Gold Page 25

  Wall had progressed on through his messages. He frowned, his regret at raising it at all increasing. ‘Brigitte re Jong,’ he read.

  ‘I’ll see her,’ said Collington.

  Chapter Thirty

  When the Saturday appointment had been confirmed, Knoetze had spoken of evidence, and so Collington went to Skinner Street with evidence of his own. It was too much of a coincidence for the Soviet purchase broker to be in South Africa, Collington decided. To his satisfaction, it was confirmation that she knew the identity of her customers when she made the purchases and he expected Knoetze to think so too. The security chief would probably be annoyed that she had managed to enter the country undetected, although the uncertainty up to now would have made any sea or airport alert to immigration officials too premature.

  Collington had expected to find the security chief in uniform, but Knoetze was casual-suited. He was a chubby-faced, soft-fleshed man, given to smiling at the end of everything he said, as if nervous of getting the other person’s agreement to an opinion. It seemed oddly to fit a man in his position.

  ‘At last!’ Knoetze greeted Collington. ‘This meeting should have been much earlier. And in pleasanter circumstances.’

  Collington accepted the offered hand, slightly confused at being treated like an old friend at their first meeting.

  ‘I suppose there’s a danger of Marius taking offence,’ continued the security chief, leading Collington to the window-seats with their view of the SAGOMI building. ‘But this is an escalation. I wanted to hear your views personally, not passed on by a third party.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Collington. And did, more than the man had intended. Collington had assumed, because of the circumstances of the gold discovery and Metzinger’s confirmation at the board meeting that it was a security file, that Knoetze would in some way be involved with Metzinger’s discussions with the government. He had never imagined the man to be the direct link.

  ‘Could they have found out about your helping us with the information about the gold?’ demanded Knoetze. ‘That’s the obvious conclusion, as they only hit your mines.’

  ‘It’s a possibility, I suppose,’ answered Collington, cautiously. Was that why the woman was pressing for a meeting beyond middle-management level, to issue threats?

  ‘We’ve confirmation that the explosives were Communist in origin,’ disclosed Knoetze. He went to his desk, returning at once holding some charred, indistinguishable shapes. Clean cardboard tags were attached to all of them. ‘These were recovered from Witwatersrand Four, One and Two,’ said the man, turning the cards over to remind himself. ‘They’re containers ….’ He stretched forward, pointing to a particularly blackened part of the piece recovered from Four. ‘Our forensic people think that’s some sort of wax.’

  ‘What’s the significance of that?’ said Collington.

  ‘It might link with the interference with the refrigeration, if the devices were activated by heat in some way,’ said Knoetze. He picked up another piece. It was badly burned, so the lettering was difficult to read. ‘It’s Spanish,’ he identified. ‘Obviously Cuban. Russia directs a lot of her activities throughout Africa that way.’

  It would be the most bizarre irony, decided Collington, if his discovery of the gold use had brought about this retaliation and ruined whatever scheme Metzinger, Wassenaar and Janet Simpson were devising. The reflection passed at once. Despite the indications to the contrary, there was no way Russia could have discovered a three-hour dinner in Jerusalem with a business contact: even Levy didn’t know the importance of the information he had provided. So why Communist bombs in their mines? And the immediate approach from Brigitte re Jong? Mystery was compounding mystery, swamping his normally clear mind with too many conflicting questions.

  ‘Your Mossad contact didn’t give any hint that the gold mines might be the next target, after the Sasol plants?’ demanded Knoetze.

  The story was continuing to unfold too confusingly for someone even of Collington’s quickness. ‘Mossad?’ he queried.

  Knoetze held up his hands – an apologetic gesture – and the quick smile came and went. ‘I wish to cause you no embarrassment,’ he said. ‘You must know that anything you say in this office will be in the strictest confidence. But Marius did tell me that your man in Israel had intelligence sources.’

