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  ‘Haven’t you approached the government sources?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘The official reply is that no decision has been made.’

  ‘So you are attempting the unofficial?’

  ‘I would have thought it a possibility that producers might get clearer advice. And that I might be able to get some impression of that advice.’

  ‘Have you?’

  She shook her head. ‘The best I’ve been able to get is some nebulous impression that there’ll be something soon.’

  ‘I’ve known commodity contracts agreed on less,’ said Collington.

  ‘Not commodity contracts that I recommend. I don’t just want the maximum information. I want the maximum accurate information,’ she retorted.

  There should have been something by now, Collington decided. Hardly an open threat, but a nuance at least. He set out to force the pace. ‘I’m afraid you’ve come to an unproductive source, literally!’ he said. ‘Since the Communist attacks, I can’t even produce gold.’

  She faltered, just slightly, and if it hadn’t been for Collington’s presumption about her true identity it would have meant nothing. ‘Communist?’ she queried.

  ‘There’s been an official statement,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I didn’t see anything about proof,’ she said, recovering.

  ‘There’s been sufficient material recovered to confirm it forensically,’ he said.

  There was the slightest pause while she digested the information, and again it would have been meaningless but for his knowledge. Collington sat, waiting. He had created an ideal approach for her. All she had to do now was choose the innuendo and let him know the mistake he had made to cause the mines to be sabotaged in such a planned, detailed manner.

  ‘In one day, those attacks caused a price fluctuation of $30 an ounze,’ she said.

  She’d ignored it! She had had an opportunity which it was impossible for her not to have seen or to have used, and she had responded with some empty remark about fluctuations. The inconsistencies began piling up, like snow in a drift. The Soviet Union was short of gold and being forced to buy on the open market. So it would have been insanity for them to mount such an outrage so soon after a bullion suspension which had already affected prices so much that their commodity deal with America must be bleeding them of resources. Only hours before he’d seen an explosive canister with Cuban markings. And Cuba behaved in Africa as it was instructed by Moscow. Yet not eight feet away from him sat a woman whom he was convinced was an agent of the Soviet Union, behaving as if she had been totally unaware of the staging of the attacks. Collington felt a surge of depression. He had left his meeting with the South African security chief believing that things were becoming clearer. With this woman he was becoming increasingly confused, by the minute. Then through the mist came a sudden moment of clarity, an advantage he hadn’t realised before. Knoetze had confirmed his influence, making it clear that the suspension had occurred following his recommendation. Collington was convinced he had impressed the security chief sufficiently to orchestrate another decision, if he chose to do so. That gave him a position of incredible power over the woman and those whom she represented. If the mine attacks had been Communist in origin, it gave him an insurance he hadn’t appreciated before. It was time for Brigitte re Jong to be offered some innuendo.

  ‘A $30 fluctuation will be miniscule, compared to what will happen if there’s a continuation of the gold suspension,’ he said.

  She frowned, unable to stop her reaction to such a possibility and said, ‘I accept it’s a government decision, removed from you and every other producer, but what’s your opinion?’

  ‘I think things have changed since the sabotage of my mines,’ said Collington.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said the woman. She was staring at him, intently.

  ‘I’ve already told you I had no foreknowledge, on this occasion, of the suspension,’ said Collington. ‘But quite obviously there was contact between the suppliers afterwards. My impression was that the full commitment to reserve was a limited decision and that next month there would have been a normal release.’

  ‘And now?’ she asked urgently.

  Collington decided to make it appear a boastful indiscretion, that of a man wanting to impress an attractive woman. He smiled, indicating a confidence. ‘Since the attacks, my contact has been more direct,’ he said. ‘South Africa sees gold as one of its strongest weapons in world affairs. I wouldn’t be surprised if the suspension isn’t continued until the inference is taken and international pressure is applied against the countries supplying the guerrillas with ammunition and expertise to attack us.’

  Collington accepted it was a flawed argument and one that he could have improved, had he had more time for consideration. But perhaps it benefited from the rough edges: if there had been no inconsistencies, it might have appeared too contrived.

  ‘Another suspension would create a positive starvation,’ protested the woman.

  ‘And achieve precisely the effect I’ve spoken about,’ said Collington. Would it be going too far to indicate that he was in a position to affect the decision?

  ‘It could mean something like $1500 an ounze,’ she said, in awe, more to herself than to him. ‘That’s preposterous.’

  She had provided him with an opening and Collington decided to take it. ‘Even with the production loss SAGOMI is going to suffer until we get our mines back into operation, such a decision would affect us enormously.’ He hesitated, to create the impression of continued boastfulness. ‘I actually said I didn’t know if it were justified for us to make such a profit. We’d be the only ones to benefit in a practical way.’

  Her eyes had been averted while she considered the implications of a continued suspension, but at the indication of personal consultation she came back to him, intent again.

  ‘Perhaps I’m saying too much,’ he laughed, guessing that would be the behaviour of a conceited man. ‘I never imagined any advantage from the attacks, but it seems I’m being allowed access to a limited degree of official thinking. It’s rather flattering.’

