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  Metzinger had arranged the photographic gallery of his house to the maximum effect. There were pictures of Milner in cockaded hat and official sash with his gleaming landau at glittering champagne receptions. And alongside were prints of Afrikaner women and children, after their incarceration in Kitchener’s concentration camps. Plump, shimmering English wives were compared to peasant-capped Boer women, attempting to nourish stick-limbed babies from empty, spaniel-eared breasts. English teenagers, crimped pantaloons crisp beneath lace dresses, cavorted with croquet mallets alongside images of swollen-bellied youngsters who had known death before puberty. And then there was the surrender at Vereeniging, in May 1902, leaders like Botha and De Wet and De la Rey and Kemp and Beyers, heroes dressed in canvas and rags after three years of bitter guerilla war, contrasted again with the costumed and bemedalled British negotiators.

  Knoetze, who was not a man given to emotion, turned away blinking rapidly and said, ‘That’s a wonderful exhibition. Our children should pass by that record of events every day, as they enter school.’

  ‘And the children of other nations,’ said Metzinger bitterly. ‘The nations that criticise us.’

  Silent in agreement, the two men walked towards the huge barn in which Metzinger housed the covered wagons.

  ‘These actually went on the trek?’ demanded Knoetze in awe.

  ‘All three,’ assured Metzinger. ‘A few wheel-spokes have been restored, and the hoods, of course. But otherwise they’re original.’

  There was silence again, as two men might stand before a shrine.

  ‘It has made me proud to come here today,’ said Knoetze, finally.

  ‘I am glad you did,’ said Metzinger politely.

  Knoetze turned to the other man, reminded of the purpose of his visit and appearing embarrassed at the recollection. ‘This isn’t a social occasion,’ he said.

  Metzinger stared back, without surprise. ‘Shall we go back to the house?’

  ‘It would be more convenient. I’ve things I want to show you,’ said the intelligence chief, gesturing with the briefcase he had carried throughout the tour and which he had refused to surrender, even to the security of his own driver.

  Metzinger led the way from the barn, across the square and into the farmhouse. The boy arrived in automatic attendance, but Metzinger dismissed him immediately, wanting to know the reason for Knoetze’s visit and irritated by any interruption.

  ‘You must understand this is not an official visit,’ said Knoetze, in further warning.

  Metzinger nodded.

  ‘Broeder to Broeder,’ emphasised the security chief.

  ‘Broeder to Broeder,’ accepted Metzinger.

  Unspeaking, Knoetze took from his briefcase the pictures of the gold ingots bearing the South African government stamp and then the minor company imprint from which it had been so easy to establish their source as SAGOMI.

  Metzinger studied the pictures and looked up, open-eyed in curiosity. ‘Our gold,’ he said, as if he were surprised at the need for identification.

  ‘Disposed of where?’ demanded Knoetze.

  Metzinger’s expression of curiosity widened. ‘Where else can it be disposed of?’ he questioned back, in return. ‘The government can be the only purchaser, by law.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how these ingots came to be in the possession of the Soviet Union, then?’

  ‘The Soviet Union!’

  Knoetze, who was an accomplished interrogator, noted the other man’s astonishment. It was quite genuine, he decided. Succinctly, he gave the details of the discovery, recognising again the incredulity that registered upon Metzinger’s face when he disclosed the value of the shipment that had been discovered in the Soviet plane.

  ‘Stolen?’ queried Metzinger at once.

  ‘There are no reports,’ said Knoetze. ‘And we would have known about the loss of bullion of this value.’

  ‘Genuine purchase, then?’

  ‘Unquestionably.’

  ‘But the Soviet Union is a producer of gold. Why should it want to buy?’

  ‘That’s what I want to find out,’ said Knoetze. ‘And that’s why I came here today.’

  Metzinger frowned. ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ he said.

  ‘There are several different ways to get through a maze,’ said Knoetze. ‘The easiest is to start from the inside and work outwards: in that direction you never get blocked by a cul-de-sac.’

