Stand up Stand Down

By Lynda Rogle

The story is set in a country struggling to come to terms with change and challenged by the difficulty of good governance in the face of dire poverty juxtaposed with immense wealth. The hero finds himself challenged on a personal and professional level to be faithful to the truth and loyal to his calling even as his family disintegrates because of this. His journey to find the truth takes him to places and people who contribute to both his search and his personal growth in a way that he never expects. What starts out as a simple story about an attempted murder, in a country where murder is the order of the day, becomes an intriguing journey; a journey that exposes the dark underbelly of a society that is bent on proving to itself and the world at large that the democracy won with the blood of innocent children is a reality. The outcome is as unexpected as it is thought provoking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Nov 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477245934

Lynda Rogle

This is a first attempt at publishing for this writer. She is retired with some experience of motherhood, single parenting and survival skills from which to draw for inspiration. Her only credentials are her life experience. Having neglected her talent for writing after finishing high school retirement presented a new opportunity to pursue her love of writing. The ideas for her stories are drawn from everyday experience to which readers can easily relate. Her work should appeal particularly to anyone interested in a story with more than a superficial entertainment value although the action and adventure do offer some light entertainment. Her motivation for finally writing can be attributed to the hope that with her own effort her children may be inspired to develop their talents and to leave some documentary for their mature years when they may take an interest in what their parents and grandparents were all about. She lives in Durban, South Africa.

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© 2012 by Lynda Rogle. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 11/17/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4592-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4593-4 (e)

This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely co-incidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

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26

1

Jason was the last person left in the offices of the weekly Chronicle. His desk was lit up in a lonely pool of light as he finished the last paragraph of the article on the missing gunshot victim. The weekly printed on Saturday and this was a final draft before going to print. There wasn’t much more he could say and any follow-up would have to wait until next week. For now he’d have to wait and see if any of the leads he’d followed would bring results over the weekend. He put off the desk light and noticed that the light coming through the glass door from the foyer was dimmer than usual. Must be a globe gone, he thought and reached into his pocket for a cell ‘phone. The light was as bright as that of a small torch and lit up the room enough to find his way down the long aisle to the door. He locked the office door and turned to the lift and that’s the last thing he saw before he collapsed in a heap from a blow to the head. He came to his senses blindfolded and sandwiched between two people. His head throbbed. A strong body odour suggested their occupation as hirelings in the contract labour department. He turned his head to one side and asked in a voice tense with fear, ‘Where am I and who are you?’ His hands were bound on his lap. He felt helpless and very afraid. The silence was unnerving and the swish of, what sounded like wipers, was menacing in its isolation. It was the only thing he heard apart from the breathing of his captors. Even the rainfall, the wipers must have been clearing, had to be the gentlest of drizzles. He hadn’t noticed a change in the weather up on the ninth floor. The last time he’d been out the sun was bright. The sudden change in weather was typical for spring in Johannesburg. He listened carefully for more clues but the wipers were the only sound he heard. Now they were moving. He heard the idling engine of the car roar on starting and with the hiss of tyres on wet tarmac they sped away. He guessed they had stopped at a red light. After picking up speed the car slowed down to almost a stop but not quite. He was shoved out the door on to the wet road. He landed and rolled several times before his helpless body stopped. He just lay there wondering if he would ever know what this was all about. His head hurt, his back hurt, he choked off a scream before it was born; instead he lifted his bound hands to remove the blindfold. He tore at his face and then started to laugh hysterically in relief at the sight before him. He’d been delivered to his own front door. His briefcase lay open a few feet from him and pinned to his jacket a message from his not so obliging taxi. ‘ This is so you know that we know where you live and can take you out any time we want, so lay off the story of the comedian.’

He staggered to his feet, picked up his bag and knocked on his own door. It was opened by an amazed Cathy.

‘What on earth . . . ? Jason, what’s going on?’ she whispered. His wife was well aware of the risks he took in the name of carrying, the gospel of the dedicated guardian of the truth to the public, to all who would read it. Sometimes she wanted to remind him that saving the world from itself was not his job and that the public had an official guardian in the Public Protector, but she always stopped short. Now here he was looking like he’d been dragged through a car wash! His clothes were wet, his hair was plastered to his face and his hands tied before him.

