Pharmageddon Chapter 18

Bangkok, June, year five

When there’s no moon, and no cloud to reflect the light of the city, the only illumination at the Breeze restaurant comes from the lamps on the tables and the bluish glow from beneath the translucent floors. It may not be the best light to read a menu, but it certainly picks out the silver and glassware – and it made the sequined edging on Nikki’s jacket sparkle as she turned slowly, scanning the restaurant to find me. Her dark hair and black outfit were invisible against the night sky, leaving her pale face floating like a three-quarter moon over a dark ocean. When finally she saw me waving she smiled, her teeth shone, and I forgot all that crap about moons and oceans.

Somehow the blur of life had conspired to keep us apart since Emily’s funeral, two years earlier, although we chatted through one medium or another at least a couple of times a week. Now we stood for a moment, just looking at each other. I hoped the strange light was as flattering to me as it was to her – she didn’t look any older than when she descended like an angel of mercy to help me through those first couple of weeks alone in Fenerbahçe. In fact she looked younger. Radiating a kind of peace, instead of the anxious concern of our last intersection.

After Nikki left Fenerbahçe I had pretended for a couple of weeks that I could adjust to living in the villa without Em, but it was a lost cause so I moved into a hotel on the European side of the city, near the office, while I considered my options.

Along with most of the senior editors at The World Online I’d renewed my contract at the end of the first three years. The notable exception was Enoch who said he was ready, in every way, to retire. He’d slipped away from his beloved South Africa with his wife and two grandchildren, and was now living quietly in Lusaka, Zambia, where he’d been stationed with the ANC-in-exile during the closing days of the struggle against apartheid.

In the months after Em’s death I considered basing myself somewhere else, or even resigning from TWO and starting over. Everything about Istanbul, my job, and what was happening in the world, reminded me of her. I’d like to tell you that I reached a decision but the truth is that I became distracted by other stories, other travels and – after Kimberly’s quiet ear in the Cederberg – other people.

About a year after Em’s funeral, Nikki and I started looking for opportunities to get together again, but somehow every plan was scuttled at the last moment – until this one. The UN’s regional office for south east Asia was hosting a media briefing here in Bangkok to prepare journalists for the forthcoming World AIDS Conference, to be held in Kuala Lumpur a month later. Nikki was there as one of the presenters, and I managed to make it as well..

Now, as she latched on for a second hug, I felt something turning over inside me and realized it was a sob. I pretended it was a gasp. ‘Jesus, Nik, have you been working out?’

She held onto my hand, and my eyes, as we sat down, her own face code-sharing between a smile and concern. ‘How are you, Gip? I mean, really?’

This was ridiculous. I had no reason to be choked up, but I found I couldn’t speak. At that moment a waitress arrived with menus and a wine-list. Nikki turned to the girl. ‘We’re waiting for one more person, but let’s order a bottle of wine.’

This was the first I’d heard of a third person. ‘Oh, good...’ Nikki knew my tone meant exactly the opposite, and she gave me another dazzling smile.

‘Yeah, I asked him to arrive a little late so I could get you drunk first.’ 

‘Him? How drunk do I need to be?’

She pretended to look me over like a traffic cop checking for signs of inebriation. ‘Oh, I think you’re drunk enough...’

‘Ossifer, I’m not as thunk as dreeple pink I am.’

She’d heard it before but smiled anyway. She directed her attention to the winelist, ordered a bottle of Krug, and turned back to me with her best naughty child expression, then broke the news. ‘I’m engaged!’

I must admit that my eyes began to water. At the time I tried to pass it off as tears of happiness for Nikki, but I was really thinking that this was supposed to be our evening – our time to get maudlin and reconnect. A third person – a stranger – wasn’t in the script! But whatever she thought of my girly tears, she held onto my hands with both of hers and waited for me to grow up.

‘I’m so... sorry, Nik. I’m such a dork. That’s wonderful news.’ I took a deep breath and tried hard to change gears. ‘Where did you find the suck... the fellow?’

She smiled to reward me for pulling myself together. ‘In Shimla.’

For one bizarre moment I pictured her walking down the aisle with Shan, who happened to be married to a Bollywood starlet with whom he’d produced a couple of picture-perfect kids. ‘Shimla?’

