Dark Intent by Brian Reeve Read Free Book Online Page A

waiting until his master gave him permission to take one.
    ‘This evening we had a little fun,’ said Shozi when Setlaba sat near him with a beer. ‘Mrs Mkhize’s sons deserved to die but weren’t important. There are other men who are far more dangerous. In the coming years they’ll be the new military commanders in this country.’ He drained the bottle and got two more. ‘These men belong to Umkhonto we Sizwe, the Spear of the Nation. They’re Xhosas.’
    ‘Who are they?’ Setlaba watched the hatred simmer.
    Shozi went on. ‘For the last five years three of these men have been in self-imposed exile at a bush camp in Zambia. A year ago they refused to apply for political amnesty, which was permitted, because they feared prosecution for previous crimes running guerilla cells. They wouldn’t have dared enter the country under the Nationalists but now with a new government they feel sure of themselves. A month ago they returned.’
    Setlaba sat up, interested.
    ‘Last week,’ said the gangster, ‘I was informed that these dogs are here under our nose, two valleys beyond Mrs Mkhize and four kilometres from here.’
    Setlaba’s handsome features lit up in expectation. ‘They’ll be more interesting than Mrs Mkhize’s sons,’ he said, traversing his tongue over frothed lips. ‘When do we kill them?’
    Shozi raised a finger in caution. ‘This operation will take more preparation than tonight,’ he said. ‘These men are in the top league. They’re like us. They fight like fanatics, like wild dogs, as if there is no tomorrow. And if they are cornered they go mad, like a buffalo with its belly full of shot.’ He left the table and looked at Setlaba confidently. ‘I already have a tail on these three bucks and it’ll stay there until I know their movements. Then we’ll execute them and burn their bodies for the rest of their breed to see.’

Chapter 13
     
    Malakazi township
     
    The three men whose deaths Shozi sought were together in a room in the township of Malakazi.
    Also in the room, with his back to the door and dressed in an ill-fitting grey suit was the elderly mayor of the settlement, Joshua Dhlamini, a long-serving Zulu member of the ANC. A few minutes earlier he had carried the news of Moses Shozi’s latest act of barbarism to the three men, news he had heard from one of Mrs Mkhize’s neighbours who had witnessed the macabre spectacle from her room.
    ‘When will the bloodshed stop?’ cried John Nofomela angrily, banging his hardened fist on the rickety table around which they were seated. ‘For years we were persecuted and driven from our country by the whites, like diseased animals, killed by the police, hanged on their gallows. Now, when apartheid is dead we are hunted by our own people.’ He laughed at the irony of his words. ‘For years Inkatha’s jackals refused to support us in our fight for democracy. Why?’
    ‘I nkatha is as racist as the Afrikaners,’ said Paul Ngwenya, sneeringly. ‘They want their own state, distinct from their ancient tribal enemy the Xhosa. They’re unable to see that when the black people have the real foundations of political power, they can take the riches that rightfully belong to them and have been denied them for generations. Instead they sanction the murderous forays exacted against helpless people by their gangsters, men like Shozi.’
    ‘Again we must go on the offensive,’ said Nofomela. ‘We obeyed the old men and laid down arms against the whites. But the Inkatha warlords have to be contained and destroyed. They are killing our children.’
    The third man, Elijah Ngubane, watched the other two for a moment and stretched out his long legs under the table, folding his arms on his sunken chest. He was older than the others by two years and was generally accepted as the leader when they were together.
    ‘I agree,’ he said, his tone as hard as newly forged steel. ‘But we can’t go warring against Inkatha for everyone to see. The