Her phone call is yet another sign of that. I don’t know whom I can trust in my own party these days.
She’s right that Hector is a problem for us at the moment; he’s holding up a mirror that we don’t want to look into. But despite what it may look like on TV, he’s a representative, not the whole effort. If anything, actions like Hector’s are what we hoped for all those years ago when we were their age – participation, honesty, struggle, people holding us in check. Removing him won’t mean an end to anything. If she thinks the students are protesting because of him, she’s wrong. This has been building for some time and her actions have provided plenty of building material.
He isn’t only one young, angry man. He has friends who are equally angry. Arrests can turn violent. If we use the Special Forces, it would exacerbate the matter. The SFs don’t react to shouts and screams. They never negotiate. They do what they are programmed to do without a thought for the consequences, without a thought at all.
If I’m honest with myself, it’s not Hector I’m worrying about. He’s just a photo in the newspaper to me, and he’ll just be another photo whatever happens to him. The truth is, I’ve done worse than arrest a boy like him on trumped-up charges. We all have. It has become part of our job to sweep things under rugs, fold them away, and make sure those rugs are never unravelled.
If we’d never bought these ridiculous machines from Russia, then Noné wouldn’t be able to threaten Hector with them. But it’s too late now; we have them. The deal was signed before we ever had a chance to raise our concerns. I should have acted then, but I didn’t. Now I must work out how both to ignore her instructions and do what she says at the same time.
I unlock the top drawer of my desk, pulling out the flash stick with the data on the weapons, and plug it into my laptop, rolling my neck around my shoulders trying to shake off the tension. Opening the folder and reading their product descriptions, I feel nausea rise in my throat. This is not going to be easy.
Special Forces (SFs) are the very best in post-life warfare. Dead already, they are at no risk of fatality. These finely tuned reanimated soldiers, straight from a supplier in the Central African Republic, have been improved and updated in Russia to use the most recent bio-technology. SFs can go for long periods without damage, are less likely to rape and pillage on their missions, and can be hung up and refrigerated between use.
We were never supposed to use them for public order, just for warfare. But someone leaked it to the police union that we had undead cops, and when the police heard, they threatened to blow the whistle, and refused to send their live officers back into the field, especially with the students. They have kids too.
The SFs can’t achieve what Noné wants now. They’re still basic bodies without much functionality. What she’s asking is to take out one student in a crowd of thousands. That’s going to need the more advanced units, the units I’d hoped we would never have a reason to use. I click on the folder.
The Top Ruthless© (T-Ruths) are the latest artificial intelligence, planned for destruction then self-destruction. T-Ruths can move inhumanly fast and have a better shot than the most skilled assassin. They’re untraceable after use. When they have executed their task, they self-immolate at such high temperatures that any evidence of their existence is blown away with the wind.
In Cape Town, that wouldn’t take long. Noné knows this, which might be why she is so calm about the matter. If we used one with Hector, nobody would ever be able to trace it to us. It would simply kill him, and then disappear. He’d be gone and she could have her party in peace.
But they’re not ready. We haven’t had enough time to test them to make this a safe operation. They are still in the facility. Our lab assistants haven’t completed their voice-response software. They have to be programmed, their settings perfect. Their language prompts are far more complicated than those of the SFs. This is a gamble with lives.
I can feel tears of frustration rising to my eyes as my mind spins through all the reasons this can’t work, and all the reasons it has to. We should have stopped Noné years ago, but none of us were willing to risk our own plans. We were supposed to be making change from the inside but in doing so we’ve allowed her to flourish. Now we’ll all pay the price.
My real worry is not what will happen to Hector; it’s the absence he’ll leave behind. An absence that Sindiwe will fill, whether I warn her or not. It wouldn’t be the first time that Sindiwe’s life has been in Noné’s way, and I’ve seen before just how far she’s willing to go.
I pick up my keys, leaving another cup of tea to get cold on my table. There is only one person who can help me, who knows more of Noné’s secrets than she does of theirs. Thank god it’s caucus today. I have to talk to Fundi.
CHAPTER 6
Adnan
It’s parliamentary party caucus day and you’d think these MPs would be hurrying things along to get out of this committee meeting on time, but they’re dithering. A meeting that could have been finished at least half an hour ago is still going because the members’ egos are flaring.
More and more often I’ve been asking myself what I’m doing with my life. If it weren’t for the money, I would have left here ages ago. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
I get up each day, brush my teeth, and count the day’s hours in monetary value. Just three hours covers my weekly art class. Another three is Sakhina’s school judo lesson. My lunch break is enough for Mubeen’s soccer training. Then I just have one hour that I save for smokes. Each day I think of new things to pay for with my hours so they have some meaning in real terms. They wouldn’t be survivable otherwise.
Adilah says she’ll divorce me if I quit, not that I’m sure I’d miss her if she did. These days, we are only husband and wife for the legal benefits like cheaper insurance and medical aid. It didn’t start out this way, but somewhere over the years we’ve grown apart. It feels like I stay for the family, and she stays for the lifestyle my salary can pay for. It’s all pretty depressing. I need a smoke break.
I make eye contact with the committee chairperson, pointing to my phone as though I have to take a call, and then sneak out the door.
The marble floors in the National Assembly are a collage of ugly pinks and greys with the occasional mustard. Worse, the lurid pink wall paint makes it feel like you’re navigating a birth canal every time you want to leave the building. My daughter, Sakhina, would say this is definitely not ‘on fleek’, and I’d agree. The Old Assembly building décor is less grotesque, with simple white walls and shiny chequered floors you can see your face in if the light is right.
Stepping out of the shiny corridor and into the bricked Old Assembly courtyard is a welcome respite. Rain or shine, this is a sanctuary where smokers can come together and talk about how much we hate our job, or the weather, or occasionally the rugby. I sit down on my usual bench, closing my eyes for a second to recalibrate.
Smoking is what killed my father, and left my mother alone with weak lungs in a house with walls stained yellow by nicotine. Smoking is what I have left of both of them and it is one thing in my life that always makes me feel better. I doubt I’ll ever stop. Besides, the bitterness of working here is going to kill me before the smoking ever will.
Parliament has its ups and downs, but in the last five years it feels more like things are changing for the worse. The meetings feel more closed and adversarial than when I started out here. My job is supposed to be to advise MPs on content, but you’d think they’re all experts because my support is either ignored or unacknowledged. We’re invisible to them, or when we are visible they resent us. All my years of studying got me to a place where people doubt my intelligence just because I’m not a member of a political party, and where I doubt the intelligence of anyone who is. Those party lines will become hangman’s nooses if they’re not careful.
I open my eyes and take out a cigarette. I hear the door swing open, and two women step into the courtyard. I recognise one as the NCOP chairperson, a short woman who has the aura of a rhino and the stubbornness too. I think the other