‘Take this off and I’ll tell you all about it’ he said shoving his bound hands towards her. He smiled to reassure her and added, ‘It isn’t as bad as it looks really. Actually it could’ve been much worse and that is something that I have to find out about. They didn’t even rough me up apart from the bump on the head.’

‘Good grief, do you want to be your own story now? How can you still want to find out anything? The warning is crystal clear. Jason let’s just take off somewhere where there aren’t any newspapers. You promised we’d take a break sometime. Please let’s do it now,’ she begged.

Jason limped to a seat and opened his bag to see if anything had been removed and sure enough his camcorder was gone and his cell ‘phone must have also been taken when he went down. Both were easily replaceable, what he needed was a hot bath where he could do some quiet reflecting on the incident.

‘Have you heard anything I’ve said?’ Cathy persisted.

‘Sure, every word Cath. Can you help me to the bathroom and I’ll give you the details,’ he said as he handed her the crushed, wet note.

‘I don’t . . . want . . . any . . . details.’ Her voice trailed off as she read the note, eyes like saucers.

‘What are we going to do?’ she said panicked.

She looked terrified and he immediately regretted his tactlessness.

‘Sorry Cath I think it’s best you take a short break at your mother’s house for a while, just until this blows over.’

He limped his way to the bathroom. Cathy stood transfixed watching him leave. When she eventually moved it was to get some dry towels from the linen cupboard. She couldn’t get her mind past the last word in the note, comedian? That must be the same person she’d read about two days ago. She didn’t know Jason was following that story. After some time she followed him to the bathroom. Hanging the towels on the rails and collecting the wet clothes off the floor where Jason had discarded them she said, ‘What comedian Jason?’

‘Oh yes. Just a story I’m chasing up. He was shot on Tuesday by person or persons unknown, taken to Jo’burg General Hospital in an unconscious state. I arrived early the next day to see what I could get from staff and the next thing I know the place is swarming with police. It turns out the unconscious comedian got up and left, or so they’d have everyone believe.’

‘Who’re they?’

‘What?’ Puzzled he looked at her.

‘You said—they would have everyone believe.’

‘Oh right, the police. I got a mouthful for obstructing their work and the usual clap-trap about nothing to report. So I charmed the receptionist who told me that ‘the patient disappeared sometime during the night and nobody saw or heard a thing. Can you believe that?’

‘Do you?’

‘Anything is possible in our beloved land but somebody had to have whisked the comic away, unless he was also a professional Houdini.’

‘Your paper only comes out Saturday. How would anyone know you were interested? And why such drastic measures to warn you?’’

‘Mmm, makes you think doesn’t it? You’re right it’s too soon for anyone, other than the police to know I’ve been sniffing around. Wow! That would be a scoop if I could prove it? Picture the headline, Journo kidnapped by local police and dumped on his own doorstep.’’

‘No Jason—leave it alone, please.’

‘Come on Cath. That’s like asking a bird to stop singing because we don’t understand his language. You just can’t expect me to stop because I don’t know what’s going on? That’s my job, to find out what I don’t know—right?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. What do you think happened to the patient?’

Cathy knew that he would never allow anything to stop him doing his job, so why did it seem that she was more deeply affected by the incident than was warranted? She knew the risks when they married five years ago and this was the first time he’d seen her so anxious. The threatening ‘phone calls and bogus food deliveries were par for the course. Once he’d even received a funeral wreath of flowers as a threat. As an investigative journalist he stopped at nothing to uncover corruption and crime in any area. The threats had long ceased to seem dangerous, until now. The assault, the joy ride were new tactics. He understood her concern and yet something else seemed to be bothering her.

‘What’s up Cath? I’ve had threats before now,’ he said.

‘The comic—what’s his name?’ she asked.

‘Nico Dlamini. Do you know him? Is that it?’

‘A long time ago at university. When I read about it I wasn’t sure it was the same person. Thought the name was just co-incidence. Do you think he’s dead?’ She picked up a sponge and began scrubbing his back.

‘Whoa, gently does it, every muscle in my back is screaming out loud’. He twisted round to see her face, ‘Hard to tell—if the police are involved then they’d just finish him off. On the other hand if he’s been rescued then I guess he could still be alive.’ He watched her closely.

