De Vaal turned from the open window and brushed both hands through a thicket of gray wavy hair. He looked more like a professor of ancient languages than like the iron-willed head of the second largest j military power on the continent. Not that he had exactly inherited a plum job. De Vaal was the fifth defense minister in seven years. His pre-decessor had lasted less than five months.
"Typical English performance," he said impatiently. "An Englander lives only for gin, the queen, and a practiced air of indifference. They cannot be relied upon."
"If you so much as even imply to his face that he is English, Heer Minister, Fawkes will become most uncooperative." Colonel Joris Zeegler downed his drink and poured another. "Fawkes is a Scotsman. I respectfully suggest, sir, that you try not to forget that."
De Vaal made no show of anger at Zeegler's insubordinate tone. He regarded advice from his intelligence chief seriously. It was no secret within the Ministry that De Vaal's success in smashing the advances by outside terrorists and suppressing local uprisings was due largely to the ingenious infiltration of the insurgent organizations by Zeegler's highly trained operatives.
"Englander, Scotsman-I would prefer dealing with an Afrikaner." "I agree," said Zeegler. "But Fawkes is the best qualified to offer an opinion on the project. A month-long computer search of experienced military personnel proved that." He opened a file folder. "Twenty-five years Royal Navy. Fifteen of them in ship's engineering. Two years captain of HMS Audacious. Final time in service spent as engineering director of the Grimsby Royal Navy Shipyard. Purchased a farm in northern Natal and retired there eleven years ago."
"And what does your computer make of the fact that he coddles his Bantu workers?"
"I must admit that offering his blacks and coloreds shares of his farm profits is the gesture of a liberal. But there can be no denying Fawkes has built up the finest estate in northern Natal in an extremely short length of time. His people are loyal beyond belief. Woe to the radical who tries to stir up trouble o
n the Fawkes farm."
22
De Vaal was in the midst of formulating another pessimistic statement when there was a knock on the door. A young officer entered and came to attention.
"Forgive the interruption, Herr Minister, but Captain Fawkes has arrived."
"Show him in," De Vaal said.
Fawkes ducked his head under the low doorway and entered. De Vaal stared up at him in silence. He had not expected someone of such proportions, nor someone whose face was freshly cut in a dozen places. He extended his hand.
"Captain Fawkes, this is indeed a pleasure," De Vaal said in Afrikaans. "It was good of you to make the trip."
Fawkes crushed De Vaal's hand within his. "Sorry, sir, but I do not speak your language."
De Vaal smoothly slipped into English. "Forgive me," he said with a feint smile. "I forget that you Eng-ah-Scotsmen do not take to strange tongues."
"We're just dunderheaded, I guess."
"Pardon me for saying so, Captain, but you look as though you shaved with a branch of thorns."
"I encountered an ambush. Bloody little devils broke my windshield. I would have stopped at the local hospital, but I was running late for our meeting."
De Vaal took Fawkes by the arm and steered him to a chair. "I think we had better get a drink in you. Joris, will you do the honors? Captain Fawkes, this is Colonel Joris Zeegler, director of Internal South African Defence."
Zeegler nodded and held up a bottle. "I take it you prefer whisky, Captain?"
"Aye, that I do, Colonel."
De Vaal stepped over to the door and opened it.
"Lieutenant Anders, inform Dr. Steedt that we have a patient for him. I suspect you will find him in his compartment, dozing."
He closed the door and faced the room.
"First things first. Now then, Captain, while we await the good doctor, perhaps you will be kind enough to provide us with a detailed report of your ambush."
The doctor came and went, grumbling good-naturedly over the rhinoceros hide Fawkes called skin. Except for two wounds that called for three stitches each, the doctor left the rest unbandaged. "Lucky for you those scratch marks don't match fingernail tracks, or you'd have a tough time explaining them to your wife," he joked as he snapped shut his bag.
"You're certain the attack was not organized?" Zeegler asked after the doctor departed.
"Not likely," Fawkes replied. "They were only ragged bush kids. God only knows what devil inspired them to go on a killing spree."
"I am afraid your run-in with bloodthirsty juveniles is not an isolated occurrence," De Vaal said softly.