  Collington supposed it might have been an exaggeration by Metzinger, to impress the other man. But the need to impress seemed pointless. ‘Certainly he has access to information,’ said Collington guardedly. ‘But our conversation about gold was entirely concentrated upon the Soviet Union and its difficulties.’

  Knoetze frowned, head to one side, as if there were a misunderstanding between them. ‘But wasn’t there a discussion about the gold coming from here being used for some fresh outrage, after the Sasol bombings?’

  That wasn’t an exaggeration by Metzinger, Collington thought: that was a downright lie. Little glimmers of awareness kept coming to him, like a curtain twitching sideways in a darkened room on a bright day. Perhaps Knoetze had more information to impart than he imagined.

  ‘There was an assumption,’ said Collington, striving for an ambiguity the man would accept without suspicion.

  ‘I don’t think I would have recommended the suspension of the gold release merely on an assumption,’ said Knoetze, allowing the irritation to become obvious. ‘Perhaps it was not a good idea for Marius to oppose our meeting for so long.’

  Collington agreed. If Knoetze had urged the suspension of the gold release for that reason, he didn’t know anything about the negotiations with Prince Hassan, guessed Collington, with stomach-churning suddenness. And if he didn’t know, then neither did anyone in the government, upon whose behalf he was supposed to be talking. The curtain swung apart, letting in more light. So what was the conclusion? There was an obvious one and Collington felt a physical chill, as if he had been exposed to an unexpected blast of coldness.

  The initial information about the gold shipment had come from Knoetze and Metzinger had used it to intrude himself like a filter, removing or distilling things he wanted neither side to know. Collington’s mind blocked with a contradiction. But why? Why lie to the government about terrorist finance and to him about secret oil supplies? The contradiction washed away as Collington thought back to everything that had been said since he entered Knoetze’s office. Always the onus had been upon him, never Metzinger. The man could have represented himself as the innocent go-between, never the guarantor of the information. So whatever the outcome he, not Metzinger, would be shown to be a liar. And a liar, too, in his dealings with the Saudi prince. There was no authority, even unofficial, to offer gold in exchange for oil.

  If he were right, then the manœuvre which had seemed so inpen-etrably confusing was really worryingly simple. Metzinger was attempting to set up a situation to expose him as a charlatan and a liar, to disgrace him publicly and bring about a shareholders’ removal at the annual meeting. SAGOMI would have been disgraced, too, by association. Which would have created a share stir. And Metzinger had been greedy, mounting a bear operation on the side, which had gone wrong because of some inexplicable attack upon their mines. The scenario swamped Collington, numbing him. There was a lot of supposition, perhaps too much. He became aware of Knoetze’s concentration and forced a response. So far the indications had come from the security chief by accident. From now on it had to be by design.

  ‘It’s proved an accurate assumption,’ Collington set out, carefully. ‘But I think the nearness of confusion proves the importance of our dealing directly with each other in future.’

  ‘I agree the need for personal contact, but not the assumption,’ said Knoetze. ‘Why only your mines? That’s an incongruity. It makes it a personal attack, rather than one against the country.’

  It was important to keep Knoetze curious and open to an approach, Collington decided. ‘It is an incongruity,’ he agreed. ‘And one I can’t explain. Although we must concede the possibility,
as I did at the beginning, I can’t honestly believe that anything I did in Israel could have been discovered. By itself, the information meant nothing. It only provided the answer for the gold purchases when I assessed it in connection with other things.’

  ‘Then the attacks are even more bewildering,’ said the security man.

  It was time to set a more direct test, to establish absolutely whether or not Knoetze knew about Hassan.

  ‘Bewildering,’ said Collington. ‘But not overly serious. I can get back into operation within three months, which is better than the Sasol plants.’

  Knoetze jerked his head in a gesture of agreement. ‘Nine months, if we’re lucky,’ he conceded. ‘It’s fortunate there’s an oil glut on the world markets. Oil is available, at a price.’

