Blaine Malcomess was oblivious of all else as he followed the Prime Minister’s speech. Shasa saw the messenger reach him and hand him the note.
Shasa looked back at the gallery and Tara was still concentrated on her father. After all the years Shasa could read her expression, and he had never seen her so worried and concerned, even when one of the children was gravely ill.
Then her face cleared with patent relief and Shasa glanced back at Blaine. He had unfolded the note and was reading it. Suddenly Blaine leapt to his feet and hurried towards the main doors.
Tara had summoned her father – that much was obvious. Shasa stared at her, trying to divine her purpose. Almost as though she sensed his gaze, Tara looked directly at him, and her relief crumbled into horror and wild guilt. She turned and fled from the visitors’ gallery, pushing aside those who stood in her way.
A second longer Shasa stared after her. Tara had enticed her father out of the chamber, and her concern could only have been so intense had she believed he was in some kind of dire danger. This was followed by guilt and horror as she realized that Shasa was watching her. It was clear to Shasa then that something terrible was about to happen. Moses Gama and Tara – there was danger, mortal danger – and Tara was trying to save her father. The danger was pressing and imminent – the wires in his office, the chest, Blaine and Tara and Moses Gama. He knew they were all interwoven and that he had little time in which to act.
Shasa jumped to his feet and strode down the aisle. Verwoerd frowned and checked his speech, watching him, while all around the chamber heads turned. Shasa quickened his stride. Manfred De La Rey reached out to touch him as he passed his bench, but without a glance at him Shasa brushed past his outstretched hand and went on. As he hurried out into the lobby Shasa saw Blaine Malcomess near the front door talking agitatedly to the janitor. As soon as he saw Shasa he said, ‘Thank God!’ and came towards him across the chequered marble floor.
Shasa turned away from him and looked up the staircase. From the top Tara stared down at him, white-faced and terrified, held by some unnatural passion.
‘Tara!’ Shasa called and started towards the foot of the staircase, but she whirled and disappeared around the angle of the corridor.
Shasa flew at the stairs, taking them three at a time.
‘What’s happening, Shasa?’ Blaine called after him, but Shasa did not answer.
He came out of the staircase still at a run, and as he rounded the corner Tara was halfway down the corridor ahead of him. He did not waste time by shouting at her, and instead flung himself forward, and sprinted after her. As she ran, Tara glanced over her shoulder and saw him swiftly overtaking her.
‘Moses!’ she screamed. ‘Look out, Moses!’
It was futile, the panelled walls of Shasa’s office were too thick and soundproof for her warning to reach him, and her cry confirmed all Shasa’s worst suspicions.
Instead of running straight on towards the front door of his suite as Shasa expected, Tara jinked suddenly into the side passage, ducking under Shasa’s outstretched arm and he tried to turn with her but he was off balance as she disappeared into his blind spot.
Shasa ran into the corner of the wall, crashing into it head-first, taking it on the brow above his blind eye. The silk patch cushioned the impact slightly, but still the skin split and blood poured down his cheek. Although he was stunned, Shasa managed to keep his feet. He staggered in a full circle, still dazed. Blaine was following him, his face flushed with effort and concern as he ran down the corridor.
‘What the hell is going on, Shasa?’ he roared.
Shasa turned from him, and saw Tara at the door to the back entrance of his office. She had a key, but she was in such a state that her hands were shaking too wildly to insert it in the lock.
Shasa gathered himself, shaking the darkness out of his head, and the droplets of his blood splattered the wall beside him. Then he launched himself after Tara. She saw him coming and dropped the key, it tinkled at her feet, and she clenched her fists and beat with them on the closed door.
‘Moses!’ she screamed. ‘Moses!’
As Shasa reached her the door was jerked open from the inside, and Moses Gama stood in the threshold. The two men confronted each other over Tara’s head until Tara ran forward.
‘Moses, I tried to warn you,’ she screamed and threw both arms around him.