‘Yeah. Remember when I went there to advise on Shan’s plan to convert his research lab to produce API? There was a guy there... an American. An army colonel, from the office of the director of national intelligence. We clicked, and one thing led...’

‘You dirty dog! That was ages ago.’ I punched her shoulder – a little harder than I intended. 

‘Ow! That hurt!’ She sat rubbing her shoulder and looking at me like a kicked dog.

‘So?’

‘Well, I thought... we thought it was a fling, at first. Keeping warm in the Himalayas. But after Shimla... well, we stayed in touch. I mean, we’ve seen each other here and there. His job is to keep tabs on the whole pharmageddon thing, so there have been... plenty of opportunities.’ She gave me a wicked leer.

‘And... what? You want to do the whole house-in-the-burbs, kids-in-school routine?’

She laughed at that. ‘Oh god no. He’s got two already, from a previous marriage. Both in high school, in Chicago. Anyway, I’m not the mommy type. But... it feels right. Right time, right guy. I want... we both want someone to go home to...’

I saw her face freeze, and I realized she was thinking of me going home to Emily. I wanted to tease her, tell her not to walk on egg-shells around her oldest friend. But then it hit me. I remembered exactly what it was like to have someone as a reference point for every action, every observation, every thought. Someone to go home to. 

But it was so much more than a memory – I really felt it again, for the first time in years. And, maybe for the first time, I truly understood what I’d lost. Without Emily, I was homeless. And it felt like someone had turned on an irrigation system built into my face.

‘Oh fuck, Nik. I didn’t... I don’t want to lose you, too.’ For a while it wasn’t pretty. Certainly not what is supposed to happen at the highest open air seafood restaurant in Asia. I filled a couple of the Breeze’s beautiful linen napkins with tears and snot while Nikki held me, stroking my back and telling me not to worry, it would all be okay.

‘You said she’d be happy for you.’ A deep American voice. I looked up to see a tall black man in a tweed jacket and white shirt, open at the neck. He had a look of gentle concern, wrapped up in humor. I liked him immediately.

‘Sorry Art. She doesn’t hold her liquor very well...’ Nikki recoiled as though expecting another punch from me, and I found myself laughing. I stood to make space and to shake his hand but instead found myself caught up in a bear hug, with Nikki’s moon face swimming nearby in my tears and the Breeze’s funny lighting.

‘Listen,’ he said, sotto voce, his mouth only an inch from my ear. ‘Whoever did this to you, I can have them killed. I know people.’

‘It was her.’ I pointed a deliberately shaking hand at Nikki.

‘Oh. Well, I’m afraid I offered her the same deal first, so I’m going to have to throw you off this balcony. D’you want to go before or after dinner?’

I stayed inside the hug, but now I was only pretending to sob. ‘After, please. The lobster here is worth dying for. And the abalone salad. And the...’

I could see what Nik saw in Arthur Baldwin. He radiated a kind of... strength. Just sitting at the same table made me feel that everything would be alright. For her, I mean.

Nikki gave a hilarious rendition of the instant attraction between them, and their clandestine schnogging in and around Shan’s compound. It turned out that it was only here in Bangkok, while strolling around the Grand Palace just three days ago, that they’d decided to make it official. Apart from Nikki’s mum, I was the first to know.

It felt good to see that my closest friend was so happy. Still, as soon as it was decently possible I shifted the subject to the other thing that Arthur Baldwin and I had in common. ‘Okay, so spill the beans, soldier. Who dunnit?’

He looked uncertainly between Nikki and me, the whites of his eyes flashing in the blue light. ‘Done what?’ 

‘The bombings, of course. The sabotage.’

His teeth flashed brightly. ‘Oh, that. Tell you what, why don’t I tell you about the things I’ve succeeded at?’

I looked sternly at Nikki. ‘Nicola Kershaw, you want my blessing on your union with a self-confessed failure?’

Art barked so loudly I wondered briefly if they could hear it on the street, fifty floors down. ‘Well, hang on a minute, Gipsy. It’s true that we don’t know who did it, but we also know who did not.’

‘Like who?’

‘The FBI are very sure it wasn’t big pharma. They got the word from the White House not to leave any stone unturned, and they didn’t. Their investigations put a lot of strain on party funding, so I hear. The CIA and military intelligence are pretty sure it wasn’t Al Qaeda, for all kinds of reasons....’

