“You have my word, General, no one under your command was responsible. I have studied the exact placement of every section during the time of the attack. None of them, except for the one Somala led, was within two hundred kilometers of Umkono.”

“Then how do you explain it?”

“I cannot.”

Lusana’s gaze lingered on Lo, appraising the Asian’s expression. Satisfied that he saw nothing devious in the permanently etched smile, he turned and surveyed the other men at the table.

To his right sat Major Thomas Machita, his chief intelligence analyst. Next to him was Colonel Randolph Jumana, his second-in-command. Opposite them were Lo and Colonel Oliver Makeir, coordinator of A AR propaganda programs.

“Any theories on the subject?” Lusana asked.

Jumana straightened a sheaf of papers for the tenth time and avoided Lusana’s gaze. “What if Somala imagined the Fawkes raid? Perhaps he saw it during a fit of delirium; or, then again, perhaps he made it up.”

Frowning, Lusana shook his head in irritation. “You forget, Colonel, I was the one who took Somala’s report. He was a damn good man. The best section leader we had. He was not delirious and he had no reason to create a fairy tale, knowing he was about to die.”

“There is no doubt that the raid took place,” said Makeir. “The South African papers and television newscasts have given it heavy play. Their stories all check with what Somala told the general here, except the government Defence Forces have yet to come up with any reliable witnesses who can provide a description of the attacking troops. We were fortunate that Somala was able to return from his mission and describe in detail what he saw before he died.”

“Did he see who shot him?” asked Jumana.

“He was hit in the back at great distance,” answered Lusana, “proba—

Operation Wild Rose I 81

bly by a sniper. The poor devil managed to crawl three miles to the area he assigned the rest of his scouting party. They performed what first aid they could and then beat a track back to our camp.”

Thomas Machita shook his head in utter incomprehension. “None of it tallies. I doubt that other liberation movements would dress up and masquerade as AAR soldiers.”

“On the other hand,” said Makeir, “maybe they staged the raid to cast blame on us and take the heat off themselves.”

“I am in close contact with my countrymen who are advising your brother revolutionaries,” said Colonel Lo. “They are all as angry as disturbed hornets. No one gained by the assault on the Fawkes farm. If anything, it has stiffened the resolve of the whites, the Indians, the coloreds, and many blacks, as well, to stand firm against outside intervention.”

Lusana rested his chin on clasped hands. “Okay, if they didn’t do it, and we know we didn’t do it, who does that leave as a prime suspect?”

“South African whites,” Lo answered simply.