Vortex

Brig. Franz Diederichs nodded to himself, pleased by the sight of the carnage. Durban’s mongrel population of blacks and coolies had surprised him once. They would not do so again. He’d see to it that they were too busy counting their dead to trouble South Africa’s peace for a generation or more.

Rifle and machinegun fire continued to rattle across Durban’s corpse-strewn streets all through the night.

NOVEMBER 4-NATIONAL SECURITY COUNCIL MEETING, WASHINGTON, D.C.

A cold, driving rain soaked the capital’s parks and public buildings, puddling on oil-slick streets and knocking dead and dying leaves off the trees onto the pavement. One by one, the city’s streetlamps flickered on-triggered by simpleminded sensors that believed the dull-gray half-light must signal the approach of night.

In the Situation Room, two stories below the White House grounds, a shift from pitchers of iced lemonade to hot coffee marked the only concession made to Washington’s worsening weather. There were differences, though. The

Situation Room might remain untouched by the passing seasons, but it did reflect the changing world scene. On one wall, a map of sub Saharan Africa had replaced that of the Soviet Union. And the faces of the men and women seated around the room’s single table were as gloomy as the weather above.

The sardonic amusement generated by listening to a replay of Vorster’s rabid speech had died quickly after the secretary of commerce’s terse reminder that South Africa’s president might well be as mad as a hatter, but his policies were still wreaking havoc on the economies of the world’s industrialized nations.

The shadows and new lines on Hamilton Reid’s handsome face showed his fatigue and concern.

“Strategic minerals prices are rising even faster than we expected.” He shook his head wearily.

“Frankly, I think it’s likely we’ll see the cost of chromium, platinum, and the others tripling by the end of the month “

Christ. Vice President James Malcolm Forrester forced himself to nod expressionlessly as others around the table showed their dismay. All of those minerals were essential to a wide range of industries, and the drastically higher prices being paid for them meant a surge in inflation and interest rates around the world. The fact that it had been predicted earlier was no comfort. It still spelled disaster for the nation’s economy.

Edward Hurley leaned back, the Situation Room’s overhead lighting momentarily reflected in the thick lenses of his tortoiseshell glasses.

“It’s only going to get worse, Mr. Vice President. We’ve all seen the latest intercepts and smuggled video footage. South Africa’s falling apart faster than anyone ever dreamed it possibly could.” He shrugged.

“Vorster seems to be on the verge of losing all control over the country’s major ports. The equation’s pretty simple-no ports means no exports. And no minerals exports coming out of South Africa means panic-buying around the world as companies and countries scramble to make up the difference elsewhere. “

Forrester nodded and looked toward the paunchy, whitehaired man sitting uneasily at the opposite end of the table.

“Can you cast any further light on all of this, Chris?”

Christopher Nicholson, director of the CIA, shook his head

reluctantly-chagrined at being caught out in front of his peers. His subordinates were already taking bets about which of their colleagues’ heads would roll because of the fiasco.

“I’m afraid all my data has been overtaken by events, Mr. Vice President. My people had been trying to confirm the Blue Train massacre story aired by this reporter, but Vorster told the whole world last week that he did it and he’s not sorry. “

The CIA director paused briefly and then passed two documents down the table to Forrester.

“Other than that, we have an updated list of arms shipments to both sides in the Namibian war, and a bio of Sheffield, the reporter who actually broke the story.” Nicholson’s embarrassed tone made it clear that he considered the information less than useful.

Forrester sat back, idly scanning the papers, then half-threw them down.

“Any further word on this Sheffield character?”

Nicholson shook his head again.

“I’m afraid not. We don’t think the South

Africans have him in custody, because they’re still maintaining a round-the-clock surveillance on our embassy in Pretoria, Based on that, we think he’s still hiding out somewhere in Johannesburg. “

“Any chance of helping him get out of the country?”

Nicholson opened his mouth, but Hurley beat him to the punch.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Vice President.” The short, bearded assistant secretary of state tapped his pen lightly against his glasses, thinking aloud.

“Vorster’s security boys have our intelligence assets inside South Africa pretty closely watched. If they spot us making a move toward Sheffield, they’d be bound to use that to bolster some kind of claim that he’s nothing more than an American spy “