  Chapter Eight

  Metzinger’s call for an unscheduled meeting, so soon after the boardroom confrontation, was an unnecessary reminder to Collington of the recurring problem of his weakened control. Jenkins responded as he had promised, arriving in South Africa within forty-eight hours of Collington’s call and Brooking reluctantly broke a vacation in France, flying in a day before. They assembled in advance in Collington’s office suite, platt and Jenkins arriving together, followed by Jamieson and Brooking.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ demanded Brooking at once. His irritation made him more forceful than usual.

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Collington. ‘There’s no requirement under the company rules for a reason to be given.’

  ‘Haven’t you asked Metzinger directly?’ said Platt.

  ‘If he’d wanted to tell us, he’d have listed it in his request,’ said Collington. ‘I didn’t think it was good tactics to ask openly.’

  ‘Nothing we haven’t overlooked, like last time?’ suggested Jenkins.

  Collington shook his head positively. ‘One mistake was enough,’ he said. ‘I’ve had reports prepared on everything: individual shareholdings, voting strengths, proportional directorships … the lot.’

  ‘Was there a reply from Mrs Simpson to the formal request for sale?’ asked Jamieson, referring to his suggestion at the previous meeting.

  ‘Exactly what we thought it would be,’ said Collington. ‘She hasn’t the slightest intention of selling.’

  ‘Metzinger’s really stitched her up, hasn’t he?’ said Platt.

  ‘It’s something we’re going to have to learn to live with,’ predicted Jenkins. ‘It’s going to be damned difficult and sometimes impossibly inconvenient, but we’re stuck with it.’

  Collington led the way through the linking door into the boardroom. Metzinger, de Villiers and Wassenaar were already assembled and were looking expectantly towards the approaching Englishmen. Collington remembered that at the previous meeting, where he’d loosened their control, Metzinger had been unable to keep from his face the expectation of success. There was no expression of satisfaction this time.

  Collington waited until everyone was seated, then read out the formal notice convening the meeting and the article of formation which gave Metzinger the right to demand it. As he had expected, Metzinger recorded possession of Mrs Simpson’s proxy.

  Metzinger’s demeanour was quite different from before, recognised Collington. He turned to the man and when he did so became conscious that alongside Metzinger’s chair there were at least three briefcases.

  ‘Shall we begin?’ offered Collington.

  Metzinger nodded, looking around the table at each of them before speaking. Then he said: ‘I want it understood that the discussion which is to take place this morning must remain absolutely secret. The need for that will become obvious, but I want now to propose the formal exclusion of all secretarial staff.’

  ‘Seconded,’ said de Villiers at once.

  Collington stared again at the man to his right, apprehensively. Seeing the look, Metzinger said: ‘I do so on the understanding that a further motion can be put forward, if anyone disagrees with my request, and that the Minute clerk can be recalled.’

  ‘I’d like to move an amendment,’ said Jenkins from the other side of the table. ‘I propose that this board goes into private session to consider the reasons for secrecy but that at the end of any explanation, the decision to remain in unrecorded session be put to the vote.’

  ‘Seconded,’ said Platt, matching the other accountant�
�s reaction.

  ‘I will not argue with that,’ said Metzinger.

  This time Collington managed to keep from his face any reaction to the man’s behaviour. He had been expecting opposition and instead was receiving co-operation. He moved the formal vote, which was unanimous, and then sat back while the secretaries and the Minute clerk filed out.

  While the room was being cleared, Metzinger leaned sideways, bringing his briefcases on to the table and taking from them what appeared to be identical folders. He slid them across the polished table, one for each director.

  He looked to the doors to satisfy himself that only the eight of them remained in the room, and then he opened his folder. Everyone else did the same. The first photograph was an external shot of the crashed Soviet aircraft in the Amsterdam field. It was taken in such a way that the word Aeroflot was clearly identifiable.