‘What about simple blackmail?’

‘We heard of a few cases of attempted extortion, in several countries, but they all turned out to be opportunists – people who thought they’d make a quick buck by saying they planted the bombs, then threatening some corporate that they’d do the same to them. One or two had us going for a while...’

‘White supremacists, Chinese pharma?

He smiled. ‘No and no. And we had a good look, believe me.’

‘And the black hole?’

His smile broadened. ‘You mean, did the US government blow up those factories to save taxpayers’ money?’

I smiled back, partly because I realized that I was enjoying myself. I knew what he was going to say next – the US government had ended up spending far more as a result of pharmageddon than they would if it had never happened. ‘Okay, fair enough. But what about the South African government? I mean, they practically admitted they did it.’

‘Not really. We reviewed everything they ever said or did. We even tracked down Minister Makeba in Dar Es Salaam...’

‘I’d like to track him down myself. Tear him apart with my bare hands for what he did to Bettina and her family...’

‘Actually, we don’t think he ordered that. It could have been a rogue cop, but I think it was probably a genuine accident.’

‘But he threatened me...’

‘No, Gipsy. I listened to the recording of your conversation. I can see how you felt threatened, but Makeba denied it. And his story checks out.’

‘What story?’

Art hesitated. ‘Well, it turns out a lot of your speculation was right on the money. Makeba did have a controlling interest in that pharmaceutical plant, and they did build up a secret stockpile of active ingredient...’

‘Well, there you go.’

‘Yeah... except when we added up the facts, we came to a different conclusion.’

‘Oh?’

‘Sure. Turns out the stockpile was ordered and paid for by his government, and they were given regular reports on it.’

‘Shan did tell me a lot of countries had undisclosed reserves of API...’

‘Yeah, in case there were problems with global supply. For perfectly legitimate reasons, like shortages of raw materials, shipping snafus or currency fluctuations...’

‘I still don’t see why it was a big secret.’

‘Makeba said that if the world knew they had plenty of API, they wouldn’t be given a share of the global stockpile – in fact they’d be forced to share what they had. But he was adamant that neither he nor his government wanted ARV treatment to be interrupted. In fact, he blames you for it.’

It took me a second to process his words. ‘WHAT? Are you out of your mind? How... why would I do that?’

Somehow I wasn’t surprised that Art wasn’t offended. He simply laughed and held up his hands in surrender. ‘Hey, I’m just the messenger. Like you.’

‘Sorry mate. But shit, that’s some fucking accusation. From Makeba. The truth is that I did my best to prevent the treatment interruption. Ask Nikki – she was in on it too.’

Nikki shook her head sadly. ‘And so was Bettina...’

Art’s eyes moved between us. ‘You mean your plan to trick the cops into returning the drugs?’

Somehow I wasn’t surprised that he knew about our scam. ‘Yeah. What did the fat toad have to say about that?’

‘As a matter of fact, he was surprised to hear that you guys cooked it up. He thought the police told Bettina that they were going to return the ARVs, and she was just doing what she was supposed to, by releasing that media statement.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. Makeba admitted the government had... limited control... over the police. They kinda stayed out of each others ways, because...’

‘People in glass houses?’

‘Exactly. So there was no question of ordering the cops to return the drugs. Instead, the government’s plan was to tell the cops that they had this strategic reserve of the materials to make more ARVs, and they were ready to re-supply the hospitals. Which meant the looted drugs would be worthless on the streets.’

‘So? Did they tell the cops...?’

‘Yeah. Just an hour or two before Dr Shabangu’s statement appeared on your site. So naturally...’

‘Oh crap! Everyone assumed that someone else had told Bettina. And all the while we thought...’ I looked at Nikki, and I could see she was also reliving that night.

‘I know, Gip. Talk about coincidence.’

I turned back to Art. ‘But... what about the contamination of that batch of ARVs from NguniMed? That’s what really pushed them over the edge.’

‘Makeba thought some rogue cops may have arranged that. Because they were angry that they were losing their windfall, and wanted to make sure there was no fresh supply of ARVs.’

I sat there, staring at them both. ‘So that’s that?’