‘Do you want to tell me more about him? What did he study?’ he asked.

‘I knew him for a very short time. I was in his debate team in the first year only. The following year I lost touch with the group. They were all too intense about everything. I sort of drifted away.’

‘Yet?’ he prompted but sensed a hesitation in revealing all she knew. She shrugged, gave him a small smile then stood up to leave. Okay, he thought, he’d give her time to catch up with her memories. This bath was going to have to do a lot of healing; he had no intention of hurrying out.

He’d go over the notes on the case from his laptop later to see if he’d missed something. There should be a clue somewhere to reveal why an entertainer would be a problem to the police. He climbed out of the bath when the water cooled. The house was strangely quiet which made him wonder if she had fallen asleep in the lounge. Dressing quickly in shorts and sweater he went looking for her. She was in the study staring blankly at the computer. The screen displayed an internet search under South African comedians. Yes, it definitely looked as if she was more than a little interested.

‘What do you have there Cath?’ Jason asked as he came up behind her.

‘Thought I’d see if there was anything on Nico,’ she said.

‘And?’

‘Not much. His work seemed to have a pattern. Most of his shows deal with ridiculing the justice system and the police service,’ she said.

‘Well that makes sense if my kidnappers were the police, don’t you think?’

‘Sure but many comedians do the same,’ she said.

‘Here take a look and don’t be too long, supper’s almost done,’ she continued then rose to leave.

He took her place. It was going to be a long night. Tomorrow he’d spend time getting more information on Nico Dlamini, going back some ten years. The obvious place to start would be the university he and Cath had attended in the Cape. He’d book a one way ticket online and hopefully get an early flight and be back as soon as he’d exhausted any leads there. Cathy was used to his unexpected trips away in pursuit of some story. At one point he’d even found himself joining a team going to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro, just to get a story first hand. He thoroughly enjoyed the work he did and considered himself lucky that his wife so understood his many absences. They were more relaxed at dinner and the conversation was interspersed with moments of fact then conjecture. Once Jason thought he caught Cathy off guard after a comment he made. He thought she looked, of all things—guilty?

‘What’s wrong?’ he said.

‘Nothing. You reminded me of something I’d forgotten about. I don’t think I want to go home as you suggested. I’d rather go to Colin and Aggie. I miss the kids and they’re always suggesting I come for an extended visit.’

‘Sure, but that’s not what brought that strange look to your face. You can’t be feeling guilty about not wanting to see your father I hope. I thought you two had mended some fences recently?’

‘Well, some fences but we haven’t resolved other issues. Right now I need more than my dad to take my mind off you and your work. Colin and I do have some catching up to do.’ Cathy and her brother were twins and very close. She was right, his father-in-law was not the most welcoming of individuals and her mother would only make a fuss. He got the impression that his wife did not want her parents involved in this, hence her choice of a safe place. It didn’t really matter to him where she went just so she was safe until he’d solved the mystery of the missing comedian.

Jason made sure to set the alarm before locking up and when he finally made his way to bed Cathy had already turned off the light. Staring into the darkness he recapped the evening’s events and wondered why it had not even occurred to him to report the incident to the police. They may be little use to him but an official report was the route to go. They were as yet unaware of his suspicions, failure to report the matter may just arouse theirs if they were involved. Turning over to go to sleep he made a mental note to see them before leaving for Cape Town. He also had to file a report of his stolen camcorder and cell ‘phone.

The next morning he left at eight after a rushed breakfast and a quick goodbye to Cathy as she too prepared to leave for work. She lectured part-time at the local University which made her time fairly flexible. In spite of his frequent absences he missed what most couples probably took for granted—a stable, normal marriage.

Cathy waited until Jason was out through the gate before turning back into the house. Today the first lecture in history was at nine a.m. and the last at two p.m. She wouldn’t be coming back to the house so she packed an overnight bag after calling her brother. She also made a quick call to the security company informing them that they would be away for the weekend and to arrange for more surveillance during that time. She set the alarm once the car was packed then hurried back to the convertible mini minor. With the top down and her long brown hair trailing in the breeze she took the road to work.

