Vortex

“Start acting like men, not whimpering schoolboys. Or worse, like cowardly kaffirs! “

The deadly insult stiffened backs throughout the room.

Vorster shoved his chair back and rose to his full height, towering over every other man in the room. He strode over to the situation map, pushing past a startled de Wet.

He turned.

“You look at maps, at scraps of paper, and see the end of the world! ” A contemptuous hand thumped the map, almost toppling it off its stand.

“I look at the same drawings, the same lines of ink and pencil, but I do not see defeat and disaster! I see our final victory!”

Marius van der Heijden shivered. Had the man he’d followed blindly for so many years gone mad? Others around the table stirred uneasily, grappling with the same fear.

Vorster shook his finger at them like a sorrowful father chiding unruly children.

“Come now, my friends. Can’t you see God’s design in all of this?”

His voice dropped, becoming softer and more persuasive. It was less the voice of a politician and more the voice of a preacher.

“Like the ancient

Israelites we stand surrounded by our foes-outmatched and seemingly overpowered. But just as God raised up David to smite Goliath, so God has given us the weapons we need to destroy our enemies. Weapons of awesome power and cleansing fire.”

He turned and pointed to a small dot on the map-a dot just outside

Pretoria.

“Weapons that wait there for our orders, my friends.”

His finger rested on the hill called Pelindaba-the “place of meeting.”

ADMINISTRATION CENTER, PELINDABA RESEARCH

COMPLEX

The atomic research site called Pelindaba sat high on a bluff overlooking a tangle of winding valleys and low hills just south of Pretoria. Lush green lawns and immaculately landscaped rock gardens gave its laboratories, living quarters, and gleaming steel-and-glass administration building the look of a quiet college campus. In such surroundings, the squat, square, windowless bulk of Pelindaba’s uranium-enrichment facility and the tall smokestacks of an adjacent coal-fired power plant seemed alien-obtrusive reminders of the intrusion of a hostile industrial machine into what appeared to be a placid academic world.

Inside the Administration Center, Col. Frans Peiper stared out an upper-floor window to hide his irritation from the young woman receptionist. A face marked by cold gray eyes, a straight, pointed nose, and a tight-lipped mouth scowled back at him. He clasped his hands behind his back to avoid the embarrassment of unconsciously looking at his watch again.

As usual, Pelindaba’s civilian director was late. For a man of great learning, Peiper thought savagely, Dr. Jakobus Schumann had such an imperfect concept of time.

He turned as the rotund, whitehaired administrator came bustling in through the door, an apology already tumbling out through a smiling mouth.

“Terribly sorry for the delay, Colonel. Afraid I got myself tangled up in a small liquefaction problem over at the labs.”

Peiper nodded stiffly, unsure whether Schumann’s “small problem” involved uranium enrichment or a drunk technician.

“But here I am at last, eh?” The older man ushered him into his office.

“Now then, Colonel, what can I do for the esteemed commander of our garrison?”

Peiper came to attention. His news required a formal delivery.

“It is more a question of what you will do for me, Director. I have received new orders from Pretoria.” He paused, watching Schumann’s face carefully.

“Headquarters informs me that the State Security Council has issued a

Special Weapons Warning Order.”

Schumann paled.

“Are you sure of that, Colonel? That would mean .. - “

“Quite sure, Director. ” Peiper nodded in grim satisfaction.

“All scientists, engineers, and other personnel at Pelindaba are now under my direct command. Further, effective immediately, this facility is on full war alert. No one goes in or out without my permission.”

He glanced out the window over Schumann’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of soldiers in full battle dress scattering throughout the compound.

Good. He didn’t expect any trouble. All the South African scientists and engineers working here were handpicked Afrikaners of proven loyalty.

Still,

it never paid to take chances.

“Do you have any questions?”

Schumann moistened suddenly dry lips.

“Just one, Colonel. Have they told you how many weapons will be assembled or where they might be used?”

“No.” Peiper looked down at the nervous old man, secretly rejoicing in a welcome sense of power and control.

“And I haven’t asked. Such questions are beyond our need to know.”

He fingered the AWB button pinned to his uniform jacket.

“One matter remains, Director. These Israeli scientists of yours … “They are not mine, Colonel. They’re invited guests of our government.”

If anything, that was an understatement. The atomic weapons programs of