Deon Meyer: Blood Safari

On their way to success, the company had a major hand in developing a laser-based rangefinder for the Dassault Mirage F1AZ fighter plane, which permitted highly accurate fusing and aiming of unguided munitions. The success of this system was acknowledged by Jane’s Defence Weekly , which concluded that the FlAZ’s proven accuracies were within the order disclosed by the USAF for their F-15E Strike Eagle.

While much of the work done in the early years was of a classified nature, the invaluable experience of developing cutting-edge technology led to the products that can truly be called world class today.

Amongst them are the XV-700 ‘Black Eagle’ surface-to-air missile guidance system, the XV-715 ‘Bateleur’ air-to-air guided missile, and the revolutionary XZ-1 ‘Lämmergeier’ heavy, long-range anti-armour missile.

On the third page there was a photograph of Quintus Wernich under the heading ‘Founding Father and Managing Director’. He did not smile, but there was a benevolent air to the face behind rimless glasses, a kindly paterfamilias with his short steel-grey hair.

‘I thought he was chairman of the board.’

Jeanette glanced down at the document on my lap. ‘He is. That thing is two years old. Look at the cuttings.’

I paged through the pile. A Business Day newspaper cutting read ‘Black MD just the first BEE step for Southern Cross’.

The appointment of Mr Philani Lungile as managing director is just the first step in a comprehensive process of Black Economic Empowerment (BEE), says Mr Quintus Wernich, former MD and now chairman of the privately owned Stellenbosch weapons systems developer Southern Cross Avionics.

‘Bloody traffic,’ said Jeanette. I looked up. She wanted to turn off the N2 on to the N7 but it wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

‘We never have this trouble in Loxton,’ I said.

‘Read the one about the missile programme. I found it on the Internet,’ she ordered, and lit a Gauloise.

I rolled the window down and searched through the documents. The printout came from the International Centre for Strategic Research.

South African Ballistic Missile Programme

Even today, little is known about South Africa’s short-lived ballistic missile programme.

The country had been developing short-range tactical missiles and rockets since the 1960s, but only became the focus of international attention after a test launch of what the apartheid regime called a ‘booster rocket’ in July 1989.

Western intelligence agencies soon pointed out similarities between the South African capabilities and Israel’s Jericho II missile, prompting speculation that Israel had supplied crucial technology to South Africa’s development effort.

This claim was substantiated by the fact that the two countries also shared knowledge and expertise in developing electronic weapons systems for the Dassault Mirage jet fighter in the seventies and eighties – through government owned ARMS-COR and privately held companies such as Southern Cross Avionics.

I looked up, because more pieces began to fall into place.

‘When I read that, I knew where the rifle came from,’ Jeanette said.

I nodded.

‘OK, Lemmer, tell me.’

‘What?’

‘Everything. What the fuck has Southern Cross to do with Emma le Roux?’

‘How long will it be before we get there?’

‘At this rate? Half an hour.’

‘What else is in this pile?’ I rifled my fingers through her cuttings.

‘Do you know how the big arms deal works? The one for the new Gripen fighter plane?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Saab of Sweden and BAE in the UK won the contract to supply twenty-eight Gripens to South Africa. But part of the deal was that they must invest and develop locally. Southern Cross was part of that – they are also going to build systems for BAE. And there’s a report that Wernich and company are courting Airbus passionately.’

‘That’s why they still want to keep it quiet,’ I said. ‘That and the black economic empowerment.’

‘What, Lemmer? What do they want to keep quiet?’

‘Did you bring me a firearm?’

She flicked the Gauloise out of the window and pulled the left flap of her jacket open. There was a pistol in a leather holster under her arm. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Today I am your bodyguard, Lemmer. Now tell me everything.’

47

I didn’t find the new office buildings at Century City attractive. I don’t know how you would describe them. Neo-Roman? Corporate-Tuscan? Overdone, outsized pillars, sharp triangular roofs, glass and concrete, as un-African as it could be. Southern Cross was on the top storey of a five-storey block. The reception room was large and clinical.

In the middle of the room a black woman sat at a desk with a huge glass top. She had a silver laptop in front of her and a tiny telephone switchboard. She was wearing an earphone and microphone headset. It looked like something a fighter pilot would use.

Jeanette spoke to her. ‘We would like to see Mr Wernich.’

She looked Jeanette up and down. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

I stepped forward. ‘Yes, we do. Tell him Jacobus le Roux is here to see him.’

Fingers with long nails danced over the high-tech keyboard. She spoke barely above a whisper. ‘Louise, there is a Mr Le Roux for Mr Wernich.’

‘Jacobus le Roux,’ I said. ‘Please make sure you tell her that.’

The woman looked at me as if seeing me for the first time – and was unimpressed. She listened and then told us, ‘I’m sorry, it seems you don’t have an appointment.’

‘Come on, Lemmer,’ said Jeanette, and bypassed the glass princess. ‘I’ve been here before.’

‘Lady,’ the receptionist said in dismay. ‘Where are you going?’

Jeanette stopped and turned. ‘One thing I can tell you, my dear. I am no lady.’ Then she walked on, not intimidated when the woman said, ‘I’m calling Security.’

* * *

Glass desktops were a Southern Cross theme. Louise also presided behind one. She was white, with dark brown hair in a plait, subtle make-up and fashionable glasses. She was thirty-something and faultless. Her job description would be Personal Assistant, never Secretary. She was appointed for her efficiency, computer skills and appearance. In front of her she had only a black keyboard and a flat LCD screen. The rest of the computer was concealed elsewhere. She seemed ruffled when we strode in.

‘Where is Quintus hiding, sweetheart?’ Jeanette asked her, and strode past her to the door leading to her boss’s office.

Louise gasped and sprang up. The grey skirt clung to impressive curves. I winked at her, just because I could. Then we were inside Wernich’s office.

It was spacious, with a massive glass desktop bearing a slender laptop. A high-backed leather chair stood behind the desk, like a royal throne, and six lesser ones in the same style were arranged in front of it. On the walls, in expensive frames, hung perfectly realistic paintings of missiles and jet fighters. But the man himself stood looking out of the huge windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a view of a greenish-brown canal outside. His hands were clasped behind his back.

He looked around only when Louise hissed behind us, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Wernich, they just walked through.’

He stared at Jeanette for a long time and then at me and nodded slightly, apparently to himself. It was the same kindly face as the prospectus photograph, but older. He looked like a church elder, that pious yet friendly appearance of so many Afrikaner men in their late fifties. He was dignified in a dark tailored suit, a definite presence.

‘Never mind, Louise, I was expecting them,’ he said paternally. His voice was deep and modulated, like that of an announcer on a classical music radio station. ‘Please close the door behind you.’