It was a long time since she’d thought about the past and it had taken about three years before she felt comfortable enough to forget the bad times. In those three years it helped to avoid her father as much as possible. Once she’d met then fallen in love with her husband the memories soon faded. Now they were back with a bang and it all seemed just like yesterday instead of ten years ago. Nico was her first serious boyfriend and her father resented him for all sorts of ridiculous reasons; he was a trouble maker; he had no respect for his seniors; he had no idea what sacrifices were made to make it possible for him to be free and so and so on. All of this came out after Nico had made only one visit to her home. Most of all he disliked that he was a Dlamini. According to him Nico was related by virtue of his clan to someone considered a sell-out during the struggle years. He warned her that she would date such a man over his dead body. When she refused to listen and continued to see Nico, her father saw to it that he was dismissed from university for conduct unbecoming; a charge falsely made by a female student who was paid to do so by her father.

Cathy was devastated. She knew instinctively that her father was behind this although he never admitted it. He merely remarked that it was good riddance. Nico begged her to help him prove his innocence and she failed him. She disliked the attention she would get and when she tentatively approached her father for advice, he threatened to stop paying her college fees if she dared to help Nico. Her mother was no help either. She was completely controlled by her husband. He always knew better than anyone else about every subject under the sun. He was the man of the house and brooked no interference from a mere woman. Her mother’s independent western origins and upbringing were no where in sight when he was around. Her loyalty always puzzled Catherine. The only advice she offered her daughter was that Cathy gets her degree and then keep as far away from her father as possible.

‘Make your own life my dear. Your father is stuck in a time that did a lot of damage to many people. He cannot think clearly when it comes to politics, children and the future. When you spend your whole life on the edge you find it difficult to be normal again. You and your brother will have a vastly different life and he can’t understand that. Try not to judge him too harshly.’

‘Does Nico have to pay for his inability to adjust?’

‘Of course not but can you prove that your father is responsible for what’s happened to your friend? Even if it were possible to do so, would you expose him as a person who is capable of bribery and corruption? That is what it would be make no mistake about it. Could your word stand against his and then could his career and your education survive the scandal?’

As a last resort she sought her brother’s advice and it was an echo of her mother’s.

‘Get your degree then leave. First boyfriends are just a stepping stone to the last. If he’s tough he will survive, so don’t worry too much about him,’ he said.

‘What about justice then?’ she said.

‘It isn’t your place to mete out justice to your father. Nico knows that. He’s just clutching at straws and very disappointed that his life is going through a difficult time right now. He will get over this believe me,’ he said.

Against her better judgment she caved in and let Nico go. She knew that her betrayal had ruined what they had. It broke her heart and for months she merely went through the motions of daily life. Nothing seemed worth bothering about too much. Now here she was at the crossroads once more; if she’d learnt anything from the past it was that nothing could take away the shame of a compromised integrity. Perhaps integrity was a luxury some people could not afford but her reasons for compromising her own, were never good enough. You could bury it, ignore it but the shame coloured everything you did. Innocent conversations would stop you in your tracks as you remembered; the ten o’clock news about bribery, the familiar face that conjured up his face, even his challenging attitude on all topics, that her father resented so much, was often replicated by some anonymous young person being interviewed in a talk show on TV. All these would remind you of the shame. She turned into the driveway of the University and brought her mind back to the present.

Brooding over the past was not going to change it. She’d try to track Nico on her own and see if she could help in any way. Face book may be somewhere to start or even twitter. She had no use for both before but in this case she was prepared to suspend her reluctance to use both.

2

Jason arrived in Cape Town at midday to a windy and cool Friday. He went directly to the offices for the registration of students. In Johannesburg he’d made an appointment with the registrar who now referred him to the bursar. The bursar’s office was plain and functional and he was asked to take a seat. He waited twenty minutes before someone arrived to take him to the inner sanctum. An elderly man with spectacles perched on the tip of a sharp nose looked at him over the rim of his glasses then asked him to take a seat.

‘I understand that you have come from Jo’burg to see us, Mr Stanley. I am Mr Greeves. How can I help you?’

‘Yes, if it’s at all possible. I’m looking into a case of dismissal from this institution about ten years ago.’

