I’m trying not to think about that. Because when I do I’m really scared. Zan might have gone to London, but she’s left her nasty friends behind. She knows she can’t trust me to keep quiet, so what’s she going to do? What are her friends going to do? Arresting me would be very messy: I’m an American citizen and Cornelius’s wife. But they could just kill me.
If they’re going to kill me, they’ll do it soon. They might not know where I am here, but once I get back to Hondehoek I’ll be an easy target.
If I died, what about the children? Who’d look after Caroline? Todd doesn’t need much looking after these days, but he’d miss me. I can’t stand the thought of not seeing him grow up to be a man. My mother’s a strong woman, but it will kill my father.
If my life ends now, what will I have achieved? I’ve always felt American, but my life, certainly my adult life, has been all about South Africa. A country I hate and I guess I love at the same time. About South Africa and about Cornelius. Cornelius. He’s the man who has dominated my life. Until this past year I’ve loved him, respected him, admired him, believed in him. But if it all ended now...
He’s as scared as I am. And we’ve both done the same thing. He’s run off to his beautiful blonde woman, me to my beautiful black man. But what is Benton? Oh, he’s more than just a good body. I like him, he’s intelligent, I like the way he’s so well read, but in ten years’ time, when I’m fifty-four, I can’t really kid myself that we will still be together.
He’s shaving now. He just smiled at me. Oh, God, I hope he never reads this. So much for being able to write in front of him.
There’s only one thing for me to do, I have to go see Cornelius. Grab Caroline and get on a plane to America before those evil bastards get me. Go to Philadelphia and talk to him about everything. If South Africa goes up in flames, if his business goes bust, we still have each other and Todd and Caroline. After all we’ve been through together, it would be wrong to die apart. So wrong.
Yes. That’s what I’ll do. I’ve made up my mind. But I’m going to have to tell Benton. He’s already noticed something’s up, he just asked me what the matter is. I lied — I told him I was fine. It will ruin everything, but I must tell him my decision today, this afternoon.
The handwriting finished halfway down the page. But in the bottom right-hand quarter, Calder could make out an arc of tiny black splashes on his photocopy. Blood. Martha van Zyl’s final signature.
Author’s note
When writing about businessmen it is always difficult to stay on the right side of the line between fiction and fact and still maintain a feel of authenticity. This is especially true in the world of international newspapers. Although Cornelius van Zyl shares the characteristics of a number of media magnates, he does not represent any one of them. Nor do any other characters in the book represent real people. The companies too are fictitious. The Broederbond was real, as was Muldergate. What the white South African government did with the millions it funnelled through its defence special accounts during the 1980s remains a mystery
I have drawn on the help and advice of a number of people: the South African thriller writer Deon Meyer, Alice Harrison and her family, Isobel Dixon and her family, Jonathan Braack and Darren Green at Ngala game reserve, Troy Reiser of Federal Aviation in Johannesburg, Allan and Stephanie Walker, Mark Aitken, Susan Griggs, Lynn Gluckman, Neil Klein, Adam Buchan, my agent Carole Blake and my editor Beverley Cousins. I would like to thank them all. Where there are mistakes, they are mine.