In that instant Shasa looked beyond the pair and saw that the altar chest stood open, its contents piled on the carpet. The coil of wire that he had found behind the encyclopaedias had been laid across the floor to his desk and connected to some kind of compact electrical apparatus. Shasa had never seen one before, but he knew instinctively that it was a detonation device and that it was ready to fire. On the desk top beside it lay an automatic pistol. As a firearms enthusiast and collector, he recognized it as a Tokarev 7.62 mm, the standard Russian military issue. On the floor behind his desk Tricia lay on her side. She was gagged and bound at wrists and ankles, but she was wriggling desperately and giving little muffled cries.
Shasa lunged forward to tackle Moses Gama, but the black man gathered Tara in his arms and hurled her into Shasa’s chest. The two of them reeled backwards against the jamb of the door. Moses spun around and leapt to the desk, as Shasa tried to get free of Tara. She was clinging to him and moaning.
‘No! No! He must do it.’
Shasa broke her grip and flung her aside, but across the room Moses was standing over the electrical transmitter. He pressed a switch and a bulb on the panel of the casing glared redly.
Shasa knew that he could not reach Moses across the floor before he fired the device, but his mind was racing ahead of his limbs and body. He saw the wire strung out across the carpet, almost at his feet, and he stooped and took a twist of it around his right hand and heaved back against it with all his strength.
The end of the wire was firmly attached to the transmitter, and as Shasa hauled on it the device was jerked out of Moses’ hands and flew off the desk top to clatter across the floor, midway between the two of them.
They both leapt for it at the same instant, but Moses was by a fraction of a second the quickest, and his hands scrabbled on the transmitter. Shasa was in full stride, and he did not check. He leaned forward, and transferred all the weight and power of his body into his hips, swinging his right leg into the kick he aimed at Moses’ head.
The kick caught Moses in the side of the temple, and snapped his head over. The transmitter tumbled from his grip and he was flung over backwards, rolling until he crashed into the desk.
Shasa followed him and aimed another flying kick at his head, but Moses caught his foot on his raised forearm and seized his ankle. He twisted violently, lifting the ankle and Shasa was caught on one foot with his weight backwards, and he fell heavily.
Moses pulled himself up the side of the desk and reached out for the Tokarev pistol, and Shasa scrambled after him on hands and knees. As Moses swung the pistol around, Shasa lunged at him again and grabbed his wrist with both hands. They wrestled over the floor, rolling and kicking and grunting, fighting for the Tokarev.
Tara had recovered and now she ran into the room and picked up the fallen transmitter. She stood helplessly with it in her hands.
‘Moses, what must I do?’ she cried.
Moses grunted with a supreme effort as he rolled on top of Shasa. ‘The yellow button. Push the yellow button!’
At that instant Blaine Malcomess ran in through the open door. ‘Stop her, Blaine!’ Shasa yelled. ‘They are going to blow—’ Moses’ elbow hit him in the mouth and cut off the words.
While the two of them still struggled on the floor, Blaine held out both hands to his daughter.
‘Here, give that to me, Tara.’
‘Don’t touch me, Daddy.’ She backed away from him, but she was trying to locate the yellow button, groping for it while she stared at her father. ‘Don’t try and stop me, Daddy.’
‘Blaine,’ Shasa gasped, but broke off a
s Moses attempted once more to wrench his pistol arm out of Shasa’s grip. The corded black muscles in Moses’ arm bulged and writhed with the effort, and Shasa made a choking sound in his throat as he tried to hold him.
The muzzle blast of the pistol lit the room like a flash bulb and there was the immediate sharp stink of burnt powder.
Blaine Malcomess, his arms outstretched towards Tara, spun around as the bullet hit him and he went reeling into the bookcase. He stood there for a moment with the blood starting to spread in a dark tide down the front of his white shirt and then he sagged slowly onto his knees.
‘Daddy!’ Tara dropped the transmitter and ran to him. She fell on her knees beside him.
Shock had weakened Shasa’s grip for an instant and Moses twisted free and jumped to his feet, but as he lunged for the transmitter, Shasa was after him. He caught Moses from behind as he stooped over the transmitter and with one arm around his throat pulled him away from it. In his efforts to break the throttling grip, Moses dropped the pistol and clawed at Shasa’s arm with both hands. They grappled wildly, twisting and grunting, and the transmitter lay at their feet.