  ‘I’m imposing greater security at the mines,’ disclosed Collington. ‘Ahead of the point where the men collect their tools, I intend installing the sort of metal detectors that operate at airports, to show if anything is being carried in.’

  ‘It’ll be a deterrent, if nothing else,’ said Knoetze.

  ‘But Sasolberg and Secuna were already worked under the strictest security. What else can you do to prevent such attacks happening again?’ said Collington.

  ‘Additional guards, extra spot checks. Apart from that, nothing more than we were doing already,’ admitted Knoetze.

  He was almost there, decided Collington. ‘So there will always be a reliance on the world market?’

  ‘A need to keep the contacts open, certainly,’ said Knoetze.

  Knoetze’s response would have been inconceivable if he had known about the Saudi negotiations. So that had been how Metzinger had intended to expose him. And still could, Collington supposed. His mind ran on, considering the implications. Hassan was a government minister and a potential future ruler. And Collington had met him, as a representative of SAGOMI. So his reputation and integrity were at stake if he attempted a hurried withdrawal. The alternative presented itself and Collington immediately recognised another gamble. But was it? What if he pursued the opening he had made with Hassan? And brought it to a successful conclusion, without Metzinger being aware? The rewards to the company would be astronomical, and there would be a supreme victory, defeating Metzinger with the very method the Afrikaner had evolved to bring about Collington’s destruction.

  He’d go on, decided Collington, the gambler. But he would also attempt some insurance, at once.

  ‘What do you imagine the government’s reaction would be to the offer of a stable, guaranteed market?’ he said.

  Knoetze wasn’t displaying his camera shutter smiles any more. In a country like South Africa a security chief is as much a politician as a policeman and Knoetze was able to recognise an oblique approach when it was made.

  ‘I would imagine there would be extreme interest,’ he said.

  ‘Such an arrangement would not be easy, of course.’

  ‘I accept that.’

  ‘There would need to be an intermediary situation … a large multi-national, for instance.’

  ‘That would probably be essential.’ Knoetze permitted himself another smile, but it wasn’t the grimace of before. It was the reaction of a man getting more than he had expected.

  ‘And there would also be the need for discretion,’ said Collington. ‘Absolute discretion.’

  ‘Essential,’ said Knoetze, eagerly. ‘That would be understood, I’m sure.’

  It wasn’t much, thought Collington – hardly anything at all, in fact. And because this was an unrecorded meeting, Knoetze could deny the entire conversation, if it became necessary for him to do so. But Collington decided he was in a slightly safer position than he had been unknowingly when he entered the room. He hadn’t disclosed the presence of Brigitte re Jong. And didn’t intend to, not now. The need for a bargaining position might arise: protection even. He’d given Knoetze enough for one meeting. There was a glaring weakness in Knoetze’s association with Metzinger. And to try to lessen it almost nullified the insurance he had just attempted by hinting at an oil arrangement with the security man. But he had to do it.

  ‘About discretion,’ he urged. ‘There must be complete understanding between us both. For the moment, this conversation must reach no one beyond us two.’

  Knoetze nodded, quickly.

  ‘No one,’ emphasised Collington. He hesitated, as if making a decision, then he said, ‘There are times when negotiations are well advanced before they are even brought to the attention of my board.’

  Comprehension registered in Knoetze’s face. ‘My vocation is security,’ he said, lessening the tension of the exchanges between them. ‘What’s arisen in this conversation will remain between us. And only us.’

  Unaware of Knoetze’s antipathy towards Metzinger, Collington wondered which would prove stronger: that promise or Knoetze’s feelings for Metzinger, Broeder to Broeder? He’d taken it as far as he could, he decided.

  ‘I appreciate the guidance about the source of the explosives,’ said Collington. ‘I’ll naturally pass on anything that my engineers come up with during the examination and the repairs.’

  Knoetze took a piece of card from his pocket and handed it to Collington, and Collington saw it had the man’s private, unlisted telephone number both here in the office and at home, i’d welcome that,’ he said. ‘I think it’s obvious that there should be further meetings between us.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ agreed Knoetze.