‘No, actually it isn’t. When we looked more closely, we found Makeba’s timing doesn’t work. The contamination of the drugs had to take place a week or so earlier. It would take that long for spiked drugs to be manufactured, packaged and dispatched.’

‘That’s... weird. So who was responsible?’

‘We aren’t sure, but it must have been the same people as the attacks in India, Sweden and Iceland. Same timing, just a different method. This one was designed to have a delayed reaction.’

I was beginning to feel like I was suffering from vertigo after all. ‘But... the API itself wasn’t contaminated, was it? So why didn’t the South Africans just make more drugs?’

‘According to Makeba it took them the better part of two weeks to find out exactly what was contaminated – or rather, what wasn’t, because they never did pin down the actual toxin. Then they had to “apply their minds” as to what to do next.’ He drew the quotation marks in the air.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that, by the time they realized they could safely make more medications, it was too late. The drugs would have reached the hospitals more than six weeks from the start of the treatment interruption...’

‘So there’d be a lot of drug resistance...’

Nikki cut in. ‘Not only physiological resistance. We were convinced that patients wouldn’t want to take the same medications that made people sick before.’

‘So... what? The government gave up?’

Art shook his head. ‘No, they came up with another plan. They tried to buy the old ARVs back from the police, to tide them over. Apparently they offered the cops a fortune.’

‘What happened?’

‘The rumor happened. That Xhosa-nostra thing. And the cops turned down the government’s offer – decided they’d be better off with the drugs than the money.’

Sweet Jesus, what a mess. ‘But if the government had been straight with the UN – with you, Nik – surely they would still have been okay?’

Nikki pulled a wry face. ‘Yes, but they didn’t really believe they were in trouble... even after the cops refused to sell the ARVs back to them.’

She glanced at Art before continuing. ‘When Shan announced he was planning to make active ingredient for second line ARVs, Makeba and his cronies decided they’d be okay after all. They even started re-tooling their factory to make the PI-based drugs. And president Shezi announced that better drugs were on the way – to keep everyone cool.’

I shook my head. ‘And then someone started that rumor, that the new drugs would be reserved for Xhosas. Shezi announced they’d go to the Zulus first, so we had the next rumor that the drugs would be toxic...’

She nodded. ‘No matter what they tried, they couldn’t get it right...’

Art picked it up. ‘Then, just when the South Africans began to see how much trouble they were in, along came the UN’s offer of treatment camps.’

‘Fuck, what a mess. What about the Indians’ attempt to restore second-line treatment in Ladysmith hospital? If that had worked, things could still have been different.’

Art shook his head. ‘By then the government wasn’t running the country, the cops were morphing into warlords, and if the UN had succeeded in restoring universal treatment, the drugs which gave the warlords their power would have become worthless...’

I left them for a minute, staring over the bright lights of Bangkok, with the little ferries scuttling up and down the Chao Phraya River far below. So Makeba was a gentleman crook after all, someone who was willing to milk the system for money, but hadn’t set out to hurt anyone ...

I turned back to them, and found them staring at me with worried expressions. I gave them a bright smile, and their faces softened.

‘Rumors and bad luck.’

‘Huh?’

‘That’s what killed South Africa. So are we going to order some desert or what?’

Pretoria, July, year five

Through the tinted windows of the white Mahindra SUV, the city of Pretoria looked much the same as it did five years earlier. The gardens surrounding the ornate seat of government, the Union Buildings, looked as neat as they were on the day Mandela was sworn in as the first president of a democratic South Africa – the only difference being the twin flagpoles bearing the colors of India alongside those of South Africa.

It was getting dark and the streetlights were coming on as we drove slowly through the city, stopping at traffic lights – or robots as they call them in South Africa. Many stores and office blocks were still boarded up, but a couple of restaurants looked like they were getting ready to open for the evening and most of the downtown hotels were showing signs of life.

The only thing wrong with this picture was that other cars were so rare that, when we saw one, we craned to see who it carried – who else was allowed access to the tightly controlled reserves of fuel?

I didn’t feel like talking to the guys in front – the driver and the suit who met me at the airport – and they seemed content to leave me alone with my thoughts. After a while we left the downtown area and drove into the leafy suburbs, now mostly restored and occupied, until finally we were waved past the gate-house of Mahlamba Ndlopfu, the official residence of the head of state.

