Vortex

Half an hour later, Riaan Oost backed his overloaded truck carefully out onto the dirt track winding down his valley. He saw his wife standing sadly at the window, waved, and drove off into the surrounding darkness.

Broken Covenant’s first phase was under way.

CHAPTER

-2

Staging

JUNE I -THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT, CAPE TOWN,

SOUTH AFRICA

When the last camera light winked out, the temperature in the packed briefing room began falling-dropping slowly from an almost unbearable level of heat and humidity normally found only in Turkish steam baths. Around the room, reporters from across the globe swapped rumors, gossip, and friendly insults, fighting to be heard above a hive like buzz of frenzied conversation. It was the usual end to a very unusual South African government press conference.

Ian Sheffield smiled in satisfaction as he closed his notebook and watched

Knowles pack away their gear. He’d finally been given a story bound to play on the air back in the States. Haymans’s willingness to accept the possibility of majority rule and an in-depth, independent investigation of the security services was news all right, big news-no matter how genuine the offer was, or whether anything of substance ever came of it.

Knowing the Afrikaner mentality, Ian doubted that anything really would.

Even the most moderate National Party member could never contemplate surrendering all vestiges of white domination over South Africa. And even the most reasonable ANC leader would never settle for anything less. It was a ready-made formula for failure. A failure that would generate more violence and more corpses strewn across the country’s streets.

The thought erased his smile.

South Africa’s story had all the elements of a grand tragedy-missed opportunities, misunderstandings, hatred, arrogance, greed, and fear. The worst part was that it seemed a never-ending tragedy, a problem completely beyond human solution.

Ian sighed, reminding himself that whatever happened would make news for him to report. He’d learned early on not to get too involved in the events he covered. It was the first lesson drummed into every would-be journalist’s skull. Staying detached was the only way to stay objective and sane. Once your personal opinions and attitudes started governing the way you reported a story, you were well on the way to becoming just an unpaid propagandist for one side or the other.

Knowles tapped his shoulder.

“Hadn’t you better get going? I thought you had lunch plans today.”

Yikes. Ian glanced at his watch. Somewhere in the middle of Haymans’s press conference he’d completely lost track of the time.

“I did… I mean, I do.”

But now he and Knowles had too much work to finish before their daily transmission window opened on the network communications satellite. He’d have to call Emily and cancel. And she wouldn’t be very happy about that.

They’d been planning this afternoon’s excursion for more than a week.

Well, she’d understand, wouldn’t she? After all, this was the biggest story to come his way since he’d gotten to Cape Town. Knowles wouldn’t really need his help until later, but it still seemed wrong to simply vanish on one of South Africa’s rare “hot” news days. Damn. Talk about getting caught in a cross fire between your profession and your personal life. Emily

van der Heijden was the one good thing that had happened to him in South

Africa.

Knowles saw the look on his face and laughed.

“Look, boyo. You cut along to lunch. And by the time you’ve finished stuffing your face, I’ll have the whole tape edited, prepped, and ready to go. “

“Thanks, Sam-I owe you one.” Ian paused, calculating how much time he’d need.

“Listen, the window opens at six, right’? Well, I probably won’t be back until four or so to do the voice-over, wrap-up, and sign-off. Is that still okay by you?”

Knowles’s fight eyebrow rose.

“Oh… it’s one of those kind of lunch dates.”

Ian was surprised to find himself embarrassed. If any other woman but Emily were involved, he’d simply have grinned and let Knowles’s lurid imagination run wild. Hell, if he were still back in the States, Knowles wouldn’t have been that far off base. But something about Emily was different. Something about tier summoned up all the old-fashioned protective instincts so scorned by ardent feminists.

Ian shook his head irritably.

“Sony to disappoint you, Sam. We don’t have anything really sordid on tap for today. Just lunch and a quick jaunt up the Table Mountain cableway for the view. “

“Sounds great.” Knowles must have heard the bite in his voice because he changed the subject fast.

“You still want me to keep that slow pan across the cabinet while Haymans’s making his statement?”

“Yeah.” Ian nodded toward the dais behind the speaker’s podium. Technicians were still swarming around the podium itself, jostling each other as they unclipped microphones and coiled lengths of tangled wiring.