  ‘A Soviet transporter which crashed in Holland six weeks ago,’ began Metzinger, his opening as dramatic as the picture. ‘And upon which, according to the best estimates available, was found something approximating to the entire supply of gold which this company has made available to the South African government over the last three months.’

  They were clearly handling classified intelligence material, Collington realised worriedly. It would have come from a Broederbond link. Collington knew from Hannah that Metzinger belonged and guessed that de Villiers and Wassenaar did too. It was logical that membership within the South African security services would be high.

  Like any businessman in South Africa, Collington was aware of the Broederbond and its controlling power within the country. He was instinctively uneasy about secret societies, particularly a society which had evolved the theory of apartheid to maintain Afrikaner supremacy. But now wasn’t the moment to think of moral integrity: now was the time to thank Christ it gave them access to secret information.

  Metzinger had paused, looking again to each man in the room, conscious of the astonishment they all showed. Louis Knoetze’s file was very complete and etzinger started to take the board through it, document by document and photograph by photograph.

  The picture immediately beneath that of the crashed Ilyushin was of a woman. It had obviously been taken with a concealed camera, but the quality was still sufficient to show a petite, dark-haired girl of about thirty-five, studiously bespectacled, a briefcase in her hand. There appeared to be a canal or waterway in the background.

  ‘Brigitte re Jong,’ identified Metzinger, obviously enjoying his command of the meeting. ‘She heads the brokerage company which legitimately purchased the metal. It’s a firm that’s existed for a number of years and appears to be a properly conducted, bona fide business.’

  ‘Is she Russian?’ demanded Jamieson.

  ‘There’s a birth record of a Brigitte re Jong being born in Utrecht in June 1946,’ said Metzinger, going back to his files. ‘She was illegitimate, the result of some wartime liaison. A lot of records appear to have been misplaced or simply not kept during that time. But she certainly entered Utrecht University in 1964 and graduated three years later with an honours degree in economics.’

  ‘She must know for whom she’s buying,’ insisted platt.

  ‘It’s a possibility, but there isn’t any proof,’ said Metzinger. ‘She’s been thoroughly investigated since our government discovered the gold shipment. She seems to be nothing more than a successful businesswoman.’

  ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ protested platt.

  From a third briefcase Metzinger took further files. ‘It does,’ he said. ‘The business is a pyramid construction. Her company, König Nepthaven, was purchased a year ago by a Zurich firm, Zilgiesser and Bosche. They’re headquartered in the Jupiter-strasse: all the directors are lawyers …’

  ‘Fronting as nominees,’ interrupted platt.

  Metzinger nodded. ‘From Zilgiesser and Bosche, everything goes into bank holdings. Protected by Swiss anonymity.’

  ‘What else?’ said de Villiers.

  Metzinger moved on through pictures of the aircraft interior and the exterior of the brokerage house, this time with a slightly clearer image of the woman, and then circulated the reports which Knoetze had assembled after the Zurich meeting with the Dutch intelligence official. It was an hour before they looked up from the files in front of them. Metzinger had maintained the commentary throughout. He reached forward for a glass of water when he finished and said hoarsely, ‘Now is the time to vote on the re-entry of any secretarial staff.’

  ‘I don’t think that will be necessary,’ said Collington at once.

  ‘Are we sure this is genuine?’ asked platt, showing his accountant’s caution.

  ‘Unquestionably so,’ said Metzinger. ‘I can guarantee the source as impeccable.’

  ‘Is this an official approach?’ Collington asked. If it were, it should have come to him, as chairman. But in the circumstances, he wasn’t concerned with the propriety: he just wanted as much information as possible.

  Metzinger hesitated, selecting the words. ‘The government is aware of today’s meeting,’ he said.

  It wasn’t quite an answer to his question, decided Collington.

  ‘Why have they involved us?’ asked Jenkins.

  ‘Because they don’t understand it,’ said Metzinger simply. ‘We’re gold producers … supposed experts. They want our assistance.’