Shasa shifted his weight, lifted one foot and drove his heel into the panel of the transmitter; the panel crackled as it was stove in, but the red bulb still burned.
Moses was galvanized to fresh effort by the damage to the. transmitter, and he almost tore himself free of Shasa’s grip, twisting to face him, but Shasa put out all his strength and they stood chest to chest, gasping and heaving, spittle and sweat and droplets of blood from Shasa’s head wound smearing both their faces.
Again Shasa had him off balance for a moment, and he aimed another kick at the transmitter. He landed solidly and it went skidding across the floor and crashed into the wall beyond the desk. The plastic case split open at the impact, the wire tore loose from the terminal and the red bulb flickered and then extinguished.
Moses gave a wild despairing cry and sent Shasa flying backwards over the desk. As he lay sprawled across the desk top, Moses scooped up the pistol from the carpet and staggered to the open doorway. There he turned and raised the Tokarev and aimed at Shasa.
‘You!’ he gasped. ‘You!’ but his hands were shaking and the pistol wavered. He fired and the bullet thudded into the desk top beside Shasa’s head, tearing up a blur of splinters.
Before Moses could fire again, Manfred De Le Rey bulked in the doorway behind him. He had seen Shasa’s agitation and followed him up from the chamber.
He took in the situation at first glance, and he reacted instantly. He swung the big hard fist that had won him an Olympic gold medal, and it crashed into the side of Moses Gama’s neck below the ear.
The pistol fell from Moses’ hand and he toppled forward unconscious on top of it.
Shasa dragged himself off the desk and tottered across to Blaine.
‘Here,’ he whispered, as he dropped to his knees beside him. ‘Let me have a look.’
Tara was blubbering incoherently. ‘Daddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this to happen. I only did what I thought was right.’
Shasa tried to pull her away, but she clung to Blaine, blood on her hands and down the front of her dress.
‘Let him alone,’ Shasa said, but she was hysterical now, and tugged at her father so that his head jerked from side to side loosely. ‘Daddy, speak to me, Daddy.’
Shasa leaned back and slapped her hard, knocking her head across.
‘Leave him, you murderous bitch,’ he hissed at her, and she crawled away from him, her face beginning to redden and swell from the blow. Shasa ignored her and gently opened the jacket of Blaine’s dark suit.
Shasa was a hunter, and he recognized the bright clear colour of arterial blood seething with tiny bubbles from the torn lungs.
‘No,’ he whispered. ‘Please, no!’
Only then he realized that Blaine was watching his face, reading in it his own death.
‘Your mother—’ he said, and the wind of his lungs puffed through the bullet hole in his chest. ‘Tell Centaine—’ He could not go on.
‘Don’t talk,’ Shasa said. ‘We will get a doctor.’ He shouted over his shoulder at Manfred who was already on the telephone, ‘Hurry, man. Hurry!’
But Blaine gripped his sleeve, tugging it urgently. ‘Love—’ He choked on his own blood. ‘Tell her – love – tell her I love her.’ He got it out at last, and panted as the blood gurgled in his chest – and then he gathered himself for his last great effort.
‘Shasa,’ he said. ‘Shasa, my son – my only son.’
The noble silver head fell forward, and Shasa held it to his chest, hugging him as he had never been able to before.
Then still holding him, Shasa wept for the man who had been his friend and his father. The tears squeezed out of his empty eyesocket and trickled from under the silk eye-patch down his face to mingle with his own blood and drip from his chin.
When Tara crawled forward on her knees, and reached out to touch her father’s corpse, Shasa lifted his head and looked at her.
‘Don’t touch him,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t you dare soil him with your touch.’ There was such a look in his single eye, such contempt and hatred in his face, that she recoiled from him and covered her face with both hands. Still on her knees, she began to sob hysterically. The sound of it rallied Shasa. Gently he laid Blaine on his back and closed his eyes with his fingertips.
