The Wilby Conspiracy Page #3

Gotta get back to the farm,|Van and me.

See what these blacks have been up to.

You know what they're like,|these "shvartzer".

Thanks for the light.

- That man you were talking with?|- That farmer?

Policeman.

So is the other one standing|by the Mercedes, I can tell.

- How?|- How.

After 10 years in jail, how.

Then why didn't they arrest us?

I don't know.

Couldn't you perhaps,|just this once, be wrong?

No.

They smell of the Truth Room.

There they go, major.

To music.

Have the copter maintain visual contact.

I have visual contact.

They're busy tonight.

In a police state|the police are always busy.

That policeman was right,|never let a Kaffir drive your car.

You were driving the car.

I was?

Who is in the front?

Okay.

Oh, my God.

It is their calling card,|they left it for us in Colesburg.

Why don't they arrest us?

We will find out soon enough.

We must bury him...

...and not let the hyenas eat him.

Police?

Get rid of the tire marks.|Everybody dance on the tire marks.

This way, this way.|Over that side.

Some of you on that side, some on this,|all dance on the marks.

Ten years ago, when you were caught...

...who knew you were running the border?|- Wilby and me.

- What about your friend in Johannesburg?|- Him too, him too.

And?

And the driver. But none of us stood|to gain anything by informing.

- Not even the driver?|- Least of all.

Police killed him in the ambush.

- I don't know what to do with you.|- I know what to do.

Now, wait a minute.|Van, just a minute.

You people are constantly asking|for a voice in your own affairs. Right.

I want the chance to give it to you, so you|help me in deciding your punishment.

- What shall it be?|- I don't know, sir.

You don't know?|Well, what would be just punishment...

...for a man who shelters fugitives?|- And denies it to police.

Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that.|Thank you, Van.

- Well?|- Perhaps a fine, sir.

A fine? Good. How much?

- Fifty rands.|- Fifty rand! A traffic violation is 50 rand.

Come on, be logical, Oom Maseko.

- Is your crime the same as a traffic violation?|- No, sir.

- Is it worse?|- Yes, sir.

Yes. And how much worse?|Twice, thrice, four, five?

- Yes, sir.|- Yes, five times worse. That's 250 rand.

All right, Van, give him a receipt|for 250 rand.

Sir, we have only 65 rands|in the village.

Oom Maseko...

...should you be whipped with a sjambok?|- I expect so, sir.

Well, you shan't be.|So for God's sake, stop sweating.

Two brutal, insensitive officers|from the Security Bureau...

...beat a lovely Bantu patriarch?|No, thank you very much.

You'd be an overnight martyr.

We've got enough of them as it is.

- Please think, Oom Maseko.|- I cannot, sir.

You cannot think?|You, the headman?

The wise, bearded, white-haired elder|of the village, and you can't think?

My godfather.

You're too old to hunt,|you're too old to work in the fields...

...and you're too old to father children.

If you can't think...

...what in heaven's name|are you good for?

I wish all these bleeding-heart liberals|could see this...

...how futile it is trying to get you people|to be responsible.

- Do you understand?|- Yes, sir.

- You think he understands?|- No.

I fear for my country.

There, Johannesburg.|That wasn't so hard, was it?

- That is your man in Johannesburg?|- Yes.

- You mean you put my life in the hands of...?|- Our lives. You have nothing to worry about.

- He's deeply committed politically.|- A politically committed Indian dentist?

That sounds like all the people|I can't stand at a cocktail party.

- Is he in your revolution too?|- Yes, and we have all colors, even yours.

I think I'd better go up alone,|he will only freeze up with you there.

Well, I'll go in here.|I wouldn't want to miss this.

- One, please.|- Sir, it is in Hindi.

- Oh, good, I was hoping it was.|- But, sir, this is a segregated cinema.

For Indians only.

Don't you tell anybody, and I won't.

Have you told your English friend|about the diamonds?

He is not a friend! And he does not count|so far as we are concerned.

Through your silence, the police|have never known of my connection...

...with the Black Congress|or Wilby's escape.

I appreciate that deeply.|I owe you a great deal.

Which makes it all the more difficult|to explain that I don't have the diamonds.

Please don't hurt me!

- Mukerjee!|- Please, sit down!

Should someone enter,|it looks more natural.

That night, 10 years ago...

...I knew nothing of the police ambush.

It wasn't until a week later|that I learned that Wilby was safe...

...you had been arrested|and the driver killed.

Open your mouth wider, please.

I was afraid the police would arrest me|and perhaps find the diamonds.

I couldn't let that happen.|I'm a man of principles, you see.

I said to myself, "Those diamonds belong|to the Black Congress.

You must safeguard them for Wilby|and for no one else."

Mukerjee, you lied to me.

Rinse, please.

Anyway...

...to save the diamonds...

...I threw them into a sinkhole.

You stupid...! There are thousands|of sinkholes around here, all bottomless!

- But this one isn't, it's only 71 meters.|- What?

I've gone metric, you see.

- How deep is that?|- 230 feet.

- Two hundred and thirty feet?!|- The tissue's nice and healthy.

No decay.|And that on a prison diet.

I brush with salt.

It's absolutely remarkable.

I'm glad I satisfy your professional interest.|Now, you satisfy mine.

How are we going to recover those|diamonds from 230 feet in a sinkhole?

With great difficulty.

Mukerjee...

...those diamonds had better be|exactly where you say they are.

- I'm sorry I took so long.|- Oh, that's all right.

Let me fill you in.

She's from this little village, and|her boyfriend has moved from Calcutta...

He's going to help us, but we've got to lay|low for a while until he makes connections.

He's going to hide me out.

Now, you go on to Van Niekirk's apartment|and I'll reach you there.

That's him!|That's the boyfriend from Calcutta.

Oh, Keogh! Oh, I've been frantic.

Really? You could have fooled me.

I didn't know if you or they|were gonna come through that door first.

So you took no chances|and dressed for both, huh?

Keogh.

Who's "they"?

Bureau of State Security.|They questioned me for hours.

Must've given the right answers,|or you wouldn't be here.

- Are you trying to quarrel?|- No, no.

Just tell me how it is|they let you go.

I don't deserve that.|I've just flown up to be with you.

- This was for you.|- Is that supposed to make me feel bad?

Because it doesn't.

- What did you tell State Security?|- Nothing they didn't already know.

I even lied to them,|but they didn't seem to care.

Especially the larger man, Horn.|Stinks of cigarettes.

Just a minute.

An Afrikaner, suede shoes?

Who else was with him?

Just one other.|Small frame, wiry. Smiles.

Yes.

- I've seen him too.|- You can't know them.

They've been watching me since Capetown.|From police cars, helicopters...

...and they haven't picked me up.|Now, why, Rina?

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