  ‘What was the reaction to your view about it being justified?’ she said.

  She would not have asked a direct question like that an hour ago, Collington knew. So she had accepted the impression he was attempting to convey, an over-promoted man anxious to impress.

  ‘Flattering again,’ he said. ‘I know it’s difficult to be sure, but there was a definite inference that my views carried some weight. I think they expected my opinion to be utterly different, as I was the victim of the outrages.’ He’d gone far enough, Collington decided. Apart from his difficulty in maintaining the charade much longer, he wanted to stop far shon of allowing her any suspicion. He still found it difficult, believing her true identity and her true function. He made much of consulting his watch.

  ‘I’ve a mine tour very shortly,’ he said.

  She took the hint, leaning to gather the briefcase handbag. ‘Again I want to say how grateful I am for the time you’ve allowed me,’ she said. ‘It’s been useful: very useful.’

  There was just one final thing, thought Collington. ‘How much longer are you staying in South Africa?’

  ‘I haven’t really decided, not yet.’

  ‘Are you enjoying it?’

  ‘There’s been little apart from work.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Collington, trying to maintain the image he had created for her. ‘There should be some time for socialising.’

  She stared at him across the desk, remembering to smile just in time. ‘That would be very nice,’ she said.

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Burgerspark.’

  Collington made a show of noting it on his jotting pad. ‘Maybe we’ll meet again,’ he said.

  ‘I would like that.’

  And so would he, thought Collington. But not for the reasons she believed.

  ‘How the hell did she get in to see the chairm
an himself?’ demanded Krotkov.

  ‘I don’t know. And it’s not important,’ said Leonov, impatiently. ‘What’s important is that according to the man, we initiated the explosions.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘Positive, forensic proof

  There were hundreds of operatives in the field, thought Krotkov, and a lot of nationalist guerrillas in Africa whom They supplied but whose actions they couldn’t monitor from day to day.

  ‘There’ve been no instructions,’ protested Krotkov. ‘On my honour. It would be an inconceivable thing for me to do.’

  ‘It was inconceivable to have been denied money for so long. But it happened,’ said Leonov. Anticipating the man’s burst of rage, he said, ‘I’m not suggesting you ordered it. What about someone else?’

  ‘I’ll find out,’ guaranteed Krotkov. ‘And if I discover someone operating on his own initiative, he’ll spend the rest of his life in Lubyanka.’

  In Pretoria, Brigitte re Jong sat submerged in the bath, confused by what seemed to be happening. It would be outrageous if one section of Soviet intelligence were working against the other. It made any chance of rectifying the shortfall virtually impossible, without bothering to calculate the next amount for which they were contracted in a few months’ time. Her thoughts moved on to her meeting with Collington. He had surprised her. She had expected a mature man – sophisticated even. Instead of which he had behaved like a fool, interested only in impressing her. She wondered what he would be like in bed. That would be the inevitable result of any further contact from him. And she’d have to do it, in case there was some benefit. She wouldn’t enjoy it, she knew.

  Collington would have preferred to find some better way of continuing to off-balance Metzinger, but there was nothing else, he decided, approaching the deputy chairman’s office. Metzinger was alone, sitting alert behind his desk, when Collington entered.

  ‘Thought there was something you should know,’ said Collington. ‘Hannah and I have decided to get back together.’

  Metzinger said nothing.

  ‘I imagined you’d be pleased, for Paul at least,’ said Collington, heavily.

  ‘Of course,’ said Metzinger. At least, he thought, there was something positive he could do about that.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The helicopter was waiting on the airstrip. Collington belted himself into the co-pilot’s seat and stared out of the window as the machine lifted off. There had been a lot of improvisation during his encounter with Brigitte re Jong. And with Knoetze, too. Collington couldn’t recall an occasion when he had acted with less preparation and the awareness worried him. He thought he had ended ahead on both encounters, but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t even sure what he had hoped to achieve with the woman. She could be an advantage, certainly. But also a danger. On balance, perhaps more danger than advantage, if Knoetze ever discovered that he had been aware of a Soviet agent on South African territory and withheld the information.

  Collington felt as if he were staring down at the disjointed board of a jigsaw puzzle, with all the pieces split apart, but without the picture to guide him. He needed the key and he needed it quickly. Behind every meeting he had and every action he took lay the awareness in Collington’s mind that he had £103,000,000 to raise in less than a month.

  His arrival at the mine was radioed ahead. The manager of Witwatersrand Four, Walter Shaw, was waiting on the airstrip. Beside him was the mine engineer, whom he introduced as William Kruber.

  The instructions to hurry the repairs had been given the previous day, and in the Landrover taking them to the mine-head Collington explained the reasoning.

  ‘A press party, for Wednesday?’ asked Kruber. From the way he spoke it was obvious he thought the idea ridiculous.

  ‘Television, too,’ said Collington. ‘They’re to be given a complete tour of the mine. I’m printing maps to be issued before they descend, so they will be able to compare and know they’re being shown everything … I want every section operational during the tour ….’ He turned to the manager. ‘I shall be coming, too,’ he said. ‘At the end of the tour I want some sort of facilities for a press conference. The keynote is going to be absolute openness.’