In the doorway Moses groaned and shuddered, and Manfred slammed the telephone back on its cradle and crossed to him. He stood over him, with those huge fists clenched and asked, ‘Who is he?’
‘Moses Gama.’ Shasa stood up, and Manfred grunted.
‘So, we have been looking for him for years. What was he doing?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Shasa went to where Tricia lay and stooped over her. ‘But I think he has laid explosives somewhere in the House. That is the transmitter. We’d better clear the place and have the Army bomb-disposal—’ He didn’t have to finish, for at that moment there was the sound of running men in the corridor and three of the security guards burst into the suite.
Manfred took over immediately, snapping orders at them. ‘Get the handcuffs on that black bastard.’ He pointed at Moses. ‘And then I want the building cleared.’
Shasa freed Tricia, leaving the gag until last, but the instant her mouth was clear Tricia pointed at Tara where she still knelt sobbing beside Blaine’s corpse.
‘She—’ Shasa did not let her finish. He seized her wrist and jerked Tricia to her feet.
‘Quiet!’ he snarled at her, and his fury silenced the girl for a moment. He dragged her through into the outer office and closed the door.
‘Listen to me, Tricia.’ He faced her, still holding both her wrists.
‘But she was with him.’ Tricia was trembling. ‘It was her—’
‘Listen to me.’ Shasa shook her into silence. ‘I know. I know all about it. But I want you to do something for me. Something for which I will always be grateful. Will you do it?’
Tricia sobered and stared at him. She saw the blood and the tears on his face and thought her heart might break for him. Shasa took the handkerchief from his top pocket and wiped his face.
‘For me, Tricia, Please,’ he repeated and she gulped noisily and nodded.
‘If I can,’ she agreed.
‘Don’t say anything about my wife’s part in this until the police take a formal statement from you. That won’t be until much later. Then you can tell them everything.’
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘For me and for my children. Please, Tricia.’
Again she nodded and he kissed her forehead. ‘You are a good brave girl,’ he said and left her.
He went back into the inner office. The security police were grouped around Moses Gama. He was manacled but he lifted his head and stared at Shasa for a moment. It was a smouldering gaze, dark and filled with outrage. Then they led him away.
The office was crowded and noisy. White-uniformed ambulance att
endants were bringing a stretcher through the doorway. A doctor, a member of parliament summoned from the chamber, was working over Blaine as he lay on his back, but now he stood up, shook his head and gestured at the stretcher bearers to take Blaine’s body. The uniformed guards, supervised by Manfred De La Rey, were already gathering up the pieces of the smashed transmitter and beginning to trace the wire to its source.
Tara was sitting in the chair behind his desk, weeping silently into her hands. Shasa went past her to the wall safe hidden behind one of the paintings.
He tumbled the combination and swung open the steel door, screening it with his own body. Shasa always kept two or three thousand pounds in banknotes against an emergency. He stuffed the wads into his pockets, and then quickly he sorted through the stack of family passports until he found Tara’s. He relocked the safe, went to where she sat and pulled her to her feet.
‘Shasa, I didn’t—’
‘Keep quiet,’ he hissed at her, and Manfred De La Rey glanced at him across the office.
‘She’s had a terrible shock,’ Shasa said. ‘I’m taking her home.’
‘Come back here as soon as you can,’ Manfred nodded. ‘We’ll need a statement.’
Still gripping her arm, Shasa marched her out of the office and down the corridor. The fire alarm bells were ringing throughout the building and members and visitors and staff were streaming out through the front doors. Shasa joined them, and as soon as they were out in the sunlight he led Tara to the Jaguar.
‘Where are we going?’ Tara asked, as they drove away. She sat very small and subdued in her corner of the bucket seat.
‘If you talk to me again, I may lose control,’ he warned her tightly. ‘I may not be able to stop myself strangling you.’
She did not speak again until they reached Youngsfield Airport, and Shasa pushed her up into the cockpit of the silver and blue Mosquito.
‘Where are we going?’ she repeated, but he ignored her as he went through the start-up procedures and taxied out to the end of the runway. He did not speak until they had climbed to cruise altitude and were flying straight and level.