  Collington drove unhurriedly back to the SAGOMI building. He felt like a man half-way across a bridge, suddenly becoming aware that the ropes were being cut at either side of the chasm. At least the encounter with Knoetze had provided him with some sort of safety line, but he was unsure if it were strong enough to support his weight if he fell. The supposition he’d reached about Metzinger fitted everything that he knew, so far. The problem was that he didn’t know enough. He wondered if the meeting with Brigitte re Jong would provide any more.

  She came politely but confidently into the room, a petite, compact woman: Collington’s impression was one of business-like efficiency. Closer, he saw what he thought were signs of tiredness around her eyes, only partially concealed by her spectacles. The glasses suited her, he thought. She smoothed the skirt of her silk print dress sedately over her knees and carefully placed the large, almost briefcase size handbag alongside her chair. It was crocodile, Collington saw, and matched her shoes: the Russians hadn’t stinted. How much benefit did that knowledge give him? Until he discovered the purpose of her visit, that was an impossible question to answer. At least he wasn’t at a disadvantage. He wasn’t apprehensive, either. Which he should have been, he supposed. It was difficult to think of her as anything but a reasonably attractive woman.

  ‘I’m very grateful for your agreeing to see me, particularly at a time like this,’ she said. The accent that overlaid the English was impossible to identify.

  Was she attempting to make some point immediately? He would have to be cautious against forming instant judgments on every remark. Collington smiled and said, ‘Having scheduled the week-end for work, I actually found there was not a lot to do, once the repairs had been agreed and started. And I was intrigued why someone should fly all the way from Amsterdam to speak to us.’

  ‘I hardly imagined I would be fortunate enough to speak to you,’ she said flatteringly. ‘And the visit is hardly surprising, surely, after the upheaval on the bullion markets. For anyone committed to contracts, the effect of the mine attacks, so close after the bullion suspension, was catastrophic’

  Again the directness, thought Collington. Yet there was almost an innocence about it. And he knew damned well she wasn’t innocent. As she spoke she answered his smile and Collington saw she had perfect teeth.

  ‘The bullion suspension was a government decision, as it would have to be,’ said Collington, wanting to separate the two things.

  She put her hand up to the side of her head, making some unnecessary adjustment to her glasses an
d said, ‘I’ve seen quite a lot of producers – Anglo-American, Consolidated Gold Fields, Rio-Tinto Zinc. All say the same.’

  ‘What else could they say?’ demanded Collington. ‘We supply to the government, according to the law ….’ He paused, alert for her reaction to what he was about to add. ‘The decision on what or what not to release on world markets is entirely a political decision.’

  She met his look, giving no facial response. ‘Surely there is consultation, from time to time?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Collington. ‘But there wasn’t on this occasion. Not with my company, certainly.’ There was a lack of formality about the conversation, quite different from what he would have expected. If she wasn’t going to attempt it, then he would have to take some lead. ‘Why have you sought this meeting, Miss re Jong?’ he asked bluntly.

  She blushed at once, and Collington got the impression of genuine embarrassment. ‘In Holland I have created a very successful business,’ she said. ‘I have a number of customers committed to a future position on bullion contracts: some could be seriously embarrassed by the shortage and the continuing uncertainty, driving prices up as high as they are.’

  ‘That’s the major peril of commodity dealing,’ encouraged Collington.

  ‘A peril,’ she agreed. ‘But not a necessity. I’ve built up a reputation by being able to provide my customers with the absolute maximum information, taking as much of the gamble out of it as possible.’

  It was a convincing performance, thought Collington. Normally he would have been impressed. ‘And you value that reputation sufficiently highly to come all the way to South Africa?’

  ‘To be able to advise my people whether there was going to be a further withholding or a release, within a few days or a few weeks, would probably be the single most important piece of information I could pass on,’ she said.