Afrikaner-dominated National Party to power and made apartheid the law of the land.
The dominie gave his only son three imperishable inheritances: an abiding contempt for the English and other Uitlanders, or foreigners; a firm conviction that God ordained the separation of the races; and an unyielding commitment to the preservation of Afrikaner power and purity.
Those were beliefs Karl Vorster had never abandoned in his own rise to power and position. And now he stood high within the ranks of South
Africa’s ruling elite.
The minister of law and order closed the file folder in front of him, nodded slowly in satisfaction, and let the trace of a smile appear on his harsh, square-jawed face.
“Good work, Muller. This little raid you dreamed up has put the fear of God into kaffirs across the continent. And it couldn’t have come at a better time for us.”
“Thank you, Minister.” Erik Muller relaxed slightly, though he kept his lean, wasp-wasted frame at attention. Vorster insisted that his subordinates show what he considered proper deferencc-something Muller never forgot.
“I had feared that the President might be somewhat unhappy with our actions. “
Vorster snorted.
“Happy or unhappy, it doesn’t matter. Haymans doesn’t have the votes to touch me. Not in the cabinet and not among the
Broeders. What does matter is that we’ve scotched this foolish idea of talks with a bunch of lying blacks. That’s what counts.” He thumped his desk for emphasis.
“Yes, Minister.” Muller’s right foot brushed against the briefcase he’d brought into Vorster’s inner office. Sudden excitement at the thought of what it contained made him sound breathless.
“And of course we also obtained a fascinating piece of intelligence from the Gawamba safe house.”
Vorster looked more carefully at his director of military intelligence.
The Directorate of Military Intelligence, the DMI, was responsible for strategic intelligence-gathering including data on the black guerrilla movements warring on South Africa. A cabinet reshuffle had long since brought many of its day-to-day operations under Vorster’s authority, and in that time he’d come to trust Erik Muller’s calm, cold professionalism.
But now the expression on the man’s face reminded him of a cat come face-to-face with an extra large saucer of cream.
“Go on.”
“You’ve seen the list of documents Bekker’s team copied?”
Vorster nodded. When he’d read the DMI report, he’d simply skimmed the page-long compilation of ANC personnel rosters, equipment lists, code words, and the like. Nothing on it had struck him as being especially interesting or significant.
Muller laid his briefcase on the desk and unlocked it.
“Not everything they found went on that list, Minister. I kept a particular group of documents separate. “
He handed Vorster a sheaf of papers.
“These refer to an upcoming special
ANC operation. Something they’ve called Broken Covenant.”
He stood silently as Vorster thumbed through the papers, watching with interest as the older man’s face darkened with rage.
“God in heaven, Muller! These damned blacks are growing
too bold by far. ” Vorster’s calloused hands tightened, crumpling the documents he still held. He stared at his subordinate.
“Could such a monstrous thing really be done?”
Muller nodded slowly.
“I believe so, Minister. Especially without extraordinary security precautions on our part. It’s actually quite a workable plan.” He sounded almost admiring.
Vorster scowled.
“And what’s being done to kill this thing in its cradle?” He pointed to the papers in front of him.
“Nothing… as yet, Minister.”
Vorster’s scowl grew deeper.
“Explain yourself, Meneer Muller. Tell me why you’ve ignored such a serious threat to this government!”
Muller’s pale blue eyes stayed fixed on his superior.
“I’ve referred this matter to you, Minister, because it occurred to me that it might serve a number of political purposes. I thought you might want to personally inform the President of this plan’s existence. After all, nothing could more clearly demonstrate the foolishness of trying to negotiate with our enemies. “
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Vorster’s scowl faded into another thin-lipped smile.
“I see. Yes, I do see.”
The younger man was absolutely right. A majority of his cabinet colleagues seemed blindly determined to quiet the current round of racial unrest with words. Words! What idiocy! Vorster knew that blacks respected only one thing power The power of the whip and the gun. That was the only real way for true Afrikaners to maintain their baasskap, their mastery, over the nonwhite races of South Africa. How else could 4.5 million whites avoid being submerged by the 24 million others they ruled? Too many in Pretoria and Cape Town had forgotten those numbers in this hateful rush toward “moderation. “
As Muller said, it was time to remind them.
Vorster eyed his subordinate. The man’s instincts were good, but his arrogance was an irritation. The Scriptures were clear. Sinful pride opened a doorway for Satan’s whispers. Perhaps Muller needed a small taste of the lash himself. Not much. Just enough to keep his mind focused on his true master.
With short, powerful strokes he began smoothing the documents he’d crushed.
“Very clever, Muller. Not too clever for your own good, I hope?”
Muller stiffened.
“No, Minister. But I am loyal… loyal to you and to our cause!”
Vorster’s smile widened, though it never reached his eyes.
“Of course you are. I’ve never doubted it.” He folded the captured plans for Broken
Covenant and slid them into a drawer.
“Haymans has called a special cabinet meeting in Cape Town to discuss our current foreign policy. Maybe
I’ll use this little present you’ve brought to me to set the right tone for the discussion tomorrow.
“In the meantime, Muller, I want this matter held strictly between the two of us. Understood?”
Muller nodded.
“You have the only printed copy of the material, Minister.
And the negatives are locked in my safe.”
“Has anyone else seen this?”
“Just the technician who developed the film. I’ve already sworn him to secrecy.” Muller arched a single finely sculpted eyebrow. “in any event,
Minister, I’m certain he can be trusted. He is one of our ‘friends.”
“
Vorster knew exactly what Muller meant by “friends. ” He meant the
Afrikaner Weerstandbeweging, the Afrikaner Resistance Movement. The AWB existed to assure South Africa’s continued domination by an all-white and “pure” Afrikaner power structure. Its publicly known leaders organized mass political rallies of gun-toting fanatics and maintained a brown shirt paramilitary group known as the Brandwag, or Sentry. They preached a gospel combining both militant nationalism and virulent hatred for those they saw as dangerous “aliens” in South Africa-blacks, Indians, mixed-race coloreds, Jews, and even Englishdescended whites. And though the ruling National Party dismissed the AWB as a lunatic fringe group, its members~ ip continued to climb steadily. In fact, every gesture madu by the National Party toward political and racial moderation boosted the
AWB’s strength.
Few, if any, knew that the AWB maintained another, more ominous organization-an organization whose members were scattered secretly throughout South Africa’s political and military elite. None attended the
AWB’s rallies or appeared on its voter lists. but all were committed to its vision of a divinely inspired, white-ruled state. Most remained ostensible members of the National Party and even the Broederbond-itself a vast, intensely secretive organization of the Afrikaner power structure.