  Metzinger had every justification for summoning the meeting as he had done, decided Collington. And he had been quite wrong in anticipating another confrontation. Today there was no animosity between the two sides; they were working together smoothly against what could erupt into a major difficulty for the company.

  ‘After South Africa, the Soviet Union is the world’s biggest gold producer,’ said Collington, in an unnecessary reminder. ‘It exports, not buys. Why the purchases, on this scale?’

  ‘A cornering operation, to unbalance free world currencies?’ suggested de Villiers.

  ‘No one is on a gold standard any more,’ argued platt.

  ‘There’s always an effect, gold standard or not,’ said the other accountant.

  ‘We control our sales,’ pointed out Wassenaar. ‘South Africa has the corner. No one could ever hope to get market control with the reserves we hold’.

  ‘There must have been earlier purchases,’ said Jenkins.

  ‘It’s believed there were,’ said Metzinger, ‘Although not on the single scale of that in the Amsterdam plane. So far the government has traced contracts through Amsterdam and Zurich amounting to about £300,000,000.’

  ‘What about Russian production?’ asked Jamieson. He looked to Collington for a reply.

  ‘Precise figures aren’t known,’ he said. ‘The last survey Consolidated Gold Fields made of production throughout the Communist world estimated Soviet output at between 280 and 350 tonnes a year.’

  ‘That’s less than previous estimates,’ said de Villiers, a man always concerned with figures. ‘The assessment in 1977 was 444 tonnes. And in 1970 it was put at 346.’

  Platt was groping through his own briefcase. He emerged as the South African accountant finished talking, gesturing with a statistics book. ‘That doesn’t balance,’ he said. ‘In the three years, from 1976 to ’78, the Russians sold more than 400 tonnes on the open market, each year. And open sales are continuing.’

  ‘It’s possible they’ve had mining difficulties,’ speculated Jenkins. ‘It’s a known fact that because of weather conditions they can only operate their Siberian mines for five months of the year.’

  ‘But where’s the logic in their buying bullion at a market price, to re-offer it as Soviet gold?’ said de Villiers. ‘They would just be spending their foreign currency one month and replacing it the next. It’s a pointless exercise.’

  ‘And dangerous,’ supported platt. ‘If there were a sudden fluctuation, they could find themselves buying high and selling low and actually losing money.’

  ‘I’m not surprised at the government bewilderment,’ said
Collington.

  ‘No one expects instant answers,’ said Metzinger, enjoying the fact his information was from Cabinet level. ‘I was asked to initiate a discussion and keep people informed.’

  ‘What official action is the government taking?’ said Jenkins.

  Metzinger was glad he had spent so much time with Knoetze, rehearsing everything he was likely to be asked. He shook his head. ‘At the moment, nothing. Why should they? There’s nothing illegal in what’s happening: it’s a legitimate market operation.’

  ‘But it couldn’t be allowed to continue,’ insisted Jenkins. ‘Not with Pretoria’s expressed attitude to the Soviet Union. If the government’s claims are true and the increasing unrest among the blacks is Communist supported, it could be turned to appear that South Africa was financing guerillas pledged to its overthrow.’

  ‘That’s a somewhat convoluted scenario,’ said Metzinger. ‘But that’s the sort of concern uppermost in their minds. What if the transaction isn’t financial? What if, for some reason we can guess, Moscow has evolved something that will create a political embarrassment for us?’

  ‘I can’t imagine what it might be,’ said Jamieson.

  ‘I can’t imagine why the world’s second biggest gold producer is buying back,’ snapped Wassenaar, showing the first division between the two groups.

  ‘I don’t want us to be used as any sort of shuttlecock,’ said Collington, irritated at the lapse between the two men.

  Metzinger seemed equally annoyed, glancing at both of them before turning back to Collington and saying, ‘Neither does the government. That was in their minds as much as anything else when they informed us.’