  They got to the mine and Collington once more struggled into protective clothing that was too small for him. There was illumination as they went past the two first levels, but only the emergency lighting was in operation on the lowest level, where the electricity had been isolated because of the damage. Because it was the deepest part of the mine, the heat was greatest at that point. Generator-driven fan coolers had been installed, but even so the area was only just workable.

  ‘We’re using brief shifts,’ explained Kruber, as they progressed along the shaft. ‘Thirty minutes on, one hour off. Thanks, incidentally, for the extra men. It wouldn’t have worked without them.’

  They stopped where the roof had collapsed. The debris had already been removed and the shaft ceiling shored up, timber bulkheads supporting metal plating. The twisted tracking had already been lifted and welders were crouched over torches which were adding to the heat, fixing new sections into place.

  ‘Should be completed by tomorrow, at the latest,’ promised Shaw.

  ‘Which leaves the refrigeration,’ said Kruber. ‘Because of the need for speed, I’m not going to attempt to replace. It was punctured in eight places. I’m going to patch the lot, internally as well as on the outside, for extra strength.’

  Collington nodded agreement. ‘Once the press visit is over, you can close down the lower section and replace what’s necessary,’ he said.

  The heat was taking his breath, making him pant. As they moved back towards the cage, Collington saw that Shaw had thermos cases packed with water, for the men to replace their sweat loss.

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ he said.

  ‘It’s necessary,’ said the manager.

  Collington emerged gratefully at ground level, gulping for air. ‘We can get the repairs done without too much difficulty,’ he judged.

  The two men nodded.

  ‘But what about the men who did it in the first place?’

  Shaw shook his head. ‘The investigations have got nowhere,’ he said. ‘Three men failed to turn up for work, which might indicate that they’ve run, thinking we’d discover they were involved. But we can’t be sure there weren’t more.’

  ‘It’s going to be quite pointless working like this for three days and then having the whole thing wrecked by another explosion,’ said Collington. ‘If we’re attacked again it would cause exactly the opposite effect to that which I’m trying to achieve. By tomorrow I’ll have the detection devices here. I’m also going to send in medical staff. After the men have gone through, I want a physical check. The obvious way to get dynamite sticks into the mine and still beat the detector is for them to be carried internally.’

  ‘Anal examination?’ queried Shaw distastefully.

  ‘You won’t have to do it,’ said Collington.

  ‘But it would take hours,’ protested Shaw.

  ‘No it won’t,’ rejected Collington. ‘The first day it will be for everybody and there’ll be heavy delays. The following day everyone will know how stringent the checks are and won’t consider carrying anything anyway, so we can reduce the intensity. By Wednesday, we can come down to spot checks, sufficient to show we’re not relaxing but insufficient to cause any serious hold-up.’

  ‘What about hospitality?’ asked Shaw, suddenly. ‘For all the people who will be here on Wednesday.’

  Collington hesitated, nodding at the forethought. ‘Keep it simple,’ he instructed. ‘I don’t want anyone imagining they’re being given the treatment to be conned. No booze, just soft drinks. And keep the food simple, too. Nothing more than sandwiches.’

  ‘Any thoughts in Pretoria on why our mines were singled out for attack?’ asked Kruber.

  ‘Not yet,’ said Collington.

  ‘What about the explosives?’ demanded the engineer and Colling
ton remembered that one of the shattered canisters Knoetze had shown him that morning had come from this mine.

  ‘Cuban markings,’ he said.

  ‘No doubt it was Communist then?’ said Shaw.

  ‘Doesn’t appear to be.’

  ‘Bastards!’ said Kruber viciously.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Collington, less forcefully. ‘They’re bastards.’

  Collington flew back to Pretoria, encouraged that his idea with Witwatersrand Four was practicable. If he could maintain the confidence until Friday, then the danger of any concentrated pressure upon the shares would be over. And seven days would have passed, bringing nearer the time he had to pay in full for the shares he had bought on the ten per cent margin. After two weeks, Collington reckoned that he could dispose of perhaps fifteen thousand shares, in small pockets spread all over the world markets, without causing any noticeable fluctuation. If they maintained their present price, that would mean each share going at four points above what he had paid for them, so he would have a cash profit of maybe £10,000,000. With that liquidity he might be able to borrow another £15,000,000. Which still left him hopelessly short of the settlement figure.

  He shrugged aside the calculations. He still had almost four full weeks and a lot could happen in that time: there were other and more immediate things to occupy him.

  The board meeting had been scheduled for the evening to allow for Jenkins’ arrival. Everyone was assembled by the time Collington got to the SAGOMI building and unlike the previous day, he didn’t bother to shower and change before going into the boardroom.

  He entered looking intently at Metzinger and Wassenaar, believing he now knew the reason for their previous day’s behaviour. Both appeared to have recovered their composure: indeed, there was something approaching a stiffness about them, as if they were making a conscious effort to show no emotion whatsoever. He would have to alter that, he decided. Uncertain, they might make a mistake and provide another part of the picture he was trying so desperately hard to complete.