‘Dismissal? Mrs. Jones didn’t mention that part. Why has she sent you to me?’ he asked.

‘You were the registrar at the time. We have established from the files she has that the student was registered here for two years but did not complete a degree here,’ Jason said.

‘I’m sorry but what is it you do again?’ Greeves said.

‘I’m an investigative journalist. My interest in Nico Dlamini has to do with an incident in Johannesburg, in which he was shot in an attempt on his life.’

At this Jason received another measured stare from faded, blue eyes above the perched spectacles. Mr Greeves seemed to absorb this information slowly. He removed the spectacles and nodding his head he placed the tip of an arm between his teeth.

‘You think that shooting is connected to his dismissal ten years ago?’ he said jabbing the glasses at Jason as if it was the most preposterous idea.

‘At this point I’ve no thoughts on the matter. All I do know is that he had to leave and that he has been shot and now even more intriguing is that he has disappeared from the hospital. You must admit that there is plenty there for anyone to be curious about,’ Jason explained.

‘I suppose you want to know why he was dismissed. That information is a public matter because there was another person involved. You can get the details in our library surely?’ he said.

‘I already have the reason, what I’m looking for is background on the student and his activities,’ Jason said.

‘Well then the person you should talk to would be his lecturers. Do you have that information Mr Stanley?’ he asked with a glint in his eyes knowing full well that would be a difficult thing to find out. People move on and some even die in a period of ten years. Jason smiled ruefully in response and admitted he did not know who the lecturers were at the time.

‘I thought perhaps that being the registrar you would remember who lectured in Political Science and History in those two years that he was here. I could break down the list and see if I come up with a name that might match the information I have,’ Jason said.

‘Right, let me see how good my memory still is. Two names come immediately to mind because some people are more memorable than others, Alan Durnford and Melissa Stuart. She has left for the United States five years ago but Durnford is still around. Whether he lectured Mr Dlamini or not does not guarantee that he will even remember him,’ Greeves said.

‘From what I now know of Nico it would be difficult not to remember him. He was reputed to being a firebrand who liked to yank chains, no matter whose,’ Jason responded.

‘Good luck to you then Mr Stanley. The registrar will tell you how to find Durnford and I hope he is the man to help you.’

As Jason returned to the registrar he wondered how many people within these hallowed walls were challenged by Nico. He hoped there were plenty if only to make him more memorable. Mrs. Jones gave him the information he needed to find Durnford and he made his way to the lecture hall.

He took a seat at the back of the lecture hall and listened attentively to the lecture. A lot could be learnt about a person, from body language to tone and words used. If he was going to get anything from Durnford he needed to know how best to approach the subject of Nico. The lecture was on political science, a subject dear to Jason’s own heart.

He became absorbed in the talk and before he knew it the hall was emptying except for a few stragglers intent on getting more information out of their lecturer. He didn’t seem to mind, taking his time to explain a detail here, a concept there. Jason moved closer to the front the better to intercept the man. He studied his facial expressions for tell tale clues to the man’s personality; heavy, winged brows over dark brown eyes, strong high bridged nose flanked by dimpled cheeks which strangely enough took nothing from the stern, serious demeanour of the man. The contradiction of playful dimples, darting in and out as he spoke in a deep burr that sounded almost melancholy, was most disconcerting. Here was someone who could present a challenge in the boxing department. He wouldn’t be easy to label at all. He glanced up and held Jason’s gaze for a split second before finishing his explanation for the last straggler.

‘And who have we here? A little mature for a new student I think,’ the gravelly voice turned to Jason.

‘Jason Stanley, sir. May I have a moment of your time if you’re free that is,’ Jason said.

‘I sense it is more than a moment you need. You may join me as I leave and we can chat as we go. How can I help you Jason?’

‘Mr Greeves directed me to talk to you about an old student of yours. His name might mean little to you but you may remember that he was dismissed from this institution about ten years back?’

‘Well, his name might be a good place to start anyhow,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘Of course, Nico. His name is Nico Dlamini,’ Jason said.

Durnford stopped short and Jason had to turn back. The look on his face was a strange mixture of anger and remorse.

‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

‘Jason . . .’

‘Who are you really or rather for whom do you work?’

‘I’m with