The suit let me out of the car and I turned away from the mansion to take in the spectacular view over the grounds and across the charcoal landscape to a distant range of hills, reaching into a salmon sushi sky. As the last light drained away so did the warmth of the day, and it felt like someone had opened the door to a refrigerator. Suddenly something soft brushed against the back of my neck and I ducked instinctively and tried to brush it away, before I realized what it was.

‘Not another bloody pashmina...’

Shan’s familiar laugh sounded in my ear. ‘Ah, but this one has the insignia of the Indian administration in South Africa. It’s a collector’s item.’

I turned to look at him and the mansion behind, the lights inside competing with the reflection of the sunset on its windows. ‘This is quite a place, Shan.’

‘Isn’t it? It was built in 1940 for the prime minister of the day and renamed ‘The New Dawn’ in 1995. I can’t get my tongue around the Shangaan name. Are you ready to come inside?’

The car which brought me was gone and only a white-jacketed steward was waiting for us at the brightly lit entrance. Although the door was wide enough for a marching band, Shan stood back so I could go first into the impressive foyer, with its grand staircase and reception rooms leading off to each side. I walked into the middle and swung around, taking it all in.

‘I’ll take it! How much did you say it was, again?’

‘Oh, it comes free with the country.’

‘And how much is that going for?’

‘Hmm, it’s only available on short-term rental. But the rent is enough to make the richest nations on earth complain.’

As we talked Shan ushered me through to a beautifully decorated study, where he waved me to an easy chair and brought me a glass of red wine. He poured himself a glass of water from a jug.

‘Oh yeah, this is grand. How much work was needed to restore the place?’

‘Not much. For some reason the warlords left it alone after the president went into exile. We think they were saving it for whoever emerged as the top dog, but nobody ever did.’

‘And the other government buildings?’

He shrugged. ‘A lot of movables were looted – furniture and so on – probably by politicians going into exile. Some offices were used by the militia as barracks, but the damage to government buildings was nothing compared to the shopping malls. They were totally gutted, as I’m sure you know...’

He tailed off and sat smiling at me, then he raised his glass. ‘To living in interesting times. It’s really good to see you again, Gipsy.’

‘To interesting times. Past and future.’

We sipped. The wine was excellent, but before I could ask what it was Shan spoke again.

‘We have a rather... military... evening ahead of us. I’ve invited Dr Kershaw from UNAIDS, and her husband colonel Baldwin, who is some kind of high level... spook... for the Americans.’

I smiled at the word I’d taught him. ‘Yes, I’ve met them both.’

He hesitated a microsecond, as if waiting to see if I was going to say more, before going on. ‘And then I’ve invited general Ao who, as you know, commands the peacekeeping forces here. He’s bringing his wife.’

‘Uh-oh. Husbands and wives. What about Mrs Gupta?’

‘Vasanthi is still at home, in Shimla. She says... we both feel... our children are still too young for boarding school, and education here isn’t up to scratch as yet. We have some very good private schools in Shimla. But maybe things will change in time...’

‘How long do you think you’ll be here?’

‘We’re working to a five-year timetable, from the day our reinforcements arrived. Two down, three to go. It’s ambitious, but Delhi says it’s not negotiable. The reconstitution process here is costing us a fortune.’

‘What? Hiring you as governor?’

He gave me a sideways look. ‘No, I’m probably the cheapest person they have here. It seemed... inappropriate to ask for a salary. But I’d just as soon you don’t share that particular piece of information with the world... if you can see your way clear.’

I gave him an as-if-I-would look. He smiled back and carried on.

‘No, the cost is related to the sheer scale of this operation. It’s... terrifying. I thought an industrial conglomerate ate money until I discovered what it costs to run an army. And you can’t open hospitals with just nurses and doctors – turns out they are barely half of the essential personnel. Re-opening schools is... a financial and logistical nightmare. To say nothing of restoring power, water, sanitation, food distribution, law enforcement, communications networks...’

‘Are the Chinese giving you the money they promised?’

‘Oh yes, they’ve been very generous. And we’re getting a huge amount of technical and material support from many other governments. But it’s all for South Africa, Lesotho and Swaziland, not for our contingent. I mean, just the cost of transporting our people here...’

