From the corner of his eye, Rutherford watched how Joseth was taking this. There was no discernible response. Perhaps he had not been clear enough, and so Rutherford said, ‘Emil Coetzee walked into the bush and unfortunately came up against one of these men who has not adhered to the ceasefire. A trained bandit … a terrorist.’ This time Rutherford looked at Joseth directly, trying to force him to respond in some visible way.

Again, his companion gave nothing away, and continued looking resolutely through the windshield. After a long moment, Joseth said, ‘Emil Coetzee was lured into the bush by a terrorist who still has not adhered to the ceasefire.’ Having made this pronouncement, Joseth rolled down the window, put out his arm and nonchalantly tapped his fingers against the door to the tune of ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’.

Lured. That single word changed so much. Rutherford was deeply impressed in spite of himself. However, Joseth proved that he could do even better – by offering up a name for the terrorist. ‘Emil Coetzee was lured into the bush by Golide Gumede,’ Joseth said, his fingers still tap-tap-tapping the tune on the door.

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.