The fiction was so perfect that it astounded Rutherford. He looked at Joseth as though seeing him for the first time. Yes, he was ambitious and did not hide the fact that he wanted to take Rutherford’s place, but perhaps he was also a very intelligent intelligence man.

Golide Gumede was the best choice … a brilliant choice. A terrorist who had for years operated successfully under the radar of the security forces and become a general menace to society, Golide Gumede had eventually shot down a Vickers Viscount passenger plane nicknamed Hunyani. That single act had resulted in his becoming the most sought-after enemy of the state.

Wartime was not the time for subtleties of expression or nuanced rhetoric. Emil Coetzee, using the hyperbolic language that had become the order of the day, had demanded that the head of Golide Gumede be brought to him on a silver platter. The security forces, certain men in The Organisation and some SIU operatives had heeded Emil Coetzee’s call. Whether they had taken his words literally or metaphorically, only the successful capture of Golide Gumede would tell.

However, for over a year, Golide Gumede had proved elusive. Now he would play into Rutherford and Joseth’s fiction perfectly because he had not, as yet, obeyed the ceasefire. He was still at large, roaming the countryside with an AK-47 and a sure-footed idea of himself always at the ready.

‘Golide Gumede lures Emil Coetzee into the bush.’ Not only did the sentence have a nice ring to it – the kind of catchy sentence that could become a newspaper headline – but it encompassed so much. It was also, and this was the best part, incredibly credible. Of course Golide Gumede would want to take revenge on the man who had ordered that he be hunted and slaughtered like an animal. It made perfect sense that Golide Gumede would lure Emil Coetzee into the bush. It also made perfect sense that Emil Coetzee would go into the bush to meet with Golide Gumede, because Emil Coetzee had notoriously always courted danger – and because he must have felt some humiliation at not being able to capture the man who had become his nemesis. The more Rutherford thought of the story, the more it acquired the ring of truth.

‘Golide Gumede lures Emil Coetzee into the bush.’ That was just the sort of headline that would stop white people in their tracks. A lot of whites, not wanting to witness the advent of majority rule and the independence of the country, were emigrating; Rutherford believed that a headline such as this would make them see what he saw – that there was still so much to stay and fight for.

Looking straight at the winding road ahead, still tapping ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’, and as though having read his thoughts, Joseth informed Rutherford, ‘Some people would like to see Golide Gumede as the Prime Minister of the new independent country.’

Rutherford looked at Joseth incredulously and almost laughed. The very idea was ludicrous, but there was absolutely no mirth on Joseth’s face; that was when Joseth told him of another Golide Gumede – the Golide Gumede whose great escapes had become legendary and turned him into a mythical hero for many villagers in the country. This Golide Gumede could shape-shift, disappear into nothingness, hide in plain sight. This Golide Gumede was a story that they told around the fire at night. This Golide Gumede was a dream in their hearts and minds. This Golide Gumede was the promise of the much-awaited and anticipated future.