‘I’m told the cheapest long-haul flight in the world is from Johannesburg to Mumbai...’

Shan laughed and finished my sentence. ‘Yes, because all the return flights are empty! But speaking of flights...’ he looked at his watch, ‘I imagine you’d like to unpack and get ready for dinner? The other guests will be arriving in an hour and a half. It would be nice if you...’ he looked a touch embarrassed, ‘could welcome them with me. Sort of play the role of hostess?’

I punched the air. ‘Yeah, baby! I always wanted to be a governess!’ 

+++

The steward showed me to a guest suite, where my suitcase stood unopened. He offered to send someone to help with unpacking and getting ready. It sounded like fun but I felt like being alone.

As I showered and dressed I thought about Shan’s invitation to visit South Africa, two years after the Indian liberation forces landed. His note promised a week of interviews with people at the coal-face of the reconstitution process – an irresistible lure for someone trying to guess where things were heading in the most newsworthy nation in Africa.

But instead of thinking about the issues I’d need to cover while I was here, I found myself dwelling on that little pause after I told Shan that I’d already met Nikki and Art. He definitely thought I was going to say more – I could see it in his face. I wondered whether he knew how close Nikki and I were. He was a man who did his homework, after all, and our friendship wasn’t exactly a state secret. But I’d never mentioned it to Shan, and I knew Nikki hadn’t either. This evening Shan acted as if he didn’t know about our friendship, but still... there was that little pause. It occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t an unwitting subject in our game after all, but an active player. Interesting thought.

After a while there was a tap at the door, and a smiling middle-aged woman introduced herself as the housekeeper, asked if I needed anything, and tactfully mentioned that our guests were expected in ten minutes. I took the hint.

+++

General and Mrs Ao arrived first, the commanding officer of the Indian forces looking impressive in his dress uniform. He introduced his wife Gitanjali, a slim and striking woman dressed in a black silk tunic and a finely embroidered Jamavar shawl. She had the Aryan features of north India, rather than the oriental features of her husband, and she shook my hand firmly and said she’d heard all about me. I vaguely remembered her husband said something about his family, so I said the same to her and she accepted the lie gracefully.

Nikki and Art arrived hard on their heels. Art was also wearing his uniform while Nik looked terrific in a deep emerald green evening gown. I had decided to abandon our game so I threw my arms around them in turn, whispering in Nik’s ear that we should talk asap. Shan made no comment at our familiarity but when our eyes met I thought I caught a hidden smile, like someone caught bluffing in a friendly card game.

As soon as we could Nikki and I escaped to the bathroom, where I told her that I was sure that Shan knew about our friendship, and I thought we should play it straight. Back downstairs, the conversation had already zeroed in on the one thing we all had in common – South Africa.

Art was a member of a five-person American mission to South Africa to monitor the Indian reconstitution process. His team had already been in the country for three weeks and, in line with his mandate to study issues relating to national security, he’d met general Ao several times. It was obvious from their body language that they’d struck up a rapport, although they still called each other by their rank.

When Nikki and I rejoined the group the men stopped talking and Gitanjali Ao gave us a grateful smile. ‘Welcome to the old-boys club.’

The men laughed, general Ao’s high-pitched giggle rising above Shan’s hearty guffaw and Art’s booming bark.

‘Don’t take my wife too seriously, Dr North. Gitanjali is just as involved in developments here as any of us. Do you remember I told you that she was a professor of constitutional law? She’s one of the founding professors at the new National Law University in Delhi, and she’s presently advising the Indian government on constitutional development here in South Africa...’

‘Is that connected to Art’s... colonel Baldwin’s mission...?’

Gitanjali spoke for herself. ‘Oh yes – I’ve been working with another of colonel Baldwin’s team, who has a similar task to my own. And there are others from China, the European Union and the African Union. We’re meeting with local delegates to finalize a format for the restoration of democracy.’

Nikki cut in. ‘How far have you got with that? My husband never tells me anything!’

Gitanjali laughed. ‘You too? Actually, we’ve made a lot of progress. We’re looking at a general election in just under three years...’

I saw the gap. ‘Will Indian expatriates be able to vote?’

