where I can lay my hands on the stuff we don’t have.” He turned to Ian.

“I’ll have to have a few items

FedExed over from the States through London. It’s gonna cost an arm and a leg… “

Ian shrugged.

“So we expense it! If this works, nobody’ll begrudge a penny. If it doesn’t, the network can bill our respective estates, right?”

Knowles showed his teeth.

“I like the way you think, boss man.” Then he frowned.

“That still leaves us with one pretty big problem.”

Ian nodded.

“Sibena.”

He’d been giving the problem posed by their full-time driver and part-time police informant a lot of thought. Even if the young black man was cooperating with the South African security services against his will, they still had to find a way to shock him into working with them-and not against them.

“Uh-huh. How are we gonna make a move on this Muller goon with Matt still on our tail?” The cameraman’s frown grew deeper.

“Shit, all he’s gotta do is make one lousy phone call to the bad guys and we’re toast!”

“Too true. But I’ve got a couple of ideas about how to get a handle on our friend, Matthew Sibena.” Ian bent forward over the coffee table and added two more pieces of electronic gear to Knowles’s scribbled list.

Then he drew a quick sketch.

The cameraman pursed his lips in a soundless whistle.

“You sure you’ve never thought about working for the CIA, boyo? You’re just the kind of devious son of a bitch I hear they’re looking for.”

Ian looked back and forth from Knowles to Emily and then laughed.

“Maybe

I am. But I guess that makes us a matched threesome, right?”

At least they had the grace to blush.

OCTOBER 18-NEAR THE HILL BROW HOSPITAL FOR BLACKS, JOHANNESBURG

Johannesburg lay smothered in a dull yellow-brown pall of auto exhaust

and industrial fumes. The smog had been building up for days, trapped by a ridge of high pressure that shoved any wind to the north or south.

Ian Sheffield sat staring out the backseat window as Matthew Siberia drove down Edith Cavell Street, careful to stay, as always, well within the posted speed limit. The young black man had insisted on locking all the Ford Escort’s doors before venturing into the Hillbrow district, and it was easy to see the reasons for his caution.