She turned to me. ‘That’s the thinking, yes. The issue of citizenship is rather... up in the air... after this hiatus, so the thinking is to allow everyone to vote. Unless they are employed by a foreign government, such as our own...’

‘That’ll make the numbers interesting.’

‘What do you mean, Gipsy?’ Shan’s half-smile said he knew the answer, but wanted me to tell the others anyway.

‘Well, math was never my strong suit, but I did a little cigarette-box doodling...’

He laughed delightedly. ‘Oh my. So what did the tobacco leaves foretell?’

General Ao was looking a touch unsettled but the others were smiling expectantly so I plunged on. ‘Okay, two years ago, when you landed your reinforcements here, general Ao, you said there’d be about 130,000 Indian nationals in the country. If I remember correctly they were all doing a one-year tour of duty, but they could opt to stay for a second year – in which case they’d be allowed to bring out their relatives to join them. Or they could retire from the service and stay on in South Africa.’

Ao nodded. ‘Yes, I think that’s about right.’

‘Well, for the sake of my doodling, I assumed nobody went home, and they brought out an average of three relatives. That’s 390,000 civilians, bringing us to 520,000 Indians. Now your soldiers and nurses have all reached the end of their second tour of duty, so I’m assuming they all elect to stay here as civilians, with their relatives, and that you’ll bring out fresh troops and medics to replace them. That’s another 130,000 people, bringing us to 650,000 Indians.’

I could see Shan and Ao wanted to speak, but I kept going. ‘Let’s say that, in a year’s time, the new guys all opt to stay another year, and they bring out another 390,000 relatives. And two years from now – your election year, Gitanjali – you’ll bring in a third batch of 130,000, when the current lot finish their second tour. The third batch won’t be eligible to vote, but by then you’ll have a million Indians who can. In theory, at least...’

General Ao was looking concerned but Shan was beaming, and when he caught my eye he mimed applause.

‘Bravo, Gipsy! Of course the reality is a little different, but your final numbers aren’t too far out. In fact most of the relief troops, medics and support staff are already here. But according to the latest population estimates, we’re still outnumbered by at least twenty to one – and we’re expecting our numbers to reduce from next year, as our people gain the experience they were looking for and go home to India.’

Nikki cut in. ‘Shan, what about those population estimates? Our own research shows that mortality here is still very high, even with ARVs and food aid. And the birth-rate is way down, so the indigenous population is shrinking as fast as expatriate numbers are going up...’

Which made me think of something else: ‘And we mustn’t forget the 600,000 South Africans of Indian extraction who are expected to return in the next couple of years...’

Not to be left out of the old-girls club, Gitanjali spoke up. ‘Actually, one of the South African delegates in our forum accused us of trying to turn her country into the 37th state of India. But really, I think that’s a bit far fetched. I can’t see how expatriate voters will come anywhere near to the number of indigenous voters.’

I wanted to ask Shan whether anyone had modeled the population trends to see where they’d be in ten or 15 years, but he spoke first. ‘For what it’s worth, I can tell you there’s no grand plan to absorb South Africa into India. Never has been. The way I see it, we have a very different opportunity here.’

Aha! ‘Like what?’

He stared at me reflectively for a moment, then smiled. ‘This is my own cigarette-box doodling, Gipsy. Except it’s not about numbers – it’s about opportunity.’

He scanned the group, just as he did the day we met in Istanbul. ‘Do you know what the biggest barrier to innovation is? It’s experience. Tradition. Culture. People not changing the way they do things, because that’s the way they’ve always done them. Having social conventions makes us feel secure, but it robs us of our power to change. It’s why we still have the caste system in India, even though it’s been officially abolished. We’re scared to let go.’

Arthur Baldwin leaned forward. ‘But, governor, as a soldier I believe that being trained to do things a certain way, to the point that it’s almost instinctive, gives us a solid base for improvisation. And didn’t most of the great innovators – Da Vinci, Newton, Edison and so on – lived in extremely conservative times?’

‘Good points, colonel. But I’m not talking about physical skills or decision-making processes. I’m talking about people’s world view. Most of the great geniuses in all fields are misfits, mavericks, odd-balls. They don’t buy into the conceptual paradigms which define the lives of ordinary people. They see the status-quo as something which doesn’t need to be preserved, but rather to be built upon.’

Nikki was looking confused. ‘I agree, governor, but I don’t see what this has to do with...’

‘With reconstituting South Africa? Dr Kershaw, the most successful nations today are those who have reinvented themselves. Transformed themselves from feudal, culture-bound societies to the greatest innovators on the planet. Germany did it during the Nazi era, the Pacific Tigers did it after their wars, and China and India are in the process of doing it right now – without a war, fortunately. All of us have managed to shake ourselves loose from our past, re-set our cultural clocks, and we’ve overtaken the new world – all in a single generation.’

I could see that Art Baldwin didn’t like this, but he said nothing. Nikki asked: ‘And South Africa?’

‘In 1994 when apartheid ended, South Africans had an opportunity to re-set their clock. And in many respects they did. But they didn’t focus on educational standards like we did in Asia, they lost control of crime and corruption, and instead of creating equal opportunities they replaced one oligarchy with another.’

‘Okay... so?’

‘So they failed to achieve the three key predictors of economic success – a large pool of highly educated and skilled people, a direct relationship between hard work and reward, and a stable and honest social environment. In other words they blew their first opportunity.’

‘So you’re giving them another one?’

‘Well, let’s just say that fate has given them another opportunity, and we’re doing everything we can to help them to use it well.’

I needed to know: ‘But, Shan, what’s in it for you... for India?’

‘I think a lot of us see it as repaying a debt. A debt to those Indians who were forced by poverty and discrimination to accept what amounted to slavery in South Africa...’

‘And a debt to Gandhi?’

‘Absolutely. The Mahatma’s ideas were directly formed by the racial discrimination he found in South Africa. We feel the spirit of modern India was born right here.’

‘And that gives you some kind of hold over the country?’

‘Not a hold, no – it gives us an obligation. Gandhiji carried the flame from here to India in 1915, and used it to ignite the world’s biggest democracy. Now we’re carrying the flame back again.’

Suddenly he smiled self-consciously, looking at each of us in turn. ‘I’m sorry, I know it sounds like I’m delivering a speech, but it’s what I really believe...’

I looked at General and Mrs Ao, who looked like they wanted to applaud, and at Colonel and Mrs Baldwin, who looked more skeptical. Nikki asked: ‘So how do you picture the future? What would you like to see happening here?’

‘Oh, you’d laugh.’

‘Try me.’

‘Alright. I picture a country without a past. Well, let’s say without baggage. A nation which attracts the best talents and ideas from anywhere and everywhere, without insisting that those ideas fit the preconceptions of those who are already here. While other countries build enterprise parks and enterprise cities, this could be the first enterprise nation. Not on the basis of infrastructure or tax benefits, but psychological freedom. No limits.’

Nikki looked surprised. ‘But won’t immigrants bring their own limits with them? And South Africans have legitimate values and expectations...’

‘Perhaps, but I believe there’s been enough of a shake up that people will be able to re-invent themselves, if they’re motivated to do so. Locals and newcomers. This could be the place where anyone can be whatever they want to be. Only ideas and skills will matter, not background.’

I found Shan’s eyes were on me, as if he was looking for approval. Validation. I gave him an indulgent smile. ‘It sounds like the wild west. Ye-haaa!’

He guffawed. ‘You have a talent for bringing me down to earth, Dr North! But you know, I’ve always dreamed of a country where the past doesn’t get in the way of the future. I suppose at some point South Africa began to fit that dream. Or vice versa.’

Suddenly a light went on in my head. Like everyone else, I’d been thinking in terms of old-world strategies – military control and packed electorates. But now I saw that such blunt instruments weren’t needed, it was enough to create an open playing field, where gifted and ambitious people could strut their stuff, and to make sure the cream of India’s crop got there first. Just like Shan said, talent and hard work would do the rest.

And it occurred to me that this was nothing new for South Africa. For centuries this had been a land of opportunity, from the early African and European settlers, through successive gold and diamond rushes, followed by a century of immigration as people flocked to find their fortunes in their mines, industries, farms and homes.

‘Gipsy?’

‘Sorry... I was off in my own head-space.’

I saw the others were getting to their feet, and Shan was holding out his hand to me. ‘Care to do something about your stomach space? Dinner is served.’

+++